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dizziedupthewriter · 15 days ago

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look after you

kyle rayner x batsis!reader, batfam x bat!sis

summary: lantern duty comes to a halt when kyle gets called to gotham to help save you, his girlfriend.

warnings: violence, blood, wound describing, language. its mad angst. scarecrow. bruce and kyle lowk butt heads.

a/n: this fic is just about 5k words! enjoy the ride cuz i LOOVED it. also yay first kyle fic. i love my lantern bae <3

Patrol was only supposed to take 4 hours. Prance around Gotham like any other night, fight a couple goons, save a cat from a tree. Simple. Your type of crime fighting. Now it's 8 hours later and you’re now tied to a beam, beaten and disoriented. Your weapons and all Wayne-tech smashed to bits with little to no chance of recovering or even locating.

You started to stir at the scent of some ungodly toxin. Your eyes scan the area revealing the dark and humid warehouse holding you captive.

“Crane.” You mutter, realizing that Scarecrow is your captor. The last thing you remember was monitoring the alley near the bagel shop, then smelling what you thought was copious amounts of molded pastries before passing out. You whip your head around to see any proof of him and scream out his name.

You get no response. Your body slumps against the pole. You feel a presence sneak up behind you.

“Miss Wayne, it is a pleasure to have you visiting tonight”

You spit in his face and attempt to kick him, he counters by angrily placing a contaminated oxygen mask up to your face. His newest form of fear toxin enters your system once more and your heart races.

“Miss Wayne, you truly should have known better than to do that. Where has your civility gone?” You could feel the venom in his voice.

He walks away, leaving you in the shadows once more. Anxiety creeps through your brain.

Meanwhile, back in the Batcave, Bruce and Dick scatter across all of the computers.

“Where was her last location on the comm?” Bruce asks with uncertainty.

“Says at O’Neills Bagel’s. But that makes no sense, she couldn't have just disappeared from there. What did Tim say?” Dick huffs out equally worried.

“He said the scans found nothing, nor did he himself. The tech never fails. What are we missing here?”

“I don’t know, if we can’t find her, who the hell can? It’s not like she just up and left, she wouldn’t have done that without telling anyone for a good reason”

They both sit in silence for a moment. Bruce clicks some more on the computer in hopes of a new development, something, anything. He calls Oracle to check in with her scans.

You anxiously look around you, feeling like there is a hoard of people watching you. You look down at your hands and are stunned, the previous cuts you had earlier now worse, much worse. The bone of your hand peers out and drips blood onto the floor. A gasp escapes your lips. You look away. In reality, your hand is completely fine, aside from a little bruise. But you don’t know that. Crane’s toxins are messing with every bit of you.

“Y/N?”

The sound of Kyle’s voice forces you to look back over. He reaches for your hand and pulls it up to his face, giving it a kiss. You see that the wound you once had has now vanished. You look up at the green mask in front of you.

“Ky?” You smile with relief. You believe that he has come to save you, help you get out of Scarecrow’s grasp. Yet again, your brain fools you. Kyle chuckles in disbelief.

“Did you think I came here for you?”

You look at him with a questionable gaze. Unsure of what he is getting at. Your eyes peer over at his power ring which is now under his influence, in the middle of constructing something. In front of you is a bright green mirror. The second you glance into it, it cracks. Your head snaps back to Kyle.

“Ky, what are you doing? Untie me, please!” You beg. He laughs once more.

“Look at you, you truly think I’m your saviour? Just because “I love you?” You're such a dreamer, you believe that love can save you from fear?” He mocks. He gestures over to the mirror still in front of you, He looks at it as well, seeing your terrified expression. With a snap of his fingers, the mirror completely shatters into pieces, staying afloat in the air. He takes a step back.

“Kyle, please,” You say in a near whisper, your skin crawling at his sinister expression. He mocks you once more before speaking up.

