#rogue the bat x reader

[stellahaze135]

Ok so hear me out, the reason my blanket OC NightShade or Shade (the one that has Umbrakinesis.) has that monicker is because of Ivy. Ivy n Shade have always been cool, almost like a sibling bond, and Ivy’s always called her different flower names. One night, one really stuck after Shade helped Ivy raid/sabotage a chemical processing plant, where Shade for one of the first times uses her powers in an effective combative way. Ivy makes the offhand comment of ‘Thatta girl! Beware The Deadly Nightshade!’ And it kinda stuck. Well years go by, Shade gets real damn good at tech things and espionage (you can tell she shadowed Selina a lot on her heists being an honorary Gotham City Siren.) but eventually an event happened where it kinda forced her to look for new surroundings.

The earthquake that practically leveled the city, forcing it to become a No-Man’s Land. (talking the comic arc not the season of Harley Quinn just to clarify.) So she was able to find work in, guess where, but Raccon City. She finds work, ironically, at the R.P.D in their tech dept. specifically under the S.T.A.R.S division. Where she meets and becomes friends with most of the team including Jill, Chris, and Rebecca (I actually have a headcanon that Rebecca is actually one of the first people in RC to find out about Shade’s powers but because Rebecca is a literal angel, she promises to never tell!) and of course Captain Wesker. Now, she always knew Umbrella and Raccoon were dirty, like more corrupted than Gotham, and THAT was definitely saying something. But she had no idea Wesker was working for Umbrella all along. Until she happened to unwillingly listen in on a phone call between Wesker and Birkin. She always had complicated feelings about the Captain. He was drop dead gorgeous but he was also a bit scary to tell the truth. And she was used to people like Scarecrow and Joker. But to learn that he was working with Umbrella well that put a bit of ice in her veins for sure. She knew that because of her status as metahuman/mutant that could put her in all sorts of danger that she didn’t want any part of. She spent enough time in Arkham to be incredibly weary of scientists. She never wanted to be another experiment ever again. But her feelings, destiny, and he had other plans.

Wesker took an interest in her anyway, despite not knowing what she was. He considered her quite intelligent resourceful and he had to admit that he found her incredibly attractive. If she was afraid of him she knew how to put up a good front. She’d give his sarcasm and snark right back to him, and definitely didn’t take any shit from anyone else. The teams would joke that you could definitely tell she was a Gotham girl. And despite everything, Shade and the Captain still managed to hook up. (Shade like me has a really hard time saying no to that little voice in our heads that tells us to not do the fucking thing that we really shouldn’t do.) Anyways skip to the mansion incident, and both Shade and Albert are forced to show their hands. And Wesker’s just plain impressed ok? Not only did she manage to hide this beautiful development (seriously he thought she was breathtaking the first time she used her powers. Would he ever admit that out loud to anyone else? Probably not.) but she managed to hide them while they were fucking? He definitely made a mental note to keep tabs on her in the future eventually trying to win her over to his side as an asset, and he silently hoped future Goddess to his God. Which he does. Well he wins her over to his side anyway. She hates to admit it but Wesker’s become the Joker to her Harley. He’s got her wrapped around his little finger, but she hates to do anything against Chris and the others. He’d call her weak but she’d counter that she still has a moral compass. A definitely damaged one, but it still works. Skip through 5 and his death. She comes to terms with their relationship however incredibly messy it was, and decides she needs to move on…. Then Chris gets wind of happenings in Eastern Europe. And well let’s just say a new distraction in the form of a burly crass sexy metal man that chain smoked the finest of cigars with enormous mommy issues. But oh is Karl actually so sweet to her. He puts up a good front she wasn’t gunna lie, but once they got to know one another work together to take down Miranda… Well she found Albert Wesker to be a distant memory. For now.

I wanna set up a love triangle and maybe eventual poly relationship with the three of them. Like after Village, Shade n Karl get sent to Arkham, but this time with Karl she’s willing to go cause fuck they’ve been through some shit and need to talk it out. Being years later, the city and asylum have been rebuilt.

Things seem to settle down, Shade’s content, and Karl’s been really receptive to therapy. That is until another curve ball was dealt. Wesker somehow survived the volcano, pulled out by his own people after the dust had settled, but as they were busy keeping Albert stable, the BSAA breaks in. They apprehend Wesker and where is it decided that he be sent to? Arkham Asylum of course. If they had the capability to contain the likes of Poison Ivy and Killer Croc then they had the facilities to keep him contained.

I‘d love to see Karl n Albert bickering and the sexual tension is palpable, and I don’t know who moved in first but in a split second the two are passionately making out. Wesker mostly doms both Karl and Shade, Karl’s a classic switch, and Shade for all her bark is a bit subby.

[ofbatsandballads]

kindness you can’t afford

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 2.1k

warnings: injured character, multiple descriptions of blood + wounds

a/n: so this is the very first jason fic I’ve written since I was twelve, so forgive me while I find my jay’s voice now that I’m not a preteen. anyways I humbly offer thee my wares.

divider credit: cafekitsune

Gotham’s a shithole. You hadn’t known that when you first moved here. To be honest, you’d kind of thrown a dart at a map and gone where it landed. Alright, maybe it wasn’t literally a dart throw, more so finding the cheapest metropolitan city because New York was tempting but it would bankrupt you. Mostly you just wanted a place to not exist. And so Gotham’s relatively low rent rates and towering skylines were the pick with little to no research.

Gotham’s a shithole. You know that beyond a shadow of a doubt now. It’s surprising, honestly, how little of Gotham’s chaos makes it outside the city limits. One would think a psychotic killer clown that’s prone to gassing a whole city district or a half-plant poison lady or a guy going around dressed like a bat would make national news. And yet, no. You’d known superheroes existed, of course. Superman was the shining jewel in the crown of the country that is Metropolis. Everyone knows about the extraordinary Wonder Woman. It’s not like hyper skilled people working for the greater good aren’t a thing. But Gotham plays her cards close to her chest.

You've lived here almost two years now and you’ve managed to make it through relatively unscathed. An impressive feat especially since you live in the Bowery. The Bowery itself isn’t so bad, but its neighboring district Park Row, more often known as Crime Alley, is about the worst Gotham has to offer. You’ve heard your fair share of gunshots and sirens, and you’ll never forget the time that Scarecrow released fear toxin in the district and you had to shove every towel and blanket you owned against the cracks by the doors and windows to keep it out. However, you’ve avoided being mugged or assaulted or anything like that so far. And you’ve never encountered the vigilantes that run the night here.

But there’s always time for new and exciting experiences.

The loud thunk that sounds outside your living room window makes you jump and starts your heart pounding. You know you should just ignore it. Crawl off the couch and to the bedroom, lock the door. The lights in the apartment are already off, only the television light illuminating the room, so it would be easy to creep unseen. But you can’t. Something pulls you to the window. Maybe it’s the cat killing curiosity, or maybe it’s your own little voice of self destruction, or maybe it’s something else entirely. All you know is that you have to go look.

So you do. And there, out cold on the fire escape, is a man. A very large man. A very large man in a red helmet. A very large man in a red helmet with dual pistols holstered to his thighs. Red Hood. Red Hood is passed out face up on your fire escape. Huh.

You’d heard of him. It was hard not to. The Bat had the most notoriety by far, but it was Red Hood that truly scared the criminals of Gotham. Batman might break your bones, cripple you even, but you’d leave with your life. No such guarantee existed if you crossed Red Hood. Hurt a few innocent people and you might end up with a bullet or three in your skull. Then there was that thing about heads in a duffel bag and Red Hood running crime for a solid year in Gotham, but he’s better now, apparently. None of this is deterring you from unlocking the window, pushing it up, and stepping out into the cold winter air. Not when you see the blood seeping through his body armor start to drip off the fire escape grate.

He needs help and he can’t stay unconscious in the middle of the city. If whoever injured him didn’t find him, the cops would. He’s just as wanted as the actual rogues of Gotham. You think it’s bullshit, which is why you’re trying to find a way to get him inside the safety of your apartment. He’s huge up close. This is going to be very, very difficult. Your mind flashes suddenly to one of your favorite childhood movies and how the princess pulled the dashing rogue around with her hair. You glance down at the street before heading to your bedroom.

You come back out with sheets bundled up in your arms. You’re not even sure if this harebrained idea will work, but you weave the sheets through the gaps in the grates and around Red Hood’s waist nonetheless. You secure a knot and go back into your apartment with the length of the sheets. Your legs are stronger than your arms, so you brace them against the wall and pull. You can feel his body slowly dragging towards you and you pause to check your progress. He’s slumped against the window now. Good. You loop your arms under his, place your feet back against the wall, and pull hard. Your hard work is rewarded with his body breaching the threshold of your window and landing directly on top of you. The air is knocked clean out of your lungs. He is heavy.

It’s a struggle but you manage to roll out from under him and immediately see the massive red stain contrasting against the white of your fluffy pajama pants. A small puddle of blood is emerging on your floor under his left thigh, and droplets of blood have splattered next to his torso. He’s not in great shape. It suddenly hits you what you’ve done. You dragged an injured vigilante, known for shooting first and asking questions later, into your apartment with no plan on what to do after the fact.

What the fuck did I do?

That’s all you can think as you look down at him. Then something snaps into place inside your rattled mind and you run to your bathroom to grab your first aid kit. You’d bought it and learned the basics after Wayne Enterprises ran televised infomercials about the importance of first aid a couple months back. You’re carefully balancing all the supplies in your arms as you head back out to the living room.

The empty living room. No vigilante in sight. Then your world spins. Everything clatters to the floor as you’re yanked backwards by your waist, pinned to something solid and unable to move.

“Who are you?” A growl sounds behind you, modulated to sound semi-mechanical.

Ah. There he is. You think you should be panicking, absolutely losing your shit even. But your brain is moving in slow motion.

“Someone trying to help you,” you breathe out.

“Doesn’t answer the question.”

The grip around your waist tightens. You want to laugh. As if you could’ve made a run for it in the first place. You tell him your name, and explain that you live alone. There’s no one else here but the two of you and you really do want to help.

“You were passed out on my fire escape. I couldn’t just leave you out there,” you explain cautiously.

The two of you stay like that for a minute longer. Then, a mechanical sigh sounds from behind you and the vice grip on your waist goes slack. You turn to him and see that he’s already halfway to your window.

“Hey! Wait! I can help!” you shout, scrambling after him.

“Don’t need it,” he snaps.

“You were bleeding out on my floor!” you exclaim.

You don’t know why you feel so strongly about this. Maybe because he seemed so…mortal. It’s easy to forget that these guys running around at night are people. They’re strong, tough, and capable, but they’re still human. The fact that he stumbles and has to catch himself on the window frame proves your point.

“Please. I promise I won’t take long. Please just let me help,” you beg.

He turns around and even through that unreadable helmet you can tell he’s sizing you up. You’re sure you must be a sight in your fuzzy white cat pajama pants, old Snoopy t-shirt, and fluffy white socks. Honestly, it’s a bit of a ridiculous tableau. Massive armed man in tactical gear opposite a woman in fluffy pajamas, both bloodstained. But either you seem harmless enough or he’s in exceptionally bad shape, because he just slumps against your wall and gives a barely noticeable nod of his head.

You go into autopilot the second you get his consent. A dining room chair is dragged to the center of your living room and Red Hood drops himself into it, the old wood creaking under the force. You go to assess the damage on his torso first. Light slashes litter his waist, none of them are deep enough for stitches. You grab the rubbing alcohol and cotton balls from the floor where you kneel before warning him that it might sting.

“I got slashed. Think that might’ve hurt a bit more,” he deadpans.

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

The torso slashes are light work. It takes all of five minutes to disinfect them and seal them shut with bandages. It’s his thigh that you’re a little more concerned about. There’s enough blood that it’s soaked his tactical pants around where you’re guessing the wound is. You can vaguely make out what appears to be cut fabric, so you’re assuming he was stabbed.

“How deep did the knife go?” you ask.

“Hm. ‘Bout two inches?” he offers.

“Why’d you take it out?” you ask incredulously. Anyone with half a brain knew not to take a knife out of a stab wound.

“No idea. Should’ve just gone runnin’ around the city with a knife wedged in my leg.”

The mask’s modulator does nothing to hide the teasing edge to his voice. Of everything you’d heard about Red Hood, you’d never heard he was such a smartass.

“You know how to do stitches?” he asks.

Great. So he saw the deer-in-headlights look you had while thinking about how to fix his stab wound.

“If you count mending clothing then, uh, sure,” you reply.

The white slits of the helmet stare hard at you before a warped chuckle comes from under it.

“Well, close enough.”

Oh, so he liked to gamble with his health then. Okay. Sure. Great. You could totally do this. Untrained, unlicensed, unsupervised you. You have to stop your hands from shaking as you thread the curved needle. You have to stop yourself from vomiting with anxiety as you push the needle through his skin. He hisses and you immediately feel bad. He’d handled the alcohol without flinching, but the stitches were a different story. You whisper sorry’s with every puncture of his skin you make. Soon enough, his leg is closed up and the whole thing is said and done.

���Okay, should be good to go,” you start, “Well, not good per se, but functional to go.”

A hum and a quick nod of his head are the only response you get before he’s back on his feet. He’s about to climb out your window for the second time tonight when you call out to him again. He turns around and you’d swear he almost seems exasperated.

“Take these with you. You’ll probably need them,” you say as you toss him a water bottle and a small carton of orange juice.

He snatches them easily from the air. But then he just stands there and stares at the drinks in his hands. You think you may have somehow offended him and go to apologize when he speaks.

“Thanks,” he says, mechanical voice catching on the word.

And then he’s gone. Out your window and off into the night. Once you shut and lock the window you feel exhaustion hit you like a freight train. All the adrenaline drains from you and it takes whatever energy you have left to collapse on to your bed and drift off to sleep.

You’ll never know it, but the Red Hood spends the last fifteen minutes of his patrol sipping his orange juice and dutifully watching your apartment window.

You’ll never know it, but Jason Todd lingers across the street to make sure you get home from the grocery store safely, and he scoffs as he sees you feed and pet a stray dog. It’s silly, he thinks.

Don’t you know that now you’ve shown it some kindness, it’ll just keep coming back?

[sytoran]

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟎𝟎𝟐 — 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐉𝐎𝐁

kinktober day 002 | secretary!natalie rushman x ceo!reader

natasha's mission to retrieve a thumbdrive file involves seducing a high-ranking executive, and the seduction goes smoothly. a little too well, in fact, that she doesn't notice you're not all you seem to be.

cont. reader has a cock, power play, begging

word count. 1869

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

To Natasha, you were nothing more than just another target.

She was an unfathomably, dangerously-skilled assassin, feared across nations and intelligence bureaucracies. She was a Red Room widow gone rogue, taking things in her own stride and shifting the world upside down as she pleased. Renowned political figures and billionaire executives were dropping like flies, and you, were no different.

This time, Natasha Romanoff was going undercover as Natalie Rushman.

It had been embarrassingly easy for her to infiltrate security and create a false persona for herself. Climbing up the ranks of a corporate business like this one had been more time-consuming, sure, spanning over a few months, but Natalie would reap what she sow.

Chief Executive Officer Y/N L/N was all-too-easy to fool, even more gullible than the other targets Natasha had preyed upon. 

All it took was the classic seduction: bending over to ‘pick up a pen’, coincidentally right in your field of vision, clinging onto your arm and looking up with wide doe eyes while you talked, giggling shyly when you made a joke and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

In the end, all her targets got caught up in the Widow’s Web. You were rendered useless and completely at Natasha’s mercy, waiting to be preyed upon for manipulation and her own personal gain.

Or at least, that’s what you let her think.

“Fuck, baby,” you cursed, eyes screwed shut as your secretary bobbed her head up and down the girthy length of your cock, lewd noises escaping both your lips.

Natalie looked up at you through glossy eyes, bottle-red lipstick smeared but unarguably pretty, batting her eyelashes every so often. It had only taken a week of flirting before you took her home, your actions seemingly foolish.

“Take it all down your throat, Natalie, fuck,” you said breathily, hands tugging onto her hair as you chased your own high. Natasha almost choked on the length in her mouth at the fast pace you had set, but she quickly hollowed out her cheeks to engulf your wet heat once more.

Shit, it had been a while since Natasha had gotten such a thick cock, above average in length, too. Normally, these high-ranking executives had disappointingly miniscule excuses of a member, but this was thrillingly different. 

Still, Natasha couldn’t forget why she had made all this effort to get to your house.

“Fuck, babe, you’re too good at this,” you comment breathlessly, chest heaving as you come down from your high. “Bedroom?”

To speed up the process, Natasha finished you off with her hands working on the base of your cock, calculated squeezes and strokes that had you jerking your hips up as you toppled over the edge. Jets of hot white come went down Natasha’s throat, as she greedily sucked and swallowed.

Tastes fucking good too, she thought. Maybe this won’t be so bad.

Natasha had to refrain from rolling her eyes. What you wanted was predictable, to have your cock inside her. She wanted something different, though. It was why she had embarked on this mission in the first place.

“Can we go to your office?” Natasha asks instead, never failing to load up on that sultry tone that had people falling to their knees. She licks her lips drenched in your seed, kissing her way up your unbuttoned shirt as she rises to her feet. Her navigation of your surprisingly well-built body ends at the column of your neck.

Calculatedly, Natasha presses her slick lips to the hot skin of your neck, her residual lipstick making an enviable mark there. 

“I want you to bend me over your office desk.”

Natasha can’t help but smirk at your affected reaction. You hastily lift your secretary up by the back of her thighs, letting her hook her legs around your torso. A sloppy kiss kickstarts your burning need to meet her needs.

Of course, the sole reason why Natasha wanted to go to your office was to retrieve a very important thumb drive that was stored there. As you were the CEO of an incredibly powerful corporate firm, being able to have that kind of information meant a wealth of power, influence, and information.

There isn’t a doubt of the sinful possibilities floating through your mind right now, as you single-handedly unclasp her bra and rid of her remaining garments, as you stumble your way over to your office.

Everything was going according to Natasha's plan.

As if on cue, you kick open the door of your office and ungracefully deposit Natasha onto your desk. The way you’re manhandling her is arguably hot, and when you trail kisses down the back of Natasha’s neck, she quite nearly forgets what she came here to do.

“Need you inside me, now,” Natasha growls out, because she needs to get this operation going. What scares her for a moment is that her statement isn’t entirely untrue, because you were evidently more skilled than any of her previous counterparts and she so craved release.

 You certainly don’t disappoint in that aspect, forcefully bending Natasha over the desk as she wished, then painstakingly slowly dragging her skirt down with your teeth. 

“Fuck,” Natasha doesn’t mean to whimper when your cock slides between her wet folds, collecting slick arousal with that huge shaft, but she does whimper, and you let out a low noise from your chest.

As you’re busy getting your cock lubricated enough to enter her, Natasha seizes this opportune moment of your distraction to slides her hand over the desk to where your laptop was, unplugging the thumbdrive just as you speak up again.

“You’re fucking naughty, hm?” you growl, and Natasha freezes.

The fear envelops her whole, before Natasha realizes that you’ve remained blissfully oblivious to her actions and were trapped in the haze of sex.

“You’re fuckin’ naughty, wanting me to bend you over my table like that. Beg for my cock, and maybe I’ll let you use it.”

Natasha gulps, not understanding why she’s threatening to start drooling onto your desk, her body building up so much slick.

She’s the Black Widow, for fuck’s sakes, and she bowed down to no one. She was in control, dictating the decisions that crafted this very situation, hooking you around her pretty little finger.

After all, she had already retrieved the thumb drive. Her mission was already over, already completed. She had no reason to stay. She could knock you out cold in a matter of mere seconds, so why was she so hesitant?

Your grip hardens at her disobedience, and Natasha can’t help the whine that tumbles out when you pull your cock way from her wet heat. 

“You want it, hm? Then beg for it,” you repeat, dangerously close to Natasha’s ear, raising goosebumps with your hot breath brushing the surface of her skin.

