#so i really really liked that he wasn't beaten

[railingsofsorrow]

I was thinking about jj being at home while reader is out partying. and then she calls him, really really drunk so he's concerned and goes pick her up.

love your writing! ❤️

midnight swim

[jj maybank x reader]

summary: the one where you drink too much and decide to have a midnight swim but your boyfriend stops you.

pairing: jj maybank x reader

w.c: 1.1K

warnings/content: alcohol consumption; language; stupid drunk decisions; argument with parents (mentioned); suggestive content (you blink you miss it).

[requested]

A/N: HELLOO this was fun to write hope you like it :)

navi

masterpost

outer banks masterlist

request me something

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“Wanna go home.” You mumbled into the phone, walking outside of the loud house to have a moment of peace. Maybe your social battery is over. You didn't know what exactly cut your mood off from the party but you wanted to put on your pajamas and lay in your boyfriends' chest for the whole (rest) of the night.

“Mhm.”

“Dude, did you just kill me?!”

Pope's laughs echoed through the line, followed by JJ's trying to stifle a chuckle but he was very unsuccessful, earning a punch on his arm provided by his best friend.

“Baby? Sorry. The guys were being loud and— You still there?”

You hummed, eyes slightly unfocused staring at the enormous pool of whoever Kook's house you were. You were barely remembering your own name to be honest. You don't like drinking without your friends but you made the terrible choice to drown in booze to forget about the fight with your parents and here you are. Wallowing in self pity. And alcohol. A lot of it, it seemed.

“Baby?”

Rubbing your eyes with a sigh, you replied with a soft hi and there's some shuffling in the background.

“How's the party? Eat any fancy finger food yet? Or is it just champagne?”

“Fuck off.” You couldn't help your chuckle. Your feet somehow carry you out of the porch and into the pool area. Everything felt hot.

You can hear your boyfriends' deep chuckle before he teased you some more, attempting to rile you up. JJ was aware that when you called him at a party was either because you wanted to leave or you just got tired of being socially active and the excuse of being on the phone was good to keep people away temporarily. He wanted to know which was the option now.

“So?”

“'s boring. I wanna— Ouch.” Your laugh was loud but you didn't had a filter with the alcohol in your system so you didn't think much of it or that it wasn't so funny to stumble and fall flat on your ass.

“What?” JJ seemed to notice your lack of sobriety through your continuous giggles. “Where are you right now?” He prompted, eyeing the van's keys on the bowl beside him but not moving to grasp it quite yet. You were a big girl, you could handle yourself; you told him that once when you called him drunk and he showed up to take you home because he was worried. You were pissed. He'd never do it again unless he felt the need to. He didn't want to be possessive in any way.

“Wish I was with you.” He couldn't see your pout but he knew it was there. “Listen... We should go for a midnight swim—is it midnight yet?” You laughed, crawling towards the edge of the pool. The water looked so clean and it was so hot, you just wanted a quick swim.

“It's 1am, baby.”

“Perfect.”

The blond's lips quirked up slightly. “You sure you good? Not doing anything stupid, right?”

“You said it yourself stupid things have good outcomes all the time.” You retorted, taking off your sandals. “Ah, shit. I didn't brought a bikini.”

“Why would you need a bikini?” JJ yawned, resting back comfortably against John B's beaten-up couch. “Was it a pool party? I can't remember you telling me—”

“Not a pool party but they have a pool.” You clarify, blinking down at your outfit. “Baby, I gotta get off my dress, I don't wanna make it wet.”

The way he sat up so quickly that Pope, who was thrown on the loveseat gave him a look of confusion.

“Why do you wanna— Where are you?”

You sighed impatiently. “Told you we should have a midnight swim! I'm by the pool—”

“Okay, yeah, no.” JJ grabbed the car keys and practically sprint out the door. So much for not doing anything stupid. “Baby, can you do me a favour?”

Your face scrunched up and you shook your head. “No. 'm gonna wait for you in the pool—”

“No, you're not. You're gonna get your pretty little feet away from whatever pool you're nearby and you're gonna wait for me, got it?”

“But the midnight swim...” you slurred out, throwing your head back with a groan. “C'mon, stars ar' out and—”

“We'll have a swim when I get there but only if you wait for me, 'kay?” JJ tried a different tactic, a bit desperate for you to get the hell away from the pool while being drunk. “Where are you at again?” He knew some of your friends but he didn't know exactly whose house you were at.

“Stacy's.” You replied, dumping your feet in the pool and dangling them from one side to the other. You were sitting at the edge, the party inside echoing all of the excitement from strangers and the few (three?) people you barely knew.

The Twinkie was on before JJ even shut the door.

“Baby?”

He said carefully, praying you hadn't jumped in the pool in the meanwhile. You let out a low hum in response.

“Your dress' still on, right, princess.”

“Why? You wanna take it off?” She chuckled, leaning back to rest against her elbows. “Still on. 'm waiting f'you like you asked.”

“Good girl.” He turned on the street and now it was only ten minutes away by car. He'd make it in five. “Hey. Are you dizzy or feeling lightheaded? Are you sitting down?”

“Okay, doctor Maybank. You're doing a full checkup or something—Hey!” You exclaimed in indignation when a splash went off and you got soaked. Someone had jumped on the pool. A group of girls that were shrieking like little kids. You stumbled away from the pool, your eyes a little more focused now as you walked towards the backdoor, pushing between people to reach the exit and leave that fucking party. God why did you even came?

“Babe, you good? I'm here.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, watching the beat up van park in front of Stacy's house. “I see you.”

JJ stepped out of the vehicle to greet you. You met him halfway, a pout on yours lips when he asked why on earth were you wet. “Did you get into the pool—”

“No! Some stupid girls jumped in it and I was sitting close!” You whined and JJ's concern turned into amusement really quickly. “Stupid, fucking—”

“Alright, alright.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders to bring you closer, running a hand across your back and pressing his lips against your forehead. Your sigh was muffled when you buried your face in his shirt. “Let's get you in some nice comfy and dry clothes, yeah? You good with that?”

“You promised a swim.”

He kissed your pout away until it became a smile you were trying to break into a frown but was unable to.

“Sobriety first then we'll swim and surf and do whatever you want, baby.”

Just definitely not tonight.

[sangwookisser]

⭒TENSIONS ARE RISING - RAFE CAMERON⭒

cw. football! rafe, college rafe, enemies to lovers, breakups, love triangle (maybe not sure), female reader in mind, violence and blood, objectification of reader by rafe, no use of y/n, allusions to cheating, suggestive, ANGST

a/n: im so sorry babies the word count hit 8k so i gotta write a part two with all smut. stay tuned! MDNI

Homecoming weekend always brought out the worst in everyone.

The air was thick with school spirit and tension, the rivalry between your college and Rafe Cameron’s school burning hotter than ever. You knew the game would be brutal—your school hadn’t beaten his in years, and this season, your team had the best shot in a long time. But apparently, Rafe wasn’t content to let any stats do the talking.

His school was known for being best in the state at football, and although yours wasn't far behind, it seemed as though his was always several steps ahead with strategies, moves, and plays.

You spot him before your boyfriend does, standing near the tunnel below the bleachers with a few fans and frat bros making bets before the game, his team’s colors contrasting against his sharp jawline and too-perfect hair. He’s talking to some of his teammates, but the second he sees you, his smirk widens like he’s been expecting you. Like he’s been waiting for this moment.

His gaze landed on you first, darkening slightly as he gave you a slow, deliberate once-over. From your little sneakers to your sweater, to the way your arms were wrapped around yourself, trying to ward off the October chill. But his stare wasn’t cold. No, it was heated, hungry, and entirely too satisfied.

Your stomach twisted. You hated that look. That arrogant, leering gaze that made it clear he liked what he saw—and that he didn’t give a damn who you belonged to, even with your boyfriend's initials on a gold locket around your neck, sitting on the plush skin of your cleavage.

He made it obvious that his eyes drifted to your tits, and he chuckled. Whether it was at your necklace or your boobs, you weren't sure.

You wrenched your eyes away, but it was too late. He’d already seen your reaction.

“Hey, look who it is,” Rafe drawls as your boyfriend finally catches sight of him. His voice is loud enough to carry over the pre-game noise, designed to get under your boyfriend’s skin. “Didn’t realize you were still wasting your time here, man. Thought you’d be smart enough to transfer after last year’s beating.” A few of Rafe's friends look over and laugh softly, sporting school colors and jerseys.

Your boyfriend stiffens beside you, already pissed before Rafe even says the next part. You hug your boyfriend closer to you, feeling his chest rise and fall hard.

“And you—” Rafe’s gaze flickers to you, shameless and slow, causing you to stiffen. You absentmindedly push your hair in front of your shoulders so it blocks some of his view of your breasts, and he laughs, unperturbed.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips as his eyes rake you over, going down from the way your tits push against your tight sweater, down to your black leggings, which hug your thighs and hips, and then back up to your face, taking his time in a way that makes your skin heat for all the wrong reasons.

“Damn. I gotta say, you really are the only good thing about this sorry excuse for a school.”

Your face heats up at the comment, and you frown softly. He does this every time he sees you. Flirts with you, more so in front of your boyfriend, and tries to get a rise out of him by making it seem like he can take his girl from him any time he wants.

Your boyfriend surges forward, already balling his fists, and you barely have time to react before his teammates grab his arms.

“Watch your mouth, Cameron.” His voice is low, furious, barely restrained. You wrap your hands around your boyfriend's arm, rubbing gentle circles on his bicep to calm him down. He could be benched for foul play if he threw the punch, and you knew how much the homecoming game meant to him, he couldn't mess this up for someone as stupid as Rafe Cameron.

The two different teams crowded around, with Rafe's behind him and two of your boyfriend's holding him back.

Rafe just grins smugly, soft, charming dimples gracing his cheeks as he bites his lip momentarily, letting out a low whistle. He cocks his head slightly to try and get a glimpse of your ass, and you cling tighter to your boyfriend, your heart racing.

“What? Just saying what we’re all thinking.” He takes a slow step closer, eyes gleaming and deliberately provocative. Then his gaze flicks back to you, lingering this time—too long, too obvious. His smirk turns downright filthy.

“I mean, I get it,” Rafe muses, voice dropping just enough that only you and your boyfriend can hear him over the noise of the crowd. “You probably have him all wound up, looking like that. But, Jesus…”

His tongue swipes over his bottom lip, and his eyes shamelessly drag down your body yet again. “I can’t stop thinking about how much better you’d look in my jersey. On my bed. Making my name sound so much better than his.”

Your boyfriend lunges before you can stop him.

It happens so fast. One second, he’s tensed beside you, vibrating with fury, and the next, he’s ripping himself free from his teammates’ grip and charging at Rafe. The shove is hard enough that Rafe actually stumbles back a step, but he barely looks fazed. In fact, he laughs.

“You motherfucker—” Your boyfriend is seething, fists clenched so tight his knuckles are white. “You don’t talk about her like that, you hear me? I'll fucking kill you”

Rafe straightens his jersey, still grinning. “Oh, come on, man. It's nothing personal, yeah?. I just can't stop thinking about the way she’d sound under someone who can actually handle her.”

Your boyfriend goes for him again, ready to throw a punch this time, but Rafe doesn’t back down. No, the smug bastard meets him head-on, chest bumping against his, barely restrained tension crackling between them.

He pushes your boyfriend back a bit, grinning. He's on a power trip, feeling proud at the way he can easily plant seeds of doubt in your boyfriend's mind. “What, you scared?” Rafe taunts, voice low,. He looks crazed, his eyes lit up with the delight of adrenaline that comes with a potential fight.

“Scared she might like it?”

You shove yourself between them before your boyfriend can swing. “Enough, Rafe!” you snap, voice sharp. “You’re disgusting.”

Rafe tilts his head at you, amused by your intervention. “That so, beautiful? That why you’re blushing?”

