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electricgg · 1 month ago

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Ancient Dreams In A Modern Land

Chapter 7: Silver Spoons And Butter Knives, Living Hand To Mouth I’m Getting By

Masterlist Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 (Here!) / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of Bullying, Suicidal implications, Body harm, Body Horror

The concept of boarding school wasn’t as bad as people portray it.

A boarding school is an institution where students live on the premises while receiving formal instruction, essentially providing both lodging and meals. Unlike normal schools, boarding schools offer a residential experience, often encompassing a wider range of extracurricular activities and a sense of community.

At least, that’s the literal definition she found on the internet.

When Bobby (with whom she had exchanged phone numbers and yapped the whole weekend through text, and sent her way too many TikToks she didn’t really understand but found funny) had asked her if she was staying at the dorms so they could hang out after class, she suddenly found a ray of hope of getting away from the Waynes.

Which led her to do a thorough research on Wikipedia.

Gotham Academy has been a prestigious, private boarding school for Gotham’s elite. And anyone who could afford it, or had a scholarship.

Most members of the Wayne family had gone to the academy. Most of the said members were expelled or dropped out of it.

Including Bruce himself.

Which is why she was currently pissed off on a Monday morning as Alfred drove the younger members of the family to school.

“This is bullshit,” She muttered while pouting at the window, arms crossed and legs sprawled out in the passenger seat.

The butler gave her a pointed look, letting her know that she should behave. The young girl readjusted her sitting position with a grumble. Her glare followed the tall buildings and the people walking around the busy sidewalk, passing them by in a blur to those with normal eyesight.

Not for her, thought. Everything seemed so slow-paced today.

It was quite annoying. From the moment she woke up that morning, it had been like stepping into a slow-motion sequence. The curtains of her room moved oh so gently, it almost seemed like they were floating. The water from her shower had stopped for a few moments, and she could even count the drops of the stream that stood frozen in the air before she received a cold splash in the face that almost made her crack her head open again if she hadn’t hung onto the built-in shelves on the wall. Then, the gremlin at breakfast. He seemed to take his sweet time eating his French toast, which was almost disturbing to see how slow someone could chew on his food. It made her sick to the stomach remembering it.

They were short lapses of time. Didn’t last too long, but those moments still managed to unsettle her and keep her on the edge.

“I’m afraid this is something you will have to discuss with your father, my dear.” His voice took her away from her musings, returning her mind to the present.

‘Where was I? Oh, right,’ her anger returning once again.

Just when she thought she had found a way to escape from the suffocating manor, the family had once again meddled with her brilliant plans.

Apparently, she did not form part of the whole boarding school experience. (Well, Wayne didn’t)

Due to the many incidents involving her ‘siblings’ and ‘father’ at the school in their scholarly years, they had gained a rather infamous reputation. This led to taking away certain privileges when a member of the Wayne family was to be enrolled at the academy.

Said privileges were not being able to partake in staying at the dorms through the semester.

(aka. Waynes were banned from the academy dorms.)

“I don’t understand why a sudden need to stay in such facilities.” Damian retorted from his place in the backseat. Still giving her the stinkeye for taking the front seat first (she had taken off while yelling ‘shotgun’ through the halls, making Drake get up from his deep sleep and come out of his room to see what was happening with his sheets all tangled on his legs.)

“Pennyworth makes far better meals, and the beds haven’t been thoroughly cleaned in ages. That’s without mentioning having to share your personal space with a stranger who lacks manners.” That last part made her bite her tongue hard.

‘When the irony is ironing,’ She thought sarcastically.

“It’s all about the independence and socializing. Who doesn’t like talking to total strangers and getting to know them while also sharing a bathroom?” Her lips were curling in a grin, her tone letting on very clearly what she was referring to.

Damian tutted, harshly crossing his arms while glaring at her. Alfred simply sighed as he pulled through the metal front gate of the academy.

“Since when do you like socializing, Embarrassment?” He remarked on the nickname with a cold glare at the back of her seat.

And as if she had sensed it, she took off her seatbelt and turned half of her body to the back so she could face him directly. Both of their glares clashed with one another.

Alfred got out of the car to take out her school bag from the back of the car, wondering to himself if he was truly paid enough to deal with teenagers.

Damian was very much annoyed at her new attitude. It was getting on his nerves how she stood her ground and didn’t flatter. He couldn’t have missed this part of her. He was the son of the greatest detective in the world, and he took pride in his deduction skills. And he had deducted his sister from the first moment they met. Never, in a million years, would she have the courage to act like this. Too insecure. Too weak. Too scared.

She would have had to die and be reborn to be acting like this.

“Don’t act like you know me, Damian.” His name sounded like a curse in the making on her tongue. Her deep, dark eyes stared directly into his own, a glint of something akin to sardonic gone the moment she turned back on her seat and opened the car door.

“You don’t have the right to judge. Not then. Not now. Not ever.”

With that, she stepped out and slammed the door shut, leaving him with words in his mouth.

He could only follow her stomping outside towards Alfred out of the corner of his eye, refusing to turn his face a single inch towards them. She seemed to mutter something to the older man, to whom he put a hand on her shoulder and spoke very gently.

Her eyes softened, and Damian couldn’t help but be put off by it.

He was well aware that she used grey contact lenses. She always wore them, no matter what. One would think she would sleep while wearing them, but he knew she wasn’t that stupid.

He never wondered why she used them, scraping it off as some odd fashing trend girls her age were into. They just were part of her and he went along with it. Never putting much thought into it.

Now, Damian was putting a lot of thought into it.

He had always known that he was an almost carbon copy of his father. Black hair, facial structure, etc. There was little doubt about his heritage and he took pride in it.

His half-sibling was another story. No matter how hard she tried to dress, act, talk, and move like them, she didn’t seem to fit in. The cold colors and heavy presence that were very characteristic of the Waynes didn’t suit her.

It had been obvious before, but now it was undeniable to Damian.

And it was all because of those damned eyes.

He wouldn’t dare to say it out loud, maybe just ponder it to himself, only in his thoughts, but Damian wanted her grey eyes back.

Those grey eyes that would crinkle in worry when he came back upset from a bad patrol night. Those grey eyes that would widen in excitement when she looked over his sketchbook and praised his skills. Those grey eyes that were full of softness and care, asking about how his day was at school.

…Maybe he wasn’t missing the grey. Not really.

‘It doesn’t make any sense.’ His mind hissed, making his frown deepen. ‘Why is this bothering me so much? She is just a nuisance and below-’

“Hey! Bobby! Over here!”

Her shout made Damian snap his head towards the car window with a snarl. Which slipped down slowly as he took in the scene happening outside.

She was waving her arm over her head quite fast towards someone. A guy who was smiling way too much for his taste (it almost made him turn away in disgust, but he fought against it), as he moved towards her with a jump in his walk. He looked like an overgrown golden retriever, wearing the academy uniform.

What happened next made Damian’s blood go cold and hot at the same time, his nails sinking into the fabric of his clothes, and his lips pressed tightly.

Because that guy dared to come close to his sister and pick her up in a hug while twirling her around.

Her bright laugh as she was put down, quickly jumping into a conversation with the big oaf while patting down her now wrinkly uniform, made his stomach twist into a feeling he couldn’t quite place yet.

The warmth in her eyes had Damian bite inside his cheek, chest tight as she began to walk away with the guy, with a quick goodbye to a smiling Alfred, who had begun to go inside the car and pull away from the school grounds.

The young boy’s stare didn’t move away from the pair. Not until he lost them out of sight due to the distance.

Who did that guy think he was?! Coming so close to her and acting so touchy with his sister.

Was he a friend? No way. She didn’t have any friends. He was sure.

Was he?

Was he a boyfriend? Ridiculous, there was no way she would have hidden something like that from the family. She wouldn’t.

…Would she?

What else had she been keeping quiet? What else didn’t he know about her? When had she changed? Had she even changed? Was she always like this and he just came to notice? When she grew tired of his prickly nature and sharp words? Did he lose her affection? Was he too late?

Did he lose her without even knowing?

‘No,’ He thought, fingers curled into fists by his side as he gave a glance to the smaller view of the academy through the window.

‘Something is wrong here.’

‘And I will find out.’

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

The academy was huge. It had halls over halls and stairs over stairs. An old smell stuck on the stone walls that gave the building an even more mystic flair, as if the gargoyle statues on every corner of the gate halls weren’t enough. It even had tall stained glass windows that gave a view of the huge campus: the main fountain, the track field, the outdoor gym, and many other places.

It was by pure miracle that she didn’t end up lost. But that was mostly because Bobby would drag her by the back of her school vest whenever she wandered off.

She was very thankful for that, since her ghost companion was not here today to guide her.

Wayne said that she would stay at the manor for the day, something along the lines of that she should experience the full school experience without her help (which screamed bullshit but she wasn’t going to fight her on that. If she was a ghost and had the choice to not go to school, she would also do the same) and trying to find any clues for their small quest.

So now, she was walking by herself for the first time at a school. So exciting, right?

“-and then the coach said I could play in the next game if someone hurts themselves. Which is not bad, but I don’t know. I don’t want anyone to get hurt just so I can prove myself as a player, y’know?”

“Aren’t you here because of a scholarship? Don’t you need to play to be able to stay here?” She asked the stressed boy, who had been talking about this for the past few minutes as they walked towards their third class of the day.

Bobby was from New York, and he had taken a sports scholarship in the academy this very year, so he could get into Gotham University to study accounting. Just like his father, who was a bank accountant back at home.

He formed part of the baseball school team and had been on the bench since he got inscribed into the academy.

Leading to his sudden stress of not having the chance to prove himself.

“Poor athletic performance can lead to losing the scholarship, so yeah. If I don’t play, I could lose it.” He quoted with his shoulders down, a deep sigh leaving his lungs as she patted his shoulder in a small show of support.

They had gotten along quite fast. Probably because Bobby had been the first open person with his thoughts and feelings since she woke up in that nasty pool.

No underhanded comments. No pushiness. No expectations. Always asking if what they were talking about was okay. If she was comfortable with anything.

It was a breath of fresh air, and she felt great hanging around him.

“What if I help you out with practice? I know jackshit about baseball, but I think I can throw some balls so you can practice swinging?” She offered with a shrug as they went into a half full classroom.

Bobby perked up with a huge smile and put an arm over her shoulder, slightly moving her side to side. “Please, and I will buy you ice cream every time after practice.”

That made her snort and shove him off of her playfully by pushing his face away with her hand, making him guaff and laugh.

“Personal space, jeez,” She said as he sat down on the second table and moved a chair back so she could sit beside him.

As he muttered his apologies, she couldn’t help but feel somebody’s stare on her back.

Just when she was gonna look over her shoulder, the bell rang, and everyone took their seats. Conversations quieted down as students began to pull out their books without a second thought.

Following everyone’s lead, she put out her history book with a sigh and kept her eyes downcast.

Now, there were many different stares and murmurs in her direction. From the corner of her eyes, she could see a few classmates whispering to each other or staring openly at her.

‘Yeah, that ain’t gonna fly,’ she thought, twisting her head to give her classmates a dead stare that had them gasping and looking in different directions while pretending they were busy with their phones or books.

“That’s weird,” Bobby’s voice took her away from her successful intimidation. “Professor Jones is usually here before any of us.”

The girl shrugged, leaning back on her chair while she brought one crossed leg on the seat as the other bounced against the floor. “Maybe they got stuck in traffic or somethin-”

The classroom door slammed open, taking all the attention of the students and making the room fall into silence.

A man stepped inside and closed the door behind him, his steps heavy as he walked towards the desk and put down his brown leather handbag on the chair and a pack of old-looking cigars inside one of cabinets.

He didn’t spare a single glance at them, picking up a piece of white chalk and beginning to write on the chalkboard.

He had a heavy build, like the ones that those wrestling guys on TV have, judging by how his shoulders and biceps stood out underneath his dark leather jacket. Some of the girls and a few other guys were staring intensely at his tight jeans, showing off his sculpted legs as well.

What stood out more for her was his hairstyle, spiked on both sides of his black hair.

Once he finished writing on the board, he clapped his hands to shake off the chalk on his palms and turned around with a grunt. A severe frown on his face as he looked over the quiet students.

“Your professor has taken a sudden leave for the rest of the semester.” His gruff tone had people straighten up and glup loudly.

Bobby exchanged a quick look of confusion and uncertainty with her.

This man didn’t look like the type of person to give a history class.

“You may call me Teach or Mr. Munroe. None of that formal stuff. Whoever calls me Professor will give ten laps on the track field, am I clear?” He almost snarled the last part.

Everyone nodded.

The man nodded and sat on the corner of the desk, crossing his arms. His tag necklace glinted with the movement as he pursed his lips in distaste once he saw the books sitting neatly on the desks.

“Now put those books away. We’re learning real history from now on.”

Some students muttered in confusion while a few others cheered as they put the books back in their bags. Bobby almost scrambled and rattled the desk as he took his book away, which made her snort a laugh and put her book down.

As the class continued, bustling with excitement over the new mysterious teacher and his unconventional method of teaching history, she had forgotten the odd stare she felt at the very beginning of class. It had simply slid off her mind.

In the back of the classroom, a guy with golden curls and clear eyes didn’t take his gaze off of her for the rest of the class.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Bruce wasn’t expecting any visits this early in the day.

He had recived plenty of calls from Dick, trying to check on him and see how the investigation on the case had been going but he didn’t pick them up. Tim had gone to stay at the Titans’ tower, claiming his sleep schedule was messed up and staying at the manor wasn’t helping keep him focused on the case (Bruce had the fleeting suspicion that Conner had something to do with that decision.)

He was more than sure that everyone was clear that he wanted to be left alone at the moment.

But Jason couldn’t give two fucks about what Bruce wanted.

The past Robin had parked his bike by the Batmobile, leaving his red helmet hanging by one of the handles of his vehicle. Sauntering towards the concentrated detective, who was sitting in front of the main computer and surrounded by many documents and files both on the screen and on paper.

“You look like shit.”

Bruce only switched the documents in his hands without lifting his head.

“Gordon told me about the bodies.” He answered, a cold tone in his voice.

Jason threw himself on the nearest chair, legs spread as he stared at Bruce’s back with a smug air around him.

“Jealous much?” He snarked. “That I got to them before you did?”

He was pushing his buttons.

Jason wanted to see how far he could get.

He was hoping for a fight, that way he could at least calm down the fury still running in his veins.

“You left them headless, and Gordon is still looking for their fingers, Jason.” Bruce hissed, finally turning around to glare at the guiltless man.

“They had it coming.”

“That was execution, Jason. It’s not how-”

“I ain’t one of your little robins, Bruce,” Jason retorted, leaning forward with his fists curling and gaze flashing green. “I did what you should have done the moment she was attacked.”

“There wasn’t enough proof yet-” The older man argued back, making Jason scoff and get up from the chair harshly.

The outlaw began to roam beneath his jacket, taking out crumbled files and dumping them over the keyboard of the computer. As soon as it hit the surface, pictures and documents fell out of it onto the ground and the desk.

“Take a look at your precious proof.”

Bruce took a moment before picking up a few of the pictures that had fallen on the floor. His jaw clenched, and his eyes darkened when he realized what the image showed.

It was from a surveillance camera. All the pictures were from different cameras around the city. The school grounds. The city parks. The mall.

And even from the abandoned public pool.

In all of the pictures, she was there. Getting pushed around. Harassed by the same four guys. He could recognize that they had the same uniform as her from the academy. Maybe seniors, since they easily towered over her.

The ones from the school contained different scenarios. Getting a phone flash shoved right in her face. Shoved down the stairs. Pushed on the school fountain. Yanked by her school bag or clothes. Getting too touchy with her, to the point of it being visibly rough.

One of the pictures showed her running in one of the parks, face blurred in panic as she looked over her shoulder at the boys trying to catch up to her.

Another one showed all five of them at the pool. Her on the ground, holding her head as it bled. Two of the boys were crouching down to hold her down while the others lifted a bloody brick.

He slammed the pictures down with a shuddering sigh. Throat tight, cold anger sinking from the tip of his fingers.

How long had this been going on? For how long had she been keeping this quiet? Why had she kept it quiet? Why didn’t she say something?

‘Had she said something? Did she say anything about it?’ His mind came on empty as many questions surfaced.

All those times he had turned her away, her knocks at his office door, and her silent voice asking if he was too busy. Always shutting her down, dreading to see her face and find old ghosts staring back at him.

Was it right there? Did she reach out just for him to turn her away?

Bruce felt a burning sensation behind his eyes.

“The documents are the transcripts of what I managed to get out of them on record.” Jason’s voice sounded far away.

Did she gather up the courage to come to him, and he gave her his back?

“Sick bastards, the lot of them,” Jason spat. “They had been tormenting her for years.”

Did she feel by herself in this? Nobody willing to listen? No one to trust?

“It went on from simply things. Spreading rumors about being into witchcraft and stuff. Saying that she would curse people with her bad luck if they came near her and odd shit like that to isolate her.”

How many times did he even talk to her? How many chances did he allow her to have to tell him about this?

“Then it moved to more physical stuff. Shoving, pushing, typical asshole stuff. Did you notice any bruises on her when she came from school?”

Bruises? What bruises? She was always wearing long sleeves, claiming it was too cold in the manor.

“You did notice, right? They said that it got ugly plenty of times.”

Long sleeves. Even when it was hot out. She always wore them. How could he never piece it together? How many bruises did she hide from Him?

“Bruce? Did you-”

His daughter. Bianca’s child. With long sleeves. Bruises. From that filth. How many? How many times was she hurt? How many times did he not notice? Gods, did she also- Had she also done it to herself? Had she felt there was no other way out of the lonesome existence he had put her into? That he was the one to inflict that on her? That would explain her current attitude. Her anger. Her glares. Her snarls. How could he ever blame her for acting out when it was all on him? Only himself to bla-

The sudden throbbing pain in his jaw snapped him out of his thoughts, making him stumble back as he looked at a fuming Jason with a lowered fist.

“No,” His glare was agitated, chest heaving, and teeth in a snarl. “You don’t get to feel sorry for yourself.”

Bruce took a sharp breath, his gaze lost as the sharpness of Jason’s words cut deep into his throat, making him unable to utter a word.

The younger man pointed a shaking finger at him in anger, taking steps closer towards the shocked man. “Either you fix this and admit you failed her, just like you failed me,”

Jason got up in his face, fist hitting against Bruce’s chest with a shuddering breath. Eyes blazing a toxic green, staring right into his grey ones.

“Or I will make sure that she turns out just like me.”

With that, Jason turned around and stomped to his bike. The engine roaring to life as he took off from the cave without giving him a single look back towards the currently shocked, quiet man.

Bruce then sank to the floor, hands tangled on his hair strands as he took deep breaths. Mind echoing with many words and questions.

But he could only choke out a few words to himself and the air.

“Oh, Bianca, I fucked it up to hell and back, didn’t I?…”

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

The piano room was too silent.

Ever since Cassandra set foot in the manor, the piano room had always been filled with contained noise. The keys echoing down the halls, a soft melody that made her skin embrace the foreign warmth of a ballad repeated over and over, day by day.

She hadn’t heard a single note in the past week.

It made the air in the manor heavy and constricted, the halls darker, and the silence almost unbearable.

Cassandra didn’t plan to pass by the piano room. Her feet just led her wandering steps towards the halfway-opened wooden door. The creaking made goosebumps break out on her skin.

The curtains were closed, and no natural light entered the room. Just a few lamps that flickered every once in a while and a very cold sensation covering her when she stepped inside.

Her legs guided her to the untouched piano. A hand passed over the worn keys, feeling a thin veil of dust under her fingertips.

A shard of guilt stabbed right through her stomach.

She had gotten exactly what she wanted…

Silence.

╰───────────✧──────────────╮

Call it pettiness or whichever useless feeling people came up with, but Cassandra was done with all the noise that she made.

It's always the same song. The same melody. The same lyrics.

She was tired of it.

She stood by the door, staring directly at the young girl who didn’t seem to notice her as she continued to sing that ballad over and over.

“If I can’t reach you, let my song teach you,” the younger girl sang softly, eyes closed as her fingers played smoothly over the keys.

Cassandra clenched her teeth.

She wanted silence.

“All you need to keep our love alive,”

She was tired of her playing.

“If I can’t hold you,”

She was tired of her.

“Remember what I told y-”

“Could you keep it down?”

The girl startled, smashing the keys and making an awful sound. Both of them cringed at it.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-” She tried to apologize with a stammer as she stood up, stumbling and fidgeting fingers.

But Cassandra didn’t let her finish.

“You don’t know any other songs?” she questioned.

“Not really. My mom only taught me this-”

“Then why play at all?” She didn’t understand. It was useless to know just one song on the piano. A waste of skill and talent, if she were honest. It didn’t make any sense.

The girl took a sharp breath, hands wringing with the hems of her sleeves and fingers. “It’s an important ballad. My mom used to say it was a protec-”

“It’s too loud. Keep it down.”

Cassandra didn’t care about the importance of the song. She just wanted silence. Her ears were ringing, and she could feel a headache coming on if she heard another keynote from the piano.

They stayed quiet for a moment. A slow nod from the younger girl was answer enough for her.

Cassandra turned around and left.

She had blessed silence for the rest of the day.

╰───────────✧──────────────╮

That happened years ago. She still played the song, but kept the door closed and put heavy curtains to muffle some of the noise. It still managed to slip through, but Cassandra didn’t really care as much anymore. It had blended into the background noise of the manor.

It had become part of their daily life. Something that just fitted right in.

And now that it was gone, the absence of it had been loud.

Such a loud silence.

She didn’t like it.

Cassandra hummed to herself, looking around the room one last time before walking outside into the. Leaving the door open behind her.

Maybe she could ask her if she could play again after she came from school? It wouldn’t be too much to ask of her. It wasn’t like the younger girl had done a lot around the manor lately. Just stay in her room all day and night, only coming out to eat and talk with Alfred, and then just go back to her-

‘If I can’t reach you…’

Cassandra came to a full stop at the end of the hallway.

The piano played slowly inside the room.

‘Let my song teach you…’

Her chest became heavy. Throat tight, as if cold fingers wrapped themselves over her shoulders. A wet sensation was sinking through the fabric of her shirt, making shivers go down her spine.

The voice was like a whisper, only for her to hear.

“Am I too loud now?” Cold lips whispered in Cassandra’s ear.

Out of the corner of her eye, Cassandra only managed to see a tangle of wet, dark hair and a bloodshot grey eye with blood dripping down a side of her deadly pale skin.

When she finally got the strength to turn completely around, the hall was quiet. Not a single echo or resonance of the keys was heard.

Cassandra patted herself down quickly, shaking away the sudden cold over her skin. She felt over her shoulders, trying to find any wet spots on her shoulder or near her ear and back.

There was no trace of it.

She left the hall quickly, deciding to put this on the back of her mind as a headache invaded her head.