Natasha wails when you push her back into the desk, pebbled nipples pressing into the cold glass. She’s clenching around nothing, wet walls fluttering emptily, slick arousal dripping down her thighs. 

Suddenly, you bring your hand up and harshly slap Natasha’s ass. The moan she lets out is downright pornographic, high-pitched and long-lasting as a red blush blossoms on her rounded ass, the pain stinging her skin and pricking tears behind her eyes.

It’s been so long, her body screams at her. You need this. Need to be fucked, need to be used.

“Beg for it.”

“Please! Need your cock, please,” Natasha babbles, finally, giving in to your urges. When you thrust your whole length down her tight pussy, all in one go, Natasha almost falls apart instantly.

You thrust up into her, hard, thick length pushing past her slick walls. If Natasha thought you were big before, with your cock in her mouth, now she knew you were fucking huge.

It isn’t long before you’re fucking into her with an animalistic nature, skin slapping against skin with dirty, lewd noises. “Can’t take the size, baby?” you question dryly, pulling on her hair as Natasha drools onto your desk.

Your cock is hitting her cervix with almost every thrust. The pleasure not only stems from the fact that you were the biggest she had ever taken, but also from your sheer skill.

Natasha’s first orgasm of the night comes in a tidal wave. It’s like water breaking through a dam, hitting her with a strength she didn’t know her body possessed. Her walls flutter around your girthy cock as she squirts. 

“Oh, Y/N!” Sinful moans of your name fall from Natasha’s lips as you thrust even deeper than she thought imaginable.

In other words, that was only the beginning of the rollercoaster-esque high you would bring Natasha to.

***

Natasha awakes with groggy eyes. There’s a warm, muscled forearm splayed over her torso, and it takes a fraction of a second before Natasha remembers it’s you.

“Shit,” she whispers, looking out of the window at the rising sun. She was supposed to leave your house last night, but the events had gotten more than out of hand.

The ache in Natasha’s legs and back is a blaring reminder of that fact. The image of sweaty, slick bodies moving together in a darkened room flashes across Natasha’s mind, and she has the decency to flush a pink-red.

Checking again for the thumbdrive in her strewn clothes, Natasha nods to herself assuredly and gets herself together to make an exit. Her eyes float to your sleeping figure. Looks like she had worn you out.

“You’re kinda stupid, but you were a good fuck,” she whispers with a tilted head.

As soon as the front door of your house clicks shut, you sit up slowly, letting the blanket slide over your toned abdominal muscles and down to your waistline. 

“Just a good fuck?” you ask amusedly. “Squirting three times in a row seems better than good, if I do say so myself.” Relaxed, you reach over to your bedside and take your phone.

Dialling in a number that you’d memorised by heart, the receiver picks up in less than two rings. “You’re fuckin’ late,” a gruff voice sounds out. “What did we tell you about not fucking the targets for the whole bloody night?”

You scoff in half-annoyance and amusement. As long as you got the job done, your bosses didn’t have any reason to question your methods. "You’re just jealous you didn’t get a taste of that sweet pussy,” you drawl out contedly, delighting in the aggravated huff that crackles over the line.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” you continue, your face taking on a more serious expression. “The Widow left my house thirty seconds ago, with the false thumb drive."

"Details?" 

"Swapped it out while she was cumming on my cock, sir."

"......Microchip tracking device?"

"Implanted in the top button of her blouse."

"Audio recorder?"

"In the hem of her very scandalous skirt.”

There is a pause on the line, but you know not to fear. When a low chuckle is emitted from the other end, you can’t help but smirk in smug satisfaction. The next words you hear are almost as sweet as Natasha’s moans of your name.

"Well done, Agent. Your mission is complete."

if you liked this, please give it a reblog! it means the absolute world to me <3

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

[princessbrunette]

⊹ ᜊ(ᜊ ´ ˘)੭ ♡ … ESPRESSO ♡

track four of the short n’sweet series. pairing: pope x deer!reader. based loosely off the song espresso by sabrina carpenter. enjoy ໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა

his skin was salty from the sea, which is why you simply couldn’t stop kissing it. you always loved that taste.

you’re lazy from the heat, laying on the sun lounger as you listen to the sound of waves crashing, feeling the soft up and down motion of your boyfriends chest against your cheek as he breathes slowly. you’re in bliss, a bliss that is only broken by the soft snore from pope.

giggling, you lift your head to look up at him with a raised brow and the movement shakes him out of his slumber, blinking himself awake in the warm afternoon sun.

“oh god, okay.” he clears his throat, embarrassed over his impromptu nap. this was early days in the relationship after all.

“sleepy?” you hum quietly. you were always quiet, it was a surprise he could hear you over the crashing of the waves.

“uh, something like that.” he squints down at you.

“is it the heat?”

“i just didn’t get the best sleep last night, i’ll be honest.” he sits up a little, bringing you with him as he stretches his arms. naturally, your fingers come up — drawing shapes on his chest.

“oh? why’s that? is everything okay pope?” you get that cute little worried line between your brows when you furrow them and he brushes some rogue grains of sand off your cheek.

“more than, actually. i, uh…” he chuckles awkwardly at himself before composing. “i was kind of… super excited for today… to see you… so excited that i kind of couldn’t sleep?” he tilts his head, and you feel your cheeks straining from how wide you grin.

“really?” you hum happily, batting your sandy eyelashes and he nods, taking in your every feature. it was rare anyone he liked actually liked him back fully, not the way he liked them anyway. to have secured a girl this beautiful was something of his dreams.

you sit up, feeling too sweaty in the position you lay— rolling and swinging a leg over him so you could straddle him where he lays. you were usually far too shy to pull that sort of move in public, but pope had driven the two of you up to his special little spot — not a soul around for miles.

“i was excited too.” you shrug from your new position and he suddenly looks physically pained, covering his face for a moment with a groan.

“oh my god.” he heaves and your eyes widen, wondering whether or not you should take your weight off him. “theres no way you’re real. i’m sorry. look at you.”

you burst into a relieved chuckle, confidence boosted yet your shyness takes ahold of you, causing you to fiddle with the drawstrings of his swim shorts instead.

“like, i don’t think you get it? i’m like actually light headed looking at you… and… my heart is pounding really hard, and my throat feels dry.”

“are you sure you’re not sun sick? or having an allergic reaction?” you ponder, half joking. he huffs out a more relaxed chuckle this time, resting his hands on your hips with a content sigh.

“not unless i have an allergy to beautiful women, no.”

you laugh, and the movement causes you to shift a little on his lap. pope winces, face cringing and stomach tensing. “okay so um, the blood that was in my other vital areas is currently swimming towards my… yeah. i’m sorry about that.”

confidence up enough to make a move, you lean forward to hover your lips over his, resisting your giddy smile. “i know.”

“oh. okay.”

you kiss, and suddenly he’s grateful that this spot of the beach was so private.

[sanguineterrain]

im begging you to write a part 2 of vigilante reader because the way you write??? the dynamic between reader and jason??? the sex tension???are chef kiss!!!

thanks very much! part 2 and I couldn't put off the reveal bc I'm just too impatient lol 🫶 but I might write another part post-reveal? maybe? cuz I'm growing attached to these two <3

jason todd x gn!vigilante!reader (nocturne). tw explosions, smoke inhalation, reader passes out, canon typical violence, identity reveal, asshole bruce. jason is in love? jason is in love.

read pt 1 here! | all fics are reblogged to @sanguinelibrary

****

"Go home."

"Bruce, I—"

Bruce looks at you, eyes sharp with fury and... something else. Something older.

The others know how to talk back. You still haven't gained the courage to sass The Batman.

"Go. Home. If you need an escort, I can call Superman."

You take a step back at his coldness.

"Bruce, I know I messed up, letting Hood escape but—"

"Yes, you did. You deliberately disobeyed an order. I told everybody to stand down. He could've killed you."

But he didn't, you don't say. He could've, but he chose not to.

He'd felt safe.

"I had it under control, honestly. He wasn't—it wasn't like the other encounters you've had with him. He wouldn't have hurt me."

That is the wrong thing to say. You realize that after the words leave your mouth and the muscles in Bruce's jaw jump.

"You can't be this naive. I know I wouldn't have chosen someone who's this naive," he says savagely. "You know Hood can't be trusted, and you're defending him to me. We've seen time and again he's rogue. He doesn't make sense and that's exactly why he's dangerous."

"But if you would just listen—"

"Enough," he snaps. "Enough. Go home. I'm suspending you for three weeks."

"Three w—I'm not even injured!" you cry.

"No, but you need the time. You're not thinking clearly. Go. I don't want to see you until next month."

You press your lips together before you say something truly foul. Something about Batman's habit of pushing people away. Something about dead Robins.

You don't let the tears fall until you leave the Cave. This is all Hood's fault. You know it would've been a different conversation if you'd managed to successfully capture him.

You'll take down the Red Hood if it's the last thing you do.

****

It takes you approximately two days to break your suspension.

In your defense, you meant to follow Bruce's orders. You would've stayed put and helped Barbara with research instead.

But not at the expense of civilian lives.

"All units to Canal and Riverview, 10-80. Standby. Do not enter the factory until given clearance from the Bomb Squad."

You turn off the police scanner and stuff it in your drawer. In Gotham, explosions usually come in multiples. If there's one, there's bound to be another. The police are generally inept when it comes to evacuating civilians. You know one of the other Bats are on their way, but you're the closest to the docks.

You glance at your suit. No. If you go as Nocturne, Batman might suspend you indefinitely.

You grab your gas mask and put on a black hoodie and a domino mask. You'll just have to make do.

The marina is blanketed in thick smoke. It makes your eyes water. But in the commotion it causes, you're able to slip past the barriers and help workers out of the factory. It's difficult because without the suit, people don't give you the same trust and respect. But you're anonymous, and that's all that matters.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

You ignore the voice and keep hauling two elderly workers towards the exit. They're barely outside before you turn around, determined to clear every level of the factory.

You're yanked backward by a hand on your hoodie. You nearly lose your footing, but the hand is firm, dragging you towards the pier.

You're spun around and put face to face with a red helmet.

Oh, of all the fucking—

"Let go of me!" you shout, smacking his arm. Hood's grip tightens.

"I will as soon as you stop doing stupid shit. What were you thinking, coming here?"

You pause. Whoops. This isn't how a plain civilian would react to being apprehended by the Red Hood.

And that's definitely not how the Red Hood would react to getting swatted by a random civilian. Shit.

"I was, um, I was thinking I could help," you say haltingly. "P-please don't hurt me, Mr. Hood, I was—"

Hood sighs and lets you go, then tucks his gun into his holster.

"Cut the shit. I know you're Nocturne. I also know that you need some acting lessons because what the hell was that? Mr. Hood?"

A chill washes over you. "I don't know what you mean. Nocturne?"

Hood shakes his head. "I don't have time for this. The building's gonna collapse any second. Stay. Put."

He goes back toward the smoking entrance. Your eye twitches as you follow him.

"Last time I checked, you don't have that kind of authority, Hood."

He turns around and looms over you. "Don't I?"

Anyone else would back down. You might've a week ago. You should, after the tongue lashing Bruce gave you.

But there's no soot on Hood's helmet or vest. He doesn't smell sweet like gasoline or pungent like motor oil.

He was in the factory to help.

Something shifts. Batman is wrong. Batman is more wrong than he's ever been.

Because Hood's not the enemy here. Not anymore. Maybe not ever.

You push past Hood. "It'll be faster if we work together."

"Oh, absolutely not. You're not even in your suit."

"As per your request," you say, flashing a plastic smile. "You're welcome."

"Don't get cute with me, you—hey!"

You dart past him and go straight into the factory. Hood shouts your name, which makes you pause, just for a moment.

But revealed identity or not, you need to clear the building. So you pull on your mask and run faster.

Your worst fear is confirmed when you check the upper level: someone was missed in the evacuation. It's a worker, and she's unconscious.

You don't think about how explosions come in pairs in Gotham. Don't think about how long it'll take to get to the exit.

You take off your mask and slide it onto her face. The smoke burns your throat immediately, but you ignore it and lift her in a fireman carry, just as you were taught all those years ago by Robin. He's the one who taught you how to save people without relying on brute strength or height.

You hope he's alright, wherever he is. You hope he's not too upset seeing you rush into a burning building.

That's your last thought when you see the entrance. Your face is covered in sweat and grime. The heat from the fires is exhausting. You can feel your eyes beginning to close.

"There's something seriously wrong with you," a decoded voice says in your ear, and then the woman's weight is lifted from your shoulders.

Hood grabs your hand, the woman over his opposite shoulder, and you make it out just as the second explosion goes off. It knocks you forward.

Hood puts the woman down just in time to catch you. His arm is around your waist, the other hand cradling your head. His gloved thumb touches your mouth, and you feel his dawning realization as he finally sees your mask on the woman.

"Don't tell Ba'man," you slur.

"Jesus fuck—" Hood starts to drag you. You feel lightheaded. He's moving, and you wish he'd stop. "You don't take off your mask. You never take off your mask. We taught you that!"

"She was unconscious, J'y..."

Arms tighten around you. Everything goes dark.

****

You wake up to the smell of scrambling eggs.

For a moment, you just bask in the smell. It smells like Alfred's breakfast scramble. Bacon. Butter. Golden potatoes.

Then you wake up further and realize that you're not in the Manor. You're in your apartment.

So who's cooking?

You get up quietly, slipping out of your room. You pause in front of the full-length mirror.

Honestly, you've looked worse. Your hair needs a wash, and you're in the same clothes you went into the building with, which are now a little charred. But your face is clean of soot, and your throat hurts only a little.

The kitchen sink runs. You slowly creep out into the living room, keeping your breathing even and silent.

The mess of black hair, you recognize. Sort of. You might've mistaken him for Bruce if you didn't know that Bruce has a lifetime ban from kitchens all over the world.

He's too tall to be Dick. Too skilled in the kitchen to be Bruce. Too nice to be Bruce, too—you can't imagine Bruce Wayne making you eggs. Especially when you disobeyed his orders. Again.

The red helmet on the kitchen stool turns your blood to ice.

You grab the letter opener from a drawer and wait a few seconds to see if Hood's heard you. Then you throw the letter opener with near perfect aim at his exposed shoulder.

He catches it without turning.

Your heart skips a beat. Every time you think you might get the drop on him, Hood reminds you just how competent he really is.

A mix of fear, aggravation, and something you don't want to examine too closely swirls in your gut.

"Impressive," he says. "Dami been training you? Mama Al-Ghul spent a lot of time on his knife lessons."

"Why are you in my apartment?"

Hood sets the letter opener down on the counter and turns off the stove. Then he serves the breakfast scramble on two plates, then sprinkles chives over them.

This is the weirdest kidnapping ever.

He sighs, back still facing you.

"You can't tell anyone it's me," he says.

"You make a lot of demands for a guy who just used the last of my eggs."

Hood laughs. It sounds wet. It sounds like grief.

"God, I've missed ya, honeylove."

Your heart pounds. You try to find another weapon, anything. Hood doesn't give you the chance.

He turns around.

The first thing you see is the stark white streak of hair and the curls you once loved. The curls that were near unrecognizable in the casket.

You were right: Batman was wrong.

pt 3

[surielstea]

Worried Mates

1k celebration request by @mira-says

Pairing: Poly!Bat Boys x Valkyrie!Reader

Summary: Reader gets badly injured and her three mates fuss over her.

Warnings: Light gore | canon-typical violence | injury | hurt/comfort | fluff | angst | happy ending

A.Note: This takes place during the war between humans and fae 500 years before the events of ACoTaR, Reader is a Valkyrie Commander.

2.1k words

"Gods—" I grunt, gripping my aching side. The war between mortals and fae was raging, and it seemed that it wouldn't be stopping any time soon.

When my half-sister, Miryam, had told me that she planned on fleeing with Prince Drakon once the war was over I thought she must've been insane. I only wanted joy for my sister of course, but it was foolish of her to think the two of them could have their happy ending after helping initiate this war.

But now, bleeding out and surrounded by enemies I was starting to understand the appeal of leaving everyone behind and escaping with my mates. I was at death's doorstep, too tired to even lift my sword, and I wanted nothing more than to be in the arms of the males I loved most.

I watched all my companions die off, my friends, Valkyrie's far better than me dying before me. It wasn't right.

I was the commander of the Valkyrie units, and now they're gone. Commander of no one because I failed them all by leading them into a war I knew we couldn't win.

An armed fae charged towards me, his sword held high as he screamed like a madman.

I tightened my grip on my shield and used his momentum against him, his sword clanging hard to the Illyrian steel of my shield as I pushed it back into him. He tumbled to the ground under the weight of it and with the sharp point of my shield I thrusted it straight into his chest. He fell limp.

A battle cry sounded from behind me and I groaned, every inch of my body protesting any further movement. I unsheathed my heavy sword while turning around to face a hulking male, lifting it up in challenge.

He swings first, his scarlet-covered blade meeting mine. He was much stronger than me, bigger too but he was slow. He pushed hard and my aching arms strained under the pressure. I steadied my breathing and pushed his blade away from me. He came back swinging with twice the force, going right for my head. I bent back, my spine screaming at me as his blade swung just above my nose, the sharpness of it slicing into a rogue hair that had strayed from its braid.

With the remaining energy I honed, I thrust my sword into the male's chest. He yelped, his sword clattering to the ground, and with one last attempt to gut me, he swung to grab me with his free hand. I screamed as I felt a searing pain in my side. I looked down to find a large knife embedded into my torso. When I looked back to the male he twisted the knife and I felt as if my entire body was set aflame. I clenched my teeth together as I plunged my sword into his chest again, and when I pulled it out he was already in the dirt, receiving the same fate as his comrades.

My knees buckled as I looked at my side again, blood pooling at my feet as it ran down my leg.

I dug my sword in the ground, using it for support so I could at least stay standing. My entire left side felt paralyzed as I continued to lose that precious scarlet liquid.

I squeezed my eyes shut before forcing them open, my vision bleary as I grew increasingly dizzy.

In the distance, I saw another armed soldier charging at me. For a moment I debated letting him have my life, it was soon nearing a close anyway.

But I hadn’t trained for years to be cut down by a measly foot soldier, hadn’t clawed and scraped my way through ranks to die by a stranger's hand. I curse, deciding that I wouldn't go out in forfeit, I would die fighting or I would not die at all. With only my right arm I lifted my sword up toward the sky, ready to strike.

But just as he was about to reach me a gleam of red flashed and the soldier's head went flying in the opposite direction of his body. Directly in front of me stood a male, glowing in red, my vision began to darken at the corners but I could recognize those wings anywhere. "Oh thank the gods," I sighed in pure relief, falling to my knees as Cassian ran forward to catch me before my head could hit the hard ground. He spotted the gushing wound in my side immediately, then looked at my dilated pupils.

“Hey, sweetheart,” He rasped, his voice raw from shouting commands at soldiers over the fields. “Cass,” I hum his name, the familiarity of it bringing me a warm feeling. I was glad to see he was unharmed. “Lean on me,” He says while gently brushing my stubborn hairs away from my sweat, and most likely blood, lined forehead.

"I'm going to get you out of here," Was all I managed to hear from him before darkness consumed me and my vision blackened entirely.

When I cracked my eyes open I immediately winced at the harsh light of the room I was being kept in. The sound of frustrated voices registered first, then the smell of lavender, and the softness of the pillow behind my head, and then finally my vision came. I spotted Rhysand and Cassian first, quietly bickering over something I couldn’t find in myself to care for. They were both changed from their armor, cleansed from the blood and dirt of the war. Even though they both looked clean and seemed how they always did I could tell something was off. Their wings were terse and the bags beneath their eyes were prominent.

It took a lot to mar the beauty of a Fae male, especially the two of them, and yet I don’t think I’ve ever seen them more distressed.

They continued their hushed argument, oblivious to the fact that I had woken up so I cast my eyes elsewhere, toward the third male in the room who had his head tilted downward, his scarred hands in his lap. He stared at those scars, his shaky hands making it seem like he’d done something wretched, so horrid he somehow didn’t think it probable that it was done with his own hands.