“Haven’t you learned? Love can’t save you, it won't save you. Certainly not from this.” He takes a step back from you and the green construct vanishes.

“Please, Kyle. I love you! Help me!” You scream out. In a flash he is now knelt before you, a “J” carved into the side of his face. For a split second, you thought you were reliving the horror that was your brother Jason's death, but this was worse. It was Kyle. In Jason’s former place was Kyle, behind him the Joker, holding a bloodied crowbar. You screamed out and Kyle smirked up at you. You squeeze your eyes shut as the crowbar swung out of the Joker’s hands, you braced but nothing ever came for you. You open your eyes again and Kyle is gone. Your heart feels as if it is going to jump out of our chest. You have no idea what is happening, you’re petrified.

Tim had come back from the bagel shop to meet up with Bruce and Dick. Barbra is currently displayed on the computer screen, a video chat.

“I’ve searched through every possible GCPD camera, Bruce. I can’t see anything. This is crazy, who would even do this? Have there been any recent Arkham breakouts?”

“Not that I am aware of” He grunts out. He holds a hand up to his temple. Tim speaks up.

“Could we hold a JL meeting? I’m sure someone could do something, anyone really. Clark might-”

Bruce cuts him off. “No.”

“C’mon, it's worth a shot.”

“I’m not holding a meeting. This is an us matter. They do not need to be involved.”

All of his sons sigh in near unison, they aren't surprised that Bruce would act this way. He likes things done his way. Not one for a team up per usual, even if it comes to the disappearance of his own daughter.

“I’m calling the GL at least. Kyle deserves to know” Dick declares. He disagrees with Bruce, he believes that any help is good. Especially if it’s from your boyfriend. He walks away from everyone else and picks up his phone. He calls Kyle.

Driving through space in his constructed glowing green Chevy Impala, he chats with Guy.

“Dude you constructed a hammer when you needed a screw driver. Who the hell let you speak the oath?” Kyle chuckles.

“Laugh it up, Rayner. It did the job anyways, I-” Guy is cut off by a ringing. He speaks up again.

“You carry your phone in your suit? You don’t even have pockets?”

Kyle rolls his eyes and picks up. “Hello?”

“Kyle, hey” There is hesitancy in Dick’s voice.

“Dick? Hey man. You alright?”

“It’s Y/N.”

The green vehicle comes to a halt. The coffee Guy was sipping spills all over him.

"What? What’s wrong?”

“We don’t know. She was on patrol then completely vanished, I take it she's not with you?”

“No, not at all. Didn't even call me. Are you sure she’s not just home?” Kyle’s knuckles whiten around the steering wheel.

“It’s been 8 hours, we have no idea where she is. No cameras caught her, all of her tech we guess got demolished. She was last seen in a dead zone of ours, go figure. We’re sure she's gone.” They both are silent for a moment, nothing is heard other than static between the lines. Kyle swallows.

“That’s impossible.”

“I know,” Dick says. “We checked. We’re still checking. But if she’s not with you…”

“She's not.” His jaw tightens.

“What the hell is goin’ on?” Guy eavesdrops and places a hand on Kyle’s shoulder. “Rayner,” he says quietly. Kyle ignores him and continues to talk to Dick.

“I’m coming back,” Kyle says. “I’ll be in Gotham in five. Maybe less.”

“Okay, I told Bruce you deserve to be here for this, but just so you know. He’s not too happy about it.”

Kyle shakes his head. “Figures, I’ll be there soon.” He hangs up the phone and glances over at Guy.

“Tell Hal I’ll brief the Corps later. Right now I’ve got something more important.”

Guy raises an eyebrow but nods, “Kick some ass, Rayner. Good luck dealin’ with all your crazy bat in-laws”

Kyle doesn’t answer. He's already gone, streaking through space like a green comet.

Now at the Batcave, the air shifts. There’s a faint hum, and then a blinding green light pulses into the center of the cave. Dick barely turns before Kyle storms in like a bullet, the light fading into the angular armor of his uniform.