The lights flickered in the piano room, the door creaking closed by itself.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

“I wasn’t expecting to like history that much.”

It was already past three in the afternoon, the classes had barely been over a few minutes ago.

But Bobby had already dragged her through the halls towards the baseball field so he could practice some pitching and bat swinging. As he had explained excitedly over lunch to her, shortly after Mr. Munroe’s class. It would be just like playing catch, but with some real damage on the side.

She could play catch! She remembered playing it with Billy before!

And with a white haired man.

And by herself, oddly enough…

“I guess Mr. Munroe just knows his stuff,” Bobby suggested, dodging a few students who walked in the opposite direction from them. He then grinned, “You could even say he lived through it with the way he talked about war stories.”

“He can’t be that old.”

“Just saying. I mean, how old could he be?” He quipped with a shrug.

She wheezed a short laugh. “Can’t be older than the Great Depression.”

Both of them were wheezing as they stumbled down the stairs, shoving and hitting each other on the arms and shoulders. That gained them a few odd looks, but they didn’t notice it at all. Too busy fighting to stay upright and keeping air in their lungs.

They made their way through the front doors of the school, taking the outside route but still inside the school grounds to the sports field.

“He has such a stern air around him, too. He kind of gives-”

“Please, don’t even go there.” She pleaded with a hiss. But Bobby only began to whisper loudly to her.

“Hey, everyone was looking at him like a piece of meat.”

“It doesn’t make it right.”

“Oh, please. You totally looked.”

“Did not.” She denied with red ears.

Bobby looked way too smug. “Liaaaarrrr.”

She shoved him, making him burst out laughing as she stomped faster and a couple of steps ahead of him, ready to take a corner.

To which she instantly froze on the spot with a wide-eyed look.

Bobby took notice of her sudden change, still laughing as he looked over her shoulder. “Hey, what’s-”

She quickly pushed him back until they were back to back with the corner wall, away from the view of the hall. Her hand gripping his vest with white knuckles as she looked carefully over the edge. Holding back her breath, cursing to hell and back the person standing by the front gate.

Dick Grayson was leaning against a expensive sports car, looking at his watch every five seconds when he wasn’t looking around the premises and between the groups of students walking around.

‘The fuck is he doing here?!’ She shouted in her head as she bit her tongue.

She had written to Alfred that she was going to stay for a longer time to hang out with Bobby. Why was the touchy asshole here? He was supposed to return to Bludhaven yesterday and give her some peace and tranquility!

“Um, you good?” Bobby muttered, reminding her that she wasn’t alone. She quickly let him go and apologized.

“Sorry,” she grumbled. “It’s my, ugh, brother.”

That last part was said between her teeth. Bobby frowned at that. “I guess you don’t get along, then?”

“Not exactly.” She remarked with a wince, giving a quick glance back towards the gate. He had moved closer.

That wasn’t good.

“We gotta be quick,” she urged, pushing Bobby back slowly as he let her guide him.

Before they could take off without catching too much attention, someone decided it was the right time to yell her ‘last name’.

“Wayne!”

The duo snapped their heads forward, towards the male voice that echoed through the hall. Her eye was twitching in annoyance.

A guy with golden curls and a snobbish air around him approached them with decision and fists curled in fists. He looked furious, and even then she could appreciate his handsome features.

He looked straight out of a magazine, to be completely honest.

“What the hell are you doing?” He hissed in her face, fuming.

If she weren’t in such a hurry, she would have given him a few choice words. But she really needed to run.

“Office hours are closed at the moment, sorry!” She stated, pulling Bobby deeper into the hall behind them. He looked with wide eyes between the three of them.

“Suddenly got a sense of humor?” The guy chided with a roll of eyes, following her steps forward. “Where have you been?! Did you forget about practice?! We have the damned recital in two weeks!”

“Listen,” she fretted, eyes bouncing around to make sure Dick wasn’t nearby. “Right now is not the time to discuss this. I gotta-”

“No, you and I made a deal.” He claimed with a hiss. “I help you with your recital and you-”

“Hun, what is going on here?”

The cold tone made the three teens look at the tight-smiling man who stood beside them. His arms crossed over his chest with his head tilted to the side, blue eyes staring directly at their hands.

Now that she noticed, the two boys had taken hold of her arms while standing between them.

It stayed quiet for a bit. Dick smile becoming tighter and tighter.

‘Fuuuuucckkk-’

“Who are your-”

She didn’t even let him finish. Her legs moved before she could even process it.

It all happened too fast.

She had taken off running, dragging with her the still startled boys down the hall and leaving Dick behind with the words in his mouth. The man also looked caught off guard, yelling after them as he began to run after them.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck-” she repeated over and over while Bobby and Goldielocks shouted at her.

“Unhand me! You’re ruining my shirt!”

“Take a left! Take a left!”

Without thinking about it too hard, she listened to Bobby and took a sharp left. Shoes squeaking as the three of them almost slammed against a poster board, before taking off again.

They took several turns, with mixed shouts and yells between all of them. Mostly with Bobby yelling directions and the other guy screaming in her ear about going too fast.

It all came to an end when all three of them ran over someone.

Well, more like they slammed solidly against someone and crashed to the ground.

They became a tangle of limbs and curses. Bobby was face-first on the ground, complaining about the heavy weight, trying to lift them off the ground but too tired to do so. The goldilocks was cursing while swinging his arms and legs around, flailing like a stray cat. And lastly, the young girl who lay over the two of them with a manic grin on her face and laughing to herself.

‘That felt soooo good!” She gushed as she laughed breathlessly.

It felt so right. Running like that felt so right. She had to do it again! Her heart was about to burst out in excitme-

A gruff grunt made all of them fall into silence. Three heads looking up with a gaping expression.

Mr. Munroe stood before them with a crushed cigar by his feet. An annoyed frown in his face that made them gulp at the same time.

“Drake. Worthington. Wayne.” The teens looked at each other with pale faces.

“Detention. Now.”

…That could have ended worse, to be honest.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Author's Note: The gangs all here! Finally got to introduce Maximoff's core friends! And so much happened in this chapter too! I had so much fun writting it, you guys have no idea. And logan is now in the plot ( I will shove my Storm x Wolverine agenda down your throats and YOU WILL LIKE IT-) Let me know what you guys liked, theorize or go and scream in the asks. I love reciving asks and answering them💖💖 Lots of love and hugs, GG✨

Tag List:

@bat1212 @kneelforloki @1abi @galaxypurplerose @yhin-gg @cxcilla @momentomoribitch @stargirl404 @initial-ari @welpthisisboring @icefox8155 @bunniotomia @alittlelostmoonchild @devotedlyshamelessdetective @shycreatorreview @nirvanaxx1942 @soulsire @ryuushou @rinkydinkythinky @lithiumval @ithoughtthinks @reeyy0-2 @cssammyyarts @lordbugs @ilovecoffe0 @kore-of-the-underworld @fortunatelydifferentqueen @vanessa-boo @livingund3ad @aelxr @im-so-goddamn-tired @lovebug-apple

Bonus Memes:

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nymphoniah · 9 months ago

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my masterlist (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)♡

• last updated 1/3/25 — fics in order from newest to oldest

• 🍒 = nsfw | ❤️��🩹 = suggestive/mature content

• this blog contains sensitive themes, mostly including: ddlg/cgl dynamics and age gaps. if you are uncomfortable with the content i am sharing/writing, please do not interact!

• commissions/asks/requests are currently: OPEN! ♡

logan howlett p links:

part one ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

part two ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

part three °ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

part four ⋆. 𐙚˚

logan howlett drabbles/fics:

trash magic 🍒 (pornstar!old man!logan x pornstar!afab!reader): the two of you are perfect in front of the camera <3

you know i'm no good 🍒 (old man!logan x younger!reader): teasing logan ends up with him putting you in your place.

lazy mornings ❤️‍🩹 (origins!logan x afab!reader): cuddling with logan and he doesn’t wanna let you go

freudian slip ❤️‍🩹 (old man!logan x younger!reader): the first time you called logan that word.

holding his hand 🍒 (old man!logan x younger!reader): it’s two sides of the same coin

logan talking you through it 🍒 (old man!logan x crybaby!reader): ddlg vibes with size kink!

his little girl 🍒 (pervy!logan x afab!reader): you’re drunk and logan can’t help but feel you up! ddlg vibes :3

dad bod!logan 🍒 (old man!logan x afab!reader): short drabble about being w/ old man!logan who has a dad bod now!

logan and his glasses ❤️‍🩹 (old man!logan x afab!reader): playfully snatching away logan’s glasses but he doesn’t take it too lightly

steal away ❤️‍🩹 (origins!logan x afab!reader): shotgunning logan’s cigar while you grind on his lap after a long day at work.

white lie 🍒 (old man!logan x afab!reader): you forget to tell logan when your period was over, and he makes you regret it.

pretty when you cry 🍒 (old man!logan x crybaby!reader): logan pushes you for one last orgasm, and who are you to say no?

wonderful tonight ❤️‍🩹 (old man!logan x younger!reader): short drabble about cozy evenings with logan.

come undone 🍒 (old man!logan x younger!reader): you’re super needy, but logan’s feelin a bit tired so you end up riding his thigh!

mercy, mercy me ❤️‍🩹 (old man!logan x younger!reader): logan thinks he doesn’t deserve a girl like you, and you want to change his mind.

one of these nights 🍒 (old man!logan x afab reader): a quick drabble about lazy mornings with old man!logan and how badly he wants to rough you up.

indulgent desires 🍒 (boyfriend!logan x afab!reader): logan works out with reader, and eventually he gets riled up by how good you look stretching. how could he ignore a sweet thing like you?

million dollar man 🍒 (old man!logan x afab!reader): shameless daddy kink with old man!logan, with a sprinkle of dom and sub themes.

lessons learned 🍒 (mean!logan x afab!reader): rough sex with logan—him fucking you from behind while he keeps you in a headlock!

smoking out the window 🍒 (old man!logan x afab!reader): logan teases you for smoking cigarettes but not cigars, and so you prove to him that there's nothing that you can't handle.

needy little thing 🍒 (dom!logan x afab!reader): logan is an absolute munch, and he'll do anything to get a taste of you!

sitting in his lap ❤️‍🩹 (old man!logan x afab!reader): short drabble about old man!logan babying you while you rest in his lap.

logan comforting you ❤️‍🩹 (old man!logan x afab!reader): short drabble about old man!logan making sure that his doll is okay.

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reidmarieprentiss · 9 months ago

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No More Misunderstandings

Summary: You have a big crush on Spencer, everyone can see it except for Spencer himself.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Tech Analyst fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: crushing, (un)requited feelings, bad communication, Spencer trying to flirt, gay Elle, Rossi not Gideon, happy ending, Elle is out but reader doesn't know

Word count: 9.4k

a/n: if this man ever asked me to hang out i would say yes in two seconds flat

main masterlist

Every day, you settled into the hum of computers and the soft glow of monitors that painted the walls of the BAU's technical analysis hub, affectionately dubbed the "bat cave" by those who knew it best. Your role as a tech analyst found you working side-by-side with the brilliant and bubbly Penelope Garcia, a woman whose personality was as colorful as her wardrobe. Despite the comfort of being shrouded in the semi-darkness of your tech-laden sanctuary, a certain type of light seemed to elude you—the spark of acknowledgment in Dr. Spencer Reid's deep, thoughtful eyes.

You harbored a crush so palpable that even the air in the room felt charged with your nervous energy whenever Spencer was near. However, your shy demeanor cloaked these feelings in a veil of secrecy that somehow, miraculously, Spencer himself never managed to pierce through. Everyone else on the team had noticed, from the knowing smiles of Derek Morgan to the gentle teasing of JJ, but Spencer remained blissfully unaware, his attention often drifting towards Elle Greenaway with an intensity that tugged painfully at your heart.

Penelope, ever the observant friend, never missed a beat. "Oh, honey," she would whisper, "it’s like you’re sending Morse code with those blushes and he’s living in a blackout."

Her words were gentle, tinged with humor and affection, yet each jest felt like a pinprick to your already tender sensibilities. Whenever Spencer visited the bat cave to discuss case details or gather information, your heart raced as you tried to provide him with everything he needed without tripping over your words or, heaven forbid, your own feet.

"Hey, Spencer," you would start, your voice a careful mixture of professionalism and the warmth you couldn’t keep at bay.

"Hello," he would respond, his eyes scanning the screens filled with data. His focus was razor-sharp, dissecting information with the same precision he used on everything but the emotional currents swirling around him.

Each interaction was a dance. You would inch towards openness, leaning in to catch a whiff of his cologne or to appreciate the subtle shift of his hair when he ran his fingers through it in concentration. But as soon as he glanced up, those hazel eyes like windows to an enigmatic soul, you would recoil slightly, cheeks aflame, words retreating as quickly as they had dared to emerge.

Later, as the screen showed live feeds of the team moving through their environments, Penelope would nudge you gently with her elbow, her voice low and teasing. "You know, if we had a dollar for every time you fumbled around that man, we could retire and buy an island in the Bahamas."

You’d offer a small, embarrassed laugh, grateful for the low lighting hiding the worst of your blush. "I just... I don’t know how to act around him, Penelope. What if he doesn’t..."

"Feel the same?" she'd finish for you, her tone softening. "Sweetie, the heart’s a funny creature. It doesn’t play by the rules of logic that Spencer loves so much. But who knows? Maybe one day, he’ll surprise you and actually look up from those case files and see what’s right in front of him."

The comfort in her voice was soothing, yet each day ended the same—with you watching Spencer, Spencer watching Elle, and Penelope watching over you, a guardian angel clad in technicolor, armed with an arsenal of jokes and just the right words to keep you smiling through the uncertainty.

—

The day had been rolling along as usual in the BAU's bat cave, the rhythmic clicking of keyboards providing a steady backdrop to the glow of computer screens. Penelope had excused herself for a quick bathroom break, leaving you alone amidst the towers of technology. Just as the door clicked shut behind her, the shrill ring of the phone sliced through the quiet, startling you slightly. Calls from the field were usually Penelope’s domain, her cheerful voice a soothing constant for the team. Today, it seemed, you would have to step into her shoes.

“Y/N speaking, what can I do for you?” Your voice wavered slightly, anxiety bubbling up as you prepared for your usual toggle through databases and security feeds.

When Spencer’s voice responded from the other end, a different kind of alertness prickled across your skin. “Hi, Y/N, we need to cross-reference known associates of the unsub with recent flight records. Can you pull up the lists and cross-check for any matches?”

Your heart thumped erratically, his voice weaving through the receiver like a familiar song that never failed to stir your soul. You tried to maintain a steady tone, hoping your voice didn’t betray the sudden nervousness that his presence, even just over the phone, incited. “Sure, Spencer, just a moment.”

As your fingers danced across the keyboard, the professional mask you wore each day slid comfortably into place. You were adept at your job, a fact that never faltered, even under the weight of your emotions. Quickly pulling up the necessary records, you began the process of cross-referencing, your mind briefly detached from the flutter in your stomach.

“Looks like there’s a match. Michael Davidson, on a flight from Atlanta to D.C. this morning,” you reported, a trace of pride threading through your words at the efficiency with which you’d located the information.

“Great, Y/N. Thanks,” Spencer’s voice came through, a hint of relief palpable even through the static of the connection. His appreciation, simple and straightforward, filled you with a warmth that went beyond professional satisfaction.

Hanging up, you let out a breath you’d been holding. Penelope chose that moment to breeze back into the room, her presence as effervescent as ever. Catching the tail end of your smile, she quirked an eyebrow playfully.

“Spill the beans, buttercup. You look like someone just handed you a golden ticket,” she teased, settling back into her chair.

“It was just Spencer needing some quick info,” you shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant as your heart continued to beat a staccato rhythm against your ribs.

Penelope’s smile widened, her eyes twinkling with unspoken understanding. “Oh, just Spencer, huh?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, trying to brush it off casually. “Derek would never betray you by talking to me,” you teased, hoping to steer the conversation away from your flustered feelings.

Penelope’s eyes sparkled even more as she winked at you. “Oh, he’s allowed to have side pieces, my love. I’m a generous goddess.”

You burst out laughing, your nervousness momentarily forgotten as Penelope’s playful banter eased your tension. “I’ll let him know you said that,” you shot back, turning back to your screen, trying to focus on anything other than the residual warmth from talking to Spencer.

Penelope, never one to let you off the hook easily, leaned in closer. “Should I let Spencer know he isn’t allowed to have any side pieces then?” she asked, winking at you again, her tone as sweet as honey but with a hint of mischief.

“Penelope!” you gasped, feeling your face flush all over again. The blush you thought had faded returned with a vengeance as you turned away, hoping she wouldn’t see just how red you were.

She laughed, clearly pleased with herself. “I’m just saying, babe. The boy’s got options, but I think we both know his best one is sitting right here.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands as you let out a small, embarrassed laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“Just doing my part to make sure he doesn’t miss any signals,” Penelope sang, tapping her keyboard lightly, her grin as wide as ever. You couldn't help but smile too, secretly grateful for her teasing. After all, it was these moments that made the crush a little more bearable.

—

During one of Rossi’s famed pasta-making sessions, a relaxed atmosphere filled his spacious kitchen, with the rich aroma of tomato sauce simmering on the stove and the sounds of laughter mingling with soft Italian music playing in the background. Rossi, the consummate host, guided everyone through the steps of making the perfect pasta dough, his hands moving with the ease of long practice.

You found yourself stationed next to Spencer, who was diligently kneading a mound of fresh pasta dough. His hands, beautiful and dexterous, worked the dough with a precision that was mesmerizing. The veins on his hands stood out, accentuating every deliberate movement, and you couldn’t help but be captivated by the fluidity of his motions. It wasn’t just his intellect that drew you in; even his seemingly mundane physical actions had a way of catching your undivided attention.

Derek and JJ, who were partnered up on the other side of the kitchen island, caught your fixed gaze and shared an amused look between them. Derek’s smirk grew as he nudged JJ, whispering loud enough for you to overhear, “Looks like someone’s more interested in the handwork than the handiwork.”

JJ chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she joined in the teasing. “Yeah, I think Y/N’s planning on writing a thesis on the manual dexterity of certain geniuses.”

Flustered, you tore your eyes away from Spencer’s hands, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. You attempted to focus back on your own portion of dough, which had begun to stick to the counter more than it should. Spencer, oblivious to the exchange, looked up and noticed your struggle.

“Hey, you need to dust a bit more flour on the surface,” he said, his voice gentle, unaware of the reason behind your distraction. He reached over to sprinkle some flour on your dough and then on the countertop, his fingers briefly brushing against yours. The brief contact sent a pleasant jolt through you, further flustering you.

Rossi, ever the observant host, noticed the playful dynamic and decided to rescue you from your embarrassment. “Alright, everyone, let’s focus on the art of pasta! Y/N, why don’t you help me with the sauce?” he suggested, giving you a knowing smile as he handed you a wooden spoon.

As you helped Rossi stir the simmering sauce, carefully blending the herbs into the rich, aromatic mixture, you couldn’t help but cast furtive glances across the kitchen. There, Hotch had taken up the spot you vacated next to Spencer, now deeply engaged in the art of pasta making under Rossi’s enthusiastic instruction. While Hotch was methodically following Rossi’s guidance, Spencer’s attention occasionally drifted.

Across from them, Elle was rolling out her dough with a confident flourish, laughing at something Hotch had said. You caught Spencer's eyes as they met Elle's, a shared glance of amusement passing effortlessly between them. The ease of their silent communication was stark, their smiles syncing in a moment of private jest that seemed to exclude the world around them—including you.

That simple, silent exchange felt like a punch to the gut. The laughter and camaraderie around you suddenly seemed a bit dimmer, a bit more distant. It wasn’t just jealousy that twisted in your stomach—it was the aching realization of how much could be said in a single look when there was a real connection; a connection you feared might never form between Spencer and yourself.

You turned your attention back to the sauce, the spoon moving mechanically in your hand as Rossi continued to chat about the nuances of Italian cooking. He didn’t seem to notice your distraction, caught up in his culinary passion. But inside, your thoughts were swirling as tumultuously as the sauce you stirred.

Trying to shake off the sinking feeling, you focused on the positives—the laughter of your team, the comforting weight of the wooden spoon in your hand, the delicious smell that filled the kitchen. But despite the festive atmosphere, a part of you remained reserved, quietly nursing the tender hope that maybe, just maybe, one day Spencer would look at you with the same warmth and understanding he so effortlessly shared with Elle. Until then, you resolved to keep smiling, keep stirring, and keep hoping.

—

The BAU briefing room felt unusually empty without Penelope's vibrant presence, Elle's keen insights, and Derek's charismatic confidence filling the space. With them on vacation, the dynamic had shifted, and you found yourself stepping into roles that stretched beyond your usual behind-the-scenes expertise. The weight of Penelope's responsibilities now rested squarely on your shoulders, a challenge you accepted with both determination and a hint of trepidation.

As the team gathered for the briefing on the new case, Hotch turned to you. "Y/N, could you walk us through the case description and the current leads?" His voice was calm, authoritative, yet imbued with a supportive undertone that did little to ease the flutter of nerves in your stomach.

Nodding, you stood, remote in hand, feeling every pair of eyes in the room settle on you. Public speaking was not your greatest fear, but it was hardly your favorite endeavor—especially not with Spencer's intense gaze locked on you. It was as if his eyes were a pair of spotlights, illuminating not just your words but every minute reaction and emotion that flickered across your face.

As you began to outline the case, detailing the patterns and possible psychological motivations of the unsub, Spencer's scrutiny never wavered. His stare was not judgmental nor dismissive; rather, it was analytical, perhaps even a bit curious, as if he were trying to read the nuances of your presentation, to understand not just the facts but the person delivering them.

"Based on the geographical profiling and the behavioral pattern, we believe the unsub may be operating within a ten-mile radius of downtown," you explained, pointing to the map projected behind you. Your voice steadied as you delved deeper into the analysis, the familiar terrain of data and evidence providing a solid foundation beneath your initially shaky confidence.

Spencer's focus, rather than rattling you further, began to foster a sense of resolve within you. You found yourself speaking more confidently, your nerves tempered by the realization that this was still your team—your family in all but blood. They weren't here to judge; they were here to listen and to learn from what you had to offer.

As the briefing wrapped up, Hotch nodded in approval. "Good work, Y/N. Keep us posted on any updates from Garcia's systems until she returns."

You nodded, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. Glad it was over, you were already preparing to scamper back to your office when you heard a voice that sent a familiar shiver down your spine.

“Y/N?” Spencer's voice, calm yet inquisitive, caught your attention.

You spun around to face him, trying not to let your fluster show. “What’s up?”

“Can you put the map back up on the screen, please?” he asked, already standing by the large projection screen.

“Ye–yeah, of course.” Your fingers fumbled with the remote as you quickly reactivated the display, bringing the map back onto the screen.

“Here,” Spencer said, still not looking back at you. “Come look at this.”