My brows creased, all three of them were in sorrow, and whether it was because I was bedridden or it was simply the after-effects of the war I was unsure.

“Good morning,” Is all I can think to say. It was casual, a little hoarse, but simple.

The room fell silent and all three heads snapped towards me. Their lips all formed tight straight lines as they bored their eyes into me.

I couldn’t tell if it was shock or relief, perhaps both.

A large smile cracks across my lips. “Were you guys worried about me?” I suggest, raising my brows accusingly.

“Gods,” A large figure crashes into me and I groan. Cassian clings to me tightly, hugging me into his warm chest. “Of course, we were worried,” He whispers, as if afraid he’d break this moment by speaking any louder.

“You’re crushing her, Cass,” Rhys says from behind him and I chuckle, looking at the violet-eyed male and giving him a gentle smirk which he matched. I pulled away from Cassian’s embrace first and he reluctantly let go of me.

“I’m sorry love,” Azriel sighed, his hand coming to intertwine with my fingers. “Sorry for what Az?” My brows crease.

“My shadows should’ve been with you, I could’ve stopped that soldier from hurting you—” The Illyrian starts but Cassian cuts him off.

“No Az it’s my fault, I should have been there sooner. I should have taken that dagger not her—” He tried but this time it was Rhys to cut him off.

“Both of you stop being ridiculous, I was the one that allowed her to fight, it was my mistake from the beginning,” The High Lord asserts, crossing his arms over his chest.

“My gods, do you three ever quit taking the blame for everything?” I looked pointedly at Rhys when I spoke. “I would’ve commanded the Valkyries to fight alongside you whether it was cleared or not,” I confess and Rhys subtly frowns at that, the unspoken question of me being the last Valkyrie was now answered with that expression. A wave of shame passed over me, but I pushed it aside for now, deciding to spend this moment with my three very paranoid, but very alive mates.

“I’m fine,” I give Azriel’s hand a squeeze.

“Madja said if the blade went even a fraction deeper it would’ve been fatal,” The blue siphoned male argued, and my brows bunch.

“But it didn’t,” I state.

“But it could have,” He snarled and I had never seen him so angry, so scared.

My eyes softened and I let a soft smile grace my features. “Az,” I whispered, attempting to bring him comfort to remind him I was alive and healthy.

Azriel was the first of the three that I bonded with, we’ve always had a different connection because of it. I’ll love all of them equally no matter what, but it left Azriel to be more protective of me than the other two.

He stands suddenly, our hands still tangled. “You nearly died, you nearly abandoned us for a place where we aren’t allowed to join you,” He snapped and my heart ached at the pained look on his face. I would’ve been furious too if it were him on the brink of death, I would’ve found a way to steal him back from death itself if that treacherous event were to come.

“Azriel,” Cassian snapped at the male but I held a hand up, waving him off.

I sat up, my side screamed at me in protest but I ignored it. I wore my softest white nightgown, only realizing it once I stood from the bed, slightly unsteady but upright nonetheless. I narrow my gaze at Azriel.

“I am here, I am alive,” I say. “A little scratched up but I don’t think Rhys will let me out in the field anytime soon,” I smile and Rhys shifts behind me.

“You heard that right,” The High Lord grumbled under his breath and I tossed him a glance over my shoulder.

I look back to Azriel, reaching for his other hand and holding them both. “See? I’m alright, I promise,” I look up at him lovingly and his shoulders dip in relief.

“Okay,” He nods, silently cursing himself for acting out so brashly. “You just, had me worried is all,” He excuses and I smile softly, letting go of one of his hands in favor of cupping his jaw.

“I know honey, I know,” I murmur before lifting up and placing a reassuring kiss on his lips, he returns it by bringing his free hand to my hip, pulling me closer.

“Is it just me or do you feel excluded too?” Cassian loudly whispered to Rhysand and I giggled against Azriel’s lips, pulling away and turning my head to cast a playful glare at the two piqued males, clearly attention-deprived.

“Then come over here already,” I give them an inviting smirk and they quickly scramble around the bed to reach me and it takes everything in me not to giggle at how desperate they were to be in my clutches yet again.

“One for you,” I placed my hand on Rhys’ jaw and gave him a soft peck, he barely had time to reciprocate it until I was rearing back. “And,” I grabbed Cass by his shirt. “One for you,” I gave him the same kiss.

“You taste like a coma,” The male murmured, smacking his lips and I rolled my eyes.

“You each got one, are you three satisfied now?” I arch a brow.

“Satisfied? Nowhere near it darling,” Rhys grabbed me by the waist and hoisted me up and over his shoulder.

“Wait! I’m still not fully healed yet!” I yelped, banging my fists on his back playfully.

“We’ll be gentle,” Cassian reassured with a gleeful smile. I looked at Azriel but he only smirked.

“No promises,” He shrugged and I groaned, letting my body go limp as Rhys carried me towards the High Lord's chambers.

“If you guys open my stitches I’ll give all of you stitches,” I threatened but none of them seemed to care, and to be honest nothing sounded better than the idea of being cradled by three tan, very large, Illyrians after such a long war.

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[endless-ineffabilities]

But Daddy, I Love Him (chapter one)

Daemon Targaryen x f!reader

synopsis : the reader is a daughter of the Lord of House Arwen - ever so dutiful and mild-mannered. Slated to be the lady wife of some highborn Lord, someone who is noble and decent. Not the volatile Rogue Prince. Not Daemon Targaryen.

in this chapter : The Rogue Prince and the reader meet. Their fates entwine. A fool is made out of a Lady.

themes/warnings : Daemon being Daemon is a warning in itself, Daemon has a superiority complex, highborn!reader, House Arwen is my own creation (name inspired by lotr!)

series list : chapter one - chapter two - chapter three

word count : 2k ▪︎ masterlist

a/n : the title and the series concept inspired by the TS song ofc <3

Dutiful daughter, all my plans were laid. Tendrils tucked into a woven braid...

Your chambers. The Godswood. The library.

Every day is the same. The mornings start with your ladies in waiting helping you prepare for the day. Running your bath, carefully pressing your frocks, lacing you up in your bodice. Making sure each lock of hair is in place, the right amount of rouge dabbed against the apples of your cheeks.

You were once a perfect little girl, now a perfect little lady.

Soon a perfect little lady wife.

This is your story, already woven, already told time and time again. The same story for all ladies of your standing.

All you have to do is to be good. And so you are.

Thank the gods for the stories you read, enabling you jump into different lives. Adventures and romances you know you will never have, not truly. But you are happy to play the fool with every page turned.

The library has become your safe haven, your home within your home. Nestled high in the sprawling castle of House Arwen. Nothing can disturb you here. No one.

Or so you thought.

The very first words you hear Daemon Targaryen say to you come across as rather rude. You will find in time that he does not mean to be rude. Not all the time, that is. This is just how he is.

"I have always found that story rather dull. Amusing how you seem to be so engrossed in it, my lady."

"Excuse me, but I will you have you know - " you raise your head, taking in the visitor. Or intruder.

"Prince Daemon," you rise from your seat, offering a well-practiced curtsy. An instinctive move of obeisance for a lady like you.

He barely acknowledges your gesture, his face flat and impassive. "That book. I was forced to read it in my youth. Our Maester all but shoved it down my throat."

You immediately do not take to his approach. That book is one of the most famous tales from Old Valyria. He should know, being of Valyrian blood and all.

"I believe there is much to like about this book, my Prince."

"Such as?"

"Well, it depicts a warrior knight of Old - "

"Some warrior knight," Daemon scoffs, not even letting you finish your statement. "He gave up his powers for the love of a wench he knew for just a fortnight. He had every chance at glory but he squandered all of it away. For what?"

"For... for love?" comes your response, though you know he did not really want one.

For someone who claims to dislike this story so much, he sure knows it well.

He mindlessly taps his fingers on a nearby shelf, eyes lazily reading the titles. Drifting through the room with the unmistakeable disdain of someone who is used to having so much, the world practically by his feet, but is disinterested with it all.

You think that you could fall dead right then and Daemon wouldn't care. Wouldn't even bat an eyelash. He rolls his eyes at your mention of love, and it does not help your impression of him.

"There are only two things worthy of love in my eyes, my lady, and that is power and blood."

"Blood? Well, my prince, family is one of the most important - "

"Blood is not the same for me as it is for you. My blood carries a legacy of fire and magic, being of Old Valyria. You would not possibly understand how I hold my blood in high regard."

Oh may the gods strike him down now.

Your hands clench into fists, pressing against your skirts, but you don't have it in you to notice the unladylike gesture. All you can think of is letting him have a piece of your mind. "A family can have a flock of sheep or a horde of dragons, my prince, and it makes no difference to me. Your family is your family, your blood is your blood. But whether you choose to love them does not solely depend on blood."

It is as if he sees for you for the first time then, the moment you show that you have your own voice, and that you will not simply cater to his whims.

He turns eager to press you further, make you break, make you cave in. "What of you, my lady? What is it that you find worthy of love? Family, I presume, from your poorly formed argument? What about a lord husband?"

"I do love my family," you nod. "And when I do wed, I am sure I will love my lord husband just as dearly."

He walks closer, but does not stop in front of you as is the polite thing to do in conversation. He circles you, and you feel exposed by the way he openly takes you in. "Oh, but how will you know? You do not have a choice, do you? How can that be love?"

You do not answer right away, for the prince has just voiced one of your biggest fears. What if you do not find love in your lord husband? What sort of life would that entail? One which you have been preparing for since you entered womanhood, one you always thought you would be willing to accept. It is your duty, after all.

So you say just that. "It is my duty, and if I am able to fulfil my duty, then I am certain that will bring me happiness."

Daemon scoffs, his lips forming a self-righteous sneer. "In the story, do you then think that the warrior knight would have been better off fulfilling his duty and abandoning his love?"

"It is not the same."

"It is exactly the same."

"No," you emphasize, "because he had a choice. I do not."

He had stopped right in front of you, a bit too close for comfort, almost as if he needs to lean in to scrutinize you fully. "Love is the death of duty, my lady. Take my word for it, you would be far better off playing your role. If you truly wish to honour your family, you would not fall in love at all."

He's so close that you can feel his breath fanning your face. If you didn't know any better, you would believe that simply being so near Daemon Targaryen is the reason why your body feels like it is on fire. He gives off heat like a furnace, like a dragon.

Maybe he is a dragon. Is that not what they all say about Targaryens?

You open your mouth to take a breath, lest your throat also burns from the dry warmth, your stomach curling adding to your nerves. It prompts you to ask, "What about you, my prince? Has duty stolen every chance you have at love?"

His eyes draw downward to your lips, and his faint blonde lashes catch the light. The Rogue Prince does look otherwordly. Everything you have heard about him has been inadequate.

His violet eyes meet yours once more. "I would not bother with such frivolity. As I said, my lady, power and blood are all there is."

"Perhaps so. Perhaps true love only exists in the stories that I read."

"You are learning," he nods, and offers what might be his first genuine smile to you.

"Nevertheless," you step away from him, and carry your book back to the shelf. "I do not fault the warrior knight for choosing love over glory. I would choose as he had done, if that were a possibility."

His response is glib, but not meant to offend. "Then you are a fool, my lady."

"I wish I were a fool, my prince," you smile, lowering your gaze. "Aren't all fools happy?"

"You wish nothing more than to be mere mummer who has found happiness in love."

"If only," you say. It's surprising how easy you're finding it to engage in conversation with him. It feels like you have known him for many moons and not only for this moment.

The Rogue Prince, of all people. Which begs the question, what is he doing in the library of House Arwen?

"Pardon me, my prince, but why have you graced us with your presence this morning?"

He turns serious, almost bored, that he has to acknowledge the reason for his visit. "My brother, the King, has sent me to relay an official decree to your Lord father. He is to accept the position of Master of Coin for the small council."

"He... he is?" you swallow. This would mean that you have to go with him and live in the Red Keep. This also signals that your betrothal to Tyland Lannister is afoot. Your father had recently paid a visit to Casterly Rock to arrange for your marriage to Tyland or Jason Lannister. If it is to be with Jason, you would be sent to Casterly Rock. If Tyland, your father would take the offer to be part of the small council. You are to accompany him and begin courtship with the Master of Ships.

At least it will be Tyland and not Jason.

"Yes, I am supposed to meet your Maester here in the library to deliver the royal decree," Daemon replies, the task so insignificant to him, unaware that he has just delivered news that determines the course of your life.

Not that it makes any difference. Your father has always wanted to join houses with either the Lannisters or the Baratheons. Forge a true Westerosi alliance. It seems that he will finally get his wish.

Your thinking gets the better of you, and you stand unmoving, the weight of duty suddenly feeling too much to bear.

Daemon's face scrunches in what can misconstrued be concern. But surely he isn't. He must only be uncomfortable at your sudden silence and blank expression.

"Is something the matter? Are you not pleased that your father is graced with an opportunity such as this?"

"Of course. I am sure that he would be delighted."

"You do not seem to be."

No, you aren't. While you have met Tyland Lannister before, there was never any attraction there. From your side and his. Yours would be a marriage of convenience, for the benefit of both Houses.

How I wish I was the warrior knight.

"It matters not how I feel, my prince."

There is movement by the doors, and the old Maester rushes in all out of breath.

"My prince!" He calls out immediately. "My deepest apologies that I have kept you waiting."

Daemon pays him no mind. His attention is solely on you. Conscious that the Maester observes the exchange, you clear your throat. "I shall take my leave, my prince. The Maester will see to you now."

You tilt your head and curtsy in farewell. As you pass by Daemon, your hand brushes against his, the pads of his knuckes rough against your own. The first and likely the only time your skin will come into contact with his, you strangely think with regret. Still, it catches you off guard and you feel a sensation like needles pricking all the way up your arm.

"My lady," he greets, and under his breath, making sure the Maester cannot hear, he adds, "my lady fool."

Another smile is shared between the two of you.

Love is the death of duty, he had said. Sooner rather than late, you will find out just how it rings true.

Supper with your Lord father is but another constant. You have always been grateful for it, especially since the passing of your late mother.

He is the only family you have around, with your elder sister already married off to some Lord in the Riverlands. She has already done what was expected of her, securing an alliance for House Arwen and bearing children for her Lord Husband.

The mantle has been passed on to you. It was never something to ponder over, as it is not something in your control.

Do your duty. Play your role. Pray that you never fall in love at all, Daemon said.

But might I fall in love with Tyland? Should that not be what I aim for?

"I heard that you encountered Prince Daemon this morning," your father says. "I trust that you acted accordingly as befits his station."

"Of course, father."

"Though it matters little to me how that rogue prince fares." The derision in his tone cannot be contained. Your father has never held Prince Daemon in any regard, viewing him as a waste of his titles.

"The Prince was gracious enough to exchange pleasantries with me."

Pleasantries. Never mind how he mocked your story, your family, and by extension, you.

"Careful, daughter. Prince Daemon is never loathe to chase after the nearest skirt that catches his fancy. I feel for his newly betrothed, the Lady Laena Velaryon. Far too good for him, that one."

"Daemon is betrothed?" you ask, unable to hide your surprise. Last you heard, his wife Rhea Royce passed in a tragic hunting accident. You also heard the whispers that she perished by her husband's hand.

After finally meeting him, you would not count it as an impossibility. But some part of you does not want to believe that he could be capable of something so vile.

"Yes, Prince Daemon has been betrothed once more. No doubt the most fruitful union for their Houses," your father confirms. With all this talk of betrothals, you already know what is coming, but your stomach sinks all the same when he adds, "as will be the union of House Arwen and House Lannister, dear daughter. You should consider yourself highly fortunate. I have toiled considerably to bring about your betrothal to Tyland Lannister."

"Of course, father." The words are empty, worn through, forever echoing in your ears.

Of course. I will do my duty. What is love after all, but a passing fancy, mere fiction entombed in between pages?

The red scales of the infamous Blood Wyrm glisten under the bright sunlight.

Caraxes lets off an ear-splitting screech as Daemon guides him across the skies.

"Daor tolmiot sir." The Valyrian smoothly comes from Daemon like a song. Not far now.

Not far from the seat of House Arwen in the Westerlands. His destination, for some unknown reason.

Just the seventh day after he was sent to deliver the decree, he finds himself returning once more. It is the day that your Lord father, yourself, and the rest of your envoy are set to ride for King's Landing.

And Daemon has decided to extend an offer to you, the Lady Arwen, one that might infinitely expedite your travels.

There were a myriad of justifications floating around in his head. He found out that you are betrothed to Tyland Lannister and his actions on this day would no doubt ruffle the preening lion's mane.

Anything to needlessly anger a Lannister, Daemon would enjoy.

He would revel in the pleasure of bespoiling such a prim and strait-laced Lady such as yourself. It would be like sport to him.

It must also not be forgotten that this would rouse the ire of your Lord father, who has never held any love for Daemon and vice versa.

All these reasons make complete sense to Daemon. All but one which he does not allow himself to entertain.

That he wishes to see you.

Who are you, if not just another proper wench with your honour and your faith for the Seven Gods up your arse? Daemon has much more discerning tastes, from dragonrider to tavern whore, but never one with your disposition.

You are nothing to Daemon. No one.

But that does not mean he will refrain from indulging in the pleasure of causing chaos.

The clouds part as Caraxes dips lower, revealing the outline of your meagre castle.

"Sepār ilagon konīr." Daemon refers to the inner courtyard where a line of carriages await, precious possessions being lugged onto them by footsoldiers.

Caraxes dives down with precision, his wings casting a shadow over the courtyard as he suddenly descends, leaving everyone startled.

Daemon's boots heavily crunch against the gravel as he jumps down, and he scans the wary crowd for his prize.

Soldiers rising to attention, bowing their heads to their prince. Ladies-in-waiting openly ogling him as he draws nearer. The Maester and his apprentices approaching him with rushed greetings springing from their mouths.

And then, there you are.

Standing just behind the small crowd, whispering hurriedly to your companion. You shush when you spy Daemon heading right for you.

"My prince." You perform the usual curtsy. Daemon thinks the movement does not suit you. He much preferred it when you were getting riled up at his remarks back at your library.

"My lady," he greets. "Lovely weather we are having, is it not?"

You appear confused, your eyes narrowing and nose scrunching for but a brief moment, and Daemon relishes in prompting such an unguarded expression. But it reverts back into your polished smile.

"Yes, it... it is, my prince. Forgive me, but I was not aware that we were expecting you."

No. Of course not. "Let me rephrase that. It is lovely weather for dragonriding, and I am inclined to think that you would enjoy the journey to the Red Keep."

"I am afraid I do not follow."

Daemon gets right to the point and his next words ring true, leaving no room for doubt as to his intentions. "My lady, I would like for you to ride with me."

Your posture becomes slack, and you gape at him like he has grown a second head.

"That would be inappropriate, my prince."

"No," he sneers. "It would be inappropriate if I take you for myself right there on the dragonsaddle, my lady, but I merely wish to offer a ride."

Your companion blushes profusely at his words. Apparently the image affects her so much all she can do is stare at her feet.

You, on the other hand, are unyielding. Your eyes blazing right through his own violet. A nagging voice in Daemon's mind insists that this is what he came for. Nothing else.

You finally say, "It is unbecoming of me to even entertain that notion, Prince Daemon. My Lord father and my betrothed would surely not approve."

Daemon takes a step closer, and the two of you stand nearly toe to toe. "But do you not wish it? Do you not wish to fly on dragonback? Much like the heroes in your stories I would wager."

"Those are just stories. It would be foolish of me."

Daemon laughs dryly, "My lady, is that not what you are? A lady fool who dreams of adventure and love?"

You frown when he has you cornered, your thoughts whirring in that foolish head of yours. Daemon feels the need to run his thumb over your pursed lips.

Perhaps I am the foolish one.

The Maester interrupts, breaking the impasse, nervously looking between the two of you.

"My prince," he says, "if you came to speak to the Lord Arwen, he is still in his chambers. He should be on his way down shortly."

You glance at the Maester then back to Daemon, awaiting his response, but he has none to offer.

You tilt your head disapprovingly at his outright discourtesy until he extends his hand to you. "My lady," he says with sincerity, "you shall be made a good lady wife soon enough, but today I invite you to be foolish with your prince."