You hate him.

Hate that he always gets under your skin, hate that he’s so damn smug about it, hate the way he looks at you like he already knows how this ends.

And worst of all? He laughs.

Like this is fun for him. Like he loves the way he gets under both your skin and your boyfriend’s.

“Save it for the game!” a sharp voice cuts through the tension.

The ref.

He glares between the two boys, face tight with frustration. “I see either of you lay a finger on each other before kickoff, you’re both benched. Understood?”

Your boyfriend steps back, breath ragged, chest rising and falling like he’s barely holding himself together. His teammates grab his arms again, dragging him away. You reach for him, running your hands over his back, whispering something low to calm him down.

And then you feel it.

The weight of a gaze still on you.

You turn, just in time to see Rafe watching you walk away.

You’re still fuming as you drag your boyfriend away, your fingers gripping his wrist like it’s the only thing keeping him from turning around and knocking Rafe’s smug face into the dirt. "You're good, baby. It's fine, he's just talking shit before a game. Wants to get you in trouble." He nods, barely looking your way, and your heart sinks in your chest.

You’re tired with this. Tired of Rafe, tired with his bullshit, tired of the way he always has to push and push and push until someone snaps.

And then, just as you think it’s over, you hear him again.

A low whistle, slow and drawn out, just loud enough for you to catch.

“Damn,” Rafe drawls, voice lazy. “I swear, that ass just gets better every time I see it.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

Your boyfriend stops dead in his tracks.

It takes everything in you to yank him forward again, forcing him to keep walking, even as you hear Rafe chuckling behind you like this is all some game.

The audience is alive with energy before the game, the roar of the student section echoing in your ears as you slide your boyfriend’s jersey over your sweater, tugging it into place. It’s warm, slightly oversized, and smells faintly like his cologne—the same one you stole hoodies from just to keep close when he was away for away games.

You ground yourself in the familiar scent, trying to rid yourself of the memories of Rafe's. Mahogany... Nutmeg... your mind starts to wander, and you shake your head quickly, refusing to let your mind get carried away.

You try to focus on the field, unwillingly making eye contact with Rafe.

He's standing near the 50-yard line, smirking like he’s been waiting for you to turn around. He’s wearing his helmet but hasn’t strapped it up yet, letting his hair resting against his forehead. He grins roguishly. Your stomach twists. Rafe barely acknowledges him at first, like he expected this. Like he’s amused.

“Well, well,” he drawls, flexing his fingers in his gloves as your boyfriend stops right in front of him, blocking you from his view. “Look who finally showed up.”

Your boyfriend doesn’t take the bait. Not yet. But his jaw is tight, his fists already clenched. “Stay the hell away from her, Cameron.”

Rafe chuckles. “I thought you were smart enough to know that’s not how this works.” He glances past him, back at you, sitting there in the bleachers. He grins like he’s thinking of something. Like he’s remembering something.

Your boyfriend sees it, too.

“What?” he snaps. “What the hell are you smiling at?”

Rafe tilts his head. “You sure you wanna know?”

Your boyfriend takes a step closer, but Rafe’s still so damn relaxed. He claps a hand on his shoulder—just for a second, just enough to push.

“You should be thanking me,” Rafe he murmurs into your boyfriend's ear. “For keeping your girl entertained while you were busy choking last season.”

That’s it.

Your boyfriend lunges, only stopping when his teammate grabs him from behind, dragging him back.

“I swear to God,” your boyfriend growls, chest heaving. “You say one more thing—”

Rafe grins. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll save it for the game.”

They march off, assuming positions on the opposing side of the field, and with the blow of the ref's whistle, the game takes off.

As you watch the game, you find yourself filled with anxiety. Sportsmanship is out the window, and people have started to become hyperaware of the animosity between the two boys. You heard some girls a few rows back wondering who the girl is that has Rafe Cameron so whipped for her.

You wanted to shout that he wasn't, that it was a pride thing, a rivalry between the two boys that you got caught in unwillingly.

The match has devolved into a raw and brutal battle. Every hit and tackle is sharp, almost desperate. Strategy is out the fucking window, and it's all brute force and personal animosity between the rival schools. You can tell by how many times the ref blows the whistle and screams at the men about class and integrity.

However, the rivalry between your boyfriend and Rafe has turned into the whole focus of the game. Every time they collide, it's personal.

Your boyfriend, a linebacker, is built for this. Working tirelessly to achieve his physique, he's all strength and power with an instinct to shut down Rafe at every opportunity.

But Rafe is a beast. Inhuman, if you will. He's faster. More calculated, and worse, he's playing with intent.

He's not just trying to win, he's making sure your boyfriend loses.

Each time your boyfriend goes in for a tackle, Rafe slips by, taunting him as he runs down the field, dodging him seamlessly. The frustration on your team's end builds with every quarter as the other team picks up points.

The hits get harder.

The penalties increase.

By the fourth quarter, Rafe's team is up by a touchdown. With a few minutes left on the buzzer, your boyfriend can still stop him.

The crowd is raucous, screaming, on edge. You're holding a school flag in your hands so tight that your hands start to hurt, and your eyes focus on your boyfriend, praying he makes the right play to at least get a tie. Anything to put a stop to Rafe's ego.

Rafe gets the ball.

Your boyfriend charges like a bull seeing red, going full speed to stop Rafe this time. He slams into him, the force of the tackle sending them both skidding across the turf. It's a clean, beautiful hit, and the crowd gasps, standing up to watch the two closely. It's the kind of hit that should leave Rafe pained, winded. But it doesn't.

Flat on his back, eyes dark and burning, he spits onto the grass and grins up at your boyfriend with a sickening sort of delight.

And then he leans closer.

“You know,” he breathes, voice husky from exertion, “when I win this, I think I’ll take my time with your girl.” Your boyfriend freezes, going pale.

Rafe sees the hesitation, the moment of shock on your boyfriend's face, and continues with a second blow. "Maybe I'll take her back with me to the showers and bend her over one of those nice locker room benches."

That’s it. Everything snaps. Your boyfriend is feral. No hesitation, no thought—just raw, furious instinct. He lunges, fists flying, tackling Rafe back onto the ground.

The refs are blowing their whistles frantically, but no one’s stopping this. No one can.

The first punch lands hard. A solid hit straight to Rafe’s jaw that sends his head snapping to the side.

For a second, you think maybe—maybe—your boyfriend has this.

But then Rafe moves.

It’s fast, almost too fast. He twists, using the momentum, shifting, and suddenly, he’s the one on top.

And then, it’s like watching something calculated, something cold.

Because Rafe knows how to fight.

This isn’t some wild, desperate brawl. It’s controlled. Every time your boyfriend swings, Rafe dodges just enough to take the edge off, redirecting the energy, making sure his punches land clean.

Your boyfriend is strong, but Rafe fights dirty.

He predicts every move, twisting your boyfriend’s arm just enough to knock him off balance, slamming him down harder each time. He tears off the other boy's helmet, His hand wrapping around your boyfriend's throat to hit his head repeatedly against the grass.

It’s like he’s toying with him.

Your boyfriend fights like a football player—full force, all muscle. But Rafe fights like someone who’s been in real fights before. Someone who’s done this enough times to know how to wear someone down.

And it’s working.

A brutal hit to your boyfriend’s ribs.

A sharp, precise punch to the gut.

Your boyfriend groans, struggling, but Rafe doesn’t let up. He’s relishing this.

He finally gets your boyfriend flat on his back, pinning him down with one knee pressed into his chest.

"You hear that, you fucking cuck?" He says, even as your boyfriend punches at Rafe's head desperately.

With every punch, he emphasizes the words, voice wild, breathless, dripping with cruel satisfaction.

“I’m—” crack

“gonna—” crack

“fuck—” crack

“your—” crack

“girl.”

Your boyfriend’s head snaps back, his lip split, his breath ragged.

You scream.

Your heart is pounding, panic rushing through you like fire. You can’t watch this. You can’t let this happen.

Before you even think, you’re running.

Pushing through the chaos, shoving past people, barely hearing the gasps as you throw yourself onto the field.

You grab Rafe, your hands clenching the back of his jersey, desperately trying to pull him off.

But he doesn’t move.

He’s too strong.

His muscles are tense beneath your grip, his breathing heavy, wild—his entire body thrumming with adrenaline. He’s smiling, his nose bleeding, his cheek already bruising.

And then he turns his head.

Looks at you.

The second his eyes meet yours, something shifts.

He leans closer to your boyfriend, his knee pressing harder into his chest, keeping him pinned.

“Say it,” Rafe murmurs, voice low, like a slow purr.

You blink, confused, hands still gripping his jersey. “What?”

Rafe’s smirk widens, his voice dropping into something sickeningly sweet.

“Tell him,” he murmurs, tilting his head, mocking. “Tell him you want me.”

Your breath catches.

Your boyfriend, barely conscious, groans, trying to lift his head. His eyes, swollen and bruised, find yours.

And that’s when Rafe really digs the knife in.

He twists your boyfriend's collar so he's choking, and you scream and try to lunge for him, but Rafe holds you back with one hand, holding onto the back of your jersey.

By now, there are people crowded around, coaches and the ref fighting to get to the middle of the scene, but Rafe's got his vision set in you, his eyes a striking blue that makes that disgusting, loathsome feeling in your tummy swirl.

You feel like you could throw up, because deep, deep down, so deep that you'd NEVER act on it, you feel that he might be right.

"Go on, princess." He coos at you, his voice no longer a hard snarl, but a soft coo, addressed solely for you. “Say it like you mean it.”

You shake your head, tears starting to cloud your vision as you grip onto Rafe's jersey, feeling desperate. “Rafe... I c-can't, I can’t,”

Rafe tsks, leaning in. “You can,” he whispers, voice sickly smooth. “Or I keep going.”

You look down. Your boyfriend is barely holding on, his breath shallow, his hands twitching at his sides. If Rafe keeps hitting him...

You swallow, your throat tightening so painfully you can barely breathe. And then, your voice cracks.

“I.... I want Rafe.”

Rafe hums, pleased. “Louder, beautiful. And look at him when you say it.”

Your lip trembles, your gaze glued to your boyfriend. Bile continues to rise in your throat.

“I want Rafe.”

His fingers tighten on your boyfriend’s collar.

“Louder.”

You scream.

“I WANT RAFE!”

The crowd is silent.

Rafe exhales slowly, satisfied, his smile wicked.

And your boyfriend—your sweet, strong, beaten boyfriend—just looks at you.

Like something inside him has shattered.

The game resulted in a draw due to extreme foul play on both sides. Not just during the fight between your boyfriend and Rafe, but all throughout the match. The coaches had to make a statement and apologize to the students for a lack of sportsmanship. It did nothing to squash the rivalry, however, and Rafe's team is still ranked higher than your boyfriend's.

Ex boyfriend's. You corrected yourself as you sat alone in your room, your hands cradling your sacred necklace as you sigh softly.

You weren't surprised, in all honesty. Your boyfriend had been humiliated in front of hundreds of people, and he felt like you weren't there for him when he needed you most, even as you explained in verbatim that you only said it because you didn't want Rafe to beat him to death, which then caused him to question if you believed in him. If he was too weak. If you thought he wasn’t man enough to protect you, to stand his ground against Rafe Cameron.

And the worst part? He didn’t even say it in anger. He said it with this hollow, tired acceptance, like the fight had been drained out of him in more ways than one. Like he’d already lost. On the field, in front of everyone, in front of you.

You’d cried. Begged him to understand. But the damage had been done, and his pride was too wounded to heal anytime soon.

So now, here you were. Alone.

You ran your fingers over the locket again, throat tight, stomach twisted. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Rafe got to walk away from this with everything, his ranking, his team’s reputation still intact, and worst of all, the last word.

He always got away with everything.

You frown, trying to focus on your schoolwork, despite the ache in your chest that wouldn't go away.