You walked over to stand beside him, your eyes inadvertently drawn to his long fingers as they traced paths along the map, pointing out specific areas. The same hands that had mesmerized you earlier were now gliding over the screen, drawing you into his thought process.

Spencer started talking about the geographical profile, rattling off information with his typical rapid-fire brilliance. But what took you by surprise was how he spoke to you—not as the team’s tech analyst, but as if you were another profiler, someone he wanted to consult. This was new, and it left you momentarily stunned. He’d never done this before.

“Spencer?” you asked quietly, your voice barely audible in the spacious room. He hummed in response, still focused on the map as he tugged thoughtfully at his bottom lip—a gesture you’d come to adore and envy.

“Why are you asking me about this?” you continued, your curiosity growing along with your nerves. “Why not Rossi? Or Hotch?”

Spencer paused, finally turning to face you, his eyes filled with the same focused intensity he usually reserved for solving cases. “Because you see things differently,” he said softly. “You have a different perspective, and that’s valuable. Sometimes it’s not just about profiling. It’s about how we approach the data, and you… you understand patterns in a way that’s unique.”

His words caught you off guard, but they filled you with an unexpected warmth. You weren’t just the tech analyst who plugged in the data—they saw you, Spencer saw you, as part of the team, as someone with valuable insights.

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you held his gaze for a moment longer than you intended. “Thanks, Spencer,” you whispered, trying to suppress the blush creeping up your neck.

He smiled, a small but genuine curve of his lips, before turning back to the map. “Now, what do you think about this area here?” he asked, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for you two to be collaborating like this.

For once, you weren’t just lost in thoughts of him—you were part of the conversation, and it felt good.

After you felt you'd helped all you could, you excused yourself back to your office, ready to sink back into the more solitary part of your work. However, Spencer seemed to have other plans, as he walked alongside you, his footsteps synchronized with yours, indicating he wasn't quite done talking. His expression was one of mild concern, a usual precursor to his deep dives into various subjects.

As you walked, he continued to unravel his thoughts about the case, tying loose ends and circling back to previous points with a precision that was nothing short of impressive. It was typical of Spencer to thoroughly dissect each aspect of a case, often taking tangential routes in the conversation that surprisingly led right back to the main topic, a testament to his prodigious mind.

However, as engrossed as he was in discussing the case, his next words veered sharply from the professional to the personal, catching you completely off guard and momentarily stalling your mental gears. The shift was so sudden that it took a moment for you to register what he was actually asking, pulling you out of your case-focused mindset and into a more introspective space. This unexpected question not only showed his human side but also reminded you of the depth of his observational skills, not just in work but in personal matters as well.

"How is Felix, by the way?" Spencer asked, an innocently curious tilt to his head as he regarded you, his pace slowing slightly.

"What?" The name jolted you, an echo from a past chapter of your life you hadn’t opened in ages, and certainly not one you had expected Spencer to know anything about. You blinked, momentarily confused, trying to piece together the leap in conversation.

"Felix? How are they?" Spencer repeated, his interest seemingly piqued by your reaction—or perhaps just his natural inclination toward thorough understanding.

You paused, standing now in the doorway of your office, the background hum of computer servers providing a soft soundtrack to this unexpected moment. "Um, I don't know," you admitted, still trying to navigate the strange turn the conversation had taken.

"Oh, I’m so sorry, did you two separate?" Spencer’s tone was filled with genuine apology, his face reflecting concern.

You managed a small, somewhat awkward laugh, finding both the absurdity and the sudden intimacy of the conversation slightly overwhelming. "Well, yes. A long while ago." Your response came out lighter than you felt, the surprise of the question making your heart race for reasons other than your usual nervousness around Spencer.

As Spencer absorbed your response, his expression remained unreadable, a common trait when he was deep in thought or processing information. He nodded, perhaps filing away the conversation for later reflection, before excusing himself with a polite but somewhat distant farewell. His departure was quick, efficient, the way he typically transitioned back to work, yet it left a trail of questions in its wake.

You watched him go, a blend of relief and curiosity mingling in your thoughts. The inquiry into your personal life was uncharacteristic of Spencer, who usually maintained a strict boundary between professional and personal discussions, at least when it came to initiating such topics himself. The interaction lingered in your mind, an outlier in the usual pattern of your interactions.

"Maybe it's because Elle isn't here," you thought silently, turning back to your computer.

After leaving your office, Spencer quickly texted Elle to update her that you were no longer seeing Felix, contrary to their assumption. Elle replied enthusiastically with two thumbs up, urging him to ask you out soon or she would take the opportunity herself.

—

Throughout the week, with Penelope, Elle, and Derek away, the dynamic at the BAU shifted noticeably. Spencer seemed to step out of his usual reserved demeanor, engaging more frequently, particularly with you. His attempts at conversation often appeared to teeter on the edge of something beyond mere professional interest, though it was so subtle that it often flew under your radar.

Tuesday morning, Spencer leaned against the counter, watching you struggle with the temperamental coffee machine that had decided today was the day to revolt. "You know, statistically, manual coffee presses have a lower failure rate compared to electric ones," he commented, a slight quirk to his lips.

You glanced at him, chuckling lightly, "Is that so? Maybe I should switch, then."

"Yeah, and they make better coffee. Maybe I could show you how to use one sometime?" His tone was casual, but there was a tentative note to it, almost hopeful.

As the coffee machine finally sputtered to life, producing a somewhat decent cup of coffee, Spencer’s offer lingered in the air, subtly altering the atmosphere between you. His suggestion about the manual coffee press had been light, almost playful, but it carried an undercurrent of personal interest that left you unexpectedly flustered. Despite this, you masked your reaction with a casual nod, trying to maintain an even keel.

"Sure, I could always use better coffee," you responded, your voice steady despite the slight quickening of your heartbeat. You focused on fixing your coffee, adding just the right amount of cream and sugar, using the mundane task as a moment to collect your thoughts.

Spencer watched you for a moment, perhaps sensing the shift in your demeanor but respecting the boundary you subtly enforced with your nonchalant reply. His smile was gentle, not pushing further, as he too turned his attention back to preparing his own drink.

Wednesday at lunch you sat in the break room flipping through case files, Spencer slid into the seat across from you with his own lunch—a homemade sandwich seemingly crafted with meticulous care. "I read somewhere that sharing meals can enhance group bonding and individual rapport," he began, looking directly at you with an earnest expression.

You looked up, smiling at the factoid, you loved hearing Spencer talk. He was always so endearing. "That sounds about right. Food does bring people together."

"Maybe we could test that theory. There's a new Thai place nearby that’s supposed to be great," he suggested, his voice smooth but slightly hurried.

"That would be an interesting experiment," you agreed, your thoughts inadvertently glossing over Spencer's subtle personal invitation. Instead, your mind wandered to the social dynamics of the team, or perhaps more pointedly, the possibility of Spencer going out with Elle without having to extend a direct invitation—an idea that stoked a twinge of jealousy, burning in your stomach like an ugly green monster.

Spencer nodded, his expression shifting subtly as he detected the undercurrent of your thoughts, interpreting them as disinterest in a personal outing. He tried to mask any hint of disappointment, maintaining his typical composed demeanor. Internally, however, he wrestled with the sting of what felt like another missed connection, another attempt at reaching out quietly rebuffed.

"It would be a great way to explore some new flavors... maybe just the two of us first, to see if it’s worth recommending to the team?" His tone was measured, carefully modulating between casual and sincere, revealing his hope that this might pave the way to a more personal connection between the two of you.

Despite his clear wording, your mind twisted his intentions, clouded by the assumption that his ultimate aim was to impress Elle upon her return. This idea gnawed at you, the thought of being potentially used as a stepping stone in Spencer’s strategy to engage Elle more personally. It tainted the sincerity you might have otherwise perceived in his proposal.

"Yeah, that sounds like a good plan," you responded, trying to mask your feelings with a nod and a polite smile. "Testing it out sounds sensible... then we can tell Elle and the rest if it's good." Your voice carried a hint of forced cheerfulness as you inadvertently redirected the focus back to Elle, reinforcing your misinterpretation of Spencer's motives.

Spencer noticed the subtle shift in your tone, the slight stiffness in your smile. He paused, a flicker of confusion crossing his features as he tried to gauge whether his message had been misunderstood. "Yes, of course," he agreed, his voice faltering slightly as he picked up on your emphasis on Elle. Disappointment edged into his heart, sensing a barrier he hadn't anticipated—one that perhaps wasn't his to cross just yet.

He nodded slowly, offering a gentle smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'll send you the details later then," Spencer added, stepping back to give you space, his mind busy piecing together where the conversation had veered off track.

Thursday while you were digging through old case files in the archives, Spencer wandered in, ostensibly looking for a book. He lingered by your side, helping to shift the heavy tomes. "You know, there's this book on cognitive science I think you'd really like. It talks about pattern recognition and emotional intelligence in ways I think you'd find fascinating," he offered, his fingers brushing against yours as he handed you a different file.

"Sounds intriguing," you responded, your attention still partially on the file in your hands. The hint of a smile played at the corners of your mouth, touched by the realization that Spencer was not only paying attention to your interests but was actively thinking about ways to engage with you on a more personal level.

"I could lend it to you. We could discuss it over coffee?" Spencer's suggestion came with a hopeful undertone, as gentle and tentative as the expression in his eyes.

Your reaction, however, was immediate and unexpected—a sudden choke on your spit as his words caught you off guard. A brief fit of coughing ensued, and Spencer's concern was quick to surface. He reached out instinctively, placing a comforting hand on your back with a gentle touch. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with worry.

The unexpected contact made you jolt, a reflexive response to the sudden intimacy of his touch. Realizing your reaction, Spencer quickly withdrew his hand, a flash of disappointment crossing his features as he stepped back, giving you space.

"Yeah, I'm fine, sorry," you managed to laugh it off, though your cheeks burned with embarrassment. You tried to smooth over the moment, still recovering from the unexpected cough and the even more unexpected contact.

Spencer's response was gentle, a soft nod accompanying his words. "It's okay, I'll, uh, see you upstairs," he said, stepping back with a hesitant smile. His decision to not press the coffee invitation further reflected his respect for your comfort, but inwardly, he felt he might have missed his opportunity for the day.

As he turned to leave, the brief contact and your embarrassed reaction replayed in his mind, leaving him wondering about the right approach to take next time. His intentions had been straightforward, but the execution hadn't gone as smoothly as he hoped. The way your eyes had widened, the laughter that followed the cough—it all suggested a mix of emotions that he couldn't quite decipher.

Watching him walk away, you felt a pang of regret. His retreat made you realize that your reaction might have been misinterpreted as discomfort, rather than the surprise and nervous excitement you actually felt. The idea of discussing a book over coffee with Spencer genuinely appealed to you, and you wished you could convey that without the awkwardness of the moment overshadowing it.

Gathering your thoughts, you considered reaching out to him later to clarify your interest, maybe even suggest a specific day for that coffee. The day hadn't gone as either of you planned, but it wasn't over yet, and perhaps there was still a chance to turn it around.

Friday afternoon as you both waited for the elevator, Spencer tried again, this time a bit more directly. "Did you know that the probability of meeting someone compatible is surprisingly high within work environments?"

You raised an eyebrow, trying to steady the rapid thumping of your heart. "Really now? I guess we’re in the right place, then."

"Yes, exactly," Spencer agreed, a bit more eagerly than you expected. "It’s like... finding the right piece in a puzzle."

"Like solving a case?" you asked, your voice shrinking with uncertainty, afraid that, once again, he had someone else in mind—someone who fit into his world effortlessly, maybe a profiler like Elle.

"Yeah," he smiled warmly, his eyes soft as they focused on you. "Just like solving a case."

Your heart cracked a little at his words. You interpreted the metaphor differently, convinced he was searching for someone like the other brilliant profilers on the team—someone you believed you could never be. With a forced smile, you said quietly, "Well, looks like you need a profiler-shaped puzzle piece then."

Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his face as you stepped into the elevator. He stood there, frozen, not understanding the weight behind your words or why you seemed so distant.

As the elevator doors slid shut, he replayed the conversation in his mind, his heart sinking as he realized something wasn’t connecting. He had been trying to tell you, in his own way, that he was interested in you, that you were the piece he was talking about. But somehow, despite his best efforts, the message kept slipping through your fingers. Why weren’t you getting it? Why did every attempt seem to fall short?

Spencer watched the elevator descend, a sinking feeling settling in his chest. He had been so certain of his feelings for you, and yet, with every attempt, it felt like they drifted further away, lost in the unspoken misunderstandings between you.

—

When the freshly bronzed trio returned from their vacation, Spencer, seemingly on edge, wasted no time in seeking out Elle, his face etched with a mix of hope and frustration.

“So? Did you do it?” Elle asked eagerly as soon as they were within speaking distance, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Did she say yes?”

Spencer’s response was laden with disappointment. “Every time I try to ask her out, she thinks it’s a friendly suggestion, or—or she even mentioned you one time like I was thinking about you!” He ran his hand through his hair in exasperation, clearly puzzled by the recurring miscommunication.

Elle couldn’t help but laugh slightly, though her lips were closed, trying to mask her amusement at the situation. Spencer, on the other hand, whined in annoyance, “What?” He genuinely didn’t understand what he was missing.

With a fond smile, Elle prodded further, “Reid, how did you ask? And what did she say?” Her voice was gentle, coaxing him to unpack the details.

Spencer recapped all the moments from the past week—the coffee machine incident, the lunch invitation, the casual chat in the archives, and the awkward elevator conversation. Each retelling showcased his subtle, cerebral approach to what he thought were clear invitations.

“Oh, boy genius,” Elle said teasingly once he finished, her tone light but her words cutting to the heart of the issue. “I think I see the problem here.”

“What? What is it?” Spencer asked, desperation and confusion in his voice.

Elle placed her hand on his arm, a gesture meant to be comforting but one that did not escape your notice, intensifying the ache in your heart. “She thinks you’re interested in me!” Elle revealed, her insight sharp.

“Why would she think that?” Spencer asked, his bewilderment evident. The connection between his actions and your perception seemed utterly foreign to him.

Elle’s explanation was straightforward, “Because, Spencer, every time you make an attempt, it’s so subtle and wrapped in layers of intellect that it’s easy for her to miss the romantic intent.”

Her words seemed to pierce through the fog of confusion surrounding Spencer. The realization that his attempts at expressing romantic interest were getting lost in translation—or rather, lost in his own intellectual approach—was a revelation. He nodded slowly, the gears turning as he processed this new insight.

“Plus, if she’s mentioning me and no one else, she must think you’re looking for ways to take me out!” Elle added, emphasizing her point with a light chuckle, though her eyes remained sympathetic to Spencer’s plight.

The weight of Elle’s explanation settled heavily on Spencer. It dawned on him how his interactions, though well-intentioned, might appear to others, especially to you. His style, inherently analytical and often indirect, had inadvertently sent the wrong signals, steering your thoughts towards a narrative where he was interested in Elle rather than clarifying his feelings for you.

This misunderstanding struck a chord within him. Spencer had always prided himself on his communication skills when it came to the nuances of unsubs and case theories. Yet, here he was, stumped by personal emotions and interpersonal communications that veered off course.

“Okay, so... I’ve been too subtle,” Spencer acknowledged, almost to himself as much as to Elle. “And she’s misreading the subtlety as disinterest—or worse, interest directed at someone else.”

Elle nodded, squeezing his arm gently. “Exactly, Spencer. You’re thinking like a profiler trying to decipher hidden meanings, but sometimes, directness is key. Maybe it’s time to just tell her how you feel, plainly and clearly. No puzzles, no hints.”

“But—but what if she’s not interested?” Spencer stammered, the creeping sense of insecurity wrapping around him like a heavy blanket. His confidence from earlier was starting to erode. “I mean, she did turn me down on multiple occasions,” he added, his voice softening with self-doubt.

Elle sent him a playful glare, her expression one of disbelief. “Be serious, Reid,” she said, her tone firm but affectionate. “Everyone here can see that she’s into you. Ask anyone.”

Without giving Spencer a chance to stop her, Elle raised her voice, calling across the room, “Hey, JJ!”

Spencer's eyes widened in panic, his face flushing. “Elle! No!” His voice cracked as he tried to stop her, but it was too late.

JJ approached the two of them, a curious smile on her face as she looked between Spencer and Elle. “What’s up, you guys?” she asked, her easy going demeanor not yet aware of the situation she was about to walk into.

“Do you think Y/N is into anyone? Should we set her up?” Elle asked with a mischievous smirk, clearly enjoying Spencer’s discomfort.

JJ’s reaction was immediate—she burst into laughter, glancing between Elle and the now-mortified Spencer. “Are you kidding?!” she laughed, unable to believe the question was even being asked.

“No! Do you have anyone in mind?” Elle pushed, her smirk widening as she kept the act going.

Spencer looked like he wanted to sink into the floor, his mortification plain as he stood there frozen. His mind raced, desperate to find a way to steer the conversation away from himself. But JJ, still chuckling, fixed her gaze directly on Spencer, her expression turning to amused confusion.

“Spencer? Duh! She’s basically in love with you!” JJ declared, her blunt response leaving no room for misunderstanding.

Spencer blinked in disbelief, his mind stumbling over the directness of JJ's words. "W-What?" he stammered, his heart pounding in his chest.

JJ just shook her head, laughing softly. “Reid, it's so obvious. Trust me, you should ask her out.”

"Right," Spencer exhaled heavily, the weight of his nerves tangible in that single word. His eyes followed JJ as she walked away, her knowing smile and shake of her head a clear sign that she was rooting for him.

Elle, observing the entire interaction, turned back to Spencer with a look of determination. “Do you believe me now? You just need to be blunt,” she said firmly, reinforcing the advice with her unwavering gaze. Her stance was one of staunch support, wanting to push Spencer past his habitual overthinking.

Spencer nodded, feeling a bit more fortified by the support of his colleagues. Elle’s insistence on being blunt was exactly the nudge he needed. It was clear that subtlety had not served him well in this arena, and it was time for a change in strategy.

—

Throughout the week, Spencer made several more attempts to ask you out, each time with a bit more directness than the last, but somehow the message never quite landed. Each time deepening his frustration and your oblivious disappointment.

Spencer joined you at the coffee machine again, a site of many a casual encounter but today, he was armed with determination. "I was thinking," he began, carefully measuring his words, "that maybe you and I could try that new café downtown this Saturday."

You smiled, stirring your coffee absentmindedly, your mind on a deadline you were close to missing. "That sounds like a great break from work. It’ll be good to get the team out and about. Should I send an email to everyone?"

Spencer’s heart sank a little. "Uh, well, I meant more like a... never mind. Yes, let’s get everyone involved," he conceded, hiding his disappointment.

In the midst of discussing a particularly complex case, Spencer tried to weave in a personal invitation as naturally as he could. "And after we wrap this up, maybe you’d like to join me for dinner? I know a place that’s quiet, great for discussing... cases."

You nodded, focused intensely on the case details. "Oh yeah! I already told Pen I’d grab dinner with her after the case, do you want to join us?"

Spencer’s heart sank just a bit as he adjusted his glasses, a gesture that had become a telltale sign of his internal resignation. His intention of a quiet dinner, meant to create a private space for you and him, vanished with your invitation to Penelope. Still, he managed a smile, not wanting his disappointment to show.

“Sure, that sounds great,” Spencer replied, trying to keep his tone light and cheerful. Inside, however, he was strategizing his next move, wondering how he could ever convey his feelings without the constant backdrop of the team.

As the day progressed, his mind kept circling back to the conversation. He appreciated your inclusiveness—always making sure no one felt left out, a trait he admired deeply. Yet, he couldn’t help but wish for a moment where it could just be the two of you, away from the dynamics and distractions of the team.

As you both walked to the parking lot after a long day, Spencer decided to be as clear as he could. "I enjoy spending time with you," he said earnestly. "I was hoping we could maybe go out this weekend, just you and me. What do you think?"

You paused, turning to face him with a puzzled smile, unaware of the mounting frustration behind his calm demeanor. "Sure. What do you want to do? I heard of a nightclub that's supposed to have a disco on Saturdays, we could see if everyone is interested?”

Spencer’s patience, worn thin from repeated attempts, finally faltered. “That doesn’t really sound like my scene,” he replied, a note of desperation creeping into his voice as he motioned between the two of you. “Could we go somewhere more subdued? Just us?”

The simplicity of his request, paired with the intensity of his gesture, made you pause. "You want to hang out? With just me?" you asked, a hint of confusion lacing your words.

“Yes!” Spencer exclaimed, his voice echoing a bit louder than he intended in the quiet space between conversations around you. His hands were in the air, a gesture of his exasperation and earnestness. Realizing how his reaction might have seemed, he quickly lowered his hands and softened his tone. “I mean, yes, I would like to spend time with you. Just us. Maybe somewhere quiet where we can talk. Just... talk.”

Your heart was beating so fast you could barely contain it, “Just the two of us?”

The realization struck you fully now, the words "just the two of us" hanging in the air, tinged with possibility. Spencer nodded, his eyes earnest and hopeful, watching for your reaction.

"Yes, just the two of us," he confirmed, his voice steadier now, filled with a quiet intensity. His gaze never wavered from yours, as if trying to convey all the sincerity he felt directly into your heart.

Your heart raced with the understanding of what he was asking, the implications of this simple request suddenly reshaping the narrative you had constructed in your mind about his feelings. The thought that Spencer, with his brilliant mind and shy demeanor, wanted to spend time alone with you, not for a case discussion or team outing but for something personal, sent a thrill of excitement mixed with nervous anticipation through you.

"Yeah, Spencer," you grinned, your heart still racing but excitement slowly overtaking your nerves. "That sounds nice. Um, I'm free Saturday."

"Saturday works for me," Spencer nodded, his own smile broadening with quiet confidence. "I'll call you?"

You nodded quickly, almost too eagerly, but you didn’t care. "Yeah, mhm, that sounds perfect."

For a moment, you both stood there, a shared anticipation buzzing in the air between you, neither wanting to break the connection just yet. When Spencer finally turned to leave, you found yourself smiling uncontrollably, the prospect of Saturday lingering in your mind, a warmth spreading through you that hadn't been there before.

—

Your excitement about the upcoming date with Spencer bubbled within you, yet you chose to keep it close to your chest. The thrill of it all felt so fragile, like a dream you didn’t want to jinx by sharing too soon with the rest of the team. This cautious optimism marked your days, turning ordinary moments into a series of hopeful glances at the calendar as Saturday approached.

Meanwhile, Spencer found himself seeking counsel from Elle, who was all too eager to lend her expertise, not just on potential date activities but on the more intimate aspects of dating as well, particularly women. Knowing Spencer’s limited experience—his only kiss having been with Lila Archer during a particularly intense case—Elle took it upon herself to offer some advice.

“Okay, Spencer, listen,” Elle began, her tone both serious and sisterly. “If the moment feels right and you think you want to kiss her, make sure you read her signals. It’s all about mutual understanding and respect, right?”