It is the Maester who speaks, "My prince, the Lady Arwen must not - "

But you rudely interrupt, a newfound fire blazing in your eyes. "Is it as exhilarating as the stories say?"

"Enough to please a fool," Daemon replies.

With a smile, you fit your hand right into his, consequences be damned.

I may not write for him as often, but Daemon just might be my favourite to characterize and the most fun to weave stories with 🖤

This is a fixed miniseries, with a more or less fixed story, so it will only a three-parter.

[yandere-wishes]

Putting this out now (hopefully the fic will be out in before christmas) but does anyone want to be on the taglist for Yandere!Dc x reader ? Let me know in the comments/askbox/messages

Pt1 includes: Batfam, Superfam, Bat rogues, + 4 surprise characters.

Pt2 includes: More Batfam, green lanterns, arrowfam, speedsters and Aquafam.

[harryspet]

yours to tame (1) r. cameron

[warnings] dark!alpha!rafe x reader, pogue!beta!reader, alpha!sarah x reader, werewolf au, a/b/o dynamics, ward is pack alpha, soulmate bond, forced marking, future NONCON/DUBCON READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: new short series yayyy

In which the Moon Goddess cruelly picks Rafe Cameron to be your soulmate.

word count: 4.3k

main masterlist

You’d only come to this side of the island for two reasons: Sarah Cameron and your job at the country club. The rest of your time was spent with your friends in The Cut. The bars there had much better company. You dealt with Kooks enough, working as a beverage cart girl on the golf course. It was difficult for you to hold your tongue around them, that’s why you’d almost been fired twice, but luckily, your boss was a former Pogue who had a soft spot for you. 

The only way you’d entered the Alpha of Kildare’s house, Tannyhill, so far was through a window. Sarah hadn’t wanted to introduce you to her family yet, but today, he actually asked you to come to the front door. Her stepmom Rose answered the door, and Sarah introduced the two of you. Although Rose had a smile on her face throughout the short introduction, it was clear she disapproved of Sarah’s taste in friends. You met Wheezie too, who was much more welcoming. 

Although you were a Beta, you didn’t come from good stock. Your Dad became a Rogue not long after you were born, and your mother was always so depressed that you practically raised yourself. Although Sarah was an Alpha, her family saw her more as a bargaining chip to eventually be married off to the Alpha of another pack. Everyone assumed that her oldest brother would be the one to take over Kildare. 

Up in her room, Sarah quickly introduced you to her bed. You and Sarah were good friends ninety percent of the time when she and John B. were going strong, but the other ten percent when she and John B. were on the rocks, the two of you were much more than friends. Apparently, they’d gotten into a big fight last night, and, at first, you listened to her complain about how he hadn’t been making enough time for her lately.

“His deal is that he won’t invest more into us until we’re officially mated or whatever. But we’re so young, you know?”

“Sarah …what’s the real reason?”

She sighed, shaking her head, “It is because we’re young. I know we’re going to be together at the end of … all of this. But maybe I just don’t want to piss off my Dad just yet. He’d kick me out …”

“And then you’d be a full-on Pogue,” You finished for her, “I guess I get it. This house is insane.”

Sarah was needy, and oftentimes, she needed intense passion and adventure to feel loved. Once she finished venting, there was a change in her eyes as her mood shifted. From longing and sadness toward lust. 

You never liked Alphas, maybe that’s why you didn’t care about getting on John B’s bad side, but Sarah was different. She didn’t carry around a dark aura of corruption or force her will on others. She knew what she wanted all the time, and she was always willing to work to get it. 

You laid beside her, heads pressed against the pillows of her bed. She placed a hand on your waist and batted her long eyelashes at you. Slowly, her hands wandered underneath your t-shirt, “Would you want to sleep over?” She leaned closer, her voice soft, “I don’t think I want to be alone tonight.”

“Sure,” You answered as she leaned in to press her soft, full lips onto yours. The grip on your waist grew tighter as she pulled you closer. Although Sarah was an Alpha, she didn’t crave dominating you. You liked that she saw you as an equal. When she kissed you, she did it for both her pleasure and yours. 

She felt you up, massaging your breasts through your bra as the two of you made out. 

Hooking up with Sarah Cameron often involved a heavy makeout session followed by dry humping. Sarah liked to be on top because, you imagined, she liked the attention. She could work magic with her hips and wanted you to hold her waist as she did. You also had a perfect view of her from this angle. She pushed her dirty-blonde hair from her face, smirking down at you. 

“Have you ever been in heat, Y/N?” She asked. 

You thought about her question, “Not the typical kind, and it might happen once or twice a year.”

“What does it feel like?”

You frowned, “You feel weak like you don’t have control of your own body. And it makes me lack the ability to make good decisions. Remember when I hooked up with that Touron just because I thought his car was cool? Yeah, that was my heat.”

Sarah laughed, “I’m so glad you didn’t get knocked up.”

“You and me both,” you smiled at her. 

You stared at each other for a moment before Sarah leaned back down to kiss you. However, a pounding on the door interrupted you two. “Sarah! Sarah Cameron,” A deep voice sang from the other side of the door. As your heart jumped out of your chest, Sarah crawled off of you. She grabbed ahold of her shirt, trying to turn her shirt the right way around so she could put it on. 

You moved to fix your hair, but the door opened just as Sarah shouted, “Don’t come in!” 

“Sarah, why are there scratches on my truck?” The tall man narrowed his eyes on Sarah. His scent was strong, overpowering almost, and you felt a cloud of worry over you at the sight of him. You were distracted for a moment, the air had gone out of your lungs, but you remembered to fix the spaghetti straps on your top. 

“What are you talking about? I didn’t scratch your truck, Rafe!”

He rolled his eyes, “Oh yeah, why’d I find your damn bike right next to it. I told you to be careful, I don’t understand why you’re so hard-headed, you know? You’re going to pay to get it fixed.”

Sarah was the one rolling her eyes, “You’re insane if you think I’m doing that. I’m telling you, it wasn’t me.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you. All you do is lie, Sarah,” At the word lie his eyes finally landed on you, taking you in. Scenting you, no doubt, “This your friend? John B. know how many friends you have?”

“Screw you,” She hissed. 

You knew Rafe because everyone did. You knew what he was like mostly because of a girl you work with, an Omega named Sofia. He was like most Alphas, who preferred an Omega mate because they craved control, and he seemed like to type to pick someone purely based on how fertile they were. Sarah rarely talked about her own brother, and you were beginning to understand why. 

“I know you,” His eyes narrowed at you before he could place where he remembered you, “Cart girl.”

“Whiskey neat,” You responded, remembering what he always ordered. You also remembered he usually tipped well, even if he barely made eye contact with you. 

“Her name is Y/N.”

“You have some type of fetish for Pogues?” She scoffed, “You blow my mind, you really do.”

She lunged forward, pushing his chest, “Get out!” She commanded. He was clearly angry but wouldn’t challenge her further. He stepped back, turning on his heels, and she slammed the door as soon as he was in the hallway. 

“Ugh,” She groaned, her fists clenching, “I’m sorry, he’s . . . he’s rude and horrible.”

“I can see that,” You grabbed ahold of her hand as she climbed back on the bed. You attempted to calm her down, rubbing circles in her palm, “I’ve got thick skin, don’t worry.”

“You know you’re not just a hook-up, right?” Sarah looked at you, sincerity in her gaze. 

“Yeah,” You nodded, “Usually, for me, hooking up implies sex. We clearly haven’t done that.”

Her eyes darkened, and a mischievous smile grew on your face, “Oh, that’s my fault,” Sarah leaned in, “I didn’t want to scare you off, but …I wanna fuck that shit out of you, Y/N.”

“I’m all yours, Alpha,” You teased her, and that was the final straw before Sarah Cameron wrapped her arms around you and didn’t let you go for the entire night. 

You arrived at the bonfire by the beach later than all your friends. You were trying to catch up with them, already on your third hard seltzer, and the buzz was quickly setting in. You were hesitant to go to a bonfire with both Kooks and Pogues invited, but so far, the night had been civil. There was a clear segregation, with a lot of the Kooks at the top of the beach by the dunes and a lot of the Pogues closer to the water. You were currently watching JJ and Pope wrestle each other in the sand. 

You bet 10 dollars on Pope winning while Kie was dead set on her boyfriend winning, “JJ has had like 8 beers. He literally becomes the Hulk when he’s shit-faced.”

“So? Pope is way smarter, though,” You retorted, “He’ll figure out a way to win.”

“You got me there,” You and Kie laughed together. 

Whenever you thought Pope might tap out, you screamed at him to keep going. It was an intense battle, but before the two of you knew it, Pope had kicked JJ’s feet from under him. JJ fell back into the shallow water, clearly hitting his head, “Shit,” You and Kie cursed simultaneously before you ran towards them. 

“You okay, JJ?” You kneeled down, looking down at his glazed-over eyes, “Did you pass out?”

Slowly, he shook his head, “Nah,” he groaned, “Pope just took the wind out of me.”

“You better not have a concussion,” Kie told him. 

After knowing JJ was fine, you cleared your throat, “No rush, of course, but I’ll be waiting for my ten bucks.”

“Yeah, whatever,” You heard Kie say, but you were already celebrating with Pope. 

As the rest of the night went on, you drank a little bit more than your normal limit. You were having the time of your life hanging out by the water and catching up with the people you hadn’t seen since graduation. 

You were standing by the fire, red solo cup in your hand, when you felt a hard tap on your shoulder, “Where’s Sarah?” A shrill voice asked, and you turned around to be met with the snarling face of a preppy, black-haired Kook. 

“What?” Your eyebrows furrowed. 

“Sarah Cameron?” She shrieked again, “Where is she? I know you know her, and I know she’s here!”

You looked around you, all of your friends now staring at you, “I know her, yeah, but you might have some vision problems because she’s clearly not here.”

You recognized the girl from the Glisson family, one of the most prominent families on the island. 

You moved to turn back towards the fire but the feral Kook was still yelling, “Fine, I need you to give her a message—”

Maybe it was the liquor but the sound of her voice was starting to make your blood boil. She was not respecting your personal space and she seemed entitled to your attention, “Do I look like her fucking assistant?”

“Y/N,” You heard Pope’s voice, “She’s plastered.”

You rolled your eyes at the warning. 

“Tell that bitch to stop running her mouth about me, especially to her brother. I am …I am not a whore. She’s the whore,” So this is what the Glisson girl was on about. Sarah had told Rafe she wasn’t the innocent virgin she claimed to be, “She’s the one with low standards, who fucks dirty Pogues, and pretends like she’s a good girl.”

You took a breath and stared back at the girl, “What did you say your name was?”

“Uh,” The girl was taken aback for a moment, “Madison Glisson, you can tell her the message was from me. And that she’ll be sorry when I am Luna of her pack.”

“Madison,” You smiled, “You got it. I’ll tell Sarah that you called her a dirty whore, and then I’ll tell her I beat your ass–”

As you tackled the girl to the ground, your friends began to shout your name in unison. Your drink spilled all over her, thankfully, and you quickly had the upper hand. Sand scratched you wrestled to hold her down. You’d already sniffed out that she was a Beta, and she was able to put up a fight once she got her bearings, but you were already whaling at her face, “You dumb bitch,” You shouted, “Who do you think you’re talking to, huh?” She screamed, trying to scratch and grab at your clothes. 

Your anger was partially because you felt protective of Sarah, but you also felt the girl had made a direct attack on your character and friends. You weren’t perfect, Sarah definitely wasn’t, but neither of you acted like you were. 

“Y/N, someone's going to call the cop!” You heard Kie shout. 

Hands grabbed your waist, and initially, you thought it might be Pope or JJ, but the touch sent heat over your skin. The person lifted you easily, and you thrashed in their arms until you felt a  sudden sense of calmness. As you were set down a few feet away from the fire, you locked eyes with Rafe Cameron. Your eyes grew impossibly wide, knowing that an Alpha’s touch should not feel like this, “You won, okay?” He said, lips parted and breathing heavily. His eyes were wide, too, looking down at you, “Wha …”

He pulled his hands from you, and that heat lingered on your waist. He stared at his ringed fingers, examining them, “W-What was that?” You finished, “Don’t …don’t touch me again.”

Rafe stood, backing away. With each step he took, there was an ache in your chest.

“Uh, Y/N, the cops are coming! We have to go!” You stumbled to your feet before you and your three friends ran in the opposite direction, away from Rafe Cameron. 

Unfortunately, according to pack law, only Alphas can challenge other Alphas. Therefore, your case fell under the jurisdiction of Kildare County’s law enforcement. The Glisson’s pressed charges, of course, and you were facing a simple battery charge. The worst part was that they caught you on Friday night, which meant you had to spend the entire weekend in jail. You weren’t expecting anyone to put up any money for your bail, but it was just another shitty layer to your problem. 

You weren’t looking forward to groveling and begging for your job back. You also knew word would get around and that the Kooks would gossip about your drunken mistake. 

On Monday, you were surprised someone covered the entirety of your three-thousand-dollar bond. When you walked out of the jail in your dirty beach clothes, Rafe Cameron was certainly the last person you expected to see waiting for you.  He usually expressed only indifference towards you, but he almost seemed…concerned, “Sarah sent you?” You asked immediately. 

He shook his head, “Uh, no, I’m here for you,” He was backed against his large truck, his arms crossed in defense, “Because you did something so stupid."

“Excuse me?” You raised an eyebrow, “Whatever, I don’t want to know, goodbye.”

Swiftly, faster than you could comprehend, he grabbed your wrist. You yelped, quickly pulling your hand away. You remembered that electric feeling from the night on the beach, “I told you not to touch me,” You rushed out. 

“Get in the car, I can explain, Y/N.”

“No!”

“Listen, I feel it too,” He said, which made you pause, “If you get in the car, I can explain what’s going on.”

“Sarah didn’t send you?”

“No one knows you’re out except me. And I haven’t seen her; she’s probably scheming with the other Pogues to raise your bail money.”

You rubbed your temples, “I need to call them.”

You realized then that you must’ve lost your phone during the fight. By now, if no one stole it, your phone had gone out with the tide. 

“You can use my phone if you get in,” He offered. 

“If you try anything–” Rafe was already opening up the passenger side door. 

“Get in,” With a deep sigh, you climbed inside of his truck. 

This was a bad idea, although you were on a roll when it came to making bad decisions. Besides, you were curious about this sudden connection you and Rafe were experiencing. It was nothing good, that you were sure of, but you needed to figure out how to stop it. 

You were also sure he was working some Alpha voodoo on you. Rafe’s scent fully enveloped you inside the car, giving you that similar soothing feeling. When you tried to raise your defenses, to hone your heightened senses, you failed. You could barely concentrate on anything other than his smell. 

“Phone?” You asked after the truck pulled off. 

Although he seemed annoyed, Rafe pulled out his expensive phone, and typed in the password for you. Despite the fact that Sarah was confused as to why you were calling from her asshole brother’s phone, she was relieved to hear your voice. She and John B. had just entered a pawn shop, trying to sell some of her jewelry in order to raise money. You assure her that you’re okay and that Rafe is going to drop you at your house. 

You didn’t let her interrogate you for long because you had some interrogating to do yourself.

“Go ahead, explain yourself,” You said. 

“I’ve been, uh, questioning myself. You know, asking myself what kind of pack leader I’m going to be. How I’m going to live up to my Dad’s expectations and, uh, everything is becoming a lot clearer to me,” You stared with furrowed eyes, “Anyways, whatever, I realized, after I touched you that night on the beach, that we’re mates. True mates.”

“True mates …” You were already shaking your head, “What does that even mean?”

“Soulmates, Y/N!” Rafe gripped the wheel tightly, “Like hand-picked by the moon goddess kind of mates.”

“You and me?” You laughed. 

“I’m not lying,” Rafe grabbed ahold of your hand roughly. Your breathing quickened, and your eyes locked with his. Every muscle in your body was telling you to focus on him, to look at him and let him gaze upon you. 

“We’ll break the bond then,” You spoke through gritted teeth. 

Rafe let go of you, focusing his eyes back on the road, “That would be … extremely painful. For the both of us.” 

“I’m sure you would rather mate with someone else. Madison Glisson, for instance, remember her?”

“You do realize I just bailed you out of jail after you broke her nose, don’t you?” Rafe asked, “I’ve never been interested in her.”

“What about an Omega? Wouldn’t you rather have someone who’s going to listen and obey?”

“Betas are still ranked underneath Alphas. You’re supposed to listen and obey too–”

You scoffed, “I’m not that kind of Beta. See, it just doesn’t work.”

“I won’t reject you, Y/N, and you won't reject me either,” Your lips parted to respond, but you stared for a moment, dumbfounded, “Everything you had with my sister, or with anyone else, is over.”

“Rafe–”

“The Moon Goddess is offering you a great opportunity. A chance for a better life. Do…Do you have any idea what I could give you?” His voice grew deeper and darker. You should’ve known his nice guy routine was all an act to trap you here, “Huh?”

“I don’t want it.”

The car came to an abrupt stop as Rafe slammed on the brakes, pulling over into the dirt. The road was quiet but inside of Rafe’s car was far from that, “It’s Sarah. She’s got her little claws into you, yeah?”

“No, Rafe-”

“Yeah, I see what’s happening here,” Rafe nodded, “The way Sarah lives her life, toying with John B., messing with you, it’s not right. That’s no way to be a real leader.”

“She’s my friend,” You say, although you feel your voice growing smaller, Rafe’s presence taking over yours, “And I trust her more than I’d ever trust you.” 

“Do you think she’ll be loyal to you once she knows about us?” Rafe smiled, although you knew he wasn’t happy at all, and his eyes began to water. There was nothing else you could say to him; you knew that, and it was clear he was expecting a different reaction from you. He wanted you to fawn over him, to see how he’d taken care of you, and he wanted you to say thank you. He wanted an Omega which you’d never be. 

“Us? There will never be an us,” You sealed your fate with those words, grabbing the passenger door handle and practically falling out of Rafe’s truck. 

“Hey!” He shouted, trying to grab at you. 

Without another thought, you ran straight into the tree line. Despite the fact that you were running, you felt yourself breathe much easier, and your thoughts began to clear. That was the mate bond that you were feeling? You couldn’t imagine the Moon Goddess being so cruel to you. 

You ran from him, ignoring how right your name sounded on his lips. As he gained on you, your wolf took over. You were an experienced shifter, and you felt no pain as your bones molded and shifted. Your clothes tore from your body as you felt your speed increase. You glanced behind you to see how far he was behind you, but you saw a towering black figure with glowing red eyes. 

Angry with us, your wolf said; he’s angry with us. 

Slow down, this was Rafe’s voice now echoing in your head. He shouldn’t be able to get in your head like this. He wasn’t your Alpha, and you never accepted the bond. At a certain point, it didn’t matter how fast you were, as Rafe’s wolf was naturally stronger than yours. You still put up a fight, ignoring your wolf, as you and Rafe suddenly collided. You rolled through the forest underbrush, fighting for control, until Rafe finally landed on top of you. You did what you could to get him to let you go, biting at whatever you could. 

Shift, he tried to command you with his Alpha tone. You kept biting at him, which released an angry growl from his large form. Shift now, he tried again. Almost out of control, your wolf began to whimper. She hated that you were resisting him, rejecting him, and she began to punish you. You cried out as you were forced to shift, feeling every breaking bone and retracted claw or fang. 

You were weaker than you’d ever felt, lying naked on the forest floor. It felt like the first time you had shifted when transforming had left you bruised and bedridden for days. You breathed heavily, staring up at the Alpha before you. Rafe shifted easily, a muscular figure replacing black fur, sparkling blue eyes replacing red ones. 

“Please. Stop.”

“This is her will. Who am I to deny her?” Rafe grabbed your chin, turning your head to its side before sharp canines elongated from his mouth. Your shift had left you paralyzed, and you only could scream as Rafe sunk his teeth into your shoulder. 