He doesn’t even glance at Bruce, who stands silently behind the monitors.

“Kyle,” Dick greets, stepping forward quickly. “That was fast.”

Kyle nods. “Where’s the last location?”

Tim gestures to the holographic map, flipping through panels. “Right here, every camera glitched out for a three-minute window, just after she went silent. It’s looks purposeful”

Kyle’s fists clench. “What about her comms?”

“Crushed,” Tim says. “We picked up what was left of it, looks like someone stomped on it”

“So then what’s the theory?” Kyle asks. “Who’s behind it?”

“Unknown,” Tim says. “But we have this.”

He throws up a paused frame from a corrupted GCPD feed. A distorted figure in the distance—tattered coat, gas mask, silhouette barely visible through the smoke.

Kyle’s eyes narrow. “That’s Crane.”

Barbra’s voice filters through the comm. “I cross-referenced it with his old fear gas dispersal models. That location has every classic signature of Scarecrow”

The lantern ring on his finger pulses, responding to his sudden spike of fear and rage. The tension in the room rises as he turns toward Bruce. “You should’ve called me the second she was missing.”

Bruce finally stands, slowly facing Kyle. “We had to confirm it wasn’t a miscommunication first.”

“She’s been gone eight hours! Are you kidding me? Miscommunication? She could be dead for all we know! Or worse, hooked up on a fear toxin that’s making her feel like she's dying!”

“She’s not just your responsibility,” Bruce says flatly. “She’s mine, too.”

The words hit like stone.

Kyle steps forward, chest rising and falling with barely restrained emotion. “Then fucking act like it.”

For a moment, no one speaks. The cave feels colder, tension still at an all time high. Barbra’s voice comes through the monitor, still on the call.

“I hate to break up the standoff, but I don’t think she’s dead. If she was, Crane would’ve made sure we knew. He’s theatrical. This feels... personal.”

Kyle looks up at the screen again, at the blurry image of the gas-masked silhouette.

“If he’s using fear gas... then he’s already in her head.”

“And that’s what he wants,” Dick adds. “She’s isolated. No backup. Nothing grounding her to reality.”

Tim clicks to another onto another screen that displays a city layout, showing underground networks.

“There are old sewer systems down here. Abandoned tunnels from Arkham’s first expansion. Crane could be using them. It’s a perfect place to set up one of his twisted fear drug labs. She's gotta be down there somewhere.”

Kyle stares blankly at the map as Barbra speaks up again, a slight crackle in her words over the video call.

“But whatever happened, it was fast. No sign of struggle, which means she either froze... or he got into her head before she could react.”

Kyle’s jaw tenses once more, Bruce sighs out in reaction. Both of them look up at the map trying to figure out the route in.

“She didn’t freeze,” he mutters, almost to himself. “She doesn’t freeze.”

Dick hears it. “No. She doesn’t. Which means Crane had her before she even realized it.”

Kyle takes a shaky breath and flexes his hand, the glow of his ring intensifying. “How deep do the tunnels go?” he asks.

“Very,” Tim answers. “Some haven’t been mapped in years. Old Arkham foundation blueprints are incomplete. We’re trying to get other scans now, but they’re distorted.”

Barbra leans forward on her monitor feed. “Kyle, listen. If she’s been exposed this long, she’s not just hallucinating. She’s trapped in a recursive fear state. It’s not just illusions anymore—it’s memory, it’s guilt, it’s grief. It becomes real to her.”

“Then I go in.”

Tim blinks. “Wait, you mean psychically?”

“I’ve done it before. The ring can build a neural-link construct. If Crane’s using fear gas to keep her locked in a hallucination, I can find her inside it.”

“That’s risky,” Barbara says. “You could get trapped too.”

Kyle doesn’t even hesitate. “I’m not leaving her alone in that nightmare. Not for one more second.”

“No.” Bruce’s voice is dark, it cuts into Kyle.