No matter how many times you tried to refocus on your laptop screen, no matter how much you tried to drown out your thoughts by going over your assignments, your mind kept drifting back to him.

Rafe Cameron.

You hated him. You hated him. The smugness, the arrogance, the way he got under your skin like it was his birthright. You hated how he’d humiliated your ex-boyfriend in front of hundreds of people, how he’d practically made you say those words, how he was still haunting you even now.

You shook your head, pressing the heels of your palms into your tired eyes. You had work to do. You needed to study. You needed to stop thinking about Rafe.

But then, as if summoned by your very thoughts, your phone lit up.

A new message. You already knew who it was without looking at the username of the account.

You hesitated, fingers trembling slightly as you tapped into the notification.

Miss me, sweetheart? Hope you’re not too heartbroken. That’d be a shame. Don’t worry though. Your boy still has a shot at redemption.

Your pulse spiked.

You sat up straighter, your brain scrambling to process the words. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Your fingers moved before you could stop them.

Rafe, what the fuck do you want?

He left you on read for a moment, and you could see the smirk he was probably wearing.

Relax, beautiful. Just wanted to check in. Oh, and let you know I’m seeing your Iittle boyfriend real soon Might just have to finish what I started.

Your stomach dropped. Don't touch him. You respond quicker than you'd have liked to.

Why don't you come stop me then? You know how good I listen to you, princess.

Your heart races at the implication, the hint of a threat he weaved so subtly into his text messages. That’s not funny, Rafe.

He responded soon after, and you got up to try and calm your heart. Your whole body was on fire.

Who said I was joking? But we can make a deal, sweetheart. You come see me. Tonight. And maybe I’ll be nice.

You weren’t actually going to do it.

You weren’t.

But then you found yourself gripping the steering wheel so tight your knuckles went white, staring at the highway exit that led straight to his university. This was insane. Every rational part of your brain was screaming at you to turn around, to just go home, block his number, pretend none of this ever happened.

And yet.

Your fingers tightened, your heart pounded, and before you could stop yourself, you flicked your turn signal on.

You told yourself it was because of your ex. That you were handling things. That if you confronted Rafe now, if you made him promise to leave your ex alone, then you could walk away from this once and for all.

It was a lie. And deep down, you knew it.

Rafe’s apartment was as absurd as you expected.

The complex was sleek and modern, towering over the rest of the neighborhood like a statement piece. The lobby alone was more elegant than any place you’d ever lived. The kind of place meant for hedge fund heirs and kids who never had to work for anything in their lives.

The doorman let you up without question, which only made you more annoyed. He was expecting you. By the time you reached his floor, your blood was boiling. You lifted your fist and pounded on the door, heart racing, breath shallow. There wasn't even a moment spared, as he opened the door quickly, leaving your fist raised in the air.

He grins the second he sees you, raising both arms above the doorframe to hold onto the top and lean over you. He smelled expensive and dark, all spice and warmth, mixed with the faint scent of whatever soap he used. It made your stomach twist with something you refused to name.

"Rafe."

He grins the second he sees you, raising both arms above the door frame to hold onto the top and lean over you.

He smelled good. Of course he did. Something expensive and dark, all spice and warmth, mixed with the faint scent of whatever soap he used. It made your stomach twist with something you refused to name.

"Well, well," he drawls, his smirk deepening. "I was starting to think you'd chicken out."

You glare, jaw tight. "Shut up, Cameron."

But he’s not even listening. His eyes drag over you, slow and deliberate, drinking in every inch of your face, your body, the way your fists are clenched at your sides. His eyes rove over your body, and he laughs. “Holy shit.” he muses, staring right at your thighs. "Are you seriously wearing shorts right now? Just for me?" Your face burns. "Not for you," you snap, shoving past him into the apartment, but he follows.

"Mm, sure," Rafe muses, his voice dropping a little lower. "Nice and loose, though. Looks good on you ‘cause it shows off that fat ass."

You whip around, glaring. "Cut the shit, Cameron." He just grins, like he loves seeing you all riled up. "You always this feisty when you visit guys in the middle of the night?" He hums, stepping closer, too close. "Or is it just me?" Your stomach tightens, pulse hammering as his fingers graze your arm, light and teasing. You shove his hand off hard, but it doesn’t matter. His other hand is already grabbing at your waist. You smack it away. "Rafe."

But he just laughs, his hands held up in mock surrender. "Relax, princess. I'm just being friendly."

"You don't know the meaning of friendly. All you think about is your next fuck." you snap.

His smirk deepens. "Oh, you know me so well. I hope you know I’ve been thinking about you next. Made sure to tell your little boyfriend that you’d be on my dick soon enough." he murmurs, voice as he grabs onto your ass, dragging you up against him and squeezing handfuls of soft flesh, before smacking it light.

Your breath catches. Your whole body tenses. "You perv!" you snap, shoving his huge hands away again. “Get your hands off me, do you understand?” You pause, panting so loudly that your whole body wracks with each breath. “A-and we broke up. M-me and him. So don’t bring him into this anymore.”

He actually stops, his eyes widening and brightening. He looks elated for a moment. He lets out a low whistle, cocking his brow with impressment. “You got rid of him? Finally, I hope it was because of me.” He laughs at your hurt expression and the way you get more and more frustrated. He knows it was. He just wanted to dig the knife in your chest deeper, and he does, because he keeps going. “Too bad I didn’t get to fuck you when you were still his girl, though. I would’ve had a lot of fun sending him videos of the fun you and I will have tonight.”

You slap him across the face.

Rafe’s head snaps to the side with the force of your slap. A sharp crack echoes through the apartment, the sting lingering in your palm. Your breath comes fast, your whole body shaking with anger, with something else you don’t want to name.

For a second, there’s silence. And then he laughs.

Low and slow at first, before it deepens, growing dark and hungry.

"Fuck," he breathes, running his tongue over his teeth before turning back to you, his cheek already blooming red. His eyes are glowing with something wicked, something starved. "You hit me so hard, baby. Thought you were gonna break that pretty little wrist." You can’t even speak. You want to, you want to tell him to shut up, to back off, but your voice won’t work because he’s smiling. Smiling like he liked it.

And then he steps closer, crowding into your space.

Your breath catches, your whole body tensing as his fingers skim up your arm, trailing slow and lazy toward your throat. You shove at his chest, but it’s like pushing against a brick wall. He doesn’t even budge.

Instead, he grabs your wrist and yanks you forward, so close your noses almost brush.

"You’re trembling," he murmurs, voice silky. His grip tightens just enough to make your pulse jump. "Scared, sweetheart?"

You glare, ripping your hand free. "Disgusted."

Rafe chuckles, but there’s something dark in his gaze now, something twisted.

"That’s funny," he muses, "considering how fucking red your face is." His hand skims down your waist again, fingers pressing lightly over your hip, your stomach, before moving to your thigh, toying with the hem of your shorts.

Your breath hitches.

You shove his arm away, but he’s already gripping your waist again, fingers digging in.

"You wanna hit me again, don’t you?" he hums, dragging his nose along your jaw. "Go ahead. Do it, baby. I like it when you get rough."

"You're sick," you snap, hands bracing against his chest.

His grin deepens. "And you love it."

"I hate you," you hiss, nails digging into his shirt, gripping too tight.

Rafe laughs, a sharp exhale against your skin. "Yeah?" His fingers tighten around your waist, dragging you flush against him. "Then why are you still here?"

You don’t have an answer.

Or maybe you do, but you don’t want to say it, because his hands are so big on you, because his breath is warm against your neck, because his smell is making your head spin and your stomach twist in that awful, unbearable way.

Rafe sees it. Of course he does.

His hand cups your jaw, tilting your face up, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "Knew you wanted me," he breathes, his eyes primal with want. "Could see it all over that cute little face of yours, sweetheart."

You shake your head, eyes burning. "No, I—"

But you don’t get the words out because suddenly—He kisses you.

[your-sleeparalysisdem0n]

*~𝑫𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒂 𝑷𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝑳𝒊𝒇𝒆~*

𝐇𝐒𝐑 𝐗 𝐅𝐄𝐌!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

summary: You were found by the astral express in a less-than-pitiful state. As you tread the path of the trailblaze with your companions, will your journey lead you towards the celstial night sky? Or will your flight be short and bright like Icarus's?

Part1 (sever the past), Part2 (coming soon!...)

𝕋𝕎: 𝕗𝕖𝕞!𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣, 𝕞𝕒𝕝𝕖𝕄ℂ, 𝕊𝕨𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘, 𝕔𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕖(𝕀𝕥'𝕤 𝕞𝕪 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕤𝕥 𝕗𝕚𝕔), ℂ𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕜, 𝔸 𝕓𝕚𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕤𝕥

"Y/N GET YOUR ASS UP WE'RE LEAVING FOR THE XIANZHOU"

"10 MORE MINUTES OR YOUR ASS IS GONNA GET BEATEN"

You were a member of the Astral Express crew, somekme who reached out towards the starry sky while treading the path of the trailblaze. You loved being a trailblazer, it was more than what you could ever ask for. The Astral Express was a place you held close to your heart, and you were ecstatic to have a place where you could call 'home'.

The playful bickerings with Caelus, the late-night gossiping with March, the silent reading sessions with Dan Heng. It felt like something out of a beautiful dream, a dream you wouldn't mind at all spending eternity in.

However, you always longed for more. Desperately wanting even though that light is unreachable. The Paradise so close, yet so far. You loved trailblazing, but what your brittle, broken heart yearned for the most of all, was the final puzzle piece to fill the emptiness of your past.

The express had found you on the brink of death while trailblazing a planet. Welt had discovered you underneath a lush and abundant willow tree. He was the one who took you back to the express, where you were nursed back to health by Pom-Pom and Himeko. You couldn't be more thankful for them saving you, you really can't.

But sometimes... on solemn, lonely days like this, you wish they had left you on that dreadful planet. You sometimes wish on that fateful day, Y/N L/N ceased to exist. For though you survived, the cost of survival had been a part of yourself. The price to pay for your life was your most precious memories. Countless nights you dreamt of faceless men and women, whose arms embraced you so delicately and adoringly. You vividly remember the serene smile of an angel who appeared in your dreams and chased the looming shadows of the past away. You would do anything to figure out who that smile belonged to, anything.

Hoping to feel that gentle warmth once more, you closed your eyes, praying to any Aeon listening to see that ethereal smile once last time-

"Y/N! WHAT THE FUCK IS KEEPING YOU SO LONG? ARE YOU TAKING A SHIT IN THERE?"

Welp-, never mind.

"Caelus, stop it. She might still be tired, we can't blame her for oversleeping when you two are the reason she didn't get any sleep last night." You hear Dan Heng's smooth, melodic voice say to The Trailblazer. Soon another voice, belonging to a lively pink-haired girl joins in.

"But Dan Heng! All we did was send a few memes in the group chat! It wasn't THAT big of a deal!"

This asshole. Wdym it 'wasn't a big deal-'

Dan Heng's sigh echoed across the express's walls. "March, you and Caelus spammed over 1000 memes in the group chat last night. My phone is still lagging because of your 'messages'. I think it's safe to say that she didn't get any sleep either."

Caelus grinned "That's not my problem, it's hers. She shouldn't have slept with the notifications on :3"

*sigh* "What are you-" You could hear Dan Heng's exasperated sigh from your room. You imagined the 'I'm so done with these idiots' look, which made you stifle a laugh on more than one occasion. You could practically hear the deadpan expression on his face.

'Those idiots will probably try to jump me when I come out, should I go now and apologize?' You ponder.

.

.

.

'Nah, let them wait' you thought, with a mischievous grin appearing on your face.

You gazed down at the notebook in your hands, the one which you use to jot down any returning memories or to recollect some moments with your astral express companions.

You sighed. 'Will my memories ever return to me again?..'