You and Sarah had many conversations about mate marks. John B. had almost bit Sarah in the middle of sex. It scared her so much she didn’t hook up with him for two months, although he was entirely apologetic. Alpha mates marked each other out of respect for their bond, and Alphas often marked Omegas to exhibit their claim. You knew immediately what Rafe had done wasn’t out of love or respect. He felt you slipping away and took the opportunity to try to control you. 

Now, every wolf on the island would be able to sense Rafe in your own scent. They’d know you were claimed by, out of all people, the Alpha of Kildare’s son. 

Rafe carried your naked figure back to his car; blood smeared over your skin before he finally drove you home. You were in and out of consciousness at that point, but you remembered hearing your mother’s panicked voice and Rafe placing you on the twin sized bed in your small room. 

The next time you came to, both Sarah and your mother were in your room. Sarah stood by the door, her arms crossed tightly, and your mother was sitting on the bed beside you, “He just left her like this,” You heard Sarah say, venom in her tone, “I didn’t …I didn’t ever think he would do something like this.”

“He better make an honest woman out of her,” Your mother said, and you felt her grab ahold of your hand, “Alpha Ward will recognize their bond, won’t he?”

“He won’t be happy about this,” Sarah shook her head, “But he doesn’t ever reprimand Rafe in the way he should. Whatever Rafe wants, he’ll go along with it.”

“And what do you think he wants?”

“To hurt me,” Sarah answered, “I’m sorry about all this. I should go. She needs more rest.”

You turned your head, wincing, “Sarah,” You called out to her, but she was already slipping out the door. 

“It’s okay, she’ll be back,” Your mother said, although you knew deep in your chest that everything was going to change now, “And Rafe, he told me that he would come back once you healed. He thought you might feel better faster if you were home with your family.”

As far as you were concerned, Sarah and the other pogues were closer to your family than the woman next to you would be, “You realize what he did to me…don’t you?”

“He chose you,” Your mother sounded almost cheerful, “And he’s going to be a very powerful man on this island. He’ll take care of you and me. Like your father never could …”

You turned your head to look at the ceiling, deciding then you’d use whatever energy you had left to be far from here whenever Rafe decided to “come back”. Even if your wolf hated you forever because of it.

Let me know your thoughts and predictions! Those who reblog with their thoughts will be added to the taglist!

[withmyloveasyourgarden]

WHEREVER YOU RUN AND WHEREVER YOU HIDE

STEVE HARRINGTON x F!READER

A haunted house ride, so much pining and teasing, and a wild chase with Steve more than determined to catch you before the end. 6K of best friends to lovers fluff. [Re-uploaded from my old blog]

"What is it with you and haunted houses? Do you not think we visit enough creepy places?" 

There was a scream from the attraction behind you as the boy spoke, a twisted cackle chasing at its heels and Steve glared when you snorted a laugh at the way he wrinkled his nose, hands shoved into his pockets as his eyes flickered to the house then back to yours once more. 

You simply shrugged in response, a teasing grin tugging at your lips that just barely peeked out from behind the thick wool of your scarf. "What's the matter Harrington? Can take on Demogorgons and bats no problem but teenagers in fancy dress is where you draw the line?"

It went this way every year that the Halloween fair rolled into Hawkins. You would be drawn to the Haunted House in all of its cliche blood-splattered glory, neon lights flashing like a beacon, the zombies that crawled around the outside of the house and beckoned you with rotting hands outstretched to come closer. 

And every year, Steve would pretend it was the worst thing in the world when you dragged him towards it, as if he was actually capable of denying you something you asked of him. Heels dug into the ground just enough that you had to work to get him there and a soft pout on the boy's face that melted into a fond smile, all indulgent and warm, the moment you weren't looking. 

It was threatening to make an appearance now, even as he rolled his eyes, seemingly determined to ignore the fact he was already giving in by matching every step you took backwards in the direction of the ticket booth with one of his own towards you. 

"S'real funny princess." He replied smoothly, a smirk on his pretty face and head cocked to the side as if he was forcing himself to think back to a memory that he would never admit was already seared into his brain. "Cause I could've sworn it was you hiding their face in my sweater last year, not the other way around." 

"Hey! Not fair, you know I hate dolls." 

You were trying your best to sound outraged, a voice full of faux-indignation that did nothing to make the boy appear apologetic. If anything he looked triumphant - the flash of the lights glinting off his steadily widening grin, eyes bright and too knowing.  

Because you were all flushed skin where your knitwear couldn't hide, a gaze that couldn't fully keep his whilst you were remembering the way your best friend had wrapped you up in his body. Tucking your head into his chest, one arm tight around your shoulders and a large hand encompassing both of your smaller ones. His lips a gentle pressure against your hair as he promised, 's'okay babe, I'll tell you when it's over'

And just like when you'd clumsily pulled away back then, all shy and flustered, Steve was forced to try his hardest to bite his tongue again now. To swallow the fierce urge he had to tell you something stupid, like just how fucking pretty you looked and how he wanted nothing more than to kiss the heat from your cheeks. 

Maybe even admit that holding you, regardless of how short it lasted, had made his entire night. 

Instead he hides his feelings behind a tease as his larger step towards you caused you to fumble your step back. The heel of your shoe caught on a rogue stone and Steve's arms reaching out to steady you as your lower-back knocked into the blunt edge of the currently empty ticket booth. 

"Easy there, princess." He cooed, eyes sparkling with mischief and his hands spanning your hips, thumbs crafting thoughtless circles over the fabric of your sweater that made the flesh beneath burn white hot. "Can't have you falling for me before I've even had the chance to play hero again." 

You suddenly hated the fact that Steve was a solid wall of warmth - summer kept alive beneath his skin - hated the way it melted you and the autumn chill that had crept inside your bones. The inch left between your bodies seemed to spark with heat, making you forget how to snap back when he crowded you like this. 

This was your best friend for fuck sake, and god , if he just leaned a little closer you were sure he would see right through you. 

To the thoughts you had tumbling around your skull, every pesky little feeling you'd ever had for the boy written in neon flashing lights to match the ones that adorned the house behind you. 

His lips twitched and he raised a brow at your lack of retort, smug and teasing, amused by his own cheesy joke and the way you gaped at him. 

"Y'know what Harrington–" You attempted to bite out, determined to ignore how the words sounded like a struggle even to your own ears. 

But then the tight grip of his hands was leaving your waist, drifting up to adjust the too large hat Eleven had knit for you that occasionally slipped a little far past your brow. His gaze softened a touch as he looked at it. 

Remembering how proud you'd been when the girl had shown you her work, the way you lit up when you realised it was for you, eyes bright and just a touch glossy, before pulling her into the most adoring hug he thinks he'd ever seen. 

Knowing if he hadn't already been in love with you then he would have fallen right then anyway. 

Meanwhile, you couldn't help but stare whilst he righted it. It felt like you were bound in place, caught up in some type of spell that only the boy in front of you was capable of weaving, a heady kind of magic that flowed solely between the two of you. 

You inhaled the scent of him, nose practically to his chest - the smell of crisp apple and something woodsy, the cinnamon sugar from the donuts you shared earlier still sweet on his breath - and grew dizzy with it, too warm when his fingers lingered longer than they should to toy with a lock of hair that fell out of place. 

Heart thudding at the soft noise that escaped from the boy's parted lips all because you shivered at the gentle way he swept the strands behind your ear. 

Shit - you hadn't been able to help it.

The touch had been light but no less gut-wrenching as it grazed your cheek and you realised too late that if your face didn't give you away, then surely the way your body reacted to him was about to.

He was close enough that he must have been able to hear the hitch of your breath despite the sounds that echoed from the ride, seen the way you swallowed hard as he watched you for what felt like an eternity before daring to lean a little closer. 

"What?" He prompted, voice dropping low. Hoarse. Honey eyes burning a little darker as they flickered down for a beat before darting back up in a way that made you feel like Steve wanted something he didn't think he was supposed to ask for. 

And then there was an awkward cough, sounding louder than it truly was, from behind you. The booth no longer unmanned as the attendant appeared to startle you both. 

The interruption brought you back to reality and Steve stumbled back as you swatted at his chest. Raking a shaky hand through the windswept mess of his hair with a rough chuckle when you managed to choke out a far too delayed 'you fucking wish',  before spinning to face the kid with your cheeks aflame. 

You just hoped that neither they nor Steve paid notice to the way you had to clear your throat before you trusted yourself to speak again. 

That they were oblivious to how your voice still cracked even then when you asked for two tickets and handed the money over with a sheepish 'thanks' . Ignoring the attendant's gaze that slid curiously between you and the boy at your back. 

"That's just mean, you're breaking my heart here, babe." Steve sighed, trying to sound less affected than he felt, nerves still tight in his throat but the words were spoken so soft that you didn't seem to notice. 

His lips brushed the shell of your ear when he felt brave enough to draw you into him once again, oblivious to the fact that you were still reeling."I let you drag me in here every year, use me as a human shield and this is the thanks I get?" 

"I could leave you to the first thing that attacks us instead if you want? I've still not forgiven you for bringing the dolls up again." You shot back, biting your lip at the smooth confidence he used to turn you in his hold and sling an arm over your shoulders, steering you both towards the overly-cobwebbed entrance. 

He scoffed, full of cheek as he prodded at your ribs."You wouldn't dare."  

And you wanted to curse the fact that it wounded some part of you deep down, how easy it was for him to act like nothing had happened. Like it hadn't fazed him in the slightest that the two of you had been seconds from risking your friendship by closing that gap. 

Thank fucking christ you hadn't. 

"Just watch me." You threatened, huffing and squirming, slapping at his hand because the boy refused to relent once he managed to pull a reluctant smile out of you. "I might finally get some fucking peace."

He gave a wounded gasp at that, a kicked-puppy look to his eyes that was almost as dramatic as the betrayal that flashed through his pretty features when you finally had enough of pushy fingers in your sides and shoved him into the path of the closest zombie. 

He tripped over his own feet in an effort to avoid them and swore. Much to the amusement of yourself and the actor, who upon seeing Steve come stumbling their way lunged the moment he got close enough, hands snatching for the boy and gore-slick teeth snapping shut just shy of his shoulder. 

It brought a cackle from your lips when the zombie suddenly reeled back and pretended to gag, hacking like Steve had left a god awful taste in their mouth. There was laughter from some of the people that passed to go into the house, a couple of "ewww gross" that came from little kids who pulled at their parents' hands and pointed. Tiny faces scrunched up with a horrified kind of curiosity.

You gave a victorious grin at the stunned look on his face, one that seemed to flicker from disbelief to questioning whether he should be offended before he rounded on you with hair wild from the struggle and narrowed eyes. Shooting you a look that clearly told you you're in for it. 

A smirk tugged at his lips, sly as your own grin fell, and when he spoke, you couldn't help the way it made you nervous. Your heart slamming up against the wall of your ribs, forceful enough that you were sure the boy would be able to hear it from where he stood.

"Oh princess, you're so fucking dead." 

"Wait, no Steve - Stevie - c'mon don't, I'm sorry." You pleaded. It was all you could manage when he was looking at you the same way a predator watches its prey, slowly closing the distance with a large step forward that dwarfed the one you took back. 

You had hoped the nickname would make him melt, tried to make your voice curl all sweet around it in the way that had always made Steve cave before. 

But he only chuckled, tutting soft and full of taunt. "Nuh uh, you don't get to say my name like that after you fed me to a zombie and just expect me to forgive you. Better run before I decide to take a bite of my own." 

Jesus fucking christ.

That shouldn't have made your lips part. It shouldn't have made you stare wide-eyed, breath caught in your throat and a bloom of warmth hitting your cheeks.

But, fuck , it did because Steve was prowling towards you with a careless hand running through his hair and a devilish look that somehow made him prettier than he already was, an unholy kind of handsome that made you want to drop to your knees at his feet.

Wasn't that a thought you didn't need in your head right now.

And so before he had the chance to tell that you were far more affected than you should be, undoubtedly able to see right through you like he always had, you decided to take his advice. 

You turned heel and bolted. 

There was a flood of smoke that surrounded you the moment you rushed through the door. Lights flashing candy-red and when you spared a glance at the heavy-framed portraits that adorned the walls whilst you ran, Steve's laugh and the heavy thud of his footsteps echoing behind you, it instantly gave you the eerie feeling of being watched. 

The place was a maze of doors. Some that led to creatures who were ready to pounce the second you appeared, a werewolf in chains that clanked as it howled and clawed at the floorboards, a killer clown who cackled as they lunged forward, hacking at the air with a blood-soaked kitchen knife.

They all whooped and hollered when you raced past them, manic yells of taunts that followed you down another hallway, around another corner where you nearly crashed into a girl all in white, throat torn and eyes milk-pale as she blinked at you. 

If you startled her she did a good job of not showing it, offering a simple warning that ' you can't run forever, the house always wins' before she drifted back to where she had previously been hidden, muttering and wailing as she went. 

She was gone before you could reply that it wasn't the house you were really running from but in fact your best friend. And that the only reason you were running through the attraction instead of taking your time to enjoy it like you had paid to, was because you couldn't handle how you burned with Steve's hands on you and the way you still ached to kiss him with his fingers dug into your skin and his laughter in your hair.

So instead you had 'fed' him to a creature of the undead and hell, maybe it was a good job the girl had disappeared before you could blurt any of that out, because you definitely sounded crazy and the boy that was supposedly chasing you was nowhere to be seen. 

It made you pause when you realised. 

Had you lost him?

It didn't seem likely. 

'Cause yeah, the attraction was like a labyrinth but Steve had navigated through much worse, much more disorientating places and faced things a lot scarier than a couple of kids in costumes because something or some circumstance had dared to separate the two of you. 

And really, after all of that, what chance did a haunted house stand against Steve Harrington's relentlessness when it came to finding you? 

It was why you stepped into the next room a little more warily, breath held and tiptoeing, cursing the floorboards that still groaned beneath your feet and you threw a suspicious gaze over your shoulder every now and again before quickly looking ahead once more.

This one was almost too dark, too creepy, lit only by the occasional flash of bright white that was supposed to be lightning coming from the shattered windows, strong gusts of air whistling through the cracked glass and made it seem like the room itself was groaning. 

You swore if some psycho possessed doll came running at you from out of nowhere then you would kill Steve for not being here for you to hide behind. Whatever revenge he had planned for you be damned. 

So when a hand smoothed over your head you were done. Over it. Prepared to run like hell the rest of the way out of this damn house because your throat burned from the embarrassing shriek you just let out, your cheeks hot, heart pounding, and there was still someone's spindly fingers petting at your hair. 

Catching lightly at the ends when you spun just in time to barely make out the shadow of a chuckling figure skulking back into the corner. 

An ichor-stained grin of razor-sharp teeth that split their whole lower face beneath their hood as the lightning cracked again and allowed you a split second of visibility to watch the mocking little wave they gave you. 

At the end of the night you would adamantly say it was their fault for what followed. 

Despite the fact that you should have known better than to take your mind off of Steve for more than a few minutes, that you don't enter through a new door without checking what lies beyond it at least once . 

But instead, you kept your gaze on your creepy friend with the smile.

Ignored what could possibly be in the next room in favour of watching for any signs they would run for you as you fled. Daring them with narrowed eyes to stay where they were whilst you retreated and your hand fumbled behind your back for the doorknob, cheering quietly when you finally felt the cool shock of metal.

The door clicked with a taunting kind of finality when you got it shut. The type that left a silence you knew you couldn't trust in its wake, a beat of it passing, two, surprised when you turned and stared down the length of a hallway to what seemed like the exit at the end. 

It wasn't what you had expected, gore and horror swapped for cobwebbed walls and rubber spiders and plastic bats with lopsided wings that hung from the ceiling. An antique grandfather clock and bookcases lining the room that were loaded with old tomes and trinkets.

The lights were softer than any of the previous rooms too, less pulsing neons and more steady waves of violet and midnight blue that, despite where you still were, instantly made you feel calm. Safer.

You should have known. 

You'd seen all the horrors. Watched countless victims make the same mistake over and over because the fact usually was, if someone or something looked harmless, if escaping ever looked too easy? As simple as a straight run to the way out? 

Chances were it was most definitely a trap. 

But you weren't thinking about horror movies. Not when whilst you were standing there, someone from deeper inside the belly of the house screamed, a shrill sounding thing that was enough for you to shake your head, muttering a soft 'nope' before your feet started forward on their own accord. 

And of course that was when it happened. 

There was a swinging creak, a whoosh of cooler air. Two large hands catching at your waist and dragging you against a broad, warm body, your back flush to the person's front and just when you were about to scream they spoke. A lightly stubbled jaw scraping along your cheek as they dipped their head to whisper. 

"Caught you, princess."  

What the hell? Where did he even come fr-

A quick glance to the side answered that. A fake bookcase. A hidden door. The type of thing you really should have seen coming.

God, you'd been beaten by a total cliché. 

It was enough to make you want to scream for a completely different reason, fear swiftly morphing to frustration, but then another question raised quickly in in place of the first and Steve must have sensed your confusion. 

"Remember Michael Reid, the kid I helped coach that summer?" He murmured, a touch smug, like he never planned on letting you live this down. "He's working this part and let me swap in when I told him there was someone in here I needed to teach a lesson."

You swore then, quick and hushed under your breath, a sound that made the boy behind you snicker into hair, utterly entertained by your reaction.

His broad chest was a rumbling warmth at your back and you could fucking feel the way his lips tugged into a shit eating grin when he notched his chin at your crown.

"Jesus christ, Harrington, think you could have managed it without giving me a fuckin' heart attack? Get off me." You snapped, barely any heat behind it, because despite your words you were that little bit delighted to see him. 

You were just also annoyed at yourself for losing, petulant that you'd known something was suspicious and yet still walked directly into your best friend's trap. 

And Steve knew it. Utterly unfazed by your sharp tone and your attempts to fight him off, simply pressing the smile that he knew would get him in trouble to the back of your head whilst you wriggled in his hold.

You swatted at his arms that wound around your stomach, fingertips pinching at nothing but the thick wool of his coat sleeves before you sagged back with a defeated groan when he somehow managed to cling to you tighter. Rolling your eyes, lips twisted to hide a smile because Steve sounded far too pleased with himself already as he curled you into him. 

"Aww c'mon don't be like that, didn't you miss me?" He tsked, laugh soft in his throat as he smacked his lips to your cheek in a quick, messy kiss, all charm and just a touch patronising whilst you huffed. "Bet it wasn't half as fun running around in there without me to hide behind." 

"I don't know about that," You muttered but it was full of tease, mischief, and you knew that he had picked up on it the moment you shifted to the side so you could turn your face to look back at the boy. He dipped his chin to meet your gaze. Nose just shy of bumping yours and a brow raised like a dare."It was nice not having you screaming in my ear every time something touches your hair." 

The effect was immediate. 

Because Steve broke the hold he had on so fast that you would have fallen had it not been for the warm weight of his hands quickly reappearing on your hips, spinning you around until your chest bumped against his.

Until you were face to face, sharing the same breaths, his expression akin to something both amused and insulted. Like he just couldn't wait to argue this with you.

Hopefully, he wouldn't notice how your mind instantly went blank. 

Because your best friend looked far too pretty up close, in this kind of light, softened by the faint purples and blues that slanted over the angles of his face, all wild hair curling at the edges from the heat inside the house and eyes near black in the dark. 

Jesus, did he have to look so good all the damn time.

"You take that back." He demanded, his voice far too fond to hold any real threat but you still shook your head, both to clear it of the effect Steve Harrington had on you and also because you couldn't resist the need to provoke the boy. Just a little, just like you always had. 

The way that both you and Steve would never admit to enjoying far too much. 

"And if I don't?" You countered, hands pressed to his chest in a little shove and chin raised in playful defiance as you grinned. "What're you gonna do, zombie Steve, eat me? " 

He stared, lips parted, cheeks a little pink, and made some kind of strangled noise before his grin reappeared, wolfish, voice scandalised. "Is that what you'd like? Want me to just eat you up right here? Never pictured you as the type, princess." 