Spencer nodded, absorbing every word. Elle continued, “Make eye contact, see how she responds. If she seems receptive, maybe lean in halfway and let her meet you the rest of the way. It’s a two-way street.”

“Halfway,” Spencer repeated, mentally noting the advice. Elle’s directness and her willingness to discuss these details without any embarrassment provided him with a strange comfort.

“And, Reid, just be yourself. You’re a great guy. Let that show,” Elle added, giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

Spencer felt nerves and gratitude at Elle’s advice, it was straightforward and practical, and helped ground him. He trusted her judgment, appreciating her sharing of her personal experience, especially when it came to navigating relationships—something he found infinitely more complex than the most puzzling cases.

—

The phone call on Saturday morning added to the bubbling excitement of the upcoming date. Spencer’s voice was clear and a tad nervous, which you found endearing. He promised a unique experience and asked you not to wear black, a request that piqued your curiosity and set your mind racing with possibilities. What kind of place would require such a specific dress code? The mystery only heightened your anticipation.

You quickly texted him your address, along with a playful note about your curiosity regarding the attire guidelines. Spencer replied with a simple smiley face, keeping the details of the date under wraps, which intrigued you even more.

As you prepared for the evening, you chose an outfit that was comfortable yet charming, avoiding black as instructed. The time leading up to Spencer’s arrival seemed to crawl by, each minute stretching longer than the last. You found yourself glancing at your reflection, adjusting your hair, and double-checking everything, ensuring you were ready when he arrived.

Finally, the sound of a car pulling up snapped you out of your reverie. Glancing out the window, you saw Spencer stepping out of his car, looking around with a nervous excitement that matched your own.

As you stepped outside, your nerves fluttered slightly, but your smile was genuine when you saw Spencer waiting by his car. Waving shyly, you greeted him, "Hi, Spencer."

Spencer looked up, his eyes lighting up as he took in your appearance. "Y/N, you look great," he breathed out, his compliment wrapped in a warm smile that seemed to ease some of the tension between you.

"Thanks, I like your cardigan," you replied, noting the soft, well-worn cardigan he wore that somehow made him look even more approachable and endearing.

His smile widened at the compliment, and he seemed to relax a bit more. "Thanks! It's an old favorite," he admitted, holding the car door open for you.

As you both stepped into the cozy, softly-lit space filled with the gentle sounds of purring and the occasional meow, Spencer immediately began sharing interesting facts about cats. “Did you know that ancient Egyptians considered cats sacred and even had a goddess named Bastet who was depicted as a lioness?” he said, looking into your eyes as you walked past a playful tabby.

Your response was a mix of admiration and amusement. “I didn’t know you were an expert on ancient cultures too,” you teased, feeling comfort and excitement as Spencer chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the opportunity to share his knowledge.

While playing with a particularly friendly cat, Spencer used the opportunity to flirt in his unique way. He gently lifted the cat, holding it out towards you. “It’s interesting how animals can facilitate social interactions, isn’t it? For instance, it's been found that people are more likely to engage in conversations in the presence of animals. They act as social lubricants.”

You laughed, reaching out to pet the cat and feeling a bit flustered by his proximity and the way he looked at you when talking about social dynamics. “Is that your subtle way of telling me you needed a furry wingman for our date?”

Spencer grinned, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Maybe, but it seems to be working, doesn’t it?”

“I don't know, say lubricant again,” you teased. Spencer's grin widened at your playful challenge, and the atmosphere between you sparked with a shared humor that made the moment light and enjoyable.

He leaned in slightly, adopting a mock-serious tone, "Lubricant," he repeated, emphasizing the word, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You laughed even harder, your eyes bright with amusement. "Hearing you say 'lubricant' is so funny!"

Spencer, caught up in your joy, couldn’t help but laugh along. “Why?” he asked, his own grin wide as your laughter proved infectious.

"It’s just... it can be a dirtier word," you giggled, trying to explain through your laughter. "And I can’t imagine our resident genius using the word lubricant!"

Spencer's laughter joined yours, ringing out genuinely as he caught the playful jab. The lightness of the moment brought a relaxed glow to his features. "I assure you, the application of the word was purely scientific," he teased back, still chuckling.

The café around you seemed to buzz with the warmth of your shared amusement, creating an intimate bubble amidst the quiet hum of other patrons and the soft padding of cat paws. "I suppose," Spencer continued, his smile lingering, "I should be more careful with my vocabulary around you. You're giving me a whole new perspective on language."

Your laughter gradually subsided into a series of light chuckles, but your eyes were bright with delight. "I think I like this side of you, Spencer," you said, a playful sincerity in your voice. "It’s nice to see you in a different light, not just as the genius profiler but also someone who can joke around about...lubricants."

Spencer's eyes softened, clearly touched by your words. "I'm glad," he said softly, his voice carrying a note of appreciation. "It’s not often I get to show this side, and I’m happy to share it with you."

As you observed the cats seemingly gravitate towards Spencer, who seemed both amused and delighted by their attention, an idea sparked in your mind. It was the perfect segue into a lighthearted flirtation, mixing your shared love for animals with a touch of mystical charm.

"You know, it’s said that animals, especially cats, have a keen sense of good and bad," you started, watching Spencer's reaction as a particularly fluffy cat chose his lap as its new throne. "They're often drawn to people with good auras. I guess they must sense something pretty great about you."

Spencer looked up, his expression a mix of surprise and pleasure at your comment. He laughed softly, a sound that warmed you to the core. "Is that so? Well, I must be on the right track then. Maybe they sense my excellent choice in company for this evening," he replied smoothly, his gaze locking with yours in a moment charged with a gentle intensity as a cat nuzzled its way into your lap as well.

Your heart fluttered slightly at his words, and you smiled, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks. "Oh, so we’re using cat behavior to gauge our decisions now?" you teased back, leaning in a little closer. "In that case, I think they’re on to something because I’m feeling pretty good about my choice too."

Spencer’s smile widened, and he reached over to gently nudge a playful kitten back onto the table, his actions thoughtful and tender. "I'll take that as a high compliment, coming from someone who clearly knows her way around cats and their mysterious ways," he said, his voice soft but filled with an underlying warmth that suggested he was as affected by the exchange as you were.

As the evening wound down, and the café began to prepare for closing, Spencer drove you home. The conversation flowed effortlessly, and you found yourself sharing little anecdotes from your childhood, while Spencer listened intently, always eager to learn more about you.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of your home. The end of the evening had come too quickly, a sentiment you both silently acknowledged as you lingered at the doorstep, not quite ready to say goodbye.

"Y/N...I had a really nice time today," he said, his voice carrying a warmth that seemed to wrap the evening in a perfect close.

"Me too, Spencer, thank you for asking me. I was kind of shocked," you admitted, your words sincere and open. The evening had unfolded beautifully, but part of you had still been wrestling with the disbelief that it was all really happening.

"Really? Why?" Spencer's curiosity was piqued, his gaze intent on you, wanting to understand more.

You smiled shyly, a nervous habit kicking in as you rubbed behind your ear. "I just... liked you for so long, I never thought you were interested in me too," you confessed, the words tumbling out more easily than you'd expected. The truth had been a quiet companion for so long, and saying it aloud to Spencer felt both freeing and terrifying.

Spencer's expression softened even further, a gentle understanding coloring his features. "Y/N, I’ve been trying to ask you out for two weeks," he confessed. His chuckle was light, trying to ease the tension.

Spencer's revelation brought a mix of relief and amusement. "Really? I had no idea you were trying," you replied, a smile breaking across your face, reflecting both the surprise and joy of the moment.

He nodded, a bit of sheepishness showing through his usual composed demeanor. "Yes, it turns out I'm not as skilled in expressing personal interest as I am with criminal profiles," he admitted, his light laughter mingling with yours.

The air between you felt lighter, a shared understanding dawning that, despite the initial miscommunications, there was a genuine and mutual interest. "Well, I'm glad you kept trying," you said, your tone sincere. "And I'm sorry I didn't pick up on it sooner. I guess I was just scared to get my hopes up."

Spencer reached across the small space between you, his hand hesitating just a moment before gently taking yours. "No more missed signals, okay? Let's promise to be more straightforward with each other," he suggested, his gaze steady and reassuring.

You nodded, squeezing his hand in agreement, feeling a warmth spread through you at the contact. "It's a deal," you responded, your heart feeling both settled and exhilarated by the new promise laid between you.

“So... in honor of being straightforward…” Spencer began, his voice soft but steady, a shy smile playing on his lips. He stepped closer to you, his eyes searching yours, a quiet vulnerability in his gaze. Gently, he took both of your hands in his, his touch warm and reassuring. “Can I kiss you?”

Your heart raced, the moment feeling both tender and surreal. The way he held your hands, the genuine care in his voice—it was everything you'd hoped for, wrapped in Spencer’s uniquely thoughtful way. You felt yourself nod before you even spoke, your breath catching slightly. “Yes,” you whispered, smiling softly, your eyes never leaving his.

Spencer’s smile deepened with relief and excitement. Slowly, he leaned in, his movements deliberate and gentle, giving you every moment to close the gap as well. When your lips finally met, it was soft, sweet, and full of the promise that had been building between you for so long. The world seemed to pause, leaving just the two of you in that quiet, intimate moment, finally aligned in your shared feelings.

When you pulled back, there was a brief silence before you both laughed lightly, the tension melting away completely. "That was… nice," Spencer said, his voice low, his smile radiating warmth.

"Yeah, it really was," you agreed, still feeling the butterflies in your chest as you held onto his hands just a little tighter.

“Oh, and for the record,” Spencer chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he took in your reaction, “I don’t like Elle—romantically, of course. She’s my best friend.”

Your face flushed with sudden embarrassment, realizing he'd caught on to your earlier assumptions. “Oh, I—well, uh...” you stammered, struggling to find the right words.

Spencer's smile remained soft and reassuring. “It’s okay, Y/N,” he said warmly, squeezing your hands gently. “Elle is super gay, not sure how you missed that, and... I really like you.”

His words, so genuine and direct, melted away the last bit of tension you’d been holding onto. You laughed lightly, the awkwardness dissolving into relief. “Well, that’s good to know,” you said with a grin, finally allowing yourself to fully relax into the moment.

Spencer's grin mirrored yours as he added, “I just wanted to clear that up. No more misunderstandings.” His gaze softened as he looked at you, the weight of unspoken feelings now out in the open.

“No more misunderstandings,” you agreed, feeling the warmth of his words and the certainty that everything between you was finally where it should be.

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

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thragedys · 11 months ago

Text

Midnight Visitor

Sol x Reader

Synopsis: Thanks to the takeout you ate last night, the effects of food poisoning from poor catering have finally kicked in, hitting you when you least expected it. To ensure you’re properly cared for, Sol takes the duty of watching over you.

Word count: 1.8k

Includes: Gender neutral reader, sick reader, Sol being soft, affection, trespassing, jealous Sol (+ more!)

After undergoing a series of nausea and intense dizziness, Sol insisted on walking you home despite being out in the city with him and Hyugo. It was as though all life was drained from your face, the only support you had while walking was Sol’s arms holding you upright.

Food poisoning… Should’ve never eaten from that takeout place with less than three stars in their reviews.

Grabbing the key from your bag, he unlocks the door and escorts you inside, directing you to your bedroom while you whine and hold your face in your hands. Even the slightest tilt of your head would send you spiralling sideways, a recipe for disaster as your stomach decides to conjure its own storm.

Inside the kitchen, Sol spots a paper bag. The logo of the company which made you unwell is there, presented in a large font. Retrieving his phone, he snaps a picture of the logo, alongside the contact details printed on the back. He’ll deal with that later. Currently, he has more important things to tend to. You.

Rummaging through your cupboards, he successfully finds some medication that will ease the aches in your stomach. As for your dizzy head, the best thing he can do for you is close your curtains and encourage you to get rest. Fluid intake is also vital, it’ll aid dehydration. Returning to your side with a glass of water and some pills, Sol places them on your bedside table and sits on the edge of your bed.

“Are you okay? Let me feel your head.” Sol sighs, placing his palm flat on your forehead.

“Sol…” You whine, one hand remaining on your stomach and the other clutching his free hand.

“You’re not that hot, yet. Leave your window open—”

“No! No, I can’t! You’ve seen the news…”

“You will be fine, I promise. Fresh air will make you feel a lot better.”

“I’m sorry for burdening you with this…”

“Don’t be. I’d rather it be me taking care of you than anyone else.”

“I’ll buy you a—”

“No. Sit down.”

“Ugh, Sol—”

“Rest.”

“I’ll buy you a thank-you gift when I’m better…” You mumble, pouting at him as he leans against the doorframe.

“Send me a text or call me if you need me. Doesn’t matter what time it is.”

“Text… Call… Yeah.” You repeat, rubbing your eyes while burying your head into the pillow.

“Don’t forget, take your medicine.”

“I’m gonna take it… Now.” You reach over and drop the pills into your mouth, then take a small sip of the drink to wash them down.

“Goodnight. I hope you feel better soon.”

Before leaving, he waited until he heard your breathing pattern change, signifying that you were asleep. Alongside the medication, he slipped in a sleeping pill, its dosage strong enough to keep you out for the correct amount of time.

As if he would leave you alone so easily while you’re sick.

Right now, however, his main concern is dealing with the business that made his soulmate ill, after all, what good is a company in operation if its only achievement is casting a vast majority of its customers extremely unwell upon eating their cheaply sourced food?

Upon arriving back at his apartment, he stripped from his usual attire and threw on a set of his darkest clothes, a matching surgical mask to cover what remained exposed on his face. A complaint wouldn’t be enough, they clearly racked up enough of them online but did not change a singular thing about their selfish ways.

It was just after midnight when the streets were soundless and the civilians were tucked away inside of the safety of their homes. Strolling down the deserted sidewalk, Sol stops outside of a building, comparing the logo to the one saved in his photo album. A perfect match.

Subtly, Sol explored the perimeter, tracing the outline of the building before returning to the front. It’s no wonder why all of their customers become unwell, the amount of trash that remains behind the building is piled up, much taller than him.

There is no point in teaching those who do not wish to learn. An ignorant mind reflects an ignorant heart. Only the careless would profit from neglect like this.

Flicking his lighter on, he tosses it to the ground before walking away, the flicker of flames igniting in the distance as he glances back. It won’t be long before a passerby calls the fire department, but that’s no concern to him. When the authorities see the state the building was in previously, they could rule it out as the impact of an unkempt business.

His feet led him back to your apartment, the open window a much easier entrance for him as he climbed up. After all those locks you’ve bought in the past, he’s surprised you never gave up your safety protocols. Securing his footing, he creeps back into your bedroom, kneeling beside you as you rest peacefully in your slumber.

You are so beautiful. Every feature of your face was crafted with tender hands. He traces over your lips with his index finger, slowly drawing his hand back.

“Hi, Pumpkin.” He whispers, leaning in to press his lips against your cheek. “I’m going to check your temperature again.”

This time, Sol uses the back of his hand. Thankfully, he would say you are around average, partially a slight bit higher than usual.

“Good… You’re going to be okay. You might be sick tomorrow but I’ll come over to make sure you aren’t alone.”

“You like having me here, don’t you? You feel so safe, so loved.” He strokes your hair similar to how you would pet a fragile animal. As his hand ventures under the blanket, he comes in contact with something.

“You still sleep with the plushie I bought for you? You…” Sol’s smile expands, his cheeks lighting a subtle shade of pink. “You must love it. Or me. I hope it’s me.”

In your sleep, you moan, your body beginning to shift. He strokes the side of your arm, calming you down as you endure whatever dream is unfolding. After a while, your body stops with its relentless motions and goes still again.

“This is our special time together. It’s my favourite part of the day.” Sol’s lips curve up, his eyes filled with adoration as he clutches your plushie close to his chest. “I’ll make it smell like me again, don’t worry.”

“Mph…” Your lips moved, but he couldn’t decipher the sound that left them.

“Hm?” Sol pinches your cheek, a procedure to test if you’re awake or not.

You must be mumbling to yourself since you didn’t respond to his touch.

“I’m guessing you missed smelling me then. That’s cute.” When he finished rubbing the plushie against his flesh and clothing, he tucked it under your chin. “You’re cute.”

“He doesn’t deserve you, you know?” Sol mumbles, sinking onto the bed beside you, fingers toying with your hair.

“He would never do the things I have done for you.”

“I know you prefer me. It’s okay if you don’t want to admit it right now. I can wait.” He rolls onto his side, your face now in view.

“You make it hard for me to leave every single time…” His pitch was low, an almost pouty tone as he nuzzled his head against your chest. Lifting your limbs, he wraps them around himself, drawing the blanket over both of your bodies this time.

“I’ll just stay like this for a few more minutes… Then I have to go.” Sol closes his eyes, the therapeutic beats of your heart are a soothing melody to his ears.

…

Sunlight filters in through the curtains, a bitter breeze hitting your clammy skin. Compared to yesterday, you’re feeling a lot better, the only thing remaining is the dull ache in your stomach. Rubbing your eyes, you squeeze your plushie, only to hear a strange noise.

Last time you checked, this plushie shouldn’t be able to communicate. Shooting your eyes open, you find a mess of green hair sprawled out on top of you.

“Sol?” You rub your eyes again, unsure if what is in front of you is reality or a fever dream.

“Yeah…?” Sol mumbles in response, his body shifting. Then he goes still, springing up from his previous position. Shit.

“I thought you left last night.”

“After you took your medicine, you asked me to stay. You went out like a light but I made sure that you were okay.”

“Did you have this on yesterday?” You tug at his hoodie. “I’ve never seen you wear clothes like this before.”

“These are my comfy clothes, that’s why. I keep the hoodie in my backpack.”

“Oh…” That food poisoning must have hit you hard to leave you so delirious. “Thank you for staying with me.”

“…?” Sol flutters his eyelashes while your hands cup his cheeks, drawing him near. Your lips plant a peck on his forehead, a suiting reward since he went out of his way for you.

“Ah… You shouldn’t have to thank me… It’s what anyone would do.” Sol rubs the back of his neck, a flush spreading over his face.

“I feel sick. Like I’m going to throw up.”

“I’m not surprised. Let’s get you to the bathroom. Get all of that food out of your system for good.” Sol stands first, offering his hand to assist you to your feet.

“I don’t like vomiting.” You mope, refusing to move despite your stomach cramping further.

“But it has to come out. You’ll be okay, I’m right here.” He grabs your hand, squeezing it gently.

The only option is to get up if you don’t want to clean your bedsheets. Swiftly shuffling between rooms, you kneel before the toilet and allow your body to regulate itself, removing the foreign pathogens that invaded your meal. Sol rubbed your back, making the process easier. There wasn’t a lot of retching, but you still felt that familiar burn in your throat when you were finished.

“Any more?” Sol pats your upper back and you shake your head.

“I’ll cook for you this time. No more buying from trashy food places.”

“But they’re cheap…” You puff air into your cheeks, taking your toothbrush which he handed you to remove the bitter taste from your mouth.

“My meals are free. Don’t be ashamed to ask.” Sol takes a final glance at you before heading back to your kitchen, scouring the cupboards in search of something to work with.

For you, he would do anything. Make anything. Even if it’s from scratch. No matter the simplicity or complication of a request you have, he will ensure that you get what you ask for. You don’t deserve anything less. If only you were aware of the lengths he has gone and is still willing to go for you.

#tkatb vn #tkatb sol #the kid at the back x reader #the kid at the back sol #the kid at the back vn #fanfic #sol x reader

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mejaemin · 3 months ago

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untitled - yoon jeonghan, choi seungcheol

18+ mdni !!! wc: 0.9k summary: sometimes it’s just too hard to wait until you get home… warnings: poly relationship (jeongcheol x reader), jeonghan x reader focus, car stuff, fingering (f rec), masturbating? (jeonghan), oral (m rec), slight dom/sub dynamics (dom!cheol, switch!han, sub!reader), not proofread! lmk if i missed a warning an: my first poly fic…. and ofc i had 2 include my husband in it 😛😛 !!! this was not planned at all btw.. i wrote this just now in like 3 hrs

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“cheollie, we can’t wait anymore..” you whine, tugging at jeonghan’s hair as he sucks love bites into your neck.

he sighs, growls almost, taking a second to glance up at you both in the rearview mirror. “you will.”

jeonghan leaves a long, thick stripe of saliva all the way from your collarbone to your jawline, roughly groping your tits over your thin, low-cut dinner dress. you’re starting to regret the decision to wear it without a bra when his fingers pinch at your nipple, sending burning hot electricity between your legs.

he pulls his mouth away from your skin to address seungcheol. “or what?”

“or neither of you are cumming for a week.” he says simply, although if anyone were in the passenger seat, they’d know how much he’d be torturing himself as well.

jeonghan’s smile is cunning as he stares at your boyfriend, simply shrugging before turning to you. “i don’t mind.” that’s a total lie, all three of you know it, but it’s fun to make cheol think his authority doesn’t work, he’s said to you before.

suddenly, compared to the passion before, jeonghan’s movements are slow as he pulls the bottom of your dress over your hips. it didn’t take much, the dress so short it might as well have been a shirt, another reason why his advances couldn’t wait.

his fingers brush over your underwear, rubbing into the fairly large wet spot. “you like this, don’t you angel? being so bad gets you wet, hm?” he teases, biting at the skin on your jawline as your thighs trap his hand in between them.

he pulls your panties to the side, exposing your pussy to the cold air. he coats his fingers in your wetness, dragging them up to rub slow circles against your clit. “i wish i could taste you right now..” he murmurs, breath tickling your ear as his hand dips lower, a finger sliding into your entrance. “cheollie wouldn’t like that, would he? me eating you out in a moving car?” you both take a second to glance up at him, and his gaze is hard as he stares at the road, foot letting off the pedal to avoid speeding in his frustration.

“hannie…” you whine, rolling your hips into his hand, looking up at him with glossy eyes.

he dips his head down to kiss you, short and sweet, a big contrast to your current situation. his clean hand pinches your cheek, “what is it, baby? not enough for you?”

you shake your head, reaching between your legs to grab his wrist, forcing his finger a little deeper. he coos, wordlessly adding another before finally moving with a purpose. typically, he’d make you ask for it, but the landmarks outside the window are getting to be a little more familiar, meaning you both should rush a little before seungcheol can get out of the car and handle you both.

he knows exactly what he’s doing, curling his fingers rather than thrusting, pressing the heel of his palm into your clit. you moan, voice a little wobbly, desperately grinding into his hand. he moans into your ear, and you open your eyes to see his other hand, roughly pressing into his bulge. when he notices that you saw him, he winks, pulling his cock out to jerk himself off while continuing to please you.

every time the car comes to a stop, you see cheol’s free hand reach down to palm his own boner, eyes screwed shut at the feeling. at one point someone behind him had to honk the horn when he got too distracted. seeing him so affected by you two is so fucking hot, so much so that you can already feel yourself nearing your limit.