“I’m not asking for permission. I’m going to do something since you won’t.”

“Stand down Rayner.”

“I’m not letting her drown in that darkness. I’m going down there. I’ll find her and if I find Crane, I’ll drag him out by the neck.”

Bruce stands up and towers over Kyle. His expression is protective, yet fearful. A pang of guilt underneath his cowl.

“She’s not your only responsibility,” Bruce says, “You think this is personal? It’s personal for all of us.”

Kyle steps forward, chest rising and falling with barely-restrained fury. “Don’t you dare act like I’m overreacting. You didn’t even tell me she was missing until now. You sat here for hours. Running data, playing detective while she was alone in that hell.”

Bruce’s voice stays even. “We handle things by process, not emotion. If you let this spiral-”

“You think I give a damn about the process right now?!”

The words slam into the cave like thunder. Dick flinches slightly. Tim stops mid-scan. Barbra goes silent on the line.

Bruce’s eyes narrow. “We don’t react emotionally. That gets people killed.”

Kyle barks out a bitter laugh, the glow from his ring pulsing hotter. “She’s gone, Bruce. She was out there alone. And instead of calling me, the one person who could’ve tracked her across the damn galaxy, you decided to keep it in-house?! You thought your pride was more important than her life?!”

“We needed confirmation. We weren’t sure,”

“Screw confirmation!” Kyle roars, stepping closer. “You didn’t want help. That’s the truth. You never do. Because if someone else steps in, it means someone else gets to fix it. You’d rather risk her life than admit you couldn’t stop it.”

Bruce’s eyes narrow. “Watch it.”

Barbara breaks their tension by pointing out the obvious; “We’re running out of time, you both need to stop and look at the matter at hand. This isn't helping anyone, certainly not her.”

But Kyle doesn’t stop. He doesn’t look away, he believes that this is fighting for your will. He takes another step forward, squaring off against Bruce, the green glow of his ring clashing with the cold blue of the Batcave lights.

“No,” Kyle growls. “Let’s talk about it. You always act like you’re the only one allowed to care. Like you’ve got the monopoly on grief. But you don’t. You just bury it. You bury it and move on. Until someone else pays the price.”

Bruce stares him down. “That’s enough.”

“No,” Kyle snarls, “it’s not.”

“She trusted you. And you waited. Sat in this goddamn cave with your files and your protocols while she was dragged into hell.”

Bruce's jaw tightens, but he doesn't flinch. “My family matters are not yours to worry about.”

“Don’t pull the family card. Whether you like or not Bruce, I’m considered your family too, so don’t even try.”

Bruce’s eyes harden. “You’re not family. This is not your team. You weren’t trained for this.”

The moment the words leave his mouth, the room shifts. Everyone freezes once more. The glow of Kyle’s ring dims in hurt. Then in a second flares alive with fury.

“Oh,” Kyle says, voice like acid. “There it is.”

His fists clench at his sides. “That’s what you really think, huh? I’m just some outsider. A guest in the family you built with trauma and silence.”

Bruce doesn’t reply. His stance is still. Cold. Measured.

“You act like you’re the only one who ever bled for this mission,” Kyle spits. “Like your grief is the only grief that counts. But I’ve watched teammates die, Bruce. I’ve buried friends in space. I’ve held the hands of people as their minds were torn apart by fear, and I’ve survived it.”

He steps forward again, eyes burning. “Don’t you dare tell me I wasn’t trained for this.”

“Kyle,” Dick starts, but he’s cut off.

“No. No one else says a word,” Kyle snaps, without even looking at him. “Because I’m done pretending that this was okay. That what Bruce does is noble. It’s not noble. It's bullshit. You hide behind tactics and timelines and control because you can’t stomach the idea that you missed something.”

The words land like a hit to the gut. The silence after them is heavier than anything else in the room. Dick opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again. Tim looks down, jaw tight.

Even the screens seem to quiet.