*BANG*

*BANG*

*BANG*

The sound of a hand banging on your door interrupts your train of thoughts, and once more, you hear Caelus's (annoying) voice on the other side.

"She's not answering. Guys, do you actually think she died in there?"

"Uhhhh... I don't know, let's find out!"

"How?"

"Use your baseball bat dumbass." March scoffed.

"Oh, right."

"Can we please not do any brash move-"

*BAM*

Before you could even warn him to stop, you hear the swinging of a baseball bat and the breaking of a door. F in the chat for Door-Chan, it did nothing wrong😔.

Gawking at your now broken door, you turned your head to the raccoon-like trailblazer only to find that that little bitch had a smile on his face, that mf-

"CAELUS YOU DUMBASS, WHY TF DID YOU BREAK MY DOOR?"

"I have a baseball bat, what else do you expect me to do with it?"

"I- Fair point."

You sigh, seeing as your memories haven't returned to you yet again. The peace and tranquility of the moment ruined by a certain Baseball-bat-swinging raccoon.

"Y/N, we gotta set out for The Lufou. March and Dan Heng are good to go. Though, March says she's a little sick."

"Does a sick person really send over 1000 memes at 3 A.M.?"

"What else would a sick person do? Lie in bed all day and do nothing? ;-;"

You rolled your eyes at his antics, being used to them from your time together with the gray-haired trailblazer.

You sighed. "Ahh alright, let's go to The Xianloo Lowpoo or something like that."

"It's pronounced The Xianzh- "

"Shut it." You scowled, as you both left the now silent room, with the fragments of your past life, and the echos of your dreams on the bed.

A/N: this is my first fanfic ever, why is it so cringe;-;. I welcome constructive criticism! Thank you for reading <3. Likes and reblogs are always appreciated! If this blows up, I'll do a part 2! :D

please do not spam like as it could get me shadowbanned. No plagiarism is allowed.

ⓒ All rights reserved

[girl-drink-drunk]

okay, i have had a moment to process this and honestly if sal was gonna die (i figured he would but i dreamt), then yes, i like that he just had a heart attack. considering he's been going through a lot of stress, and this was a brutal fight, it makes sense. but also, in that way, no one really killed sal, and oz knows it, that's why he got so pissed. he just lasted longer than sal, and that's no real victory, not like killing him would've been

[gilgil-machine]

I hate when people say that Gilgamesh is pathetic or weak or that he's nothing without his Gate of Babylon. And I'm not saying that he's the strongest servant in the series like there's a bunch of people that can beat him but he's definitely not weak. And it's the same thing I could've said that Saber is weak and pathetic without her Excalibur or something like that.

Because Gilgamesh's main problem that gets his ass beaten is that he's arrogant and doesn't take his opponent seriously. That's the thing that fucked him over so many times and not because he's weak or whatever.

[creativesplat]

That scene from A Tale of Two Stars, from Stan's perspective.

[turtlemagnum]

god, i suck at mario 2. i'm disparaging my legacy.... seriously, how the fuck have i beaten the lost levels without save states but can't get past 1-3 in american mario 2???? why am i not instantly good at a game i've never really played, god!!!! my mother would be disappointed in me

post writing the tags turtle here: i started rambling about my childhood made the tags longer than the actual post and don't feel like putting them onto the actual post because that'd be too much work and i'm feeling lazy. read em if you want personal bullshit! or don't. i'm not care

[rafesfawn]

🪽🧺 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐋

𝜗ৎ⋆｡˚ when rafe sees a precious little doll on the side of the road with a broke-down car, how can he resist out of the kindness of his heart offering her a ride? just a ride home, that's all...

or how trailerpark!angel!reader and rafe met!

warnings: use of the nickname pet & little one, reader! is eighteen-nineteen! bit of perv!rafe, barely proofread!

a/n: first time writing a rafe fic/blurb! im so excited, also this is based on this ask and thank you so much for sending something I really appreciated it and I hope u like it mwah! I would say you two meet in like early season 2 (right before the cross storyline) also for the format slight ib to others on here esp @rafesangelita (sorry for the tag!)

this was based off of this ask! which tysm i literally love requests and rafe and trailerpark!angel!reader is my new obsession <3

a small, meaningless kick was made to the tire while you huffed and groaned, putting two hands over your frustrated features as all you wanted to curl up into a ball and cry.

“piece of shit,” you mumbled under your breath, kicking the tire once more, but immediately a whimper fell from your lips. the pain shot from your toe up to your spine. making you sniffle and tip-toe in pain. in your denim ruffle skirt, white socks, and pink converse, you sat down on the asphalt, on the side of the road, leaning against the side of your broken-down car.

she wasn’t the best car, but she surely got you around most of the time. most of the time. it was a little volkswagen beetle, light pink in color, covered in so many stickers some wondered if it was passing inspection. it wasn't.

sitting with your head against the car for what felt like hours (it was maybe ten minutes), but spending even that on the side of a main road in kildare island was torture. especially with the beating sun late august provided.

rafe was speeding down the road on the way to play golf and get drunk with topper and kelce. “ah shit, i don’t know, man.” he said into his phone, holding it up with one hand; his voice gruff and confident, topper on the other line. “you really think i won’t kick your ass today huh?” a smirk grew on his already smug expression.

letting out a short chuckle at toppers response, nothing anybody ever said meant more than a laugh to him. or that's what it used to be like anyway, his act wasn't together if anything, it was worse than it'd ever been. his father condemning him to disingenuous "discipline" to forget about the possible death of his golden daughter.

"the fuck?" he mutters into the mic, his voice laced with confusion. as he sees up ahead on the road, a pink car broken down, with the most precious thing sitting against it. a pout on the angels soft lips and the most defeated look in her eye. aw, you just fell right into my lap, didn't you? little angel.

your eyes glued on the pavement, your entertainment of watching a little ladybug try to make it to safety in the distance, was shortly interrupted.

a nice black truck coming into view it came to such a short stop it almost took your breath away, the breaks slightly screeching at the haste. a tire replaced the spot the ladybug once was.

you stood brushing the dirt and gravel off the backsides of your pale thighs, left bare by the short fabric of your skirt.

the man stepped out of the truck. he was tall, and the sleeves of his polo looked like they were about to burst at the seams, not able to contain the biceps beneath. his features strong and statue-like, his deep sea eyes hidden behind the curtain bangs that hung over his forehead. a grin that seemed too genuine, too good to be true.

you removed your heart-shaped sunglasses, placing them on top of your head to see him more clearly. your possible savior, but he was anything but.

he stepped a bit closer, seeing the state of her already pretty beaten car, "having some car trouble?" rafe asked as if he wasn't stating the obvious.

you pretended he wasn't either as you nodded, the frown only slight now but still on your lips as your eyes remained looking up into his.

"aw.. poor thing we can't have that, what happened?" his voice, a mockery of sympathy. as he inspected the piece of shit car she loved so much. his care coming from a place of ownership, of burning ache or want.

still, in slight shock, you hadn't answered him, following behind him as he reopened the hood like he owned the car. not even realizing you'd been rude and not replied till he spoke again. "little one, i can't fix it if you don't tell me what's wrong." a heady mix of gentle and firm that made your mouth go dry and your head dizzy.

"oh- it's been on her last limb for like ever, i guess she finally called it quits... right on my way home." you said with a little sad laugh that rafe wanted to bottle the sound of and listen to on repeat. "and I really need to get home," you added fiddling with your fingers in front of you.

a sweet girl all out of options, rafe was so glad he was here to provide her with his help. "tell you what, I'll take you home and come back and fix this thing up for you, huh?" he offered, there goes his saturday plans he presumed. it'd be worth it. he told himself he'd make it worth it, with those shy eyes and the expression you carried like a lost puppy. you'd owe him he'd make sure to get something in return.

just like he figured, you shook your head. never wanting to accept such a grand favor. "I can't ask you to do that, I mean, I don't even know your name." nerves, curiosity, and a glint of something else tinged in your voice, so many wonders in that head as soon as his truck came to a stop for you. why? the only question running through your mind.

"It's rafe, can I help you out now?" his genuine grin turned almost smug at his own remark, brushing that bangs out his face, the effort pointless as they immediately fell back again.

you paused. picking at the already chipped white nail polish on your sore fingertips, a larger-rougher hand covered your own, stopping your movements with that firm gentleness he carried around her. you looked up at him, he was so much closer. the scent of some cologne that probably could pay your rent, and a tinge of smokey wood filled your senses.

"pet?" he questioned with an expecting tilt of his head, calling you that like it was the most natural thing in the world.

your body and mouth responding before giving another second for your brain or anxiety to think it over, you nodded. "can you please give me a ride home?" you hesitantly asked, it felt weird. getting help, and even asking for it felt foreign, he offered it so graciously like it was nothing.

looking down upon her, his grin turned genuine once again, his eyes seemed almost proud it was a soothing balm to her nervous heart. a rosy hue to her cheeks as his palm covered the side of her neck, making a few pats to the flesh before leading her to his truck.

you'd owe him. something he was sure you were ready for.

[masterhallmark]

Rant incoming

I feel like the problem with a lot of Disney's live action remakes (and arguably Wish) is they're trying to appeal to a crowd that no longer exists, namely the people who used to claim that the Disney Princesses were sexist.

All the interviews tend to include, "Well she's not chasing a MAN anymore" which...almost no one sees the princesses like that, anymore. Virtually NO ONE still believes the princesses are man-chasing sexist caricatures of women.

Cinderella is now hailed as an abuse victim who stayed strong long enough to get help to get out of her situation. Anyone who says she should have saved herself is basically regarded as a victim blamer. And it's very clear in the film she wasn't looking to marry the prince, she just wanted a night off. She was the only one who wasn't in line to meet him. She didn't find out she met the prince until he went looking for her!

Snow White is now hailed for her negotiation skills, ability to calm down after extreme stress (she had a moment of panic and had to cry for a bit, but who wouldn't after finding out The Queen hired someone to kill you?), and ability to take charge of a house of adult men. And again, she was an abuse victim, this time trying to escape ASSASSINATION ATTEMPTS. While she dreamed of her prince, it was secondary to her main goal of SURVIVAL. There are also entire video essays about how Snow White gave hope to people during The Great Depression.

Everyone acknowledges that Ariel wanted to be human BEFORE meeting Eric. We all know she was a nerd hyperfixating on humans, and also standing up to her prejudiced father.

We understand Sleeping Beauty wasn't the main character, the Three Good Fairies were, AND PHILLIP WOULD NEVER HAVE BEATEN MALEFICENT WITHOUT THEM! He literally depended on them! WOMEN SAVED THE DAY! But even then, is it really such a sin for a girl to fantasize about romance and fall for someone with corny pickup lines?

We all understand Jasmine just wanted someone to treat her LIKE A PERSON. She rejected every Prince before Aladdin because they treated her like a prize. So why did they need her to want to be Sultan? How did that make her more feminist when she already wanted to be treated like an equal and have a say in her future? Is it only empowering if you want a career in politics?

We admire that Belle, despite living in a judgemental village, was kind to everyone (even though she found the village life dull), and her story teaches girls that the guy everyone else loves isn't always a good guy. What's sexist about teaching girls about red flags? And she didn't start being nice to The Beast until he started treating her with respect and kindness.

Do I really NEED to defend Mulan or Tiana? I think they speak for themselves.

Rapunzel was yet another abuse victim who just needed a little help to get out of her bad situation. In this case, she also needed to learn that she was an abuse victim, and that what Mother Gothel did WASN'T normal, much like many victims of gaslighting.

And don't get me started on the non-princess animals.

Perdita had a healthy relationship with Pongo to the point she was open to express her pregnancy fears to him, and was ready to TEAR APART Cruella's goons for daring to touch her puppies as well as adopting the other puppies. Like, she was so ferocious the goons mistook her for a hyena! She's basically that "I AM THAT GIRL'S MOTHER!" scene from SpyXFamily if Yor were a dog. She and her husband were a TEAM.....but they made a Cruella live action to turn her into a girlboss?! The literal animal abuser!? THAT'S the woman you wanted to put on a pedestal when Perdita was RIGHT THERE!?