“gonna- gonna cum, hannie..” you gasp, muscles tightening and hips twitching.

he nods, humming into your skin, pulling away with an extremely flushed look of his own. “go ahead, baby.. it’s okay, cum on my fingers.”

you look at him, and his eyes are heavy as he looks down at you, lips parted as short gasps escape them. looking a little lower, he’s still stroking himself, with a vigor similar to the pace he’s set for you. all it takes is one last glance at your other boyfriend, seeing his red cheeks and evident sexual frustration for you to break.

your back arches impossibly high, loud moans ripping through the silence in the car. not that he had much of a choice, but jeonghan’s fingers still inside of you, your cunt gripping them with everything you have. your thighs are twitching, closing his arm between them as you hump his hand to ride out your high.

jeonghan is right there with you, rambling nonsensically as he fists his cock. you know he’s close, hearing it in the way his voice cracks, so you rip his hand away and take his length in your mouth. he still hasn’t gotten access to his hand, so his other one grips your hair, as he cums, whining as the hot liquid spurts down your throat.

after a few seconds, you pull his hand off the back of your head, sitting up to catch your breath. the car is parked, and that’s when you notice that you’ve finally gotten home.

seungcheol unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to you both. jeonghan laughs at his face, looking both extremely pent up and angry all at once. the older rolls his eyes, pulling his hand from between your legs to clean his fingers off, eyes rolling back in his head at the taste.

he then pulls away, getting out of the car and going to open your door. before you can get up, he bends down to be eye level with the two of you, “if either of you get up and i see a mess on that car seat, i’ll fucking kill you both.”

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svt 🏷️ @coquettejunnie @prettymoles

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zzencat · 1 year ago

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Final Spouse’s Energy If You Met Them Now (+ how they would be like dating you) - Current ⏳

Left to right. Choose the photo that you can’t get your eyes off of.

Where are they now? How are they doing? How would things be like if they were in my life now? May include some SUGGESTIVE comments, but is still very much SFW. I may have gotten carried away with this.

Note: This is your future spouse’s CURRENT energy, which may be prone to change within the next couple of years (ex: more maturity, better developed skills/assets, etc.) But if you were to meet your future spouse now, this is how their energy would look like.

DO BEFORE PICKING: Clear your mind. Close your eyes, inhale deeply, fill up your chest to the fullest, feel the air brush against the ridges of your nose. Breathe out.

———————

Pile 1. “Hey. Hi, I guess?”

• very chill atm, very content with life. Goes with what life delivers to them (that’s pretty cute ngl)

• chill buuuut can be too chill to a fault. Not nonchalant but rather an innocent, “oh I didn’t know you were bothered by that *scratches head awkwardly* — think: Fred liu type of energy

• handles conflict calmly (they might be freaking out inside tho)

• likable and friendly person. Gets along with others well, tho they don’t seem too close with. They have only a handful of close friends, and it’s slightly difficult them to see people outside of that circle as close — selective with who they consider friends. If you got in a conflict with this person’s friends, it would def hurt your person a lot. Ofc they would want to hear both sides out with an unbiased view. (they won’t side with you just bc you’re dating btw, but they’ll let you know as gently as possible)

• doesn’t really have the capacity to yell at people. They’re pretty reserved or have solid emotional control

• definitely could be a loner. LOVES late night walks in the breeze, just the two of you, holding hands or talking or doing wtv- they really don’t care what it is bc it’s with you. I keep seeing this play out in my head tho, where a person with a grey hoodie, hood-on, hands in pockets, walks by your place at night and pretends they dropped something or makes some sort of excuse to see you even for a few minutes. ^^This is when they like the person tho- not actually dating (yet). They will take the chance to either invite you to walk with them (with or without excuse) or hope that you invite yourself lmfao 😂. OR they’ll lean on your doorframe and ask how you are, have a little chat, and every time you think of an answer or your eyes drift away while thinking, they’ll take the chance to check you out (not body, but facial features.) No thoughts in their mind, just how your face just…makes sense(?) to them? 😂😂 Pile 1, like, their eyes will trace the lines, curves, and dips of your face. If you have horrendous eye bags or dark circles, they’ll think it compliments your face somehow. Like you just “make sense” is what I’m hearing. The vibe I’m feeling is that they’re in stage 0 of this potential relationship—like they’re trying to figure out if they just like being around you or if they’ve actually grown romantic feelings for you. In this moment, they’re possibly at that point of figuring out that they DO have feelings for you and this little moment confirms it (altho they’ll push it back until they get home.) >>> (***little note here: they won’t mast*rbate thinking abt you yet and prob for a few weeks to months, bc this is still too early on for them, esp when they’ve just started to like you. It’s more of a respect thing for them- and ESPECIALLY if they haven’t gotten any signs that you like them back. After a couple of months (still not dating you), you could pop into a few of their fantasies tho, but only for a very brief flash. But again, the restriction is there IF yall aren’t tgt yet.)

• can be naive, and probably lets people walk over them too much/has too many open windows for others to take advantage of them. They have to learn to set boundaries properly and stand up for themselves. They will defend the people they love tho. They just let it go when it comes to themselves

• good natured, clean, and has good hygiene. You won’t see pube hairs (or hair in general) in their shower drain. They don’t mind cleaning it either- could honestly clean the house w no problem. It’s therapeutic for em

• pretty responsible person. Won’t argue if you tell them to clean smth or do the dishes. They’ll just do it

• amazing listener, willing to compromise/give you time. Will apologize even if they’re not in the wrong

• they don’t care abt your financial status as long as you’re responsible with money/show maturity over it

• perceptive of other’s emotions to an extent, and especially when dating you, they will pay attention to yours and your reaction to different things. If you look like you’re goin thru smth, they’ll ask right away. The concern on their face is unmistakable

• dresses up helllla nice for a date. Sometimes, subtly sexy and not even on purpose. BUT, there’ll be times where they’ll be in the mirror like “hm, looks kinda see-thru and kinda sexy…I’ll wear it since I know [y/n] will like it.” But they don’t expect you to jump them that night or anything. May hint at it and tease you thru out date night. (The “innocent” gaslighting might be goin crazy tho)

• forgives easily but they’d rather take the hurt than be mean to you

• extremely loyal. Absolutely no interest in anyone else aside from their partner. I don’t think they have the energy for anyone more than you either hahaha

• turns down their friends to hang out with you

• has a lot to say/wants to be heard but sometimes gets self conscious of speaking (as if they’ve said too much) even tho they’ve said the least in the room

• tall or there’s a height difference between you two

Points of Interest: Fred liu’s energy is soooo apparent- he’s not going away lmfao HELP, possible MBTIs: infj, enfj, awkward silence, bad jokes when trying to go off of your joke (like realllly bad- they should stick to the simple ones like ikea puns), nerdy, very put together but allows moments of mistakes, mentally stable, a bit boring, will walk your dog with no extra charge, gets your coffee every morning (if you drink it), remembers the little details, might be a bit vanilla in bed, arms around your waist, cares abt the romantic and friendship aspects more than the sexual relief, smiles more when you’re around, observant as HELL, remembers to pick up your meds, remembers important dates and times, very considerate and kind, simple watch, humble, “how about we make that one thing you like?”, homebody, doesn’t overdress (sometimes underdresses tho), very gentle and good hearted, learns your language to bond with you more, a total romantic and daydreamer, bro gets talkative in their mindddd (the scenario above prob came from them but shhh)

————————-

Pile 2. “I like the way you laugh. Eheheheh.” - Justin Bieber Interview

• a whole ass clown. Nah I mean “make you laugh until you die” kind of clown. Won’t stop even if you’re dying and gasping for air. LOVES to hear you laugh. They somehow have an intensive arsenal of jokes and will adjust depending on people’s humor- and they’re very good at this

• extroverted and TALKATIVE. Will go to Yapville and come back. Will share a lot with you and expects your feedback. Doesn’t matter if you’re an introvert or extrovert, they wanna hear your thoughts and opinions

• also they may have good leadership skills and are witty. The only issue with this is that they might be too agreeable sometimes- they want what’s ultimately best for everyone involved. The agreeableness thing is a 50/50 thing tho and applies to only some people in this pile, while the others’ future spouses will make better decisions and more sound judgments depending on the situation and what kind of person they are.

• they also don’t like to correct people’s wrongs, but rather show people how to do something. Some fs in this pile tho, can’t call people (you included) out on bs or mistakes. This may be an issue (since they might value harmony so much). This isn’t the best trait to have if you’re thinking abt kids in the future

• also if you have a dumb ass idea, they’ll hype it up and won’t think it’s dumb at all. They’ll be very supportive. Won’t ever make you feel crazy, unless you crack a joke more unhinged than they ever have/or you ever have. Maybe you’re not the type to until you meet them

• I will say, I don’t think they’re that much taller than you

• they’re so unserious sometimes that you can’t believe they’re as responsible as they are.

• somehow always knows the best places to go for a date or if you guys have extra time

• also don’t be surprised if it’s your birthday and they tell the restaurant staff to bring out the whole cake and candles, even mariachi band- be prepared that shit’s kinda crazy 😂 If you don’t like attention in general, I can’t save you in this relationship lmfaoooo

• they’re also pretty optimistic and prepared for emergencies. The type to track your period if you have em lmfao- *they get the notif on their phone* “oh you’re starting your period next week. Sweet.” “How’d you know that?” You ask, and they’ll say casually “Cuz I got the app.” *flashes you their screen w/ app open* and will browse it some more.

• these people are kinda crazy bc if they’re a parent in the future, they’ll bring a whole colossal ass backpack to an amusement park while carrying your kid. They don’t even care if it makes them look weird

• they probably have a weird feature(s) on their face or body that you love. You think it’s charming on them and while society might consider it weird or not conventionally attractive, they’ve figured out how to make it work

• doesn’t really struggle with jealousy. If anything, their form of jealousy is making you laugh even harder or doing something ridiculous to get your attention back on them and off the other person

• ^ they really do like your attention. They also love when you share things you’ve learned with them or you get them involved/inform them in on something you’ve been working on, reading, studying, watching, whatever it is, they’ll be interested. They’ll watch that dumb reality tv show you’re watching. You could even catch them up with some gossip/drama and they’d be invested af

• tbh im not feeling that they’ll ever be bored with you, regardless if you can keep up with their energy or not, because they’ll make you keep up 😭

• one sad bit I have to mention is that they probably have gone through something in the past where they weren’t on guard so they lost the person/opportunity. [I’ll keep this vague. The person doesn’t want me to dwell on it too much. They don’t want you to be fixed on negative things.] This event has stuck with them ever since and they feel that they can’t afford to make that mistake again. If you acknowledge their efforts in a serious conversation or just a random totally unrelated moment, they’ll very much appreciate that. More than you know.

Points of Interest: Getting a whole enfj vibe in here (healthy AND unhealthy enfjs), possibly enfp, entp, esfj, estp, esfp, surprise birthday parties, *dramatic gasping*, maybe likes drinking tea or making tea (esp one that’s pale-yellow colored- idk the name) and drinking it at night(???) speaking of which, night owl, flexible, will make time for you, “it’s okay! I got it!”, confident, on top of things, “sleep is for the weak” says while eye twitches, switch/versatile in bed—does not mind trying new things (they don’t even care how good or bad you are in bed. If they wanna spice it up, they will take the reigns if you don’t, with no problem), will try their best at anything and everything, the responsible class clown, loves board games, masculine and feminine energy is balanced well, probably a masochist bc they like to stress themselves out with all sorts of duties and responsibilities, very good at adapting, open to new cultures/living in countries completely different from them- weirdly, I’m seeing an Australian guy exploring the wild (…maybe that sort of thing excites them), “if you move, I move. No exceptions”, best parent award, “positions” by Ariana grande

———————-

Pile 3. “Hm.”

• in a bit of a stump. Probably has a part time job or multiple to support themselves on their own, but it’s better than being in their last situation.

• introvert. MAJOR introvert.

• minimalist

• straightforward, doesn’t beat around the bush

• not getting the vibe that they’re dating atm — single energy, but not really bothered by it

• would have a pet (eh, maybe) if they could afford to, since they neither have the time nor resources

• they would prob turn you down the first time you ask them out OR they ask you out but in a timid/unconventional/at a later period. I don’t think they have too much dating experience either (and I thought Pile 1 was a loner)

• tsundere type of energy

• the type to say they don’t want kids but when y’all get together, they start thinking abt it a lot, and may hint at it

• good at saving up money, bc they don’t really spend on much. but will work hard to buy you something expensive if they don’t think their efforts for you are enough OR if they don’t think they’re enough for you in general

• doesn’t care what other people think. Could care less if you don’t look your best on some days, have some break outs here and there or a lip filler gone horrendously wrong — if they love you, they LOVE you fr (…should prob sue that doc tho...)

• (expanding on the last point) generally, they don’t care what others think. HOWEVER !!! when you guys start dating, one or both of you (but especially on their side) will struggle with self-esteem issues. Be careful with this, because they will fall for you DEEPLY and literally can’t get out of it —> you’ve shown that you love them unconditionally, regardless of anything, and will be there for them no matter what. Pile 3, you’re pretty soft energy- I get burrito blanket/animal onesie type feels. Back to my point, if you’re not reassuring enough or emotionally available for this person when they open up, it could turn into a toxic relationship where you fall out of love first OR you get trapped in the cycle and now both of yall are depressed af.

• they don’t fall for people easily, like at all, so the obsession will be amplified by a million fold if they ever lose you. The idea of that crushes them and could take a huge mental health toll. It seems they could have leftover resentment from childhood (be it school, family, friends…). If they open up to you, that’s an honor. (At this point, they probably even trust you with their life, don’t tell anyone the info)

• In the worst case possible, you could get someone like this but feel an uneasy weird feeling around them. I’d advise you to keep you distance cuz that ain’t yo person. Obsession can get really bad with this group’s fs. Like real down bad bad. Like put a gps on your car bad. If you meet a person this creepy, don’t stick around in their life and definitely don’t have them stick around in yours. Chances are, this is a karmic person and they’ve come into your life as a reflection of your own insecurities or obsessive tendencies.

• VERY SMART. Can be calculative to protect themselves and those they love

• on the bright side, a well developed pile 3 future spouse enjoys solitude and has managed trauma very well. Tho they might seem socially inept, they’re prob just blunt and honest. They will tell you like it is. Will literally do anything for you, uncharacteristic, even if they look like an idiot on the street

• prefers more intimate settings alone or with you. With another friend? ehh…they prob won’t go

• will only go out if you go out, bc it’s you

• either secretly freaky in the sheets or inexperienced

• jealous easily and is very possessive. They don’t have too many people around them they deem trustworthy so this reaction is to be expected

• this person handles aggressive or violent behavior well. It doesn’t freak them out. (Also right now at 3:01 pm where I’m at, their energy is very hesitant to give out the reason why so perhaps when you meet them and gain their trust, they will tell you.) {P.s I’m asking them very specific and personal questions on the side rn and the silence speaks volumes. I won’t pry any further but they ask that you have some empathy, since they’re not sure how you’d see them.}

• another p.s.: 3:09 pm I think I’ve exposed too much here. There was a strong resistance at the end since it’s so vulnerable and close to their core that it freaks them out to be outed for strangers to see and read about. I won’t say anymore about their past. I’ve also become more careful of my wording - but I will say this for their sake. There is a strong desire to change in this person tho so being someone who brings positive influence into their lives. Someone who can prove that there are still good people in the world.

Points of Interest: istp, intp, entj, intj, istj, either good memory or doesn’t care to rmr (no in between. It varies from person to person, their values and where the info is coming from), notices every little detail, doesn’t care about your flaws, desensitized if you have breakdowns, unexpectedly a good comfort person. Again, a lot of resistance and hesitation, so I won’t say any more abt them. Ooh, ominous. Also, do you struggle with gut issues? Or smth diet related? Could be a whack diet. Okay, I had to go back and delete an important piece of info I put in initially but there’s a lot of disapproval over it. I will throw a small hint out since they’re allowing me to; it’s related to growing up. They don’t want me to be specific abt the period of when but that’s what you get just as a preface. I can tell they want to tell someone about it though. There’s just no one they trust. Also, rmr I said they don’t care abt what others think? Apparently, they care strongly abt what YOU think. It almost feels regretful? Embarrassing? To admit/write this. Thanks pile 3. That’s all you’re getting out of me today.

——————-

*Teddy Note: Teddy here!! I hope your day is going smoothly wherever you’re at! We’re back again with another reading and this time, it was a bit heavier to take in. I mean, this is future spouse we’re talking about so there’s definitely going to be a handful. I have to mention briefly, this is the first time I’ve ever felt a clear shiver against my body when doing a reading. Like a full on force that left me blinking like “wtf just happened…” Especially for a certain pile, who doesn’t want me putting them in the light too much. I saw someone with so much guilt on their face, but they looked so…small? Innocent? Youthful? As if they hadn’t done anything wrong in their life, it’s just that people looked at them…not wrong, but differently? It’s uncomfortable to find the word even after finishing the reading but “differently” undermines their experience and what they’ve been through. But they also don’t want to use a more negative word to describe it either so I’ll leave it there. Thank you for reading!! Remember, take what resonates, leave what doesn’t. I would appreciate any constructive feedback and if you guys reblogged with what pile you chose. It helps a practicing reader like me learn to be more accurate and aligned! Until the next reading, Teddy outttt 😎😎

#divination #tarot reading #tarotblr #tarot blog #daily tarot #tarot #pac tarot #intuition #pick a card #intuitive #pick a pile #pick a picture #pick a photo #spirituality #love reading #future spouse reading #future spouse #love pac #relationship pac

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darkstaria · 1 year ago

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Yandere Batfam - Soulmate Soul Animal AU.

Chapter 3:

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 4. Chapter 5.

Chapter 3 is finally here! Hooray! Hope people enjoy this, cuz I'm going to sleep now zzz

Taglist: @moonchild-artemisdaughter @jjsmeowthie @madine11-blog @xxrougefangxx @hadesnewpersephone @neerathebrightstar @mel-star636 @jaythes1mp @rosecentury @lov3vivian @gaozorous-rex-blog @victoria1676 @vrsin @silverklaus @ryukyuin @kurai-hono-blog @thisisafish123 @isawyourbrowserhistory @ain-t-no-way-bsfr

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A week had passed since that encounter that had sent you running home, and you could only be grateful to yourself that you hadn’t given Tim your number back. He had probably expected that you would have messaged him back by now. Instead, you were going to avoid that cafe for a while.

As if to spite you, Red was currently fluttering about you. Or should you call him Tim? That might make things too confusing. Red it was.

You had looked at the card Tim had given you, and in all honesty, you regretted it. Mainly because of the name on the card.

Tim Drake.

Tim Drake, who is also commonly known as Tim Wayne. The adopted son of Bruce Wayne.

Tim Drake is Red Robin.

You stared down at Red, who had started dozing in your lap.

Did that mean that the Wayne family all were..? No, surely not. You mean, Brucie Wayne as Batman? That felt a little ridiculous. You could definitely see Robin as Damian Wayne though, he had the right energy.

Richard Grayson had ties to acrobats right? Something about a tragedy. Nightwing did perform quite the stunts.

…

It was way too late in the night for these revelations.

There was one way to know for sure though.

“Wing!” You called out, attracting the attention of the bird that had previously been messing around with your stuffed animal. Wing had way too much of a vendetta against your plushie sometimes. Honestly, if he destroyed one of them, you certainly wouldn't be hugging him anymore.

Wing flew over to you, in a graceful arc that included several unnecessary loops. Showoff.

Wing landed on your hand, and you took a deep breath. Stay calm. The weight of Red in your lap gave you a little comfort, keeping you grounded.

“Richard Grayson.” You said, staring.

No reaction. Not even a twitch, Wing just started tweeting cheerfully as if you hadn't said anything of interest.

Maybe Richard Grayson wasn't Nightwing then? Or was it Richie? Although, he could be called by a nickname instead. What nickname would a Richard be called though…? Maybe..

Dic-

A clutter caught your attention, the sound of a window being opened and slid down. Your window.

Uh oh.

You immediately panicked. What? What could you do? You likely only had about a minute or two until the invader located your bedroom, you needed to make a decision quickly. Even as birds, you knew Red and Wing could defend themselves, but were you willing to take the risk?

If you got robbed, that would be awful, but a robber could do so much worse with the knowledge of a vigilante's civilian soulmate.

You'd take the risk. You pick up Red’s prone form, placing him into an empty bag you had laying around. If your life was in danger, you'd simply free them, and all would be okay.

You turn around, aiming to grab Wing. You reach for him, but Wing evades, darting to the left. Frowning, you try and grab him again, but Wing continues to evade, tweeting in joy.

Wing! You felt like screaming, blood racing to your head and flushing you with panic. This was not a game!

You swipe at him, starting to grab at him in increasingly frantic motions. Each movement is skillfully evaded, with Wing adding a flourish to each dodge.

“Stop dodging!” You hiss, whispering as quietly as you could. It was only when you paused in a moment to calm your frustrations that Wing showed you solace. Landing on your head in a smooth movement, Wing gave a little chirp.

Holding your hands to your head, you felt Wing climb on. You lowered him to eye level, taking a second to glare, before suddenly remembering that you had a literal home invader and stuffing Wing alongside Red in your bag. You had just clipped the bag shut when the creak of your door alerted you to their entrance.

Turning, you were beginning to lament the loss of all your earthly belongings when you locked eyes with a familiar face.

Red Robin.

“What..?” You mumble, horrified. Why was Red Robin here, in your house? The only place you could count on. The one sanctuary you had where you never had to worry about getting caught. Where you were safe.

You didn't feel safe anymore.

“Why? Why are you.. in my home?” The words stumbled out, barely registering even as they left your mouth. You had started shaking. When did that happen?

Perhaps noticing how shaken you were, Red Robin had the decency to look ashamed.

“I’m sorry for invading your house.” He began, with an apologetic tone. “I got quite a bit injured while patrolling, I was hoping I could camp out here for a while.” He gestured to his leg, where a grievous scratch bled. He smiled at you, a polite, small thing, as if it would convince you.

No, was your immediate answer.

“Yes.” Was your spoken response. “I guess that will be fine, but don't linger too long, I don't want to be targeted because a vigilante came into my window.” You tried a smile. It felt like a mask. “And I don't know any medical care. I can offer you my first aid kit, but that's about it.”

“That's fine.” Red Robin seemed reassured, happy to be here. “I have some medical supplies of my own, but I'd appreciate it if I could use your medical kit.”

“I'll go get it. Could you go to the kitchen, please? I’d rather not have you bleed out on my bed.”

He chucked. “Sure.” Then he was gone, headed off to your kitchen. He acted as if it was so simple, as if your life hadn't just shattered to pieces all around you. So nonchalant.

You took a moment to catch your breath. It was difficult. Then, you lifted the clip of your bag, checking in on your soul animals. Wing was cuddled up to Red, the two dozing.