Bruce speaks low — quiet but lethal. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Kyle leans in, fire in his eyes. “No, Bruce. I know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re terrified of letting anyone see how much you care, because you think it makes you weak. But it doesn’t. What makes you weak is letting the people you love suffer alone, while you sit here and calculate.”

Barbra’s voice cuts back in, urgent and steady. “Kyle, you need to move. Her vitals just pinged from the trace residue left on her comm. She's still alive but her heart rate’s climbing fast. She's panicking.”

Kyle pulls back slightly, shoulders tense, his whole body coiled like a wire about to snap.

“I’m going,” he says again, voice thick with rage.

Bruce blocks his path. “We need to approach this with caution.”

Kyle looks him dead in the eye.

“If she dies because you hesitated again, I swear to God, Bruce, I won’t just blame you. I’ll never forgive you.”

Bruce doesn’t answer. Doesn’t move.

Kyle’s ring flares and a burst of green light swirls around him.

“I’m going in,” he says one last time, locking eyes with Dick, with Tim, with Barbara on the screen.

“To bring her home. Or burn through hell trying.”

A green light flashes, Kyle is gone.

The cave falls still again and Bruce is left staring at the place Kyle just vanished from, jaw clenched, his own fear too deeply buried to show.

Kyle navigates the old sewerways wearing a constructed green gas mask to repel any toxins. He searches for any trace of you or Scarecrow. On his travels he catches a shine out of the corner of his eye. He hurries over and crouches on the ground. He picks up the object, a necklace. One that he had bought you. He feels the cool metal on his fingers and closes his eyes for a moment. He feels your presence, he knows you are close.

The damp air presses in, thick with the stench of decay and old fear. Shadows crawl along the walls as his ring’s light casts eerie green patterns across the tunnel’s cracked bricks. He moves forward, each step careful but determined. Memories flood the neural construct. Fragments of your thoughts are altered by Crane’s toxins, flickers of doubt and pain. He catches a glimpse of your silhouette, trapped in a nightmare that twists your reality. Kyle breathes steady again, the hum of his ring synchronizing with his heartbeat. A sharp clatter is heard up ahead, snapping his focus. Behind a rusted pipe is a tall figure. Kyle takes a step closer.

The gas mask is unmistakable. Scarecrow.

Kyle’s jaw tightens. Got you. He thinks. But the figure vanishes into the shadows as the hallucination consumes him. He steadies himself and breaks free with his willpower. He continues on, the thought of you not once leaving his mind.

Deeper in the sewers, he comes upon a run off. He follows it down and sees a dim light ahead. He passes the archway and finds you. You’re still tied to the pole and trembling. Your eyes are squeezed shut, the rest of your body limp. His heart stops for half a second then he rushes to your side.

His hands graze over the shackles and rope keeping you held up. He constructs a shield around the both of you to keep more toxins from entering your system.

“Hey,” he says softly, cupping your face. “I’m here.”

But you don’t respond. Your eyes flicker behind closed lids trapped deep within the chaos Crane built inside your mind. He knows what he has to do next. He kneels beside you, placing one hand to your forehead. His other hand forms another construct, a green wire arching out like synapses connecting. It slips into your mind like a key through a lock.

His body goes still.

The world Kyle steps into is a twisted version of reality. Gotham streets warped like melting wax, shadows cling to every corner, moving when he isn’t looking. He stands in the middle of it, fully armored, his light barely cutting through the fog. He hears sobbing. Screams. Your voice, pleading with someone who isn’t there.

He moves and the cityscape shifts with every step. Your memories fold over each other. He sees pieces of your past: a shattered childhood bedroom. The cracked pavement where you lost your first fight. A rooftop soaked in rain where a mission went wrong. And at every location are shadows shaped like Crane, lurking in the background.

Then he finds you.

You’re curled on the ground in the center of a crumbling plaza, trembling, clothes torn, blood staining your hands.