Duchess kept her kittens calm after they had been catnapped and was classy as heck. Nice to everyone regardless of social class during a time period where that was uncommon.

Lady stood up to Tramp when she believed he had abandoned her and didn't really care about her. She found out he was a heartbreaker and was like, "Nuh uh. No. You are not doing that to me! You put me through enough."

Miss Bianca from The Rescuers was IN CHARGE the whole movie, and was willing to risk life and limb to save an innocent child. THAT TINY MOUSE TOOK ON ALLIGATORS! And she picked Bernard to accompany her because he was the only one who wasn't ogling her. And then in the sequel SHE DID IT ALL AGAIN! I wish I were as brave as her.

Like, the public haven't accused these ladies of being sexist caricatures since 2014 (Actresses and actors don't count, they're out of touch like the rest of Hollywood) yet Disney is operating under the assumption that the public still thinks that way, hence all the "sHe'S nOt AfTeR a MaN iN ThIs VeRsIOn" talk.

The live action remakes are trying to attract an audience that doesn't really exist much, anymore, and back when it did exist, was comprised mainly of people who didn't actually watch the films. The Disney princesses are no longer seen as sexist, and feminine qualities are no longer seen as weak or undesirable.

[artisanscribbles]

#ffxiv#hades being horrified and disbelieving of everything we tell him emet-selch will do isn't redemption#it's a tragedy#here is a decent man who does not wish to believe that anyone would stoop so low#except you know that he will and he will not regret a moment of it even in death#even in death he believes himself justified#because he loved his world#he isn't redeemed - he isn't really even forgiven#and he doesn't want to be#emet-selch doesn't need to be redeemed after all - he's doing what he believes must be right

Don;t hide this in the Tags

"emet-selch had a point" girl the ancients' clothes are called sophist's robes...

[solelifauna]

Yandere Batfam & Neglected Reader Prt. 3

Finally getting a tiny bit of Bruce's monologue!! And uh oh, looks like you've gotta clock in!

As the car began to move, you couldn't help but feel a growing sense of panic. The tension in the air was palpable, and you could feel the weight of everyone's gaze on you. You tried your best to focus on anything but the Waynes, your mind desperately attempting to process what just happened in the parking lot. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, staring out the window as the city lights blurred past. It was then that Damian decided to break the awkward silence.

“Father, what is the meaning of bringing her along with us?” Damian spoke curtly, disdain marring his voice when mentioning you.

As much as you disliked him as well, he had a point. Why the hell are you sitting here with them?

Bruce glanced at Damian. Truth be told, he didn't quite know why. While you were his child, one out of the only two biological children he had, he had never really had the time or care to acknowledge you. You coming into his life abruptly disturbed everything, so he paid you no mind. He’ll admit, it wasn't fair of him to do so, but he had bigger things to worry about. He was tired, and a child that wasn't involved with his night business, who did not understand what his life of vigilantism took out of him, would never understand the sacrifices that he's had to make. It wasn't until seeing you on the football field, happy, talking to your friends and acting in a way he'd never seen you do, he'd begun to realize what he missed. 

When did you get so tall? He could have sworn you were no taller than his waist. And when did you join the cheerleading team? And who was that girl throwing her arm around you? Who was that boy? Gods, just how much has he missed? 

But he couldn't say all of that. So instead he just replied, “She's a part of this family, Damian and she needed a ride back home.”

He could feel Cassandra’s knowing stare, she could read him better than anybody and she knew the inner turmoil brewing in his heart. That's coupled with Stephanie’s smirk and Dick’s predatory grin. Jason grunted in response, clearly not pleased with the arrangement. Lastly, he could see the disbelief on your face, as if you couldn't believe you'd even be considered part of this family. And he’s mostly to blame. 

He internally sighed. He'd have to work on that. You were his daughter. His. It was his job to keep you safe and happy. It was his job to make sure you felt loved. And right now? He was no better than Jannet and Jack Drake leaving poor Tim to fend for himself. But that would all soon change, starting with himself and his children.

You on the other hand were still reeling from Bruce’s words. “Family”? Is he fucking kidding or what?

Dick, always the one to break the tension with his charm, spoke up next. "Hey, (Y/n), when did you become a cheerleader? I didn't know you were into that sort of stuff." Dick said with that condescending tone.

Your eyes twitched. You did not like his tone.

“That's none of your business Dick.” You shot back before you could even think.

Everyone looked your way. Whoops, that was your bad. 

It was Jasons turn to get upset, “Watch your fucking mouth.” He growled, ever possessive over his older brother.

You immediately froze up, offering a quick and quiet apology before retreating into your own head. Jason–Jason scared you more than any of the others. You knew about his pit rage, you knew about the bloody and beaten bodies he's left in the wake of his rage. You knew he’d never dream of hurting his family, the pit often aiding in his possessive tendencies over the rest of the bats but– you weren't family. And you'd hate to be on the receiving end of Jason’s wrath.

If anyone had continued talking to you, you wouldn’t know. The sound around you was muffled like your head was filled with cotton and you could feel yourself shaking. You wanted out. Now. Thankfully, the rest of the ride was mostly quiet. Sure, everyone would occasionally turn their eyes towards you, making you shrink further in on yourself, but you were almost at the manor. The vehicle barely came to a stop before you were throwing yourself out the door and into the manor. You bid Alfred a quick “goodbye” and “thank you” before bolting up the stairs and into your room. 

You locked the door, not that anyone would bother coming up to your room, but still it gave you security nonetheless. You stripped and hopped into the shower, the soreness in your body now making itself known. God it was gonna suck tomorrow. Why? Because it was Friday today, that meant tomorrow would be Saturday, and that meant that you'd have to go to work at the ass crack of dawn, 5 am. Plus, you didn't even have your bike, so you’d have to rely on Alfred to take you and bring you back. Great.

So with a heavy heart and heavy limbs, you tucked yourself into bed ready for the worst sleep of your life. 

You wake up to the grating sound of your iphone alarm, as you groggily get up to brush your teeth, shower and get ready for the long day ahead. Making your way down for a cup of coffee, sleep still in your eyes, you fail to notice the looming figure of Tim Drake already sipping his own coffee. It was dark downstairs and you were still fighting off exhaustion from the day before, so who could blame you for not seeing the corner of the cabinet. Before you knew it, you were hunched over on the floor grabbing your pinkie toe in pain. 

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, that hurt! Holy shit, kill yourself, kill yourself! Who the fuck puts a cabinet there, oh my god.” You wailed in pain, cursing at the damn cabinet. You’d blame it on delirium and exhaustion. Honestly, it was an expected crashout.

You laid pathetically on the floor for a couple of more seconds before you heard a monotone, disinterested voice make itself known.

“Are you done now?” Tim says from behind you.

You yelp in surprise, before clumsily scrambling up and turning around. And there he was, sitting at the counter, coffee in hand and an almost (dare you say) amused look on his face. You blanche. Shit, how long has he been sitting there? Oh god, please don't say he’s witnessed the entirety of your embarrassing crashout? 

And as if reading your mind, he cryptically answers, “Yes, I've been here this entire time.” All while sipping his coffee as his calculating eyes scarily bore into your figure.

You don't know what to say, embarrassed out of your mind, so you just apologize. 

“Right–um, sorry about that. I’m just tryna get some coffee. I'll be out your way.” You hastily say before turning, tail tucked back towards the coffee pot. 

You could still feel the weight of Tim’s stare on you but you're too tired and embarrassed to care. You pour yourself a big cup of straight up black coffee and proceed to chug it while walking towards the sink. After finishing it, you proceeded to gag for a few seconds, the bitter taste still permeating your mouth. God you hated the taste of black coffee, but you’d do whatever it takes to not fall asleep on the job. You discard your cup into the sink before you decide to find Alfred, it was 4:37 am and you needed to clock in by 5:00 am or else your ass was grass. You conveniently ignore Tim who has watched all of your misfortune happen this morning. He doesn't say anything when you leave the dining/kitchen area, just eerily watches. 

God, he made you nervous.

Anyways, your quest to find Alfred was short lived as he seemingly appeared out of nowhere, Damian in tow (you could feel the scar on your face burning). Great, was everyone up at this ungodly hour or was it just them two? You avoided the heat of Damian’s glare as you relayed to Alfred your predicament, apologizing profusely since you did ask him last minute. He simply smiled at you, letting you know that “it is never a hindrance when you need something Master (Y/n).” You smiled back in relief, thanking him once more as Alfred got ready to drop you off.

But of course, Damian just had to break the silence. 

“What could you possibly need to do at this hour? Alfred has better things to do other than encouraging your galavanting.” Damian spoke sharply.

You just sighed, “Not that it's any of your business, but I have work.”You don't offer any more information as your hand unknowingly caresses the scarred tissue on your face. 

Damian’s eyes draw to your face at the movement, seemingly fixated on the scar he left on you. He doesn’t think much of it, but sometimes, something green and dangerous purrs inside of him. Yes, his mark. It was his mark on your face. As much as he hated you, you were his only other blood-sibling no matter how weak and useless you were. He had bested you, and usually would pay you no mind, you knew your place and would typically remain docile. But recently you’ve been showing a new abrasive side, one he is not particularly fond of.

He’d have to talk to father about it.

Silence permeates the air as he doesnt bother to dignify your disrespect with a response. You’re saved when Alfred comes back with keys, both you and him rushing to whatever vehicle he's pulled out from the large, large selection of coveted cars Bruce owns. Looks like it's a BMW today. You practically throw yourself in, as Alfred speeds away to the cafe you work at. You arrive at work in record speed, bidding Alfred a “goodbye” before rushing to throw your apron on and clock in. 

You’re greeted by the one other person working your shift, Matheo. He’s a sweet boy, very soft-spoken and mostly sticks in the back near the kitchen to bake the pastries while you work the register. Of course he comes and helps with drink orders when it's particularly busy, he’s too kind to leave you to fend for yourself. Regardless, you have a pretty straight forward agreement, which is what spells your doom. It was a regular Saturday shift, with the pilate moms coming in, middle schoolers loitering, and the occasional customer with an attitude. Everything was fine and dandy till three familiar faces walk in.

You were ever the busy body, finishing one last drink before yelling out a quick “I’ll help y’all shortly!”, to whoever just walked in. You quickly rush over to the register, not even bothering to look up from the register.

“Sorry ‘bout the wait! Now what can I get you?” You said in your regular customer service voice.

“Well, well, well, turns out you were right Dami, she does work here.” A chillingly familiar voice jests.

You freeze, slowly looking up only to be met with Dick smiling at you. It was not a kind smile, no, there was something dangerous about it. Behind him, you could see the familiar figures of Cassandra and Damian. What the hell are they doing here? God, you should have never mentioned anything to Damian, now you had to deal with this.

“R–right, what can I get you?” You shakily say, putting back on your customer service persona. 

Dick’s smile grows, his teeth now visible, almost as if he was baring his teeth. Danger. Something inside you screamed.

“I’ll just have a vanilla cold brew, extra cold foam. Dami, Cass, what do you want?” Dick grinns.

“Tch, I don't want anything from this place.” Damian says, uninterested.

“Cass?” Dick asks, looking at her.

She comes up to the register, giving Dick a one-off-glance. Worryingly, her eyes seem to be fixated on you. She doesn't say anything for a few seconds, holding immensely uncomfortable eye contact with you before relaying her order.

“Just a caramel latte.” Cass says, still looking down at you.

You frantically fill in their orders on the register.

“Will that be all?” You ask. You hoped that was all, you didn't want them spending another minute talking to you.