Steve watched with delight then as you blinked, nose scrunched up in confusion for just a few adorable seconds and then your mouth fell open into a pretty little 'o' that had his grin splitting wider, eyes shining. Endlessly amused when you choked out his name in admonishment and grew flustered. 

"Not what I was talking about and you know it, Harrington." You spluttered. 

He pulled you to him, chuckling, as you covered your face with your hands. But you went with no more resistance than a quiet grumble passing your lips, a soft little noise of embarrassment that always made Steve's chest go warm for you. 

"S'not my fault you make it too easy." He shrugged, all feigned innocence, smiling too sweet as he dropped a kiss to the top of your head. 

You snorted from where you were buried in his coat, the grin you couldn't help hidden as you let him shuffle you both back until you were no longer stood in the centre of the walkway, careful not to trip on a rubber rat or the edge of the threadbare rug whilst he kept you close. 

And when the quiet was broken by a group spilling through the door, old classmates of yours and Steve's, you jumped and the boy gathered you a little closer than you thought possible, arms wrapping protectively around your shoulders before he realised they weren't some kind of danger and relaxed. 

They were too caught up in the effects of the house, too busy pushing and shoving, winding each other up over who had screamed the loudest, to really pay attention to the two of you entwined. Steve pressed to the bookcase and you pressed tight to Steve, legs tangled. 

And you were glad of their distraction when you recognised the voices, not really wanting to spend another year, or however long it took last time, with that familiar bitter taste in your mouth as you were forced to explain no, Steve and I aren't dating, no, there's really no chance of that changing and yes, we really just are best friends.

It sometimes made you wonder if they saw something you couldn't, what they saw at all when they watched the way the boy would blindly tug you into him whenever you appeared at his side, the way you'd fit yourself to him when he did, head resting lazily against his shoulder. 

There'd be soft smiles on your faces from the moment you were joined and every time Steve said something to you he would make sure to look down, gaze all kinds of warm as it roamed your features. 

A little like it was now when you drew back to peek up at him. 

You, on the other hand, were still burning, cheeks hot and a nervous kind of energy thrumming in your chest and the way the boy was looking at you was decidedly not helping. 

In fact, you were fully prepared to shove your face back into the soft wool of his scarf that smelled like him, attempting to cover the fact that you were trying to look anywhere but at your best friend because the image he had planted in your head refused to fucking leave . 

But then Steve was refusing to let you go back into hiding, refusing to let you watch your hands twist and untwist in his lapels like it was the most interesting thing in the world. He curled his fingers beneath your chin before you could duck your head again, tipping your face up and keeping your gaze fixed on his.

It was a branding kind of touch, once that demanded every ounce of attention you could possibly give and you swallowed, throat tight. 

"You're despicable, y'know that." You told him, blurted it out before you could make a fool of yourself staring at him any longer than you already had, a bit dumbfounded. Too stunned to function normally.

But it came out more breathless than you wanted, far less offended than you tried so hard to pretend and more like the situation had punched you straight in the chest. Broken ribs and true feelings spilling out through the cracks faster than you could hold them back.  

You wanted to wince but Steve was already failing to bite back a smile that was all tease and charm. Moving a little closer as he angled away from the shelves that were digging into his back.  

"M'sorry." He replied, sounding not very sorry at all, a little bit distracted because he couldn't stop his gaze from flickering down to your mouth. The hand that rested at your waist gave an absent-minded squeeze and he matched your shaky inhale when the pad of his thumb gently brushed the plush of your lower lip. "You're just so pretty when you get all flustered, couldn't help it." 

It sounded like an admission rather than a taunt. And by the way that Steve's eyes suddenly darted back to yours, slightly wide with nerves, you had to wonder if it was a thought he maybe hadn't meant to voice. 

But he had and now there was a rolling feeling in your chest, your stomach, like everything had flipped at the boy's words and you had to fight to stamp it all down, to keep your features completely neutral because what if it didn't actually mean what your silly little heart was hoping it did? It's not like Steve hadn't called you pretty before, right? 

Just maybe not like this. 

Not like it was something he'd spent time thinking about and wanted to do something about it. 

You forced a chuckle, a last ditch attempt at making a joke so you could save yourself from saying something truly stupid. "You tryin' to say I'm not pretty all the time, Steven?"

"If you don't stop calling me that, we're gonna have another problem." He warned back, but his voice was warm and there was a spark in his eyes that looked like newfound bravery when he shook his head. His nose nudging yours before he cleared his throat. "And no, that's definitely not what I'm saying, sweetheart. You've always been too fuckin' pretty."   

"Steve…" 

There was muffled shouts that grew loud, that any other time would have been deafening when the door flung open once more, the sound of the wood smacking off the wall drowned out by voices and pounding footsteps as another group fled. 

But the only thing you or Steve could see was each other, the way he was close enough that his breath fanned across your lips, tasting like sugar and Steve, the hint of mint underneath. The way your eyes had grown dark, a little wild with longing. 

The house drifted away, the screams, the manic laughter, the blood and the cobwebs and the lights that bathed you both in a soft haze of violet and navy. All of it disappeared the moment Steve licked his lips, a nervous habit, whilst he pressed his thumb to the corner of your own and whispered.

"Made it real impossible to not do the whole 'falling for your best friend' thing, y'know." 

He said it slow and soft, shyer than you'd ever seen him, eyes watching you carefully under the fringe of his lashes like he was praying he wasn't about to scare you away and shit , you thought, he really has no idea does he? 

And you couldn't help it. You laughed. 

Not unkindly, you could never, but a little strangled, a touch delirious because those words had set off a thousand fireworks in your chest and the feeling was so overwhelming, fizzing beneath your ribs, that it felt like it should have been a fever dream. 

Which would make sense. Because you had always been so sure that that would be the only way you would ever hear Steve say that he was in love with you. 

But no, this was real, and so was the faintly crushed look on Steve's face as he watched you laugh, completely misunderstanding, misinterpreting your disbelief for rejection and you quickly realised your mistake when he made to pull back. 

"Forget I said anything -" He began, swallowing hard, throat bobbing as he tried to mask the hurt and the words fell out of your mouth faster than your brain could keep up with, panic laced and frantic. 

"No - fuck , Steve- wait -" you begged, hands scrambling for his collar, for Steve's own hand that was slowly about to drop from your face and the boy stilled when you grabbed it and pressed it to your cheek, cradled within your own. A hesitant kind of hope in his eyes as you took a breath. "I wasn't laughing at you I swear, it's just, god , you have no idea how long I've wanted to hear those words from you and then you said them and I just -" 

"How long?"

"What?" 

"How long have you waited?" Steve repeated, a slow magic kind of grin appearing on his face that made your heart flip, your pulse doing its best impression of a hummingbird's heartbeat as he moved into you, a hand splayed at your back and his thumb stroking sweet arcs over your cheekbone. "Need to know how much making up I've got to do for being such an idiot and being too scared to tell you how I felt sooner." 

You laughed again, a little softer this time, a shade embarrassed because you had loved the boy in front of you for longer than you could remember and it felt crazy that after hiding it for so many years, you were finally about to tell him. 

"Oh y'know," you shrugged, fingers toying with the fabric of his scarf at the nape of his neck, hand sliding from its place atop of his to gently grasp his wrist. It was impossible to resist the smile that tugged at your lips as he leaned to touch his forehead to yours, eyes sparkling as he waited. "Not long, maybe ten years or so."  

If Steve was surprised he didn't show it, instead he looked at you like he understood completely. Like he knew himself how it felt to love your best friend that long. 

But still he let out a low whistle under his breath, trying to sound as serious as he could despite the way his cheeks had grown sore with the smile that lit his face. His heart misbehaving in his chest as he cupped your jaw. 

"That's a long time to make up for." He mused, voice hushed as he tilted his head, his mouth almost brushing yours as he spoke. 

The anticipation made you feel like you were going to implode. Electric beneath your skin. 

"It is." You agreed, just as quiet, curling a hand around his neck and leaning a little heavier against him because you suddenly felt far too unsteady. "What are you going to do about it?" 

His breath hitched a little at your soft-spoken challenge but still he couldn't resist a final tease. "You askin' me to kiss you for the first time in a haunted house?" He tsked. "I know you love them but if you think we're comin' back here every year for our anniversary-"

"Harrington?" 

"Yeah, princess?" 

"Shut up and kiss me" You huffed, smile fond, sighing against the boy's mouth when he gave a breathtaking grin and did just that. 

It was a gentle push of his lips to yours, a sweet, warm, languid thing that pulled a soft noise from your throat and made your chest feel like it was gonna burst because your best friend was kissing you like you were the most precious thing in his life, like he'd waited a lifetime for this moment and wanted you to know he'd happily spend another just like this.  

He gripped you a little firmer as you melted into him, a golden feeling fizzing in his belly and a lovesick kind of smile on his lips when you murmured something sweet and pushed up on your toes for more. Your hands found their way into his hair, fingers tangling, tugging, and when you licked softly at his bottom lip to ask him to open for you, the boy gifted you with a low, quiet groan before giving you what you wanted. 

The sound was enough to make you feel drunk, dizzy on the way his tongue slid against yours and that Steve got greedier, a little messier, the instant you gently nipped at him. His hand fused to your jaw and your own name pressed into your mouth on a hitched breath as he kissed you over and over and over.

And when you finally parted, it was with glassy-eyed looks, kiss swollen lips and heaving chests. Disgustingly sweet grins that didn't even falter when another group came barreling through and reminded the two of you, quite ear-splittingly, that you were still very much inside of an attraction. 

Instead Steve chuckled and pressed a kiss to your forehead, your nose, another two to both your cheeks whilst he pushed away from the bookshelf and wrapped both arms around you to spin you in a crushing hug. 

"Steve put me down!" You laughed, a bright burst that made the boy light up even more and when you finally got away, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling, he stole your heart all over again with the most beautiful smile you'd ever seen.

A hand reaching out for you to place your own in as he asked. "Wanna get out of here? Maybe find somewhere a little less creepy where we can talk and make some more of that time up?" 

And how on earth could you say no to that? To Steve and the way he was looking at you, slightly shy, like his lips weren't still glossy from your kisses. 

You couldn't. Never had been able to if you were honest. 

So you placed your hand in his, heart fluttering when he smiled soft at the way your fingers so easily entwined, and let him lead you to the exit. To something new, to something far more exciting than any haunted house could ever be. 

Taglist: @the-witty-pen-name

[pandapetals]

Christmas Sweater

You convince Logan to wear a christmas sweater.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - married couple, cute, fluff, banter, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor, christmas party, holiday vibes

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

divider credit: @saradika

“Please, Logan? Pretty please?” You held out the oversized Christmas sweater, grinning as you watched his face contort into a scowl the moment he laid eyes on it. It was red and green with a ridiculous snowman knitted across the front, complete with a fluffy scarf and a lopsided top hat. It was festive, cheesy, and perfect for the holiday party.

Logan crossed his arms, his stance unyielding. "Not a chance, sweetheart," he grumbled. "I’m not wearin’ that thing."

“Oh, come on!" you said, rolling your eyes as you pushed the sweater toward him. "Everyone’s wearing one. Jean’s got a reindeer sweater with bells, and I swear I saw Scott in one with candy canes."

Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Summers can wear all the candy canes he wants. I don’t need some fuzzy snowman to feel ‘festive.’"

You let out a sigh, putting on your best pout. "Logan, for the past four Christmases, I’ve let it slide. You’ve skulked around in your boring black t-shirt, looking like you’d rather be elsewhere. But just this once… for me?" You softened your tone, tilting your head and batting your eyelashes. "Please?"

He gave you a long, suffering look, but you caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. After a heavy silence, he let out a dramatic sigh. "Fine," he muttered, snatching the sweater from your hands. "But if anyone makes a single comment, I'm takin’ it off. Got it?"

"Got it," you replied, beaming as he reluctantly pulled the sweater over his head. You had to bite back a laugh as it slid down over his broad shoulders, the fabric clinging to his frame and yet somehow looking cozy and inviting.

He grumbled under his breath as he adjusted the sleeves, but there was a hint of a smirk he desperately tried to hide. "This thing’s ridiculous," he muttered, tugging at the snowman’s scarf, which was made of actual fuzzy yarn that dangled a little too realistically.

You stepped back, giving him an appreciative once-over with a grin. "I dunno… I think you look adorable. Plus we match.” 

"Adorable," he repeated flatly, narrowing his eyes at you. "Careful, sweetheart. You’re pushin’ it."

The two of you joined the rest of the team downstairs, where the holiday party was in full swing. Logan tried to stay in the background, but it wasn’t long before Rogue spotted him and let out a delighted laugh. "Logan! Look at you!" she teased, clapping her hands together. "Never thought I’d see the day you’d wear somethin’ so… cheerful."

Logan grumbled, crossing his arms in an attempt to hide the snowman on his chest. "Don’t start, kid," he muttered, though you could see the faint blush creeping up his neck.

Scott walked by, barely holding back a grin. "Nice sweater, Logan. Didn’t know you had it in you."

Logan’s response was a low growl, but there was that hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth again. He shot you a look as if to say, I told you this would happen.

You just shrugged innocently, giving him a wink. "Told you everyone would love it."

Despite his protests, Logan seemed to settle into the cozy warmth of the sweater as the night went on. You caught him tugging it down a few times, mumbling about the sleeves being too long, but eventually, he seemed to forget about it, even getting a little more relaxed with each passing hour.

At one point, you snuck over to the snack table and grabbed your phone, positioning yourself just right. He was standing by the fireplace, scowling at his hot cocoa as if it had personally offended him, but he looked… comfortable. The firelight danced off the cozy red and green knit, and his expression was somewhere between annoyed and content, a tiny smile ghosting over his lips.

You snapped a picture, grinning to yourself. Logan caught you mid-snap, raising an eyebrow. "Did you just take a picture of me in this ridiculous thing?"

You hid your phone behind your back, laughing. "Maybe."

He rolled his eyes, stepping closer, his hands resting on his hips. "You’re lucky I’m wearin’ this for you," he muttered, his voice gruff but warm.

You bit back a smile, tilting your head as you looked up at him. "You know, you don’t have to keep it on. I’m just saying… if it’s really that uncomfortable—"

"Don’t push it," Logan cut in, his voice gruff but softer than usual. His gaze lingered on yours, a flicker of warmth breaking through his usual stoic expression. After a beat, he mumbled, almost as if he didn’t want you to hear, "It’s actually… not bad. Warm, even."

Your grin widened, and before he could protest, you leaned up and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. "See? I knew you’d secretly like it. Admit it—deep down, you’re a fan of holiday cheer."

Logan rolled his eyes, but a faint smirk betrayed him. There was a glimmer of amusement in his gaze that hadn’t been there at the start of the evening, and you could feel his stance relax just a little as if he’d finally surrendered to the holiday spirit.

"You’re just a big softie in disguise," you teased, patting his chest where the snowman’s fuzzy scarf dangled slightly off-kilter. The absurdity of it made you giggle, and Logan couldn’t help but shake his head, his gruff exterior melting as he looked down at you.

"Yeah, well, don’t go makin’ a habit of it," he muttered, though there was a faint blush creeping up his neck. "And don’t get any ideas about sharin’ that picture, either. If anyone asks, I’ll deny it’s me."

You laughed, pulling out your phone to give the picture another glance—a candid shot of Logan looking surprisingly cozy by the fireplace, the oversized sweater almost swallowing his broad frame, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. It was like capturing a rare sighting of some mythical creature: Logan, the Wolverine, caught in a moment of holiday cheer.

"Don’t worry," you whispered, slipping your phone back into your pocket. "This one’s just for me. My little secret."

Logan let out a small huff, a resigned sort of acceptance settling in his expression as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. "Good."

You nestled against him, savoring the warmth of his sweater and the steady rise and fall of his breathing. The two of you stood there, wrapped in each other and surrounded by the soft glow of holiday lights, the rest of the room fading away.

"Thanks for humoring me," you murmured, pressing your head against his shoulder. "You didn’t have to, you know."

Logan’s hand rested gently on your arm, his thumb tracing small circles as he looked down at you, a faint smile softening his rough features. "Yeah, well… I guess you’re worth a little humiliation," he muttered, the teasing edge in his voice belying the warmth in his gaze. "Just don’t expect me to go wearin’ reindeer antlers next year."

You chuckled, leaning up to kiss him softly, savoring the rare moment of tenderness between you. "Noted," you whispered. "But you're wearing another sweater next year."

Logan groaned as the corners of his mouth twitched up into a smile. "You’re lucky I love you," he mumbled, tightening his arm around you as he looked around the room. "Guess this holiday stuff ain’t so bad when you’re here."

[lesbianbarbaragordon]

Still thinking about last night

”No, no, but seriously,” you start, adjusting on your seat, “it wasn’t that bad. At least not by the end. I felt like we had-“ a connection, that you managed to see him as he was for at least the brittlest of moments. But the sentence dies at the tip of your tongue. You prefer to keep that to yourself. pairing: tim drake x reader tags: stalking, average tim behavior, college student reader word count: 1.7k part 2 of Unraveling the World read part 1 here

“Do you look up all your girlfriends?”

Tim doesn’t like the insinuation, but he shoulders on because Barbara’s network is far more extensive than his, far more even than the Batcave’s, and this is a favour, after all.

Your face is on full display, a shot from your ID, taking up the main screen on Oracle’s setup. You don’t look very happy.

Your hair is longer than when he met you the other night, and he sees the fading of some sort of dye on the tips of your hair. 20 years old, born and raised in Gotham, there is nothing outstanding about you.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he replies as an afterthought, his eyes on the screens. You enrolled in GU last year, took up journalism as a major. Why would a college student live in a warehouse? 

Because it has to be a warehouse, why else would it have been called like that in the files?

The incident that led him to your apartment is still something that embarrasses him. A mistake on his part, something that shouldn’t have happened.

He keeps going over the details, trying to understand; it was just the criminal of the week, a robbery gone wrong at a jewelry shop, hostages that shouldn’t have been there. He had been sneaky, gotten inside before anyone noticed, and released the hostages in record time (which was good, because when they started shooting, Tim was the only one inside). But one of the rogues got on the defensive when they saw he was one of the bats, had gotten a hit on Tim’s ear, and broken his comms. Then a shot in the darkness and a sharp pain took over his senses.

Which one was the lesser evil, running away to seek shelter while he was still lucid? Or detaining the rogues but risking further injury?

The final matter came down to “what would Bruce do?”

So Tim had pushed through, managed to knock them out, cuffed them somewhere the police would find them, and left before anyone else could see him.

The sky was raging, as expected of Gotham, when he stepped foot on the rooftops outside. His breathing was ragged, the pain was excruciating and he had left the Red Bird at the cave.

It only crashed down on Tim as the thunder and lightning erupted around him, shivering and in pain. Once the adrenaline left, it hit all at once-

He was alone.

It only took a second for the gears to kick in. He couldn’t access the Batcomputer, or call anyone who could help. He could take care of it without them, but where would he go? Leslie’s clinic was on the other side of the city, and after retiring it had fallen under new management, would whoever was i charge still treat vigilantes? There were no warehouses around the area either, not ones he remembered anyway, and the longer he thought, the more he started to fear bleeding out in the streets.

What other things did he have access to offline? His suit had prior saves of data, backup files from years prior. Tim accessed them with shaky hands. 

As he thought, not many places to go to in the area, but there was somewhere marked as a safe place. Somewhere that wasn’t Bruce’s but that was listed as Bat equipped. He headed there with desperation clawing at his throat, pain drilling at the back of his eyelids.

But he didn’t find what he was expecting. Instead, there was you and a mundane house. Somewhere that looked lived in, rather than a closet stuffed with expensive tech and medical equipment.

He realized too late, that the information was outdated, that he was going to die from a mistake.

Except he didn’t. Except you were there.

And he wants to figure it out, what kind of sane person could possibly do what you had done? He wants to figure you out.

“She isn’t shady,” Barbara supplies unhelpfully. She starts looking over your school records, your extracurriculars, you studied at the same school he did, nothing out of the ordinary; A book club, perfectly good grades, no problems with teachers or classmates. There’s an internship registered under your name at one of Gotham’s local newspapers, and there, a few articles on topics like battok trends or the latest celebrity scandal. The few lines he skims read uninspired.