You frowned. Red was fine. He was completely calm, fading in and out of sleep. There was no trace of an injury on him at all.

When it came to injuries, soul animals had some quirks. They only reflect injuries if the soulmate found the wound to be serious enough. Because your soulmates were vigilantes, you were plenty familiar with when they were injured or not. Red was not injured. Not in the slightest.

Red Robin’s wound was intentional. Calculated. If it was a genuine issue, Red would be suffering as well. Which meant only one thing.

Red Robin was on an investigation.

And you were the subject.

You took a couple extra minutes to compose yourself, minutes you didn't doubt Red Robin was utilizing to his full extent. You just had to remind yourself, you were a civilian, you had nothing to hide.

He could look everywhere in the house and not discover a thing. The real secret was already contained in your bag. You could not let him find your soul animals. He can see everything else, but that.

It would be really convenient if both Red and Wing suddenly left to visit some other soulmate of yours, but you knew better than to expect that. If anything you'd be lucky to not have some other soul animal of yours show up. Ever since Spoiler and Orphan showed up, they'd been more persistent than usual. Maybe the new bonds had reminded them that they still hadn't met you.

Well, it was time to face the music. Or the Tim, that worked too. You had already wasted enough time.

Shaken, you slowly stood up. You gathered your bearings, breathed.

You could do this.

Opening the door to the kitchen took much longer than usual, you could only blame the nerves. You locked eyes with Red Robin.

You couldn't do this.

“Hey.” He said. He had his own kit open, taking out some bandages. Despite the illusion of busyness, you didn't doubt he had already skulked around your home. “Did you get the medkit?”

Ah-

The medkit. The kit of medicine you had said you'd bring. The very reason you had your precious minutes of safety in your bedroom. The medkit you forgot. Fu-

You darted back into your room, ripping open a cabinet, and yanking the kit out as if it were the cause of your problems, before dashing back over to him. It was a miracle you hadn't tripped on the way over.

Play it cool.

“S-sorry!” You tried. Your heart was beating out of your skull. Could he tell? Did he already know? Was it over?

“Here.” He took the kit from your shaking hands, laying it across the table and opening it. “You said that you didn't know any medical care. Gotham has clinics, but it's a little dangerous to not have any idea of how to treat an injury, I'll show you.”

You felt yourself nod.

No. It couldn't be over. He’s got nothing on you, and will never have anything. You are a normal citizen, you just need to act like it. You didn't live a life separate from the world, hidden from birth, just to get caught.

You noticed a flutter of movement in the darkness behind his shoulder, and stared. After a bit of squinting, you could make out a small figure in the darkness. A bat.

Uh oh.

A rush of horror gripped you. The bat was smaller and slender than the Bat. It was Orphan. You gave a little twitch, a small shake of the head, begging for it to not move. Orphan didn't react.

Red Robin began explaining how to properly cleanse and sanitize wounds. You did your best to pay attention. Somehow, he was a decent teacher. He then moved on to explaining how to properly bandage. You assumed that he was just going to talk you through it. This assumption was broken, as Red Robin instead took your hands in his, and guided them through the correct technique. Once you seemed to have gotten it, he then let you apply them to his leg.

“A little tighter, just like that.”

“Like this?”

“Perfect.”

Why would he let you do this? Aren't the bats supposed to be paranoid? Your thoughts were interrupted by a ruffle of your hair. You looked up, locking eyes with Red Robin. He smiled.

“Well done.”

What the hell was going on.

The only good thing about today was that Orphan still hadn't moved. You almost forgot about it, since Orphan had stayed in complete darkness the whole time. Perhaps Orphan was content just watching?

Ah, but you're getting distracted. Red Robin received his medical care just like he wanted, now it's time for him to leave. And never come back.

“Are you doing any better?” It was a tentative question. Unfortunately you didn't think a ‘get the hell out of here’ would work any better, as much as you wanted to say so.

He nodded. “Yep. I'll head out now, goodbye.” Red Robin stood up, gathering his medkit up and placing it in his utility belt. He vaulted up to your kitchen window, sliding it open once again and climbing up to it. Now you knew what window it was, you were absolutely fixing that shut.

A glance in Orphan’s corner told you that it was still there, still watching. In that aspect, the soul animal was rather like the Bat. A stalker. Still, you'd take it.

You had never been so glad to watch someone leave before. He didn't let you enjoy your happiness for long, however, as he turned back to you at the last moment. “Oh, by the way”. He began, as if you weren’t screaming inside.

“I'll be coming over again in a few days, possibly next week.” He glanced at some gadget you didn't care about as he said this, nonchalant.

What.

“W-why?” You stuttered, completely bewildered. He had definitely checked out your house, there was nothing to be found! For what insane reason would he be coming back for?!

“It’s not safe for any Gothamite to lack basic first aid training. Your parents should have taught you better.”

The world was becoming red, you hid a clenched fist behind your back. “That's nothing that a first aid course wouldn't teach me, really, it'd be fine if you didn't come over.”

You wanted to outright protest, you really did. But you couldn't. Drawing any excessive attention would be your downfall. It'd be much easier, if Red Robin would pick up that you clearly didn't want him here!

And besides, your parents were busy enough, paying to keep you safe, hidden from the world. They have done enough.

“A course can't teach you like a hero can. I'll know when your in, so, keep an ear out.” Of course. Thanks Tim, so much.

So now you had the choice between staying at home wherein Red Robin could show up at any moment and find out your soulmates, or you could leave home and get caught with having vigilante soul animals outside. Great, what wonderful options.

You're about to protest, give a better argument, at least something. But you're interested by a squawk coming from your bedroom. You realised what happened immediately. One of the robins had finally woken up.

He needed to get out. Now.

“Okay fine, but please leave. Having a vigilante hanging out of my window is even worse than being inside my house.” You gave up. It didn't matter what concession you had to give, you needed him out immediately.

Red Robin had the audacity to chuckle, as if you had made a joke. He lifted his hand in a wave, before vanishing with a swoosh.

As if he had never been there to begin with.

A shaky sigh left you, your knees losing strength. But you snapped back to attention a second later. It was time to attend to your soul animals.

Orphan landed on your shoulder as you made your way over to your bedroom. You reluctantly petted it, sapped of your usual enthusiasm. At least it knew of subtlety, unlike certain soul animals you had.

Maybe it was time to finally get some sleep.

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ggirlthatgotaway · 5 months ago

Text

You Now Smelled of Flowers, and He Loathed how Perfectly it Suited You

summary: You had always known that, despite being wed, you and Aemond would have never gotten along, especially because none of you tried anything but staying as far as you could from one another. Weirdly enough, Aemond made your relationship changed by asking for help.

trigger warning: wrote this while on ovulation, explicit language, mention of self harm, mention of lost of virginity, sexual content, name calling(wife), pretty chill sex tbh

word count: 9.4k

supposed reading time: 38 minutes

note: BITCH THIS HAS A FUCKING VIBE. anyway, i love the dialogues in this. also, thnkx for more than 200 notes on the last one ARE YOU KIDDING. love ya

-💎

He couldn’t sleep, which was far from anything new, really. He took a deep sigh and stared at the ceiling. He could hear the soft rain falling on the stone walls outside his room, but he made no movement to check how much was entering his chambers like he normally would.

His head was killing him, and he could hear his heartbeat banging against his skull. He’d been loathing the night since the day he’d lost his eye.

That had been the fateful day that ruined his entire existence, and also the reason why he was awake in the hour of the wolf, when the entirety of King’s Landing should have been deep asleep.

He had often dreamed about cutting off his scarred skin. Surely, the action would provoke not only the risk of infection and an immense amount of bleeding, but also a wider- and so more irritating- scar on his face.

That was not what he had desired during the open-eyed dreams he’d had about slicing open his face once more, no. What currently appealed him was the tranquility that would come with the first stages of the healing process: no itch, nor irritation.

Just simple, pure pain.

He sighed and swung his legs off the bed. His eye did linger on the butter knife left on his table- it had caught the light coming from the hearth and reflecting onto the blade- but he got up and walked out of his rooms.

He wandered for a brief moment what you were doing. After all, a husband ought to worry for his wife’s whereabouts, whether he was loving or as Aemond was, which included a rather long list of disparaging adjectives- such as: abrupt, sharp-tongued, curt and cold when it came to those brief and definitely insignificant moments in which you two exchanged some words; unapproachable, uncaring and unresponsive when you needed his assistance (which happened only in one occasion, for the lesson was learnt fast); tense, silent and falsely indifferent when it came to your nearness.

Anyway, the thought of you being asleep brought an only slight sense of calmness in Aemond, for he reasoned that half of the couple- if one could call you two such- could find comfort in the confines of a bed in the darkest hours the night had to offer.

What he did not know was that you were far from asleep. Your life at the castle did not include much- quite the opposite, in fact. And you put your foot down so that you would never get used to such a disgraceful thing. You were, after all, the Rogue Prince’s daughter, and nothing in your body was ‘still’.

So, most of your nights were spent awake, walking around the interminable castle until the muscles in your legs hurt from tiredness or reading until your eyelids fell shut on their own.

Usually, the nights’ hours were not passed in the shared chambers you had with Aemond, but you found they had the perfect view of the full moon in that day’s clear night sky- despite the soft rain.

That was the reason you were there, your hands on the wet stone of the window ledge as you looked at the city below you. The rain was wetting part of your nightgown, but that was not your concern.

Rainy days in King’s Landing were not something usual this season, and it reminded you of Dragonstone in a slight way that you redeemed to be enough for comfort.

The chambers were beautiful, despite the obvious memory that surfaced in your mind: the wedding night. It hadn’t made you as excited as you and your sisters had dreamed them to be when you were younger.

You were aware that those hopes were a mere product of the fantasy of young and unaware children that loved to spend their days in the confines of the island, braiding their hair and taking about the dreams of the nights’ passed.

Still, hope hadn’t been a crime for your mind yet. You hated the mixed feelings you had felt that day. You recalled the unusual feeling of anxiety that had set into your gut in the morn and that carried through the hours of the day.

The memories of the ceremony were not many, aside from the grimace on your face that persisted through the wedding, celebrated under the Faith of the Seven and not in the tradition of Old Valyria, which you thought to be the rightful one.

What you remembered vividly, was the night. Hating Aemond Targaryen for what he’d called your cousins through the years of your childhood and early adolescence seemed nothing but rightful. And still…

You remembered his hand on your lower back as he’d walked you to your new shared chambers, and the way his warmth had seeped into the fabric of your dress.

You remembered the way he had not looked at you as you’d taken off the intricate wedding dress and left it on the floor after you’d stepped out of it.

He had put out the candles and told you to lie down on the bedding with a nod of his head before extinguishing the last source of light with a blow.

He had stripped completely before he’d also climbed on the sheets, making the mattress sink under his weight.

You had expected roughness and pain throughout the whole action, for many ladies of the court who had a friendly relationship with the Princess Regent, had told you what to expect would happen to you in the weeks preceding the wedding.

It did not come, that stinging sensation, the sharp feeling of the hardness entering you. He had worked you with his fingers the exact way you did when you were alone, almost making you think he had known your body despite having never seen it.

You had to repress your moans by biting the inside of your cheeks, and you remembered feeling glad that he could not see your face in the darkness that enveloped the chambers under his wish.

He had not kissed your lips once, but he had continued moving his fingers inside you until he had redeemed your cunt wet enough to be fucked.

That was when he had turned you around so you lied on your stomach and had pulled up your hips- the biggest contact he had offered you that night.

He had put a hand on your hip- it had been warm and comforting, despite it being distant at the same time, and it had stayed there for the whole time.

You had not come, for you forced yourself not to. His thrusts were determined: slow and steady at first, and grew faster as he continued taking your purity. But you had not finished, for the pleasure you had felt seemed so unexpected and abnormal you simply could not let your body do so.

But he had, and both of his hands were on your hips when he’d emptied himself inside of you. And then he had stilled, and you had heard his rough breathing and the sweat on his palms as he had slid them down and off your body.

He had walked out after his climax, leaving you on the marital bed, empty, still biting the inside of your cheek to withhold the moan you had let out once the heavy doors had closed behind him.

You remembered getting off the bed and feeling your legs weak. But you had still gone in front of the full length looking glass in the chambers, turned, and looked at your reflection from behind your shoulder. You had seen his seed trailing down the inside of your thighs.

You had touched yourself at the sight, thankful for being alone. You had done so many times after that night, and the mere thought sent a flush to your cheeks.

As you looked outside the window at the city below- still a number of candles burnt, but you could hold the number with your hands- and sighed, the sound of steps coming from outside made your head turn sharply to the dark wooden door.

Out of your deepest surprise, Aemond came in. He froze when he saw you, but made no move to step back, “Wife.” He greeted you, his eye falling from your face and finding an armchair.

“Husband.” you replied, tearing your eyes from what was his obviously tired form. But they found him again when you heard the sound of him sitting down. The way his hand was on his scar, the way his fingers traced it angrily, made your brows furrow. “Are you faring well?” you asked, for the silence was already starting to be uncomfortable.

Still, all he replied to your seemingly harmless question was: “Mh…” You could not resist to tut and turn once again to the sky.

Why did you even think you had the chance to have a normal opportunity for a conversation with him? Gods, you sometimes wished he were a mute, so he would have an excuse to substitute his words with those daft sounds.

You dug your nail into the skin of your finger and tried to contain the urge to walk away. After all, you were there first, and you would be the one who’d stay. What was he doing there, anyway? As far as you were aware, your shared chambers had been empty since that night of two moons ago.

Despite these thoughts, you started musing how lucky you had been to end up with someone like Aemond. He was far from the best husband, and so was clear to everyone, but he was also far from the worst.

He did not talk- even if it sometimes infuriated you; if he had lovers, his relationships were discreet; and, as he was rather far in the line of succession, especially now that Rhaenyra had birthed five children, he did not crave for an heir- testimony was the fact he had considered his duty fulfilled after taking your virginity.

“If I am correct…” His voice made you snap out of your thoughts and you turned around, looking at how his tapered fingers were still pressing onto the scarred tissue. The strain in his voice was obvious as he continued his request, “You have quite the experience with poultices?”

Your eyebrows raised at his words. How in his Seven Hells did he have that information? You may have flaunted yourself about your prowess now and then, but that had happened a long time ago, many years before your wedding.

“Y-yes.” you said, clearing your throat and turning to face him, leaning against the window ledge, “What is the matter?”

You saw how his eye avoided any form of contact, deciding to set on the stone floor instead. “I might need something to… Ease the pain from my scar.” You were extremely sure that Aemond Targaryen’s scar, in that exact moment, hurt him way less than his pride after having asked for help.

You bit the inside of your cheek to contain a grin at the thought. “Alright.” you pushed yourself off the ledge you leaned against and walked towards the door, “Come to the maester’s laboratory.”

He followed without a word, walking behind you and silently letting you know he had no intention of speaking another word for the foreseeable future. You had no intention of saying anything else whatsoever, so the walk to the laboratory was punctuated by the sound of your and Aemond’s boots on the stone floor.

His eye was stuck on your form as you walked in front of him, on your hands joined behind your back. He had not seen you so clearly since that night of two moons ago, for he had since then forced himself to stay as far from you and from the places you visited as was possible for him.

He tried not to let himself be bothered by the fact that you had decided to play his game and not try to initiate a conversation as you would have normally done. But mostly, he tried not to let his eye linger on the hypnotising sway of your hips and of your blood red skirt.

The colour annoyed him. You were supposed to be his wife, but the fabric and embroidery held nothing resembling the ones the women in his family wore, and everything to do with women he was not supposed to care about.

Once you reached the airy chamber, the rain rhythm had picked up, but the sky had begun to shift its colours to those that belonged to Dawn.

The smell of pot marigold began to fill the room once you put the plant into boiling water, and you had to gather the courage to take a small jar from a shelf and walk towards him. You did not know why he’d asked for your help when the highest maesters with the best training in all of Westeros were in King’s Landing to tend to any problem the royal family thought they had.

Also, why would he do it if, when you approached, he eyed the jar and the transparent gel it contained with wariness, his jaw tightening? And why had he said he needed assistance if he squirmed away when you raised your hand to apply the poultice on his cheek.

“Aemond-“ you sighed, but he interrupted you.

“What is that?”

His sharp tone made you bite the inside of your cheek so you did not roll your eyes at him. “Aloe. It could alleviate the irritation if you let me put it on the scar.”

Aemond had the audacity to tut at the words that came out of your mouth, but he complied and turned his head to the side. The small victory that filled your chest was shortly replaced by the need to be wary, for you had to take off his eye-patch.

There had yet to occur an occasion when he’d taken off the leather that covered his eye, and you did not know if your curiosity was strong enough to invade his privacy in such a manner.

But you reasoned it was him that asked your help, despite the truism that he did not crave for the touch that came with it. So, you took an internal deep breath and brought your hand behind his head to grab the strand of the patch and take it off.

He did not move, he seemed to be frozen with the cold of beyond the Wall. You thought his breathing had ceased, but when you saw the twitch of his jaw- which he was shutting so tightly his teeth might have snapped- you released a breath.

He was beautiful, and you had known so for a very long time, but nothing would have prepared you for the sight in front of you: the blue sapphire was bigger than you expected, and it caught the light of the few remaining candles right away, casting an eerie and soft light to his features. If anything, it made him more delightful to the eye, in a frightening way.

You told yourself to stop looking, or he would have definitely left. So you unscrewed the lid of the jar and took some of the gel onto two of your fingers before bringing it to his cheek.

His skin was scorching hot, so much so that you felt it even through the cold substance you were applying to the scar. His violet eye was fixed on the stone wall, not moving and inch, but you saw and felt the tension in his entire body, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was your presence that caused such a reaction or the fact that you were touching his scarred cheek in a manner you had never seen anyone do, not even his mother.

You straightened up and screwed the lid back on the jar, turning swiftly around and walking back towards the marigolds. You closed your eyes shut and took a deep breath- that may have been the hardest thing you’ve ever done, on the same level of claiming your dragon.

He watched you, more insistently than he’d wished to as you strained the marigolds from the boiling water. The fresh sensation the aloe left on his cheek reminded him of your fingers, and that made him need to sink his nails into his palm. Suddenly, he felt the room was not airy enough, and he got up swiftly to walk to one of the tall and narrow windows. Taking a deep breath with his eye closed, he asked with words that came out more curt and strained than he’d intended: “What is it you are making now?”

“The poultice I was talking about.” you said quickly, your voice slightly higher than usual. It made Aemond wonder if he was what had your voice raise in such a way, if that was the effect he had on you, because the effects you had on him was making him bleed from his left palm.

Aemond nodded stiffly, letting out a deep breath and feeling the fresh air of the morning hitting the still not absorbed aloe on his scar. “And how often should I apply it?” he asked, hoping you would not notice the fact he was trying not to breathe the flowery scent anymore, because your skin definitely smelt the same way now, and he seemed unable to drift his mind to any other thought.

“As many times you feel you are in need of it.” you answered, putting the marigolds into a mortar, the action leaving a slight yellow tint on the tip of your fingers.

Why was he looking at you? When had he turned around and let his eye wander to your face? He cursed himself internally, for the only candle that was still burning- the one set on the counter where you were working- was casting a warm light across your features, making them even softer, prettier than they needed to be.

He wanted to put that fucking candle off- that was the reason why he approached, of course. “How will I know when it’s working?” he asked, uttering the most superficial and mindless question he could muster. But he forgot about it when he noticed your fingers stilling momentarily at his nearness, and when they started smashing the marigolds again, your movements were not as precise any longer, but more erratic.

You answered the obvious, “If your scar does not pain you as much…” but the softness of your voice almost made Aemond grin. He restrained himself, however, as he halted his steps and stood right behind you.

You felt the heat of his body seeping into you, and you felt foolish for the feeling your mind mastered up, because he was not touching you. “So,” he said, the leather covering his arms cracking when he crossed them in front of his broad chest, “can I come to you each time I feel pain, wife?” His tone was challenging, mocking even, but you heard the slightest bit of hope for you to accept that involuntarily slipped out of his mouth. "What if it's in the middle of the night?" he continued, stepping closer still, making his forearm brush against the middle of your back. "Will you rise from your bed and tend to your husband?"

You sighed and turned around so you were facing him. He was closer than expected, but you tried not to let the things his nearness provoked from showing on your face, despite the breath that caught in your throat. “If you so need it, husband, I will.”

You clearly saw his pupil dilate as you turned and looked up at him, making the purple of his iris almost disappear completely as it got swallowed by the purest black. The sapphire did not have any available source of light to catch, but Aemond was handsome nonetheless. You were completely aware of the blush on your fair skin, showing bluntly to his hungry gaze, but you told yourself that he was most obviously also affected by the closeness of your bodies.

“Good,” he said, almost spat. But then his hand raised and tucked a strand of hair that was left out of your tresses behind your ear. His hand lingered purposely, letting you feel the scorching heat of his fingertips as he trailed them down to your jaw. “I would hate to suffer needlessly.” You saw his eye drop to your lips.

The only occasion in which your lips had met had been the wedding ceremony, and the contact had been brief, chaste. The sudden memory made you wonder what he would taste like. You were aware that he drank green tea most morns and every evening, so that was certainly an option.

Aemond's thumb brushed your cheekbone gently, ghostly, tracing a path down to your neck, stopping just short of your mouth. He could feel the rapid beat of your heart pounding against his fingertips. "Perhaps you can apply it yourself tonight...wife." He whispered, his breath burning pleasantly against the soft skin of your cheek.

The words you spoke next made you doubt all the hatred you had felt all these years towards the man that was now in front of you, asking you to service him and making the undergarments covering your most intimate part wet. “If you wish me to.”

He stepped back, releasing you from his hold, but the heat between you remained palpable. “Yes,” he replied, his voice husky with barely contained desire. "I think I'll enjoy that."

Despite the need you now felt for his touch, you were extremely grateful when his hand fell from your face and he walked out of the maester’s laboratory, leaving you with the poultice you were making for him.

You had never felt like this, what was getting to you? Pleasing a man in such a way? Yield to his desires without hesitation? And he was not any man: he was the one who had married you against your will and fucked you from behind before leaving you alone for interminable days. And he was now deciding you worth of his attention?

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, and opened them again as you released it. You took the mortar back into your hands and continued on with the poultice, forcing yourself to forget who it was for.

Aemond arrived at your shared chambers with fast steps and faster breath. He needed to get a grip of whatever it was he was feeling and stop acting as if he actually desired you. It was an ignoble thought, the one he’d had back in the maester’s laboratory with you. Fucking without the sole intent of procreation was a sin, and he would not inflict such a stain upon himself for someone he had not cared to know for the two decades of his life.

Still, he poured two goblets of Dornish Red and did not touch his until you came back with the poultice in hand.

His eye fixed on you until you stood in front of him, and then he gave you one of the goblets. “Thank you.” you replied as you took it, brushing your fingers against his in the motion. His skin was still hot, but not as much as before. Your eyes stayed in his as you both drank the fresh liquid quickly.