Dick says a quick cheerful “no” before you ring them up and get started with the two drinks. It doesn't take too much time before you’re calling out their names to come get their drinks. You hope they leave right after. But of course, nothing goes according to your wishes as they grab their drinks and seat themselves at a table. Great.

The minutes after result in further disaster. After a couple of more customers, a lady comes up to you, face already molded into a scowl with a half empty drink in her hand. Oh great, a “karen”.

“Hello ma’am, how can I help you?” You kindly say.

“You! I need a refund. Right. Now!” The lady booms, wagging her finger in your face.

“A refund, right, is there a reason you’re requesting a refund?” 

“A reason!? You made my drink wrong and I want my money back!”

“Please correct me if i'm wrong, but I believe you ordered a double mocha cappuccino, correct?” You ask slowly.

“Yes, that's what I ordered! Why are you asking me all these questions?!”

“Sorry ma’am, but that is the drink I gave you. Is there something specifically wrong with the drink?”

“The drink that you gave me is wrong, you made it wrong! It doesn't taste anything like regular coffee!”

“Oh, well sometimes different cafes use different recipes for the same drink, i think maybe that's why–”

“–Well I don't care! I want a refund!”

You could feel eyes on you as the other patrons start to notice the commotion brewing.

“Ma’am, i'm so sorry but i can't give you a refund, you’ve already drank half the drink. If you would have let me know sooner, I could've remade it for you, but–I'm sorry ma’am I can't give you that refund.”

“Are you serious! Why I never!? It's always bitches like you who try scamming people out of their money!”

“Ma'am, I'm really sorry, it's the company policy. I just work here–” You gently say, trying to calm her down.

“–Go to hell you bitch!” Is all you hear before you’re doused in the face with warm coffee. 

You just stand there is shock, blinking through the coffee. There's no way that just happened. Theo, comes out having heard the commotion (albeit a little too late), only to be met with the sight of you covered in coffee.

“Oh my gosh (Y/n)! I should have come sooner, are you okay?”

“Peachy.” You say, voice audibly watery and cracking.

“I'll take care of everything up here, you go take some time in the back. Clean up or honestly if you don't feel like it, just rest in the back–”

“–It's okay Theo, I–I just need a couple of minutes. I'm fine.”

He gives you a quizzical stare.

“I'm fine. I promise.” You smile, although you could feel your eyes starting to water. 

You hastily walk off to the break room and proceed to cry for a good 2 minutes before deciding to start cleaning yourself up. You do your best to get the coffee that's dried into hair out while wiping down your now sicky arms and face. Changing your apron gets rid of most of the mess, but your shirt underneath still has a couple of large patches of coffee. Sighing, you tidy yourself up as much as possible before heading back to the counter, Theo worriedly waiting for you. You just shoot him a thumbs up and let him know that it’s okay for him to retreat back to the kitchen; he lingers for a moment, hesitant to leave you alone, but drudges back regardless.

There are eyes on you. You look up perturbed, only to find Dick, Cass, and Damian still sitting at their table, sharp stares pinned on your figure. They saw all that happen, didn't they? You mentally cringed. 

Checking your watch, you realize that there are still four more hours left on your shift. Great, that's great–just another four more hours, which is technically thirty minutes eight times, which is technically fifteen minutes sixteen times–and you’ve lost it. Jesus you were losing your mind, which was understandable (honestly you're surprised it hasn't happened sooner) during one of the worst shifts of your life.

It’s fine. You got this. Just four more hours, and you can have your “Mental Breakdown Part Ⅱ™”.

Tag-list!!:

@sitepathos @ferakillia @uknowimdumb @shycreatorreview @niggrrooo @dhanyasri @cantfindmelol @space1crow @earth-to-mee @rosecentury @yuyuzi-ling @simpingfor-wakasa @bat1212 @sheepintherain @person-from-daaaa-voidddd @resident-cryptid @cupids-pretty-boy @danni1323 @couldeatthatgirlforlunch @erikasurfer @toast-on-dandelioms @hazbinlove @h0neysiba @shycreatorreview @ch1cky-093 @kore-of-the-underworld @krazy-kattzz @ceramic-raven @randomlyappearingartist @bleep-bloops-world @hasty-desert @bellethesleepypotato @lilyalone @delias-stuff @amisupposedtomakesenserightnow @soriansick @vanilliona @thoughtfulbelieverstrawberry @vanessa-boo @kitsutsugikuni @mottysith @beeaskewwrites @starsdotalk @yandere-fetish @mybones537 @mochien0tfound @black-swan-blog27 @phoenixgurl030 @meowmeeps @tatsuri-zomushiki @sereinitysmind @l0g0phobe @alias-sam @fairygardenprincesss @chocolatesweetsdestiny @lunaastars

[maidragoste]

Scare

Daemon Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader

More of Daemon's Wife AU

Summary: You and Daemon get a scare at Laenor's wedding.

Reblogs, comments and likes are always greatly appreciated. comments always motivate me to continue writing 💖💖

If you have ideas or thoughts for this series you are welcome to share them in my inbox 🤭

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

Daemon is not usually afraid, after all, he is a Targaryen, he has the blood of the dragon, he is "The Rogue Prince", he claimed Caraxes, he fought in tourneys, he was the leader of the golden cloaks and he fought in the war of the Stepstones. A fearful man couldn't do any of that.

But today he really felt afraid at Laenor's wedding. One moment he was talking to his cousin Rhaenys and then the screams were heard. Both of them quickly went on alert and Daemon began to look around the room for you because minutes before you had left the table to dance with one of your cousins. But the prince couldn't find you. Daemon couldn't remember ever feeling so desperate as he tried to get through the crowd of guests to get to you. Irritation grew in him every time someone bumped into him making it harder to find you. Then he finally saw you and got to the reason for all the fuss. Criston Cole was hitting your brother's lover without stopping and a few meters away you were. Daemon saw the determination in your eyes and began to call out to you, but you didn't hear him over the screams of the other guests or you decided to ignore him as you made your way to Criston Cole. You were barely able to hold on to one of the guard's arms before he pushed you away and you ended up on the floor. If it wasn't for Daemon's fear of you and the baby then he would have gone and cut off Criston Cole's fucking head for daring to touch you. But at that moment your husband's priority was the safety and well-being of you and the baby so he took you in his arms and carried you out of that damn wedding while you screamed for Laenor and Joffrey.

Now Daemon and you were alone in his chambers, the maester having left a few minutes ago after assuring the two that the baby was fine.

“I’m fine” you reminded your husband as he remained silent, probably thinking of everything that could have gone wrong. “We’re fine” you took his hand and placed it on your belly despite the baby not kicking yet.

Daemon caressed your belly before leaning down to place a kiss on it, thanking his son for being strong. “You were reckless” he scolded you, turning his attention back to you.

“I was,” you agreed, feeling guilty for not thinking about the baby, but at that moment, all you could think about was helping your brother and Joffrey. You couldn’t stand by and watch them get beaten. But the adrenaline of the moment was wearing off and you were starting to feel overwhelmed by the situation you were in. “I’m sorry. I never wanted to put our baby in danger.”

Daemon’s serious expression fell the instant he saw your eyes begin to fill with tears. If there was one thing he hated, it was seeing you cry.

“Hey, don't cry.” He took your face in his hands and began to tenderly caress your cheeks. “You said it, you're fine and you heard the maester, the baby is fine.” He kissed your forehead. “But if you're so worried about putting yourself and the baby in danger again, then I could lock you in our chambers until you give birth.” Of course he wasn't serious, but he succeeded in his purpose of distracting you.

“Of course you'd like to do that, you want to have me just for you.” A small smile appeared on your lips as you spoke.

“I'm not going to deny it, you know I don't like sharing you with the rest of the world, wife.”

You didn't know if it was Daemon or you who was the first to capture the other's lips. But it didn't matter, what mattered was that for a moment while you kissed and touched each other you were able to forget about the scare you experienced. Daemon and you took refuge in each other's warmth, ready to not let the night end bitterly.

Taglist for all my House of the Dragon works

@chaotic-fangirl-blog @venus-flytrap3 @ajordan2020 @iloveallmyboys @sweethoneyblossom1 @fudge13 @crystal-faith @tita004 @ichanelvxgue @snowprincesa1 @joyouart @rosey1981 @alastorhazbin @papichulo120627 @apollonshootafar @jasminecosmic99 @partypoison00 @labellapeaky @rebelliuna @bxdbxtxh15 @impartinghades @thegirlnextdoorssister @angeliod @snh96 @aleemendoza2425-blog @natashaobo @watercolorskyy @nyenye @savagemickey03 @kishie8 @ewwwitsel @arabis-world @missusnora @nzygftoji @alisoncdariel @cookielovesbook-akie @partnerincrime0 @klara-lily @427120lxld @justhereiguess2 @buckylahey @wa801 @artistadistrada2002 @thelastemzy @justanotherkpopstanlol @jacesvelaryons

@aemondwhoresworld @cassiopeiablogg-blog

[grimdarling69]

Another deaged Ellie and Dan, but Danny was reincarnated as Damian Wayne

Danny Damian because he was Damian now, wasn't he? He remembers now the Fentons, the GIW, Sam and Tucker, jazz. He wonders if they could have also followed him here. A part of him longs to see his fraid again, but are they his fraid still? He was a new person. Son of The Bat and Heir to the Demon Head. Something Dami he remembers reminding people of. If only Sam could see him now, he knows she'd love that. "Who's edgy now?" He can picture her saying. He can almost see Tucker laughing so hard he'd fall out of his seat.

Crack

The sharp sound of the thunder brings him to the present. He looked over at his clock, 3:00 A.M. The witching hour he can hear Ellie tell him with a mischievous smile on one of their flights around Amity Park. She loved to drag him and Dan sometimes Vlad if he was feeling friendly. Dan, his future evil self tormented by the deaths of all his family and friends, so hurt he got Vlad to rip his human half out so he didn't have to feel the pain. Ellie, his clone, created by Vlad to be the perfect son, too bad she was a daughter. Looking down at his stomach where their cores are now incubating, he couldn't help but wonder if Vlad had anything to do with this.

He shook his head as if that would rid himself of that thought. Vlad was a real fruitloop,but he would never purposefully endanger Dan or Ellie. Vlad, in his twisted and weird ways, did love them in his own ways like kidnapping and keeping him hostage to save Ellie. He had forgiven vlad for the desperate attempt to save his daughter, but incubating Ellie and Dan's cores would make him their father now, too. Ew, coparenting with Vlad does not sound like a fun time. He glanced down and lifted his shirt hesitantly. If he focused on his stomach, he could see a faint blue and red glow emanating from his stomach. Red, Vlads' color, he thought distantly. Hopefully, it didn't mean much. As if signaling him, the envelope they had carried with them to him fell off the bed carried to the floor by the slight breeze.

Lighting lumineating the bedroom, making the crisp white color shine for just a second. He tentatively reached down to grab it. He was being a baby. He was a trained assassin from birth, and his fear trained beaten out of him a long time ago. Some part of him whispered his father and Richard's teachings of being brave but not without fear.

He paused. Father would want to know everything. His past life, Ellie and Dan, the ghosts, being a halfa. He wouldn't understand, Richard would try to, but not even he could never really understand. He couldn't subject his babies to that. He couldn't live with the threat to being ripped apart molecule by molecule. His father's lack of emotional intelligence certainly would not help young halfas. He was fourteen again the age he was killed in his first life. The age he started facing ghosts from another dimension.

He started younger in this life. Killing younger, he learned to fight his whole life. Jazz would hate that. Jazz... he wondered if she was alright if she survived the attack... no, there's no time to think of that right now. He ripped open the envelope( like a band-aid, Richard would remind him), and he noticed Vlad's familiar fancy fruitloop writing immediately(he had fancy fruitloop writing now, instead of the chicken scratch Jazz chided him over). So he was right about one thing this had vlad all over it.