The only thing Tim finds unusual is paperwork from the year before, for a cat you had adopted.

“I didn’t see any pets.” At least not when he was there. His allergies would have started making him sneeze like a madman otherwise. But what could he possibly get from that?

You’re perfectly ordinary, so ordinary Tim can’t possibly figure out why you’d be living full-time in a Batman safehouse.

And it’s driving him crazy.

Barbara hums, saying your name, and then, she says your second surname, your mother’s maiden name, “Thompkins?”

“Thought it was common,” Tim shrugs because he hadn’t taken notice of the detail during his first research. Barbara sends him a pointed look.

“Who was the safehouse registered under?” It’s a simple question, Tim realizes his slip-up on the next beat.

“Is she related to Leslie Thompkins?” 

“Grandniece looks more like,” Barbara supplies, pulling up your mother’s birth certificate. She digs up an old picture, a younger Leslie posing next to a smiling blonde woman, who holding up a med school diploma. Seems like your mother followed in her footsteps.

“The warehouse is registered under her name,” Barbara supplies, pulling up a scan of the apartment’s deed. Leslie Thompkins is clearly written as the owner. It must have been a safehouse for her, and subsequently for Batman, a long time ago. All before you took over. “You satisfied now?”

Tim says nothing at that, gnawing at his lip.

From the screen, your picture stares back.

…

“It was freaking scary.” You complain over your instant noodles. But they’re too hot and they scald, making you hiss. Your friend stares at you from across the table.

”Right.”

None of your high school peers stuck with you after graduation, so your list of friends remains painfully empty. And it would be a name shorter, had Claudia not appeared into your life.

You met during your internship, where she was interning too, at the literature department of the magazine. You’re both close in age and enjoy reading classics, so you spend lunch breaks together and bond over trash-talking your coworkers. She’s one of the few people you talk to in an otherwise silent existence. And she’s quite funny, too.

”It feels like one of those trashy romance novels, right?” She gestures openly, a sandwich in her hand. You’ve been telling her about your encounter with Red Robin for a lack of anything else. It’s the only interesting thing that’s happened to you in a while. “‘The superhero crashed at my place! And oh no, he’s naked!’.”

You snort, slapping her arm, “he was not naked! And it wasn’t romantic at all! I was so scared I’d throw up all over him from the stress!”

She chokes on a piece of ham, then starts to laugh. You start laughing too. 

It’s a relief having Claudia to make it all sound less scary.

Her laughing stops when her phone beeps and she pulls it out. Meanwhile, you choose to entertain yourself with your food.

”Is it that twitter account?” You ask half curiously. She hums in response, not looking up from the screen.

”Seems like bird boy hasn’t been seen in a while,” Claudia scrolls down her feed as she talks, quickly liking posts or replying to comments. She runs a popular fan account in her spare time that revolves around Gotham vigilantes, which is not a niche topic.  Most of the accounts themed around the bats, much like Claudia herself, are not native to Gotham. Rather, they’re from Metropolis or San Francisco, where the public regularly sees Superman or the Titans. Gothamites don’t have that kind of relationship with their heroes. “Red Robin’s been out of the streets since last Friday.”

”I guess that means you’re not lying,” she says teasing, which makes you blow a raspberry, “how did you do it, though? I would have messed up so bad.”

”Eh,” you start halfheartedly, “I took pre-med classes all through high school. I’ve forgotten most of it, though, but what little I knew came in handy,” you shrug, leaning back against your chair, “he had some pretty useful stuff, too. Super fancy equipment. That definitely helped.”

“Anyone else would have tried seeing under his mask, and you’re telling me what stuck out to you was his equipment?” Claudia laughs. “Maybe your next article will be about the bats’ tools. Does Batman carry around bat-bandaids? What about bat-snacks?”

You choke on your food, pushing down a laugh. It would be better than the stuff you’ve been writing about for these past few months, anyway. There are only so many influencers you can interview without going crazy.

”No, no, but seriously,” you start,  adjusting on your seat, “it wasn’t that bad. At least not by the end. I felt like we had-“ a connection, that you managed to see him as he was for at least the brittlest of moments. But the sentence dies at the tip of your tongue. You prefer to keep that to yourself.

“He was your favorite, you said, no?” Claudia catches on and continues, “I’d be just like you if Nightwing crashed into my apartment too.”

You’re about to retaliate, because-

Because what happened was not without meaning. You had realized he was more than an ephemeral figure or a distant idol, something as tangible as you, and that had made you stop fearing, for better or for worse.

But your boss peeks his head around the corner and takes sight of you both. “Your break is over,” he says and stands in the doorway as he watches you tidy up and throw empty containers and coffee cups into the bin.

Just as you’re leaving you catch something by the corner of your eye. On the TV is a fuzzy image of something humanoid, vaguely red and black. 

Wherever you go, the shadow of Red Robin follows.

[pursuitseternal]

“The Second Day” of “Antics of the Newly Ascended:” staring Batstarion🦇

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader |E| 1.3K Pure antics and comedy

🦇 art by @marimosalad Link to full art

Summary: You can’t pick a lock without your Rogue, even if he is Ascnedant now. So you wait… and wait… until a new unexpected visitor flies in.

CW: Banter, Poop jokes, Tav filtering Astarion’s threats and antics, sneezes, and cute fluffy vampiric bats with an attitude 🦇 (no smut)

Previous Ch | Ao3 link | Masterist

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

“Hells, what is taking him so…flipping long?”

For a split second, you think Gale might actually swear, but no. The goody-two-shoes scout wins out in the end. You giggle anyway.

“Said he’d be back quick with a new set of lockpicks ready to go, Mister Ascendant Lord and expert of the underbelly of Baldur’s Gate…” Gale huffs and folds his arms crossly.

Karlach snorts next to you, both your backs leaning against the alley walls. You keep to the shadows, eyeing up the house you need to enter… surreptitiously. Those Flaming Fist have been everywhere lately, and you still needed your Rogue to break you in nearly everywhere in the City.

“He’s probably too busy doing Ascendant things to hurry, Gale,” Karlach chuckles, peering her horned head into the street.

“Like what?” you ask, folding your arms and pouting your lips, “what could he possibly be doing but rushing back to be with me?”

Gale rolls his eyes, seeing the wry expression on your face, he realizes you joke. “Oh, good one,” he chortles. “Oh lots of things, I would imagine if I applied my wildest musings…”

“Get to the point wizard!” Karlach slaps him on the back. “More taunting, fewer words.”

Gale sputters for air after having it knocked from his body. And you laugh at that.

Suddenly, you feel a breeze pass your face. A blur of white settles on the wall beside your head. Hanging upside down.

A fluffy white bat. It chitters at you.

“Oh shit,” Karlach jolts at the sight. “That thing is massive.”

It seems to chitter more.. proudly at that. You narrow your eyes at it… your other companions draw away a step, leaving the beast with space.

“If Astarion were here, he’d probably call it a snack and snatch it from the air…” Gale jabs, a self-confident smile on his face, proud of his own humor. His own best entertainment.

“Naw… he’s too busy picking out new fancy clothes…” Karlach peers into the street.

“Too busy trying to burst into a sea of mist…” Gale laughs.

You giggle, thinking of something he did just that morning, for an hour, “Preening his hair into a perfect coif before kissing his reflection…”

Gale’s mouth snaps shut. The bat on the wall chitters noisily again, flapping its wings as it comes to dart around your head. “That bat is all over you,” his eyes narrow, “but I’m fresh out of Speak with Animals potions for now.”

You shrug, “I don’t mind, maybe he’s lonely…” You hold out your hand, an offering to let the little mammal rest somewhere soft. “Gives me something to look after until Astarion comes back.”

“Don’t let him see you’ve got a new pet…” Gale taunts, leaning closer to peer at the creature that now rests in your palm, “He might get jealous and snap it up in his fangs.”

Does… is the bat… glaring at Gale?

You look closely, but Karlach guffaws. “Oh oh, I’ve got it. I think I know what’s keeping the Vampire Ascendant! He’s probably stuck taking his first shit in two-hundred years...”

Okay, now that bat in your palm is definitely glaring, and chittering, and… pissed. You look closely at last, it’s white fur catches the sun in shades of silver, its eyes are a deep red… almost a crimson…

You stop. “Astarion?” you murmur at the little creature, patting its head with a single finger.

It… He… bounces on your hand, chittering away, pointed little face nodding.

“For fucks sake…” Karlach groans. “How the fuck did you turn into that?”

Gale leans closer… but not too close just in case. “I’ve read that some Vampires can take forms themselves, if powerful enough.” He grins widely, “Could be ferocious werewolf, or noxious cloud…” that grin twists, “Yours is adorable, if I do say so myself, Astarion.”

You can almost hear the ire in the noises that he makes in reply. Still nonsense chatter, but the emotion is clear.

He is not amused.

“Gale, you do realize he will turn back, and he will be pissed,” you warn with a shake of your head. You freeze, a whisper tickling inside your mind as the creature in your palm twitches and rests. “Astarion says it’s not his fault you're a pack of incompetent… oh,” you pause, patting him on his head with a finger, “I’m not going to say that part, my love.”

“He’s… talking to you?” Gale twists his head and raises a brow. “Like, mind to mind?”

“Yes,” you nod, “we are just as baffled at the moment, I will be honest with you, even if he said not to tell you…” the bat starts scrabbling up your arm, chittering even more noisily than before. “Stop whining, darling. You’ll figure it out.” He comes to rest on your shoulder, hanging upside down from the seam of your shirt. “And he says he would rather you never again speculate about his bowel movements either, on pain of… I’m going to say, a severe talking to.”

“That’s not what he said is it?” Karlach guffaws.

You can’t help but let your finger scritch under his little chin as he dangles from your shoulder. “No, no,” you giggle as you watch his beady little eyes flutter shut at the petting. “He used his regular ascendantly foul mouth.”

“Well, Vampire Ascendant or not, he’s not going to be much help breaking and entering in that form, is he?” Gale snips, rolling his eyes.

“He says he would be more than happy to talk us through it, if we… oh, again? I’m not suggesting that, my pet,” you shake your head, removing your scratching finger to wag it at him. “Naughty,” you chide.

“How did you get like that anyway, Astarion?” Karlach chuffs, folding her arms and swaying on her feet.

“He sneezed,” you reply. “Oh, I wasn’t supposed to share that. I’m sorry, my love. You really should be more obvious about what is for my ears… er… mind alone.”

“Maybe…” Gale gives a mischievous grin, “if we get you to sneeze again… maybe you’ll change back to a form with fingers that can actually do some good.” He reaches into his pocket, takes out a little bit of powder, and blows.

The little bat writhes, fur standing on end, flat folded nose twitching before….

“Achoo!” The sneeze echoes off the alley walls, a burst of black mist that tingles your skin as his tall, lean and wiry body forms against your arm. You can sense his irritation, out right, cuttingly sharp annoyance lacing his angry breaths. Once the mist clears, Astarion is, in fact, glaring at you all. Crimson eyes dart from one to the next. “I am… going to fucking kill you,” he hisses.

“Shh…” you cajole, raising your finger to scritch under his smooth chin, clenched tight in his rage. Instantly, the moment you begin your gentle petting, he eases, eyes fluttering shut.

“I think he likes that, soldier,” Karlach whispers a giggle. “Do you feed him little treats when he’s a good boy?”

“Only if he gets us into that house with those dexterous hands of his,” you chuckle and slide your hand to stroke his cheek.

“Fine,” he sighs, exasperated, tired, and annoyed. “But not one of you breathes a word of this to Halsin… or Wyll… or… anyone.”

“Agreed,” Karlach slaps him on the back.

He begins rummaging his lithe fingers through his pack, turning those crimson eyes on you as you watch. “And you, my consort, don’t think I’m not going to make you pay for that mirror-kissing comment earlier…”

“Don’t think you won’t have to earn those chin scritches, my love,” you giggle in return as he flashes that fanged smirk at you.

“One more, my darling?” he purrs, watching the others start into the street already. “One for the road, one in case we die today?”

Your fingers reach quickly to oblige, his eyes closing to savor your attentive care. And you giggle, “Who can argue with that?”

[gatorbites-imagines]

Apparently I have a twin now, so I'll call myself 'Crow Doctor'.

But can I request a Nightwing x Male Rogue Reader?

Basically, while Nightwing is fighting some other Rouges, he's hit with fear toxic or something and gets knocked out.

Reader being a bootleg medic of sorts, takes Nightwing to his hideout and patches him up. Taking care of him until he wakes up.

When he does, he figures out that Reader is a doctor who patches up and gives aid to the citizens of gotham that can't afford medical bills or insurance. and maybe after a bit, they start catching feelings for the other.

- Crow Doctor

Dick Grayson x Rogue Male Reader

Headcanons

Sorry this took a million years to write Crow, but I hope you enjoy it anyways :3c

Kinda took the rogue aspect and ran wild. Thought since you went by Crow Doctor, a plague doctor would be fun.

You were one of the newer Gotham Rogues, a next gen, as some would say. They called you Cadaver King, because of your start in the city, scattering corpses all over a specific area of the city, like you were marking your territory.

You wore something mildly inspired by plague doctors, only furthering your image as some kinda wacky insane doctor. No ones ever actually seen you carve people open for fun, but the rumors run rampant and keep normal criminals and gangs out of your territory.

Sure, bodies would still pile up at the borders of your territory as you slowly grow your area, and you have been thrown into Arkham more than once, but you always get out one way or another.

Unlike the other rogues, you are always able to stay out much longer, because you never just attack the public for no reason. You are most known for the cadavers found around the place stitched closed and looking like science experiments.

The bats quickly figure out that all the cadavers they find are criminals, people who do crime and hurt others just because they can, and never someone who steals or does crime because they have no other choice.

You get some respect from Red Hood for this reason, especially when he sees you targeting those that hurt children, using them in sick experiments and furthering your medical knowledge.

The Bats never figure out that under the surface, you are the backer to most smaller medical clinics around the city. The ones not run by Wayne at least. You are a monster, yes, but like all villains you have an origin story, and yours involves those you cared for not getting the medical help they needed, because they couldn’t afford it.

In your past, you would help anybody you could for free, finishing medical school top of your class. But your less than stellar past caused prejudice in many, and you found yourself used and abused by those above you in the food chain.

It didn’t help that you would steal to support those who couldn’t afford medical help themselves. What finally caused you to snap was getting caught stealing medicine, and instead of just getting you arrested, one of the top doctors in the hospital poured dangerous liquids all over you, scarring you for life and putting you in a constant state of torture.

Seeing so many innocent people die because of greed, and seeing your superior laughing as you writhe and wail in pain, is what breaks you. He ends up the first of your many cadavers, his body splayed out in his own operating theater.

Its only a very long time later that people discover just who’s doing all this killing, since so much death and murder happens around Gotham. It’s the fact that they have all been cut and stitched up professionally that clues the Gotham Police in on it being the same guy.

Then you start making a name for yourself, you start fighting the Bats, you target public figures, leaving their bodies hanging from their mansions or workplaces. All whilst wearing your plague doctor mask.

You have even done procedures on multiple of the bats over the years, never anything that could kill them, and it always ends up being stuff that helps them in the long run. They don’t know that though, they just think you are a psycho that likes to cut into people.

All the backstory aside, its this that leads to you hanging around in the shadows and observing as the Bats are fighting the latest Arkham escapees. Scarecrow has pulled himself into your territory, and whilst you like Jonathan, and have worked together many times, it still annoys you.

Seeing Nightwing go down because of fear toxin also makes your blood boil. Mainly because, unlike Jonathan who only seemed to care about fear, you were still a doctor at heart, and you knew how much fear toxin could harm the body, having treated many patients in the past.

That’s why you end up chasing Jonathan out of your territory, wielding different surgical tools and other blades on your person.

Returning to the rooftop with the passed out hero, you don’t even have to think about throwing him over your shoulder and bringing him to one of your many, many, medical studios around the city.

The only people who has more hideouts than you is probably the bats, and yours are definingly more medically equipped than theirs. You never know when youll find a patient, or how quickly they need treatment, so of course you and your lackeys have as many treatment areas as possible.

Theres not much you can do about fear toxin outside of giving Nightwing an antidote and giving him some oxygen to clear it out of his system faster. You stay nearby to observe him though as you work on patient reports.

Normally your lackeys stand for it, all lackeys having above average medical knowledge in general, but you like to check stuff over yourself, just in case. It’s a great way to spend time as you wait, and being productive during.

You have a lot of reports to answer from your lackeys during the night, as the other rogues being out means a lot of patients you need to help. Unlike other lackeys, yours don’t really wear uniforms, meaning they can sneak around without the bats knowing they’re yours.

The only thing that puts them out as yours, is the fact that they all always have medical equipment and first aid kits on their person. You honestly find it kinda funny how the Bats can never seem to figure out your ways, at least not fast enough, as you change up how you do things constantly.

As the night passes, with you waiting for Nightwing to wake up, you end up removing your outer layers. Shrugging off your heavy coat and gloves, even taking off your plague doctor mask. Underneath you wear a compression therapy mask most days, as the liquids the doctor threw on you left lifelong damage.

In the beginning you had been horrified and disgusted by your appearance, but over the years you had come to accept it as a part of yourself. You found out it had a tendency to make patients trust you more, as they knew you had been through something just as horrible as themselves, so you never tried to fix it with plastic surgery.

When Nightwing finally wakes up, you check on him, go through the basics, make sure he’s all there, before you shove him out of your studio. He doesn’t even have time to ask who you are, or what you are doing, or why you helped him.

Going back to the cave, he talks to the other Bats, and they are able to find the injection point where you injected the antidote to the fear toxin, and they can find clues to the treatment you gave him.

You owning an antidote means you are either connected to the Gotham Police, or, you are able to find it yourself, meaning you are a criminal. It puts you on their radar, both as Cadaver king, and as yourself.

The only one who would probably recognize you is Batman himself, since he’s always the one putting you in Arkham, but none of the others have ever seen your face.

Dick finds himself drawn to you in some way, and he ends up hanging out in the area you treated him, hoping to find you again.

Its only coincidence that he ends up in your territory again next time he’s really banged up from patrol and you find him. You are maskless again, compression mask on, as you scoff at his sorry state and drag him to the same studio you used last time.

It becomes a common occurrence, Dick running off to you to get treated. He even starts entering your studio when you are not there, and its only thanks to the sensors you have around the place that you know he’s there, since you don’t give him a way to contact you.

As time passes, he finds himself in your studio for the smallest cut or bruise, just because he wants to spend time with you, and you can’t find it in yourself to send him away since the acrobat has quadruple flipped his way into your heart.

The first time he sees your full face, covered in scars like it is, you can’t help but be gripped by fear that he will be disgusted by you. But instead, he just smiles and looks at you like you are the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Its only after you guys have been a thing for a while, that he discovers your rogue status. And it’s because he’s spending time in your studio again, when you come barreling in, in full rogue getup, carrying one of your lackeys who had a bad run-in with killer croc.

Dick just stands in the shadows and watches with wide eyes as you rip your mask off and get ready for surgery. He watches as you bark as your other lackeys to get them ready, and he watches as you save the lackeys life.

Somewhere inside Dick probably already knew who you were, how else would you have access to the kinda equipment Gotham’s biggest hospital struggled to get their hands on. He knows all you do for people, as you guys have talked about it before, and he can’t find it in himself to hate you for the fact that you target the worst scum of the earth and use them to further your knowledge.

Its only after you finish up with your lackeys that you look at him, a sad look in your eyes as you know you guys will need to talk.

Its ends with you two on the rooftop of the building, spending a long time just sitting and talking. Talking morals, personal codes, your past, your future, so on and so forth.

But instead of breaking up with you, Dick ends up pulling off his domino mask and telling you who he is before kissing you. You are both people with missions, and Bruce is the one with the no killing rule. The fact that your experiments have slowed down a lot over the years only helps.

You are great at keeping secrets, and you can never find it in yourself to expose Dicks identity no matter what.