Then, letting out a breath, you unscrewed the lid containing the marigold poultice and took some on your index and middle finger, bending over towards him. He tilted his head to the side, leaving you the space you needed right before your fingers came in contact with his cheek.

His nails dug once again into his palm at your nearness, and also because he had been right: you now smelled of flowers, and he loathed how perfectly it suited you.

Even as his nails stabbing his skin did something to distract him from your perfume, his thoughts were far from calm. He couldn't ignore the way his pulse quickened whenever you touched him, or the way his cock stirred in his breeches at the mere sound of your breath, which was also not the one of a tranquil individual.

“I am done.” you said with haste, straightening up and screwing the lid back on the jar and leaving it on the table, near his goblet. His eye moved to you, taking in your flustered expression and the pink colouring of your cheeks.

Silence stretched between you two as he sat on the chair and looked up to you as you stood in front of him. You did not know whether you wished to run away from him or sit on his lap and grind yourself on him until you shivered with pleasure.

He answered the question for you when he said, “You may leave now.”

You did stand there for a moment after those words exited his mouth, looking at him as his hand fished the eyepatch from his pocket and put it back to cover his sapphire eye. You pressed your lips together with strength to remind yourself what was happening, and you turned and left.

❀❀

What had been tormenting Aemond Targaryen the most, was that he was reminded of you each time he applied the poultice to his scar. He had tried to stop, but it had become almost a drug, both because it made him stop wanting to cut his face and because he smelled you each time. It made it way easier to fuck his hand thinking of you.

A month had passed since the time he’d last spoken to you, and the contents of the jar you had given him were completely gone. It was a perfect lubricant, and it also did something for his scar, which could have been a double win for you, if he’d told you.

It was the perfect occasion to seek you out again without seeming to have interest. He had used every remaining bit so as to show you he had waited as much as possible before coming to ask for help.

He squeezed the glass in his hand as he knocked at the doors of your private chambers, and when your sweet and calm voice told him to come in, he pushed them open. You were sitting in front of your vanity looking glass, braiding your hair simply as you prepared for going to sleep.

“Wife,” he greeted you, relishing in your surprised gaze that met his in the reflection of the glass. He showed you the empty jar, “I find myself in need of your services once again.”

Your brows furrowed, and he was aware that the amount of time in which the poultice had finished must have seemed incredibly short in relation to the quantity of the product. Fortunately, you stood from your chair and relaxed your eyebrows again, approaching him and taking the jar from his hand. His hands were scorching hot once again.

“Do you wish to wait for me here while I make it?” you asked, purposefully ignoring the way his eye was burning holes into your scalp, seeking for visual contact.

“I will come with you.”

As you walked, Aemond’s eye remained fixed on the tantalising way the skirt of your gown moved, and Gods forbid the thoughts that surged into his mind while you climbed the stairs before him.

It could be easy for him to bring you into his bed and satisfy his desire, but he had a completely developed need to strain himself until he could not take it any longer. It made whatever it took far sweeter, and you would have been the most palatable thing he will sink his teeth into. Because he will sink them.

Once you reached the maester’s laboratory again, Aemond sat down on a wooden chair, crossing his ankle over his leg and looking at you while you worked. You did not glance once at him, and you were proud of that as you boiled the marigolds into the water again. That was until he spoke.

“Do you have a lover, Princess?”

That made you turn sharply around, almost touching the pot. You blocked your hand against your stomach, “I beg your pardon?”

"I merely asked if there was another man who had the privilege of warming your bed on these cold nights." His tone remained even, but there was a tightness to it that he couldn't quite mask.” he cleared himself, before standing from the chair and walking towards you with his usual slow and measured steps. “There is nothing wrong with the notion.”

Your mouth fell open at his words, and you weren’t able to answer his question but with a small shake of your head. The notion made you feel slightly out of place. You had always thought Aemond had other women, but the question he asked almost assured you he did, and it made you feel betrayed in some way, because you did not have anyone else. Or, well, anyone at all, because you did not have Aemond.

“Hmm.” was his answer, before his eye moved from you to the pot behind you, “I believe the marigolds are ready.”

You cleared your throat and turned back around to continue with your poultice, draining the flowers and moving them to the mortar to smash them. The scent filled the room again, and you closed your eyes, repeating the motion mechanically and hoping he’d turn away and go sit back on that fucking chair.

❀❀

Three weeks later, Aemond Targaryen was once again at your door, demanding more of that poultice. You wanted to ask him how in the Seven Hells had he been able to finish such an amount of product in twenty one days, but you contained yourself and sighed, walking out of your room and towards the maester’s laboratory without a word, knowing he would follow.

Your strides were faster, and you held your skirt up so as not to trip on the fabric. You wanted to get this done as quickly as possible, so you ripped the stem off the marigold petals as the water boiled, throwing them into the pot before leaning against the countertop.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, knowing Aemond was watching you intently. Fortunately, your hair was down that day, and it covered your face completely.

It was when a soft breath hit your bare arm that you opened them again, and, tilting your head, silver strands came into view before a black leather eyepatch.

“You smell just like them.”

You tucked your hair behind your ear, so as to be able to look at his face without obstacles. “Is it a bad thing?” you asked in a small voice, and despite wanting not to care about his thoughts for he most certainly did not know you, you cared about his answer.

"No," Aemond replied softly, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fleeting moment. His hand twitched ever so slightly, as if he wanted to reach out and brush a loose strand of hair away from your face. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back, maintaining his usual poised demeanour. He had learned long ago to hide his true desires beneath layers of stoic indifference. "Quite the contrary," he added, his voice low and husky. "It's... comforting."

You pressed your lips together and turned your head back towards the marigolds- it was time to drain them, not time to blush for the childish words that came out of the mouth of Aemond Targaryen.

Still, how did he do that? How could he always make you feel so small and incompetent with a mere stare. As you transferred the flowers into the mortar and began to smash them, you started thinking of any way, any question that could make him as uncomfortable as he’d made you.

“Do you have a lover?”

You saw him straightening up after the words left your mouth, and you realised you had hit the spot. His hands joined in front of his lap, and he stared down at you as you continued to smash the marigolds- your position made him seem even taller than he already was. “That is hardly any of your concern, wife.” he answered coolly, turning his gaze back to the crushed flowers.

Your movements halted, and you looked up at him, an unbelieving smile on your lips, “Why are you free to ask such questions, yet when I do so you are not willing to answer?”

His eye betrayed nothing of what he felt, except for the distaste he seemed to reserve to you when you talked to him. “You chose to answer, however pathetically.”

The smile, false as it was, faded from your lips. You preferred the version of him that asked you uncomfortable questions and stared at your every move, no doubt. This version made you want to slap him across the face.

And that’s exactly why you did it. He did not move much at the impact- he almost did not move at all- but you hoped it stung as much as it did in your hand. “Then ask a fucking maester for this daft poultice and leave me be.” you spat, grabbing your skirts and walking out of the chambers.

❀❀

You had never loathed and yearned someone in such a way.

The mere sight of his walk, so rhythmic and precise, made the hairs on your arm stick up, and the sound of his steps had your ears inevitably tense up, and they made you hope that he was walking to come to you, to make you go mental again. But he never did.

Even if you heard his steps outside your chambers at night, stilling in front of the door, even if he stared at you across the table during dinner, even if you found him occupying spaces he never used to be in, he did not speak a word to you. It made you incredibly frustrated, and the desire to slap his face again made itself palpable.

It was another full moon, however, and, having lost the last one for Aemond Targaryen, you decided you were not going to cower again. You made your way to your shared chambers despite you wished not to stand in the same room as him and pushed the doors open after taking a deep breath.

You found him there, but you were not going to give him the satisfaction of having a reaction to his presence. “Husband.” you greeted him with a curt nod, your eyes not truly meeting his as you walked to the window. You lent your hands against the window ledge and looked at the source of pale light coming from the night sky.

When he did not greet you, you felt a sense of pride, for that made him a childish man, a pathetic one. Although the urge to speak to him, to ask him if the poultice the maester made was working, to ask him if he could not sleep, was strong, stronger was the need to hate him. So you bit your tongue and stared out the window.

He crossed the room slowly, his boots echoing against the stone floor, making the hair on your neck stand up. However, you did not turn around. "I see you've finally decided to grace me with your presence." He spoke, his voice dripping with disdain. "Mind telling me what's so bloody important about that window?" his sharp voice cut through what could have been a pleasant ten minutes.

“Tonight is a full moon.” you answered, not taking your eyes away from the sky, although you swallowed heavily. “And I was not trying to avoid you, merely going about my day.”

He let out a dry, mirthless laugh. "So, you're here because of the moon, not for me?" His tone was laced with bitterness. Aemond stepped closer, standing just behind you, his warm breath brushing against your neck.

He placed his hand on the window ledge next to yours, his fingers so near yours you could feel the heat emanating from them. You took your hand away, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “Bold of you to imply that I am here for you.” you said, feeling both repulsion and a strong arousal at his nearness.

“I imply nothing.” Aemond replied curtly, but his next words dripped with challenge: “These are the chambers in which we are supposed to share a bed. If you are not here for me, I do not see why you should be here at all.”

You turned to face him slowly after his words, your eyes going from his chest covered in dark green fabric to his face. “I will leave, then.” you announced.

Before you could do any move- which you were not going to, for those words were only spoken to make him react- his hand came up and grabbed your wrist. His hold was strong, but it did not aim to hurt. "No," he growled. "We are wed. You will stay." A flash of anger ignited in his good eye as he held your gaze. "If you're so determined to ignore me during the day, fine. But nights are mine." The words were spoken with a low, menacing undertone that left little room for argument. He didn't release his hold on your arm, waiting for your reaction.

But you did not give him the satisfaction, for you turned back around and faced the window, not uttering a word back to him. His grip tightened momentarily, making you feel how boiling his skin was, before he released you.

You heard the sound of his boots, and you turned around despite yourself, thinking for a moment that he was going to walk away. But he filled two goblets with red wine and brought one back to you.

“Am I to consider this a symbol of truce? Or the apology you cannot utter?” you asked him, taking the cold metal in your hand and bringing it up to have a sip.

“Consider it what you will.” he said, his tone still harsh as he did the same thing, but his eye moved to your lips, watching as the liquid slightly tinted the inner skin of your lips of a dark red.

You sighed and turned back around, keeping the goblet near your chest as you looked at the night sky with way less interest than you had when you had come in. You heard him putting the goblet on the windowsill, before he exhaled an intentionally deep breath, hitting your skin and making goosebumps rise.

He looked at the moon too, for some moments, and you wondered what he was thinking about. Then, out of the blue, he took a step forward, making his chest touch your back, and he wrapped an arm around your waist, pressing his palm flat on your stomach. “I did not realise the moon was so much more captivating than I, Princess.” he murmured in your ear, standing so close your perfume filled his nostrils.

“I will continue to pretend it is.” you answered after hoping your voice would not come out broken.

You heard the brief chuckle he let out against your neck as he leaned in closer. “Is all this because I did not answer your question the past moon? Or for the words I spoke?” he asked, his hand moving left until it rested on your hip, “I will admit it might have been a slight overreaction.”

You let out a scoff at his words, taking a big swig of wine to try and forget about his hand on you. “At least you acknowledge it.”

When his hand moved to your arse, squeezing it softly with his warm hand, you thought yourself about to drop the goblet. You were glad when he took it from you with his free hand, that touched yours extremely more than necessary, and finished the few remaining drops before settling it down the windowsill beside his. “I also said you smelled of marigolds, did I not? I said I found it comforting.”

“You did.” you said with what was your remaining voice, before stating more confidence, “You brought me the wine as an apology.”

“I did.” he blurted out, his hand stilling for a moment before it went back to your hip, as did the other one. “I am sorry.” he confessed then, making you feel far from pathetic after having Aemond Targaryen apologise with no hint of sarcasm in his voice.

But when he squeezed your hips, brought you back to reality and pressed his erection to your back, he made you suddenly realise what was happening. His breath ghosted on your neck before the tip of his nose brushed your jawline. “Does my apology satisfy you, wife?” he asked in a husky whisper as his hands roamed your waist.

The warmth of his body seeped into yours and into the fabrics you were wearing. You imagined he felt the same fires stocking his insides when he breathed out as if oxygen was just given back to him. He brought you closer still, massaging his cock with the curve of your arse, as if the mere contact was enough to fulfill his burning desire.

You leaned over the windowsill and rested on your elbows, arching your back nonchalantly and looking at him from behind your shoulder. “I believe it appropriate.”

At your actions, his mouth fell agape, and he looked down at your arse, pressed against his lap in such a tantalising manner he seemed about to rip the fabric off in one tug, letting this game you played cease. His hand moved to caress your back, and it returned to your hip when his eye found yours once again.

He pressed himself harder into you, as if to be sure you felt the extent of his hardness, the full lenght of his desire. “Do you wish for me to show you just how sincere my apology can be?”

You bit your lip, looking at his strong hand covering your hip and wrinkling the soft fabric of your nightgown, and nodded.

Aemond let out a deep breath at your consent, and he bent over you slowly, eyes closed, as he massaged your hips roughly. “Shall we move to our bed, then?” he asked, using the possessive adjective purposefully.

It made you grin, and you straightened up as he did the same, before facing him. With a hand on the side of his neck, your nails grazing the contour of his jaw, you led him to the bed, before pushing him to sit on the softness.

You reached behind your back, and undid the bow that kept your nightgown tight. He spoke when your hands moved to the button at the back of the collar, “Can I be of any-“

“No.” you interrupted him, looking at how his violet eye darkened at your firm answer. You let the light fabric glide down your shoulders before you bared your chest to his view, and then your stomach, and your legs.

You took a step forward, completely naked before him. He breathed out again, raising a hand and placing it on your hip, almost testing if you were really not just a product of his fantasies. “Devine.” he said in a whisper, genuine and unfiltered, as he ate you with his eye as much as he could, taking in everything possible in the dim light of the full moon.

Your hand found his shoulder once again as you climbed on top of him, the softness of your thighs against his sides. Your hair concealed both your faces from whatever else was in the room, and you took off his eyepatch right before it fell discarded on the stone floor.

It was obvious the slight discomfort he felt, but he did not let it linger, for his tapered fingers trailed down your waist to your thigh and felt every dip and curve in its way. “May I touch you?” he asked, the purple in his iris completely replaced by the black of his pupil as he stared up at you, his thumb tracing the edge of your pussy.

One of your hands left his shoulder to find his between your thighs, and you guided two of his fingers to your entrance, letting out a breath as he began exploring your wet folds.

Aemond’s mouth parted at the feeling of your slick cunt, testament of your desire for him, and slowly pushed inside, relishing in the tightness around his fingers. He started moving slowly, curling his fingers before sliding out of you completely and filling you up once again.

You started to grind your hips against his hand, coating his milky skin with your arousal as you threw your head back and moaned. The sound made the grip of his hand on your hip tightened so much you were sure it would have left a bruise, but you did not stop him.

Your nails scratched at the base of his neck, giving him the signal to pick up speed. His fingers moved faster, making you cry out as he leaned forward and started tasting the skin of your neck like a man starved, nipping and kissing, licking and biting.

Another moan escaped your mouth, and his fingers went even faster, fucking your tight cunt until, added to the sound of your moans and his rugged breathing, there also was that of the wetness inside of you.

Heat flushed through Aemond as you moaned on top of him, the sound alone enough to make his cock swell with anticipation. He was mesmerized by the way you responded to his touch, each gasp, each little movement driving him madder with desire. He thought he might just release himself simply from watching you ride his hand, but he fought it back. He wanted more, so much more, and he wouldn't let his own pleasure interrupt this moment. The feel of your cunt clenching around his digits, your body writhing with ecstasy, was worth far more than the temporary relief of orgasm.

In a swift move, he picked you up and stood upright, keeping his fingers inside your cunt even as he laid you on the bed. He moved on top, one of his legs between yours, and he slipped his fingers out of you.

At the missing contact you whined, bringing him closer with a hand on the side of his neck. He let out a satisfied smile and leaned into your ear, “Patience.”

His lips found yours hungrily, then, making you taste the wine you had just consumed and the fire that burned on his tongue, while his hand still cupped your sex possessively. You moaned against his hot mouth, rolling your hips to tell him you wanted more.

He grinned and broke the kiss, and before you knew, his hands were gripping your thighs, sinking into the soft skin, and his mouth hovered over your dripping pussy.

You wanted to ask him what he intended to do, but it became quite clear when he replaced his fingers with his tongue, savouring every last drop of your juices, ready to bring you to the brink of pleasure.

You moaned loudly, finding his hair right away and pulling the silver and silky locks to urge him closer to your dripping heart. Your feet lied on his back as you closed your eyes, a sensation immensely stronger than the one you felt alone started to be felt in your lower stomach.

Aemond's breath was ragged, his lust evident in every touch, every kiss, every stroke of his tongue against your sensitive flesh. As he teased your clit, his one good eye focused intently on your face, drinking in the sight of your pleasure.

Your taste was intoxicating, your cries music to his ears. He craved this, this raw display of passion and trust, and he intended to make the most of it. He slid his tongue inside of you, thrusting in and out before returning to your clit and replacing it with his fingers, relishing the way your muscles contracted around them.

He felt your body tense, your breathing quicken, and he knew you were close. He increased his efforts, determined to make you scream his name- or whatever title you chose to give him in that moment- to the heavens.

You came undone, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Aemond continued to lick and suckle at your clit until the last tremor subsided, only then crawling up your body to claim your mouth in a possessive kiss, sharing your taste with you.

Your vision returned when his lips collided with yours, finding entrance to your mouth right away and caressing your tongue with his. You moaned into his mouth, willing your legs to stop shaking after your orgasm.

He broke the kiss, and brought his hand to his lips, tasting you on the fingers he’d used to bring you the best pleasure you had ever felt. He looked down at you as he did so, shifting position so as to remind you of his hard cock pressing against your thigh.

“Strip.” you breathed out in what sounded much like a plea to your ears, but the frantic motions in which he did what you said made you understand how desperate he was to stretch you out.

He quickly revealed his toned and flawless chest to your eyes, before taking off his trousers with equal haste. Stepping out of them, he locked his eye with yours as he slid off his breacheas. He took his hard cock in his hand, pumping it slowly as he positioned himself on the bed once again, the pressure of him on his knees making the mattress sink.

Precum leaked from his head, and you remembered how it felt to have his seed inside of you after your wedding night. He gripped your knee, spreading your legs apart guiding his cock over your still trembling pussy.

His breathing was extremely laboured as he looked down, “I do not have a lover.”

The confession made your eyes shoot up to his, wide and attentive for what he was about to say, but no other words of the matter came out of his mouth. “You… You do not?” you breathed out, needy for another reassurance.

His eye went to you, and he shook his head. Then he licked his lips and leaned down to your ear. He left a ghost of a kiss on your cheekbone, making the skin tingle, before moving to your ear. “No, sweet wife… But, if you must know, I have fucked my hand countless of times thinking of this perfect cunt of yours… And of your smell, most of all.” he whispered huskily, his hand coming to rest on your hip, squeezing the flesh.

He left you wordless and with ragged breathing as he straightened up. His hand found his hard shaft again, and he slapped it against your pussy, coating your clit with his precum and making you squirm for the touch on the still sensitive part.

He watched your reaction with dark intensity, a hint of satisfaction flashing across his features at your responsiveness. His thumb stroked the bundle of nerves lazily, even if completely aware, while his cock teased your entrance. He knew you were ready, yet he took his time, prolonging the torture for both of you. "Do you want me?" He asked, his voice low and gravelly.

“Yes!” you almost yelled, making his lips curve into a predatory smirk. With a triumphant grin, Aemond positioned himself at your entrance, feeling the wetness and warmth that awaited him. His hand left your hip, gripping your breast instead, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, teasing you even further.

When his hand moved back to your hip, but he made no sign of moving, you rolled your eyes, “Aem-” but you could not finish saying his name that he thrust into you with a ferocity that was just short of violent, and a groan escaped him at the sensation.

Despite the loss of gentleness that he offered to you as he took you for the second time, you could not deny that was exactly how you wanted him to fuck you. Your moan reverberated loudly through the walls of your shared chambers as he pounded into you with a ferocity that made your walls clamp down on his length.

His hips snapped forward with unrelenting force, burying his length deep within you, eliciting another loud moan. The sight of you writhing beneath him was enough to make him lose control, but he fought to keep himself in check.

He savoured the feel of your body tightening around him, the way your breasts bounced with each thrust, and the soft whimpers that fell from your lips. Aemond couldn't help the thought crossing his mind: she was his now. His to claim whenever he wanted, his to protect, and his to pleasure. It filled him with an unfamiliar sense of satisfaction that bordered on possessiveness. "Fuck," he growled, the sight of his cock disappearing into your depths driving him closer to the edge.

He pulled out abruptly, causing you to gasp in surprise and protest. He hooked both hands under your knees and spread you out to him. “Was I blind to wait this long to take you again?” he asked almost to himself as he drank the sight of you, glistening and trembling for his attention.

With one swift movement, he entered you again, making you feel another orgasm approach. You sunk your head on the pillows, your mouth opened as he started thrusting again, moans of pure bliss and satisfaction coming out of his mouth.

One of his hands moved to find your soft thigh, “I want you to look, wife.” he said almost pleadingly. “I want you to look as I claim you again, as my seed fills your beautiful cunt.”

You bit your lip hard but looked down at his cock as he moved fast, making you take it inside, which you did greedily. It all made your walls tighten around his length even more than before, making him grunt out a moan.

“Gods,” he whispered gravelly, furrowing his brows in pleasure but still maintaining his gaze on where your bodies joined, “It’s so fucking perfect.”

He slammed into you even harder then, but his erratic thrusts made you understand he was about to finish. “Fuck…” he grunted again, and he leaned over your leg, bending it and letting his cock deeper inside you.

Your hand found his neck, bringing him closer while applying pressure to it as your cunt spasmed around him. You closed your eyes shut in pleasure, but the iron grip on your thigh reminded you to look as he had ordered.

So you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip, feeling your throat going raw at the contained screams of pleasure while you came around him. Your grip on his throat loosened drastically, for your strength was now completely drained out of you, but then he buried himself inside your cunt to the hilt, sliding out to do it again, all accompanied by his moans into your ear as he emptied himself inside of you.

You saw the arm that he was holding upon to give up, and, spent, he lay on top of your chest, his skin glistening in the candlelight due to the sheer layer of sweat on it.

Your hand found his hair, pushing the silver strand away from his face. He sighed heavily in a weak attempt to regain his breath, and rested a hand on your ribcage, letting his thumb trace circles on the skin. “We will continue once we have rested a moment.” he announced, making you breathe out a laugh and raise your eyebrows.

“Aemond,” you said with a lingering smile, your free hand finding his back and tracing the same circles he was on you. “It has yet to pass a minute.”