Dear Daniel,

Though I understand you might not be Daniel when this letter finds you. I have been reincarnated into another life as I believe you have as well. My new name is Alexander Luther. I own a corporation called Lexcorp. I unfortunately can not change the name according to my board. The idiot lot of them.

He snickered at that. His smile dropped immediately. Vlad was Lex Luthor, the archnemesis of Superman. Jon would most certainly not like this. He forced himself to read on before he spiraled further.

I regained my memories after an experiment went wrong. I know how original. My new incarnation was able to open a small portal that grew in size, and eventually, somehow Danielle and Dan fell through. The portal then exploded, and I regained my memories. Unfortunately, it destabilized their clone bodies. I couldn't grow working bodies in time, and eventually, I had to hope they could find you. I hoped somehow that the yeti doctor would have imparted some of his strange knowledge onto you that might save them.

Vlad, no Lex still wrong. Vlad was somewhat right about that. During one of his all things ghostly lessons from Frostbite, he told him of how in the old ages ghosts often incubated their ghostlings. A protective measure back when magic and spirits were more prevalent. He didn't really understand it back then, and he doesn't understand it much now, either. Apart from the fact he was doing it, he supposed. What if he did something wrong and he lost them? He doesn't think he could live out his half-life if he lost them again. He needed to get to Vlad, and quickly too so they could start building a new portal to the infinite realms.

If this letter finds you. Come find me immediately at these coordinates. I've gone deep underground to escape my new archnimesis's suoer senses. I've m started research on a new portal, but I'll need your endeneering skills. This world is severely lacking in ectoplasmic science and engineering. I am once again forced to start from scratch on my own. Once we get the portal open, you'll need to go straight to The Far Frozen.

It's as if he's reading my mind, I think jokingly.

P.s. One of my experiments may or not have regiven then my new DNA in an attempt to restabilize them.

Only Vlad.

Well, it looks like they actually were going to be coparenting after all. This was going to go great.

I sigh and lean my head back down on my pillow. He committed the cords to memory before lighting the letter on fire with the lighter he kept in his bedside drawer. Point to assassin training. Jason would be proud. He supposed he could stay for a month or so before leaving, which would give him enough time to get away or think of some kind of mission to give himself. He shoots up. Todd had died and came back. He was a revenant. He couldn't stick around if he were to visit he'd know something was wrong immediately even if he didn't understand it.

He sprung out of bed quickly, but quietly, his foot steps perfectly silent despite his rushed mood of packing a bag. He packed a few pairs of clothes and lots of hidden weapons, some snacks he kept hidden for that should keep him fed on his journey but leaving any sentimental things behind. He glanced longingly at his sketch pad, but Vlad was most likely under the water judging by the coordinates he was given. Who knows if it would survive.

He checked the pack, making sure he got all he needed. He promptly checked it again. Twice. After deeming it sufficient, he willed himself to open the door. He mentally cataloged everyone in the manor. Pennyworth was most likely still in Father's room, making sure he actually listened to his insructions. Richard and Todd in Bludhaven and Crime Alley, respectfully. Cain and Brown in Hong Kong. Thomas was sleeping after his dayshift.

Everyone accounted for except Drake. He was most likely using Pennyworth's attention on Father to work cases. He just had to take the risk. For his ghostlings, for himself, Vlad. He crept down the hallways. He was opening the grandfather clock in record time. He went slower this time. He would use his powers, but his father had supernatural wards of all kinds in the cave. Who knows what they did. He was also admittedly trying to save his little energy for his voyage on the open sea. Light snoring hit his ears as he peered around the corner.

Thank ancients.

Drake was sleeping at the batcomputer, still in his Red Robin suit sans mask surrounded by his poor choices. Empty coffee cups and files spread around. He would still need to be quiet, Drake was a light sleeper, as was everyone else in his family. He grabbed the keys to his bike quickly, sneaking by. If he wasn't ditching his bike at Gotham Bridge, he would have disabled his trackers. He checked the gas and made sure he could make it. That's when he made his first mistake.

Putting the gas jug back down, he accidently hit another of one of his siblings' tools to the floor. He tried catching it without success, but it fell anyway, the loud clang echoing. Mistake number two.

Shit.

"Huh? What's happening?" Drake arose sleepily rubbing his eyes.

He froze. Mistake number three.

"Damian? What are you doing down here?" His eyes landed on him, and he spoke confusedly with his voice heavy with sleep or lack thereof.

He panics. He's blaming the pregnancy hormones on this.

He runs.

"Damian!" Drake responded to his dead sprint with his own. "Stop!"

He reaches his bike, and he turns the keys and prays. Luckily, it comes to life. He fumbles with his helmet it would hide his tears he needed it. who knows if he'll ever get to see them again. He shoots off down the tunnel. Flicking the cave door open remotely.

Another bike rears to life behind him. "Damian wants going on?" Drakes voice echoes in his ears. He can almost taste the concern in it amplified by the helmet. He ignores it and accelerates. He ignores the returned acceleration behind him.

----------------

Tim has no clue what made Damian panic enough to run away. He quickly ran to his own bike while swearing. Damian is already gaining distance on him. After another attempt at getting Damian to calm down and talk, he calls the only person Damian would actually listen to.

He hopes Dick will forgive him for waking him at five o'clock in the morning on his day off.

[tiny-space-platypus]

Never really fit back in

aside part 1

(Stories that I just can't get out of my head but don't forget in main plot)

Damian and Danny act like feral fucking cats thrown into an enclosed room together. The others have learned quickly that the boys CAN NOT be left in a room alone together or they'll both end up bloody and bruised. Well Danny will end up blood and Damian will end up bruised. But! If someone else is in the room they are the sweetest brothers to each other. Laughing, jokingly, hell Damian smiles, but once they're alone all hell breaks loose.

It's worse than when Damian used to try and kill Tim. At least then he at least tried to be sneaky about it but with Danny? No, Damian will walk up to Danny and just stab him for no other reason than he can and Danny, Danny just laughs and takes the blade saying something like "it's in me so it's mine now" then going to throw Damian in a choke hold.

At first the family was worried and confused because why the fuck are they so aggressive towards each other?? Yeah the bats all stalked Danny, yeah the bats were almost about to destroy the Masters and Fentons but that's supposedly water under the bridge now. Danny said he wasn't mad at least, he just wanted to spend time with his brother again. SO WHY WE'RE THEY ALWAYS TRYING TO KILL EACH OTHER??

Dick was the first to see this happen. Dick was with the boys, Danny and him making stupid jokes, Damian groaning, and they'd laugh. Then he left to grab snacks. Only to run back when he heard something crash, in the 5 minutes he was gone, Danny was impaled with a sword, with multiple batarangs sticking out of him! One was even in his eye!! Damian wasn't looking any better, black eye, split lip, bloody nose, and beaten to hell while Danny held him by the throat dangling him above the ground. Dick screamed and went to pull the boys away from each other which Danny allowed easily. When he asked WHY?? the boys only shrugged. Then began to argue about who kept the sword. Danny says it was in him so he should keep it and Damian saying it's his sword. Dick looked at the both of them and sighed taking the weapons for himself much to the protest of the boys. Now he had a head ache and a long conversation to have later.

Bruce almost had a stroke when he was told about it. He nearly fainted when he did see it for himself. HIS BOYS FOUGHT LIKE THEY WERE GOING TO KILL EACH OTHER. So now they couldn't be left alone together someone always had to make sure they didn't kill each other during their visits. Which is fine the Master's Manor was much more suited for their fights anyways hell maybe they could have their mother come watch them fight. It's been a long time since Danny has seen their mother after all.

The reason: That's the only way they know how to act together. They trained together when they were small and it's still just habit. Plus now that Damian knows none of his weapons can really kill Danny he goes all out to stay sharp, to Danny this is just ghost bonding. Ghosts do love fighting after all. Maybe one day he'll actually go full strength on Damian just for fun, just to see how his weaker, still mostly mortal brother will react. After all none of the bats have ever fought him in his ghost form.

Damian and Danny being left alone for 5 minutes:

[rambling-at-midnight]

Don't Go Disappearing On Me Again

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: Jason's lost too much to lose you, too. (We stan healthy communication in this house)

Word count: 2.3k

Ow.

You've never worked Friday nights before at the restaurant, and you never want to again. And you'd thought Saturday mornings were bad.

But one of your favorite coworkers had called you in a panic early this morning, begging you to take her shift, because her lab group's department at GCU was going out to bowling and it would be a great networking opportunity. You were the last person she called, but everyone else before you had declined because they were either scheduled or determined to avoid the shitshow.

And because you were weak, you gave in and said you would cover her Friday night shift as long as she covered your Friday morning shift.

So you two swapped shifts, and you went into your library internship in the morning instead of the evening. It wasn't a particularly hard job, but end-of-week returns had you dashing all over the three floors, so your feet already hurt before you walked into the restaurant.

Right before coming in, you'd texted Jason that you'd gotten held up, and it was a good thing you did, because you haven't had a single break to look at your phone the whole shift. He likely wasn't even awake yet—last night's patrol had been tough on the both of you, him because he came home half beaten to death, and you because you'd had a heart attack waking up in the middle of the night to your bloody boyfriend passing out on top of you in bed. But you usually got home around six from the library, and it was looking like you wouldn't be back until ten at the earliest, so you wanted to let him know. It was going on hour seven after starting at two p.m., when the restaurant switched from its brunch to dinner menu. Personally, you think two p.m. is obscenely early to eat dinner, but apparently rich people loved eating at weird hours, because you had had nonstop tables the entire night.

But the good thing is that the restaurant closes at nine, so you’re almost there. After your last three tables eat and leave, all you have to do is clean your section, close your checks, and clock out.

In the kitchen, you lean against the fridge, rubbing your hips and knees. You’re a little too young to feel so creaky after seven hours on your feet. After all, Jason works all night, doing athletic feats you could never dream of.

You can't really complain, though. You'd gotten lucky with your tables; they'd all tipped well. Maybe you could even add a little bit to your savings account instead of shoving every paycheck right at your student loans, which just keep growing, no matter how much you pay.

“Oh, no,” says Charlotte, one of the other veteran servers at the restaurant. She’s staring at the camera feed display, which is tuned to a livestream of the restaurant’s entranceway. “Don’t you dare seat me now, Ashley, I swear to God.”

“What time is it?” your head jerks up. “We’re about to close, right? Is someone looking for a table?”

“Yeah,” she says, pointing to the screen. “The hottest man in the world just walked in our front door.”

You just hum, not bothering to look in favor of pulling out your phone. You know for a fact that the hottest man in the world is actually at home in your bed right now. “The kitchen’s stopped receiving tickets. No way Ashley seats someone right now.” The screen doesn't light up when you click the power button. Well, shit. It's dead.

“I can’t tell what he’s saying.” Charlotte squints at the screen. “He’s, like, huge. Does Ashley look a little scared to you?”

You’re out of the kitchen without even looking at the screen. You speedmarch right past your tables, ignoring one man’s halfhearted attempts to flag you down for more ketchup. A righteous fire is boiling in your gut. You’ve been here long enough that the managers won’t fire you for telling off any customers that harass the younger workers that are more scared to stand up for yourself.

Your mouth is already open, ready to spew forth the beginning of your tirade, when you recognize the man in front of Ashley at the host stand.

Dressed in gray sweats and a dark T-shirt, slouching slightly, he looks even worse than when you kissed his forehead goodbye that morning. The bruise on Jason's face has properly colored now, purple and blue along his jawline. His hair looks a little flat, like he's been wearing his helmet, which is strange.

Jason's eyes snap onto you the second you appear, and you falter at the intensity there. Something has happened, but you're not sure what.

"Hey," you say, a little hesitant. "What's up?"

Ashley exhales with relief. "So you do know him."

"Yeah," you say without breaking eye contact with Jason, who's staring at you with the same expression you think a wolf would wear when stalking a hare. "He's my boyfriend."