You end up worming your way into Anti-hero status as Cadaver King, since it starts to become public knowledge that you have so many legal medical facilities all over town, and that all your lackeys know medical knowledge to help people.

Doesn’t stop you from hunting down corrupt doctors or those that use and manipulate the weak and desperate, but that’s just how it.

Imagine the Batfams reaction when Dick brings you to dinner at the manor for the first time. They know Dick is in a relationship, and has been for a while. Bruce almost chokes on his drink when Dick shows up with you on his arm though.

Most of the family will accept you though, especially with your anti-hero status. You probably end up getting along most with Jason though, since you guys already got along as Red Hood and Cadaver king.

Expect to become the entire batfams doctor though, taking some weight off of Alfreds shoulders. Even Alfred can get overwhelmed with how many of them there are. Ends up letting you get along well with Alfred though, so that’s a plus.

[urdreamydoodles]

Can you write bat villains x someone who use to be a psychologist? And gn please

Bat-Villains x Reader

You used to be a psychologist

Characters: Joker, Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy, Bane, Scarecrow, Two-Face, The Riddler & The Penguin

I hope I did what you hoped. Love you guys, bye ♡

The Joker

- You’ve always known that your choice to leave psychology behind wasn’t entirely your own. It became evident the moment you met him, the infamous Joker, during your stint at Arkham. You were initially his psychologist, drawn into his world by the challenge of untangling his chaotic psyche. But instead of understanding him, you found yourself caught in his web. Your analytical mind fascinated him—your attempts to “fix” him became his favorite game, one that always ended with him flipping the script and dissecting you instead.

- Your former training as a psychologist now feels like a double-edged sword in your relationship. On one hand, it’s the reason he respects you. You’re the one person who can spar with him intellectually, who can try (and sometimes fail) to keep up with the labyrinthine way his mind works. On the other hand, he sees your past profession as an ongoing joke. He’ll mockingly call you “Doc” or ask if you’d like to analyze him, knowing full well that any attempt would end in him exposing your own vulnerabilities instead.

- The Joker revels in pushing your boundaries. He’ll leave Rorschach test cards lying around the hideout, asking for your “professional opinion” with a maniacal grin. He’ll turn every fight or disagreement into a warped therapy session, making you question your own motives and sanity. Yet, there’s a twisted tenderness in the way he values your insight. When he’s planning his next big scheme, he’ll ask for your input—not because he needs it, but because he enjoys the way your mind works.

- You often catch yourself analyzing him even now, despite knowing it’s a futile exercise. But every once in a while, you’ll hit a nerve. When you call out the cracks in his façade, when you pinpoint the rare moments where his chaos feels less calculated and more personal, he’ll grow uncharacteristically quiet. Those are the moments when you see the man beneath the madness, even if only for a fleeting second.

- He loves reminding you that you’ve crossed a line no ethical psychologist ever should. “Falling for your patient, Doc? That’s against the rules,” he’ll say with mock horror. But there’s a glimmer of pride in his eyes because you didn’t just fall for anyone—you fell for him, the one person no one else could ever hope to understand. And in his own twisted way, that makes you his perfect match.

Harleen Quinzel aka. Harley Quinn

- Meeting Harley was like meeting a mirror image of yourself—if the mirror had cracks and glitter smeared all over it. You’d both been psychologists, both lured into the world of Gotham’s rogues by the thrill of understanding the incomprehensible. She was fascinated by the fact that you shared her background, though she couldn’t resist teasing you about being the “goody-goody” version of her.

- Your shared history in psychology becomes a cornerstone of your relationship. You’ll spend hours debating therapeutic techniques, discussing old case studies, or laughing over the absurdity of Freudian theories. Harley loves hearing about your time as a psychologist, often joking that you’re her “normal” counterpart—but deep down, she’s proud that you chose her world over your old one.

- Despite her playful nature, Harley respects your insights in ways few others do. When her insecurities bubble to the surface—whether it’s about her past with the Joker or her struggle to define herself outside of it—she’ll come to you for advice. She values your ability to articulate what she’s feeling when she can’t find the words herself. And while she doesn’t always follow your advice, the fact that she listens at all is a testament to how much she trusts you.

- You sometimes find yourself slipping into “therapist mode” when Harley spirals, but she’s quick to call you out if she feels you’re treating her like a patient instead of a partner. “I’m not sittin’ on your couch, doc,” she’ll say with a pout, before pulling you into a playful wrestling match to lighten the mood. Still, she appreciates your ability to ground her when things get too overwhelming.

- Harley loves that you chose her, knowing full well the risks involved. “You coulda stayed all boring and normal, but you jumped into the deep end with me,” she’ll say with a proud grin. And while your past as a psychologist may have shaped you, she loves that you’ve embraced the chaos of her world without losing the core of who you are.

Pamela Isley aka. Poison Ivy

- Ivy found your past as a psychologist both intriguing and amusing. “A former mind doctor falling for a plant lady,” she’d tease with a sly smirk. “I suppose it’s only natural—plants are easier to understand than people.” But beneath her teasing lies a deep respect for your intelligence and your ability to see the world in ways others can’t.

- Your psychological background often comes into play in your relationship with Ivy. She values your insight when it comes to understanding human nature, a realm she’s often detached from. You help her navigate her complex feelings about humanity—her disdain for their destructive tendencies versus her occasional, begrudging hope that they might change.

- Ivy’s cool, analytical nature contrasts with your warmth, creating a balance that neither of you expected. She’ll often challenge you to apply your psychological theories to her world of plants and ecosystems, delighting in your attempts to bridge the gap between the two. You’ve become her sounding board for her plans, helping her refine her ideas and temper her more extreme impulses.

- There are moments when Ivy grows frustrated with your attempts to analyze her, particularly when you delve into her trauma or question her motives. “Not everything needs a diagnosis,” she’ll snap, her walls going up. But over time, she’s come to appreciate your perspective, even if she doesn’t always show it.

- Ivy loves that you see her as more than just a villain or a force of nature. You see the layers of Pamela Isley beneath Poison Ivy, and that makes her feel truly understood. Your shared bond is rooted in a mutual respect for each other’s intellect and a deep, unspoken trust that neither of you takes for granted.

Bane

- Your relationship with Bane began with mutual curiosity. He was fascinated by your background as a psychologist, viewing your profession as a form of intellectual strength. You, in turn, were drawn to his disciplined mind and the way he combined brute force with strategic brilliance. “You dissect minds; I conquer them,” he’d say with a rare, genuine smile.

- Bane respects your intellect in a way that few others do. He sees your psychological expertise as a weapon, one that complements his physical prowess. He’ll often ask for your insights when planning his strategies, valuing your ability to predict human behavior and anticipate his enemies’ moves.

- Your past as a psychologist also gives you a unique perspective on Bane’s struggles. You understand the toll his dependency on Venom takes on him, both physically and mentally. While he rarely lets his vulnerabilities show, he appreciates your ability to see past his armor and offer support without judgment.

- Bane occasionally challenges you to analyze him, though it’s always on his terms. “Tell me, doctor,” he’ll say with a smirk, “what drives a man to seek strength at all costs?” These moments often turn into deep, philosophical discussions that leave you both with a greater understanding of each other—and yourselves.

- Your relationship with Bane is built on mutual respect and an unshakable trust. He admires your strength, not just as a psychologist but as a person who chose to stand by his side despite the risks. And while he may be the one known for breaking Batman, you’re the one who’s managed to break through his emotional walls, earning a place in his heart that no one else ever could.

Jonathan Crane aka. Scarecrow

- Jonathan Crane was both intrigued and suspicious when he learned of your past as a psychologist. “Another mind eager to probe into fear,” he’d remark, his tone dripping with both mockery and fascination. You, however, weren’t interested in analyzing him, at least not in the traditional sense. Instead, you saw through his bravado to the wounded man behind the Scarecrow.

- Your shared background creates a dynamic of intellectual sparring. Jonathan delights in challenging your understanding of fear, throwing hypothetical scenarios at you to see if you can unravel them. He respects your insights, though he’s quick to remind you that fear, in his eyes, is an art—something that transcends mere psychology.

- Despite his attempts to maintain dominance in your relationship, there are times when Jonathan allows himself to be vulnerable. You’re the only one he trusts to see the cracks in his armor, to hear the stories of his childhood torment without judgment. Your empathetic yet clinical approach soothes him, though he’d never admit it aloud.

- Jonathan often tests your limits, pushing you into scenarios meant to evoke fear. At first, it frustrated you, but over time you came to understand it as his way of sharing his world with you. When you show resilience or even appreciation for his experiments, he’s secretly proud, though his compliments are always wrapped in veiled insults like, “I suppose you’re not as naive as I thought.”

- Your past as a psychologist doesn’t just make you his partner—it makes you his equal. Jonathan loves that you don’t cower before his intellect or his fascination with fear. Instead, you challenge him, forcing him to confront his own insecurities and vulnerabilities, something no one else has dared to do. And though he thrives on fear, you’ve become the one person who doesn’t fear him at all.

Harvey Dent aka. Two-Face

- Harvey Dent was initially wary of your background as a psychologist, fearing you’d see him as just another case study. But your approach was different—you didn’t try to fix him or push him toward integration. Instead, you accepted both sides of him, recognizing the war within and respecting it as part of who he was.

- Your ability to navigate Harvey’s duality sets you apart. You’ve learned to address both Harvey and Two-Face as separate entities, treating them with equal respect. This earns you a rare level of trust from both sides of his fractured psyche. Harvey appreciates your kindness and understanding, while Two-Face values your refusal to dismiss him as the “bad” half.

- Your past profession comes in handy during Harvey’s darker moments. When he spirals, you use your skills to help him regain balance, though it’s always a delicate dance. You never push too hard, knowing that forcing him to confront his trauma could drive him further into chaos. Instead, you offer guidance when he’s ready to hear it, a patience he’s deeply grateful for.

- Two-Face often tests your loyalty, flipping his coin to decide whether you’ve earned his trust. At first, it unnerved you, but over time you came to see it as his way of coping with uncertainty. You’ve even convinced him to let you flip the coin once or twice, a rare display of vulnerability that leaves Harvey quietly amazed.

- Harvey loves that you don’t pity him or try to change him. You see the man he was, the villain he’s become, and everything in between, and you accept it all. Your background as a psychologist gives you the tools to navigate his complexities, but it’s your unwavering loyalty that makes you indispensable to him.

Edward Nygma aka. The Riddler

- Edward Nygma couldn’t resist testing you when he learned of your background as a psychologist. “A mind-reader, are we?” he’d sneer, throwing riddles your way to see if you were as clever as he hoped. When you solved his puzzles with ease, his skepticism turned to fascination. You were a challenge, and he loved every second of it.

- Your relationship with Edward revolves around intellect. He thrives on your ability to keep up with him, often dragging you into his elaborate schemes just to see how you’ll react. Your psychological training gives you a unique edge in solving his riddles, something he alternately admires and resents.

- Edward often uses your past profession as fodder for his own ego. He’ll mockingly ask if you’re trying to analyze him, only to turn the tables and psychoanalyze you instead. Yet, there are moments when he lets his guard down, asking for your insight on his compulsions and insecurities. He values your honesty, even if it stings.

- Your shared love of puzzles and problem-solving creates a bond unlike any other. Edward delights in creating challenges specifically for you, riddles designed to test your wit and emotional intelligence. When you solve them, he’s genuinely impressed, though he’ll grumble about needing to “up his game.”

- Edward loves that you don’t see him as just a criminal or a narcissist. Your past as a psychologist allows you to see the layers beneath his arrogance—the insecurities, the need for validation, the brilliance he feels the world constantly underestimates. And in return, he gives you his loyalty, a rare gift from a man who trusts so few.

Oswald Cobblepot aka. The Penguin

- Oswald Cobblepot was immediately intrigued by your background as a psychologist. To him, it was a sign of power—not physical strength, but the ability to control and manipulate others with your mind. He saw your potential as an asset, but what he didn’t expect was how deeply he’d come to care for you.

- Your relationship with Oswald is built on mutual respect. He admires your intellect and your ability to read people, often seeking your advice on how to handle rivals or navigate the treacherous waters of Gotham’s criminal underworld. You, in turn, appreciate his cunning and his ability to turn every disadvantage into an opportunity.

- Oswald occasionally uses your past as a psychologist to his advantage, asking you to “profile” his enemies or predict their moves. While you’re happy to help, you’ve set boundaries, refusing to let your skills be used for outright manipulation. Surprisingly, he respects this, though he’ll grumble about it being “bad for business.”

- Despite his tough exterior, Oswald has moments of vulnerability that only you get to see. He trusts you to understand the pain and rejection that shaped him, the insecurities he hides behind his bravado. Your psychological insight helps you navigate these moments, offering comfort without making him feel weak.

- Oswald loves that you see him as more than just the Penguin. Your past as a psychologist allows you to understand his complexities in ways no one else does, but it’s your unwavering loyalty that truly wins his heart. With you by his side, he feels invincible—both as a crime lord and as the man he is underneath.

[arahdow]

SHY AROUND YOU

Pairing. Knuckles x reader

Content. fem!reader. lil angst, hurt-comfort, knuckles having trouble with his emotions. kissing but nothing too sensual or anything.

Word count. 1.3 k

A/N. Not beta read, we die like men. Also, again, sorry if it's too occ! I had the time of my life writing this sjdjs (it's 4:51 am atm send help)

At the distance, you could see the echidna and the bat talking to each other. Rogue was smiling and occasionally pushing his shoulder, a playful glint on her lips, as he seemed to not mind her closeness. You frowned at their interaction.

It wasn’t the first time it happened, it actually became a usual thing. Rogue speaking with Knuckles about her life, him telling her stories about his past, like old time friends. He always said she was his best friend, even before you two met. It was sweet at first, knowing he had such a reliable someone to hold on to. But not right now. Right now you were fuming.

You and Knuckles have been a couple since a couple of months, both of you getting used to each other’s mannerisms and habits, it was something you really treasured as you spent a good year or maybe more, trying to open your way into his heart. In the end, he let you build a little nest in his mind, as he kept thinking more and more of you every day, and not the typical worry, no, it was something beyond that. Something that wanted you close to him at all times. To protect you when he was around, and if he wasn't you were in his thoughts until he sees you again.

So, with a lot of effort and patience, he explained his feelings and you ended up catching on what he was talking about. Needless to say, you spent the whole evening together, speaking about deeper topics and stuff. It was such a sweet memory.

But it’s been days, even a few weeks since the last time he has kissed you. At first it was fine, you were busy with tasks around the island, and Knuckles was busy guarding the emerald, you barely saw each other and you were okay with that. You knew it was a temporary thing and there was nothing to worry about.

Even then, the thing that made your heart grieve in the worst way was how shy and reserved he became since you don’t spend much time together anymore.

It’s like you returned to base one again.

You were sad, of course, worried. And even then you showed empathy, knowing he needed space and maybe time to grow closer to you again. But seeing him right now being his extroverted self with Rogue ticked you in a bad way. He seemed genuinely happy. He laughed at her comments and didn’t seem to mind her hand touching him. It made your blood boil.

Standing from the beach chair you were sitting on, you started walking towards your shared home. The whole crew went to the beach to rest for a bit after the week’s activities, and you thought it was a good idea to try and make an advance on your boyfriend. But right now, you were just pissed off and wanted to sleep the anger away.

As you entered your home, the first thing you saw was two rocks on the top counter. It was the two rocks you both chose as a token from the day you both became lovers. One was a reddish stone with white undertones and the other was a shimmering one. It made your eyes sting just remembering how nice those times were. It was hard noticing how sad times got.

Getting close to the rocks, you took the reddish one, that symbolized Knuckles, and felt your eyes water. Your emotions were caught red handed when you felt a presence behind you. Wiping the few tears away, you left the rock on it’s place and started to go to your room, when a big hand stopped you, holding you from your forearm.

You whined a bit, not because of pain, but because you missed his touch more than ever and this is the first time he has touched you in days. It was pathetic.

“What’s wrong?” You heard his low voice, and something inside you stirred. Oh you were so in love with the oblivious echidna and there was nothing you could do about it.

“Nothing…” The voice came out in a thread. You winced listening how broken you sounded.

“You left, why?”

And you wanted to punch him so bad right then and there, but you knew better. He was so muscular, your hand would hurt first than his body if you were to punch him. Shaking your head, you looked at him in the eye. “What’s the matter with you?”

He looked at you confused. “Me?”

You choked on a humorless laugh. “Yeah, you seemed pretty occupied with Rogue, I didn’t want to intrude…”

“What’s this about?”

A groan left your throat. Time to let it all out. “Knuckles you’re not the same. You haven’t been the same. You’re not the guy I wanted to be with a few days ago.” You started to breathe fast. “You’ve changed. You feel like you don’t love me anymore. You don’t say it, you don’t show it, and I can’t handle that kind of treatment..."

Taking a deep breath, you continued, speaking fast and breathy. "What do you think it feels when other girl can have all of your loving self and not me?" The air was soon leaving your lungs making you feel like burning. Choking on a sob you didn’t know was there, you continued. “I’m sorry, but there’s space for one girl inside of your heart and if it’s not me then, what are we doing?”

The echidna stood there, motionless, and you didn’t know if it was a good signal. You thought he wanted space.

Trying to leave, you yanked your arm. But it was no use, he had such a strong grip on you. Looking at the floor, he seemed deep in thought. He pressed his lips, motionless. His breathing was easy and calculated. Almost too calm.

“I don’t…” He started, then shaking his head. “I’d never…” His eyes met yours. “I… Don’t… Why…” His body seemed composed, but in his eyes, you saw fear. And the tremor in his voice confirmed that he was scared. Of losing you, perhaps. “I don’t know what to do…” He said rapidly.

You sighed, walking slowly to the couch on the living room making him follow with short steps. When both of you were close, you sat down and made him mirror your actions.

“Knux…”

“I don’t know how to make it better, help me, how can I…” He looked at the floor with furrowed eyebrows.

“First of all, don’t be so hard on yourself.” You said, breathing in slowly, trying to make him follow your inhaling and exhaling. “Second, tell me how are you feeling, what are you feeling?”

Silence reigned between the two of you. The only thing to be heard was both of your breathing.

“I feel bad. I feel angry, and sad, and like the worst boyfriend…” He said with an annoyed grunt.

“Now, what would be good thing to say?” You ask. It was like a mechanical thing, but it always helped him with his unknown emotions. And he loved you for understanding him and helping him even in these moments.

Knuckles turned a bit and took both your hands, he kissed them and sighed. “I’m sorry, darling.” He looked down. “Rogue is just a friend, I always see her as my big sister, helping me with things regarding of our relationship… But I didn’t think how that might’ve looked from your perspective.” He pouted a bit making you smile lightly, suddenly your mind imagining a lost Knuckles asking Rogue for dating advice.

“You ask her about us?”

“Of course!” he exclaimed. “I wanted to know how to make a special dinner for us, you know, it's gonna be our anniversary soon… It was a surprise but it wouldn’t be fun if you break up with me before I can even start to plan it.” He said sheepishly.

A smile broke into your lips. “You’re so silly, but also cute.” you said, holding a hand out to caress the fur on his cheeks. “We can plan it together!”

“But what about the surprise? Rogue said it was indispensable to have a surprise on a special dinner.” The echidna complained.

You thought. “Well, we can give each other a special gift, what about that?”

Knuckles thought for a bit before he nodded. “Agreed!”

Both of you smiled at each other. One of his hands traveled to your cheek, caressing the skin under his covered palm. Looking at him lovingly, you kissed the inside of his palm, trying to convey your feelings with your lips.

He seemed deep in thought, when suddenly his hand cupped your cheek firmly and started pulling you towards him. His face coming close to yours, watching intently at your sparkling eyes. With a swift movement, you got closer and cut the space in between the two of you, kissing his lips.

The echidna gasped lightly in between the kiss but soon reciprocated sweetly.

The kiss was brief. You pulled away and he looked at you enamoured. "I feel my stomach fuzzy."

Giggling at his words, you nuzzled on his chest fur and smiled. "I missed kissing you too, Knux."