“I am fully aware,” he replied, moving to rest his chin on your sternum so he could look up at you. “We have been married for five moons now, and this is the second time I have you… I need more.” he said, his eye serious as he bent to leave a kiss on your skin.

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slashed2death · 4 months ago

Note

Hii! I hope this is okay to ask, but do you have any hcs for slashers and their s/o's who are sensitive to loud noise? Like people shouting, loud music/partying, fireworks; etc. S/O covering their ears or shaking a bit cause the loud noise is just too much for them? It could be cause of past trauma with loud noises or their ears just being a bit on the sensitive side! How do you think the slashers would react/comfort them? I hope that makes sense :'') Currently so obsessed with RZ Micheal and Thomas Hewitt, you can include any of the other slashers too if you want!! :D

hi hi!!! of course id be happy to write this! i find myself experiencing similar issues so this is largely based off my own experience. added some of my comfort slashers (hannibal and jason) as well!

warnings: mentions of panic attack/ptsd/undisclosed past trauma. general warnings for murder/violence (not inflicted upon reader ofc) if i forgot anything please let me know <3

RZ! MICHAEL MYERS

- you typically don't have to worry about loud parties or things of that nature with michael. he isn't the sort to throw a party like that, for obvious reasons

- but lets say your 'friends' peer pressured you into going to one.

You didn't want to be here, but when you agreed your supposed friends had promised it was just a small get together. Nothing to worry about! Things wouldn't be too loud, so you thought maybe you'd have a fun night out, right?

But you were wrong. So very wrong. The music was so loud and overstimulating - you'd managed to lock yourself in some random bedroom wher the music and laughing wasn't a bit muffled. Back sliding down the door, you cover your ears and feel a few stray tears go down your cheeks. You should never have agreed to this. You should have just stayed home with Michael. And lord knows the taller man wanted you too. It took forever to convince him it was just a small get together for your friends birthday; you wouldn’t be gone for too long. You promised him you would be okay.

In your panicked crying you hadn't noticed the music stop, or the screams of terror that turned to silence. The panic attack too strong for you to really perceive anything other than your stress. That is, at least, until the door behind you swings open.

You quickly wipe your eyes, glancing up to see your boyfriend in all his bloody glory.

Covered in blood, he stares down at you, lightly tilting his head. You don't really care though, rushing toward him and enveloping him in your arms as you cried into his chest. It takes a second for him to register that you're hugging him before he slowly, yet protectively, wraps his arms around your smaller frame.

"Y-you were right Michael-" You sobbed out, "I-I shouldn't have gone... t-they made me feel like I had to go b-but-" Your sobs are cut off by his grip possessively tightening around you.

"Can we go home...?" You look up at him, large (E/C) eyes glancing up into the seemingly empty holes of his mask. He slowly nods, picking you up and walking out the house, keeping your face hidden in his shoulder so your eyes avoided the bloodshed.

- safe to say he's not letting you go out to a party ever again.

- the night afterward is spent with you huddled into his side watching a horror movie as you fall asleep.

THOMAS HEWITT

- there aren't really any crazy parties or fireworks where the hewitt's residence is.

- but that doesn't mean it doesnt get loud!

- anytime a new victim strolls through, things get quite loud and messy.

It was summer, sunlight pouring through the windows of the kitchen as you lightly hummed to yourself. At the moment you were doing your chores; that of which were assigned by Luda Mae. Normally she would be here helping you, however she had to take care of some business back at the gas station. The house was quiet, safe for the tunes flowing out of the radio sitting on the counter. That was, until the front door slammed open, loudly hitting the wall and startling you.

You flinched so hard you dropped a plate, but did not have much time to react before a man you'd never seen before comes barging into the kitchen screaming obscenities as he ran from what you presumed to be your boyfriend.

"HELP- FUCK HE'S GOING TO KILL ME!" He exclaims, grabbing you by the shoulders. You freeze up; his loud voice and the previous loud thumps of his footsteps reminding you of... unpleasant moments from your childhood. You try to free yourself from his grasp, only for his expression to turn angry and his grip to tighten.

"YOU'RE ONE OF THOSE FUCKING KILLER FREAKS TOO AREN'T YOU?! I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL-" His voice is cut off, however, by an axe being thrown and landing itself in the back of his skull. His grip loosens from your shoulders, fortunately. Unfortunately his larger frame, now deceased, falls ontop of you. You scream, starting to hyperventilate as tears start pouring from your eyes.

As quickly as he fell, he is pulled off of you. You're gently pulled up and escorted into the living room. Thomas sits you down on the couch before cupping your cheek in his palm. He runs his thumbs under your eyes, wiping away any stray tears before pulling you into his chest until your breathing starts to even out.

Once you calm down a bit more, you relax into his arms.

"Sorry Tommy... I didn't mean to freak out so bad- He just scared me so much," You say, looking up at him before he shakes his head as if to say Don't apologize.

- after this incident, thomas does his best to keep you in your shared bedroom whenever a victim is near. he does everything he can to keep you away from any and all murder business the family participates in.

- if you do ever have any panic attacks, trust and believe the larger man will be there to bear hug you into calming down.

JASON VOORHEES

- jason does everything he can to keep you away from any trespassers looking to party.

- he views you as an angel- something pure and innocent. he doesn't want them to taint you in any way.

- if, however, you do get caught up in some of their unsightly activities, jason is there to take care of it.

You smiled as you sat on the dock, basking in the warmth of the sun as the calming sound of the water beneath you lulled you into a relaxed state.

Jason was doing his rounds, making sure no trespassers had encroached upon the camp. He knew you'd be here, as you so often were. You'd made it a habit to read by the docks.

Your peace was short lived by the sounds of whooping and laughter, music emitting from a loud radio as a group of teens ran toward the dock, presumably to do things you knew Jason would not approve of.

You start quickly packing away your things, trying your best to get out before they reached you or noticed your presence. Before you can make a break for it, an aggressive and presumably intoxicated male grabs your arm roughly.

"Where ya goin' pretty thing? Not gonna have some fun with us?" He says with a smirk, you try to get your arm back but his grip tightens.

The music is blaring now, causing your heart to race even more. What makes it worse is some of the guys in the group are whistling at you and making crude comments.

They're expecting a response it seems, yet you can't quite get the words out of your throat. You'd never been good at any kind of confrontation, and apparently you trying to pull away wasn't enough of a response.

Theyre laughing at your attempts to get away- so loudly, and the music is too loud, and it feels like the world is spinning around you, and its too much-

Then suddenly the man is torn off of you, machete portruding through his chest. He doesn't even scream- just gargles on his own blood as he limply falls to the ground. The two other males try to run, only for two throwing axes to meet the back of their skulls. The girl holding the radio has her face slammed into a tree repeatedly. The radio is crushed. The only sounds now are the waves gently hitting the shore and cicadas crowing in the grass.

You don't even realize you fallen to you knees crying until Jason gently scoops you up in his much stronger arms. He's caged you into his broad chest, shielding you from the grotesque scene behind him. Between the sounds of nature and the gentle footsteps he took toward your cabin, you had tremendously calmed down.

"Thanks for saving me, Jay," You say, nuzzling your head closer to his chest.

- he'd do anything to keep you safe.

HANNIBAL LECTER

- most days in the lecter household are calm and quiet, just how you like it. hannibal knows of your fear and past trauma, and takes great care to make your shared home a safe environment.

- he takes your safety rather seriously, you've got this man wrapped around your finger, as he does with you.

- but once a patient got rather ballsy.

It was mid-afternoon. You had come to Hannibal's office to surprise him with lunch. He'd been getting a bit overloaded with work as of late, both with patients and the FBI. It started to put a strain on how much you saw him. You figured he would appreciate the gesture.

You get out of your car, grabbing the small containers of lunch from your backseat before locking your car doors. Approaching the double doors to his office, you feel in your stomach that something isn't right. But you reasoned with yourself you were just being paranoid, after all you'd experience anxiety like this before.

Walking into his waiting room you hear muffled yelling and a crash, before the doors to his office are slammed open and a man comes storming out, still yelling obscenities.

He roughly shoulder checks you as he storms out, slamming the doors to the building behind him. All the chaos triggers a panic attack to form in your chest as your breathing quickens. Your hands shake so much you drop the containers of food you had brought in. Walking out of his office, Hannibal quickly notices your shaking and anxious figure and rushes toward you.

"My dear, come sit down," He coaxes you to one of the chairs in his waiting room "There we go, dearest," He smiles gently as you look up at him; tears rimming your lash line.

"Breathe with me," He says, placing his hand on your shoulder as he takes a deep breathe with you. Then releasing his breath as you shakily breathe out. He makes you repeat the process until your breathing has calmed down. His hand reaches up to gently lay against your cheek, and his thumb brushes away the stray tears left on your face.

"There, much better. May I ask what brought you here, my love?" He asks gently, eyeing the now discarded food containers on the ground before he smiles at you again.

"Were you trying to surprise me with lunch?" You nodded shakily, and his smile grows.

"Don't worry dear, I won't let this moment go to waste. And don't worry about that man, you know how much I detest the rude,"

- that night you had pig for dinner.

#hannibal lecter x reader #jason voorhees x reader #rz michael myers x reader #michael myers x reader #thomas hewitt x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x reader #yandere slasher #yandere slashers

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redflagshipwriter · 7 months ago

Text

Ghost Driver Chapter One

masterpost

Four hours passed with no news or contact: it was time to see what had happened to his date. Danny sighed and tried to be philosophical about it. “Starting shit with Gotham PD and Batman is sort of a step up from fighting with the US government,” he told himself. “That’s just one city and one guy.” He jammed his feet into sneakers, grimly determined to find Jay. “And I’m a sneaky dude,” he pumped himself up. “They might never know I exist!”

At least Batman didn’t kill guys, so Danny didn’t have to check the morgue. Not like that would get Jay out of a date! He had kissed the back of Danny’s hand. They absolutely had to meet up again.

So, yeah. He had to find the bastard. Presumably Batman had arrested him. He was going to give Jay shit for that.

His first tactic paid off: there was clearly a ton of stuff going on at the main police headquarters, including a prison transport van with a frankly ludicrous amount of armed guards on it. Danny squinted at it. “...Alla that, for Jason?” He cocked his head to the side. “Am I impressed, or…” He screwed his face up into a frown. He didn’t know how else to feel about it. Impressed it was.

He was actually sort of grateful for his timing. Danny hunkered down and avoided being sighted by any cops or Batman. The prison van took off, escorted by a convoy of four flashing police cars. Danny felt his eyebrows crawl up his face.

What the fuck, Jay. What did you do, Jay. This sucks, Jay.

There wasn’t any rush to follow it, given that it had the name of the prison written on it. Danny googled “arhham”, “arhham prison,” and learned that he had misread it and that also, it was not a prison.

“They need to invest in a graphic designer,” Danny kvetched. He went back to the car that Jay had said he could use. He continued not thinking about the registration and how it was probably stolen or something. “H and K don’t have to look alike. We could live in a better world.” He turned the engine on aggressively and smacked the wheel for emphasis. He put on directions to the asylum and some top 40s pop music channel. Charli XXL burst into the night air cheerfully.

He hit the gas.

He drove too fast. He would admit it. Danny indulged a bit on the way to the militarized treatment facility. It soothed his nerves to hook sharp corners and drift a bit, to go intangible and invisible for a couple of blocks to subtly blast though a red light at 120 mph.

“Cool,” Danny muttered. He dropped the invisibility and watched a driver startle. He snickered as he passed them on the left. Maybe it was a little mean, but it was harmless and frankly, it was important ghostly enrichment to give a little spook now and then. Speaking of which, he let blinding rings of light travel up and down his body to switch to Phantom. Danny Fenton definitely couldn’t get caught breaking into a building.

Arkham was extremely inconvenient. He left his car in the employee parking lot and floated around until he found the loading bay where the police transport van was currently unloading one dumbass.

Ugh. The shit he put up with. Danny groused to himself and bobbed in the air outside the building as he waited, watching through windows. Mist welled up in his lungs as he got close. Danny felt himself wake up, looking out for danger. Figures that a place like this was haunted.

They wheeled a stretcher into a cell. Danny kicked his feet and waited. People went in and out. Then the stretcher came out, empty. Everyone but Jay left.

He waited a while longer before slipping down the hallway and into the cell. He ghosted directly through the door to avoid any issues with locks or alarms and then stopped dead in his tracks.

“Oh,” Danny said, openly disappointed.

“Who is this?” purred the stranger. He had a weird habit of holding his eyes just a little too open. Looked like they were getting dry and itchy, they were red. To be fair, maybe they were irritated by the makeup the guy had on.

“Nothing, sorry for barging in,” Danny sighed. He raked his hand through his hair. “Sorry to bother you, dude.” He indicated the whole set up going on with a straightjacket and a chair with leather straps. “Seems like you are already busy. I thought you were my date.”

“I could be.”

Danny laughed. Then he blinked. “Oh, you’re serious. Sorry, you’re too old for me.” Now that he was really paying attention to the guy, there was something wrong about him. Not just the eye thing— something about the way he moved registered him as a possible threat. He wasn’t a ghost. Right? There was something about him that was familiar…

“Oh, I don’t suppose you were looking for Batsy.” The stranger came off weirdly coy. “No, no, he’s old too, to a whippersnapper like you. Oh.” He sounded delighted. “I know! I know!” He burst out into laughter.

“Uh…” Danny tried not to let how weirded out he was onto his face. “You alright, my guy?”

“Joker,” he said, suddenly serious. “I’m not your guy, boyo. Why, if my hands were free I would teach you some respect for your elders. Take you over my knee for a spanking like I gave your pretty boy date!” He laughed again, pitch getting higher and higher with each ha, ha, ha.

“...I don’t think you could do that.” Danny snorted. His hackles were up. He inserted a little more disdain into his tone. Man, what a creep. “He’s twice your size.” He started trying to rationalize this bizarro conversation away.

‘He’s probably lying, right? Or imagining things. He’s in that restraint for a reason. On the other hand… he’s probably genuinely dangerous to the average human. He wouldn’t be locked up like this if he wasn’t violent.’

“Oh, he grew up big,” Joker agreed. “Which is a shocker, after the spanking I gave him when he was this high!” He jerked as if he was trying to indicate a height with an arm. He was still bound. It could have been funny, but something was starting to read as seriously malicious.

“...Are you seriously telling me right now that you predated on my date when he was a kid?” Danny asked. It… Well, fuck, it was motivation for Jay to do something that involved this guy and Batman. Danny didn’t know Jay that well, but he could identify a motherfucker who liked tragic irony at a dozen paces.

‘I think this might be real. And I’m not imagining this: I think this motherfucker is in my jurisdiction. I don’t know what he is, but he is undeathly as hell.’

Joker blew a raspberry. “Poor dead little Jason Wayne,” he crooned. The hairs stood up on the back of Danny’s neck. He didn’t know that last name, but the first one matched. “All he wants is Daddy to love him, you know?” The sugary tone he used was outright gross. “If Daddy Bats really cared, surely he’d get rid of the things that go bump in the night!” He let his expression drop, blank. Then slowly a rictus smile spread over his face. “But he won’t.”

“...Right.” Danny stared. “And you don’t know where he went, right?” He checked.

‘He’s a creep for sure. I don’t like him being this close to Jason. Why was he out today? And why is he on full name terms before me? I don’t think Jason like, told him that personal information.’

Joker giggled. “No, I’m afraid I don’t know what hole he crawled into”, he crooned. “But when I get out of here again- and I will, I always do!— I’ll be sure to toss a nice little grenade into it.”

“Huh.” Danny frowned. Not very helpful. But the bragging that he always got out…. It didn’t sit well with him. And no wonder. If Joker was some flavor of undead, a regular human facility might never be able to hold him long term.

After a moment’s deliberation Danny dug his phone out of his pocket and turned away for some privacy.

“Excuse me?” said the Joker.

Danny did the ‘quiet’ gesture with a finger to his lips. “Shh.” He hit two on his speed dial and kicked his toes against the floor as he waited for the call to connect.

“Hi, sweetie!” Mom gushed as soon as sound came across. “How are you, everything ok?”

“Yeah, hi Mom.” Danny went up onto his toes and bounced a few times. “Could you turn the portal on and poke your head in? I need to talk to Wulf.”

“Oh- yes, of course. Just a minute,” she sang out. Machinery roared so loudly that he winced and pulled the phone away from his face.

“Is that really your Mummy?” said the Joker loudly, because he was rude and couldn’t tolerate ceding conversational ground for a minute, jeeze.

Danny ignored him. “Actually if you could tell him that I’m hoping he could help me take… take out a…” he glanced at Joker. “A themed villain, I guess. He needs to go somewhere safer than the locals can manage.”

“Oh, that would be good enrichment for Mr. Walker,” Mom said generously. The sound quality changed as she put him on speakerphone.

“Fuck the police,” Danny said reflexively. “But I was thinking, like…” He frowned.

There were a lot of options. He could literally just toss the dude into the Ghost Zone and come back for him later without fear he would keep getting out. But it might be really annoying to hunt him down if he like, wandered around.

Oh. Hunt.

“Skulker!” Danny said brightly. “This would be really good enrichment for Skulker.” He could take the guy over to Skulker’s lair and let him play catch and release. Skulker loved those games.

“I’ll pass on the message.” The portal unlocked on the other end of the call, an unmistakable sound. “Bye, honey!”

Danny hung up and put the phone back in his pocket. He turned around to see the Joker was trying to wriggle out of his restraints. Was that possible? Probably, he decided. The guy kept getting out of here. He pursed his lips. “You’re safer from me if you stay in there,” he decided to warn.

Joker let out a hysterical cackle.

It went on too long.

Like, it went on and on. Danny crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, lifting his eyebrows as he waited for it to end. Jeeze.

“You’re funny,” Joker said. He licked his lips. It was uncomfortably loud in the cell. “A real jokester. A guy could get a little offended, you know? You’re stealing my schtick. Just like your little sweetie, come to think of it. I didn’t bring you together, did I?”

Danny rolled his eyes. “No, you gigantic loser. I’ve never even heard of you.” He ignored the affronted silence that garnered and opened up a gaming app to kill time.

‘I need to get Wulf a phone somehow,’ Danny thought idly. He matched two chocolate donuts and they disappeared in a cloud of sprinkles.

“Hey. I am talking to you.”

Danny gave Joker a thumbs down without bothering to look at him.

He stepped to the left. Then he shoved his phone back in his pocket and looked up in time for the ripple of interdimensional energy to coalescence into a vivid tear in the fabric of the universe.

Wulf bounded into sight and snatched him up in a hug. “Mia amiko!” (My friend!)

Danny hugged back hard enough to crack Wulf’s back and picked him up off the floor. “Amikinoooo,” he crooned. (Bestieeeeee)

Wulf kicked playfully at him. He caught himself with a scuttle of claws on the floor when Danny let go. “Mia panjo diris nenion embarasan, ĉu ne?” (My Mom didn't say anything embarrassing, did she?) It was mostly a formality. Of course Mom had done something embarrassing.

“ŝi montris al mi la bildojn, kiuj pruvas, ke vi rifuzis blovi vian nazon ĉe Disneyland kiam vi estis sep, ĉar vi sentis, ke ĝi estas embarasa.” Wulf grinned back. (“She showed me the pictures that prove you refused to blow your nose at Disneyland when you were seven because you felt it was embarrassing.”)

Danny sighed. “Why does she take those photos everywhere she goes?” He groused. Then he pushed his hair back off of his face and decided to ask if Wulf wanted a phone, before he forgot about it. “ĉu vi ŝatus havi poŝtelefonon?” (Do you want a phone?)

Wulf brightened. “Jes.” He shook out his ruff. “mi uzus ĝin por verki retmesaĝojn kaj fari Linkedin-konton.” (Yes, I would use it to write emails and create a Linkedin account.)

Danny opened his mouth to ask why Wulf wanted to have a Linked -In account. Then he shut it and nodded. Great. He’d try to get Wulf a phone, then. For his emails. Were you supposed to email on a phone? Was Danny using his phone wrong?

“Či tiu viro estas tre malbonodora.” Wulf gestured at Joker. (This man is very smelly.)

“Hey!” Joker said loudly. “I resent that remark, you know. I do not smell of anything except flowers. Daisies. Roses.”

“Jes, malbonodora,” Danny agreed. (Yeah, stinky.) He didn’t smell whatever Wulf did, but he was willing to assume the other guy was right. “Li estas fripono. Mi pensas, ke li vundis mian amikon.” ("He's a creep. I think he hurt my friend.")

Wulf growled.

Joker shut up for once. Danny shot him a little smirk. Wulf had no chill. He was a good bro like that. If Joker really had hurt one of Danny’s friends, then Wulf was gonna be his opp for life.

“Kion ni faru? eble ni povus peti Desiree certigi ke li neniam vundas mortonton denove.” Wulf struck a contemplative pose, claws stroking at his jawline. ("What should we do? Maybe we could ask Desiree to make sure he never hurts a mortal again.")

Danny nearly choked. Get help from Desiree? Like, make a wish that Joker would be incapable of hurting people again? Danny burst out into giggles. It seemed a little extreme. “Ne, ne,” he demurred. “Mi pensis doni lin al Skulker.” (No, no. I was thinking about giving him to Skulker.)

Wulf laughed. “Jes,” he agreed. “Tio estos amuza.” (Yes, that is funny.)

Danny gave him double thumbs up. “Mi vere dankus helpon pri transportado. Mi nuntempe rompas kaj eniras.” ("I would really appreciate some help with transportation. I'm currently breaking and entering.") He tried not to look too sheepish at that last bit, but it was relevant. Since he wasn’t supposed to be here, he really should keep a hustle on.

His friend tossed off a crisp salute. Wulf picked Joker up with one hand and leapt back through the portal while Joker was still saying, “What?”

“Neat,” Danny said, alone in a mental health treatment cell that looked a lot like a high security prison. He glanced up at the camera that had probably recorded his whole visit. Had there been enough ecto to ruin the feed? He didn’t know, and it was too late now. “Hmm.” He let his eyes glow green. They’d reflect light like a cat’s would. Then he went invisible.

If his ecto hadn’t shifted out the camera, that would at least give anyone who saw it the creeps. Danny snickered to himself as he tiptoed out of the not-prison to regroup.

That had been a total deadend. But it meant that Jay probably hadn’t gotten arrested.

Optimistically, he got out his phone to check if Jay had responded to his “You alive?” message. No dice. Blegh.

So. Batman. Danny grimaced. He had to talk to Batman. Right? Was there anything else? Not that Danny could think of.

Danny shuddered, feeling a bad case of the creepy eepies walking up his back. He still wanted to avoid Batman like he avoided parvo. But that ship had sailed, right? Batman knew who he was and where he lived. So he might as well meet the guy to get his information. “He’s probably chill,” Danny lied to himself. “And hey, he might be happy that I helped him out with Joker. Maybe he’ll be in a good mood.”

#red ghost driver #dp x dc #dead on main

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