You expect Jason to tell you that someone was in an accident. Someone's in the hospital. Something terrible happened to your apartment while you were gone.

He says none of those things. Instead, Jason says, "I didn't know you picked up a Friday shift."

Ashley's face goes blank.

"I told you I would be home late."

“No,” he corrects. “You texted me that you were being held up.”

“Yeah, at work.”

“And then you disappeared.” Jason’s jaw clenched. “Did you know that a bank was held up this afternoon? Your bank?”

“Oh, shit,” your hand flies up to cover your mouth. “My phone died, I don’t know when. You couldn’t check my location and see I was here?”

He just shakes his head, stiff and wordless.

“Hey, Y/N.” It’s your manager approaching the host stand now, customer service smile on and eyes taking in Jason’s appearance. “What’s going on up here?”

“Hey, Steve,” you say. “Sorry, this is my boyfriend Jason—Jay, this is my manager, Steve—”

Jason gets the hint and smiles close-lipped, reaching to shake Steve’s hand.

“My phone died so he came to see if I needed a ride home.”

“As soon as your tables leave and your section’s clean, you’re good to go. Oh, and you have to roll silverware.”

“It’ll be at least another hour,” you say apologetically to Jason.

“Okay.” His eyes keep boring into you like he’s trying to send you a telepathic message. He’s mad, you get it, but it makes you a little mad, too. You’re a grown adult. Yeah, the miscommunication was your fault, and it’s fine for him to be worried, but he looks close to Red Hood levels of anger, which is totally unwarranted for this situation. “Is it cool if I wait at the bar for you, then?”

“Of course!” Steve answers for you. "Our bartender, Lacy, will be happy to serve you while you wait." He checks his watch. "Until last call, that is."

"He didn't scare you, did he?" you ask Ashley as soon as Steve leaves. You smile at Jason, trying to tease him, but his expression doesn't twitch. "He looks mean, but I promise he's a big ol' softie."

Jason just grunts, but on his way to the bar, he doesn't forget to drop a kiss to your forehead. It warms you from the inside out.

As soon as he's gone, Ashley blurts out, "What happened to his face?"

"Motorcycle accident," you fib. "Oh, my table's calling me."

You rush over to take care of the poor man's ketchup—he's been waiting almost five whole minutes—and check out another party. The back of your neck prickles as you do. Every time you glance at the bar, Jason's green eyes are locked on your every move. It flusters you so much that when your table leaves, they say thanks, and you respond with, "Good morning!"

"What?"

"Thanks, you too!"

You run back to the kitchen, and everyone immediately starts interrogating you about your 'huge hunky boyfriend' (Charlotte's words, not yours).

By some miracle, all your tables clear out by closing time, and you’re out by 9:20. There are still a couple people at the bar, but Jason’s up immediately to walk out with you, leaving his water glass on the counter.

He doesn’t say anything, though you can feel his eyes on you whenever you aren’t looking. You won’t fight in public, so you follow his lead and stay quiet.

He drove your car to pick you up, and even though he’s obviously mad, he holds the passenger door open for you before getting into the driver’s seat.

The drive home is silent. He parks in the spot for your shared apartment, then immediately, quietly, asks, “Why’d you pick up a shift without telling me?”

"It was super last-minute," you say. He's still facing forward, so you do the same, eyeing his profile out of the corner of your eyes. "Like, it happened this morning. I thought you were sleeping, so I didn't want to blow up your phone with texts. I thought you'd just check my location and see where I was when you woke up."

Jason's hand clenches on the center console. "I woke up and I was terrified."

"I'm sorry—"

"And the bank, and your wording, and your phone was off—"

"I know," you say, putting your hand over his fist. He unclenches immediately to lace his fingers with yours. "I'll make sure I tell you next time."

Jason takes a deep breath in, then lets it out. In a rush, he finally turns to face you and says, "I don't mean to be controlling."

You blink. "I don't think you're being controlling."

"You don't?" Jason frowns. "Then why were you so mad when I walked into your work?"

"Mad? I'm not mad—you're mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you, what are you talking about?"

"You've been glaring this whole time! And you didn't say a word this entire car ride."

"Because I thought you were angry. I wanted to give you space."

"Okay, wait, wait, wait." You hold up a hand. "Let me get this straight. You're not mad at me?"

"No," he says earnestly. "I was worried and scared, but you're an adult. You don't have to ask for permission if you want to pick up a shift at work." He makes a face like the thought disgusts him.

"Okay," you say. "Okay, well if you're not mad at me, I'm not mad at you, either."

"Then why did you look so pissed when I walked in?"

You press your lips together to keep from smiling. "Well, we have cameras that show us up front while we're in the kitchen, right? One of my coworkers was watching and said 'the hottest man in the world' walked in and I didn't look because I thought the hottest guy in the world was still asleep in my bed—"

Jason covers his face with his hands. You can't stop your smile now, and you pull them away so you can look at said handsome face. "And I didn't even look because I'm such a loyal, awesome partner—"

"You are pretty awesome," he agrees, trying to sound serious, but he's grinning like an idiot, too. His cheeks are flushed pink.

"I know I am. But then Charlotte said that the hostess, Ashley, looked a little intimidated by him, so I walked out to see if she needed help."

"Aw," Jason says. He lowers his chin to look at you from underneath his lashes, pretty as a picture. "Were you going to give me a stern talking-to?"

"I can still give you one," you offer.

"Maybe later."

He's still grinning, and you're still grinning, so the both of you are grinning at each other like idiots in the car.

You want to kiss him, and he's your boyfriend. You're allowed to do that whenever the two of you want, so you take Jason by the chin and pull his mouth to yours.

Jason sighs against you, and it's like all the tension in his body melts away. One hand comes up to cradle your jaw, the other on the back of your head.

You break away to murmur, "Are you patrolling tonight?" He's still so beaten up.

"No," he whispers, voice low and gravelly in a way that has butterflies whipping around like a tornado in your stomach.

"Good. Wanna go up and be the hottest patient in the world while I look at your wounds?"

"Only if you're the hottest nurse in the world."

"Oh, but then who will be the hottest chef in the world who makes dinner?"

"The hot chef is on vacation right now," Jason joked. "But I can be a really hot food-orderer. What takeout are you in the mood for?"

"You're the injured one. What do you want?"

"I want whatever you want."

You narrow your eyes in a glare. "Well, I want whatever you want."

"You gotta make a decision," he says, already on his phone. "You're the hottest decision-maker in the world, I'm the hottest food-orderer."

"Chinese?"

"You got it."

Right before he dials the number, you grab him and kiss him again. When you pull back, he chases after your lips. It's so tempting that you give him another firm peck before you pat his chest once.

Jason blinks twice, looking dazed. "What was that for?"

You shrug. "I just wanted to kiss the hottest man in the world."

"Oh, my God." He groans and covers his face again, but you can see his red ears. "You're never gonna let that go?"

"Mmm." You pretend to consider it. "No."

DC taglist:

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[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

His Name | Soulmate!AU

~1.1k words

Jason Todd. That's the name that etched itself on your thigh the night of your sixteen birthday. Which is great, you have a soulmate. The issue is that you know– knew a Jason Todd. He happens to be six feet under the dirt in a graveyard you visit every Saturday. Which is not so great.

Being soul bound to a dead person gets you a lot of pitying glances from the people you know. You tell them there's more than one Jason Todd in the world. It makes your family shake their heads. You try not to dwell on the heartbreak on their faces when you tell them that, when they think you can't see it. They saw you and Jason together when he was alive. There won't be another Jason Todd in your life.

It's something you've slowly come to terms with, when no other Jason Todd finds their way to you, the idea of never seeing your name permanently marked on someone else's skin. The fact that you might never really have the person that's supposed to be yours.

That's why you might have reacted kind of poorly when Red Hood brings you up to a quiet rooftop, tugging off his leather jacket in front of you, dragging the material of his suit up and over his forearm to reveal your name on his skin.

You weren't even doing anything dangerous to get here, just at the wrong store at the wrong time, while some third-rate rouge went on and on about conquering the city. Standard Gotham experience.

What wasn't normal was Red Hood crashing through a window, brutal and efficient with every movement until each person with a gun was knocked out and beaten on the floor. Sure, you were aware he wasn't exactly a crime lord anymore, labeled a 'turned vigilante' by the press, but press also said he doesn't tend to leave crime alley. And you definitely weren't in crime alley. None of news stories of him saving people exactly calms the adrenaline coursing through you when he picks you up like it was the easiest thing in the world for him, hoisting you like you're made of glass over his shoulder and grappling you both to a nearby roof. You're alone before you even have time to process it.

You stumble back when he gently, so gently it makes your heart stutter, sets you on the ground. "Who do you think you are? You can't just grab people–" your biting words cut off as you register the black lettering across his skin. Your name. Your name is there. On Red Hoods arm.

You reach out to touch it before you can stop yourself, fingers trailing down his forearm and over each letter of your name. He lets you, not speaking words, only sighing in what sounds like relief. You force your gaze from the mark you could stare at forever to meet the glowing eyes of his mask. "You're- Jason Todd?"

He nods, every nerve of his body completely locked on you. It doesn't clear anything up. He can't be Jason Todd, at least, not the one you buried.

You make a face and step back, crossing your arms, "Yeah right."

He seems to blank, arm still held out, showing your name permanently engraved on his skin. "Yeah, right?" He echos, deep and robotic through the modulator of his mask.

You set your jaw and nod.

He tilts his head, lifting his arm higher to make you see the mark. To see your name. "Do you think I faked it?"

That makes you falter. Why would he? There's nothing to gain by pretending to be your soulmate. "Well, no. But you still could have the wrong person."

He exhales a laugh, breathes out your name with more fondess than you've ever heard. "Always so stubborn."

Your frown. Sure, maybe you could be stubborn but he doesn't know that.

He says your name again, reaching up to tug his hood back, reaching for his mask.

It makes you freeze, eyes going wide in shock when you make out his face. Jason. Your Jason. "How–" You start, but can't quite manage to finish, eyes darting over the face that's so familiar, only older, more tired, more scarred. But his eyes are still the same. Intent and focused and bright when everything around him is dark.

"It's a long story." He says softly, before starting to ramble, nervous to upset you, to lose any chance of knowing you again. Any unease you felt around Red Hood fades as you recognize the boy you grew up with in him. "Maybe I could tell you? Over coffee? I have safe house nearby. But, only if you're comfortable. Or we could meet during the day, if thats better?"

His voice sounds more familiar without mask, and you study him, almost accusing. "You didn't have to kidnap me to tell me you're alive. Or that you're my soulmate, you know."

He stumbles over your words, taking half a step closer to you. "I didn't! I mean, I wasn't trying to. I swear– I just couldn't take all of this off down there." He gestures to the mask, a little frantic to gain your approval.

It brings a small smile to your face, and he stops still at the sight of it, breath catching in his throat as you speak, "I'm glad you're here, Jason."

"I'm glad you're safe." He exhales out, eyes softening and tension draining from his muscles in relief.

You can't quite fight the urge to reach out for him, so you do, taking his hand and gently flipping it over so you can read your name again. You have questions, absolutely. Gripes. Proably a lecture that he should have come seen you sooner. But you settle on how right this feels in your bones, how your soul feels like its missing piece slotted into place. "Do you have creamer?"

"Creamer?" He asks, voice airy and memorized by the feel of your skin against his hand.

"For the coffee?" You prompt, smiling a little wider at his dazed expression, his eyes following your hand, like he can't believe you haven't run screaming for the hills.

"Yeah. Course. Anything you want." And when he focuses back in your face, you know in the very essence of what you are that he means it.

"Coffees a good start." You say, a little fond as you pull away your hand away, and he reluctantly lets your fingers slide from his.

"Coffee it is." And it is a good start. To know your other half again, to follow the warm, soothing feeling in your soul when you touch him, you'll try as many starts as it takes.