Kyle approaches slowly. “Hey,” he says, his voice warm, calm. “I’ve got you.”

You don’t hear him at first. You flinch as another Crane shadow looms over you, mocking you. You let out another scream, thinking that Kyle is here to harm you again. Thinking that the Joker is back for you.

With a wave of his hand and flick of the lantern ring, the shadow of Crane is gone. The sky seems to clear up just a little more around you, the blood clean from your hands.

You look up confused, your breath falters.

“Kyle?” you look up at him with a weary glance.

“Yeah. It’s me. I’m really here.”

You shake your head, backing away. “No. You’re not. You’re just another lie. Another illusion.You’re not real.”

He reaches forward slowly. “This isn’t a trick. This is me, alright? You dropped your necklace. I found it. I followed it. You left me a trail.” He holds up the silver pendant. You’re crying now, silently. Your body trembles as the hallucinations fight to take hold again. He places your necklace in your hand. The one you thought was lost. The memory attached to it flares back to something warm, something real. A night on the Watchtower. Laughter. Hope. Kyle. Your Green Lantern.

That breaks the loop. Just enough.

Kyle pulls you into his arms as the storm around you begins to collapse. He holds on tight. For a few minutes. The toxins are worn off and you come back to him.

“Ky?”

“I’m here. I’ve got you,”

“Y-your alive? I thought-”

“Not real, Crane’s toxins are messing with you. I got you free for the moment but you gotta help too. Break through, I know you can do it.” He helps pull you out of the mental mindgame. You nod against his chest, body still trembling, but the warmth of his hold starts to push back the cold.

“I’m trying,” you whisper. “It’s so loud… it won’t stop.” Kyle tightens his grip around you at the sound of your voice.

“Then listen to me. Focus on my voice. Everything else; the blood, the shadows, the guilt it’s all fake. Crane’s poison.”

Your fingers tighten around the pendant in your palm then a memory emerges. Not a toxin induced one, but a true actual memory. A rooftop on Oa, the twin moons shining overhead. Kyle holding your hand, sketchbook in his lap, laughing as you mocked his attempt at drawing you mid-fight. You hadn’t smiled like that in weeks. And in that memory, you remember the promise he gave you.

“If you ever get lost,” Kyle had said, “I’ll find you. Always.”

That truth hits hard and deep and you take a shaky breath, the surrounding fog starting to lift. The crumbling curated Gotham around you wavers, groans like it's losing power. Kyle brushes a lock of hair from your face.

“There you are,” he murmurs, his voice cracking with something deeper than just relief. “I’ve got you.” He smiles. The nightmare shakes again, harder this time. Crane’s illusion cracks under the weight of your combined will.

But one final shadow remains. Behind you, the real Scarecrow twists into something monstrous. Towering. Rooted in your deepest trauma. His voice echoes through the space.

“You think this ends because of him?” Crane hisses. “You think love saves you from fear? It feeds it. He’ll leave. They always do. And you’ll be alone again. Love is going to get you killed.”

The altered fear and anxiety begins to creep into your system again. It knows exactly what to say. What to show you. The faces of people you’ve lost. The voices of ones who left. Of ones who betrayed. You squeeze your eyes shut, sheltering yourself.

Not even a millisecond passes and Kyle raises his hand, the green light of the ring surges, crashing into Crane with the force of a hurricane and destroying him with pure willpower. It breaks you free from the fear, the hatred.

Back in the sewer, a blast of emerald light erupts as you wake. Kyle quickly begins to cut and break you out of the ropes and chains. You take a deep breath like it's your first time breathing, like you had been drowning in the ocean. Your eyes crack open and find his immediately.

“Hey, hey,” he whispers, cupping your cheek again. “You’re here. You’re safe. It’s over.”

Tears spill before you even realize they’re falling. You collapse into his chest. Freed from restraints. And for a long time, he just holds you. No more speeches. No more battles. Just you and Kyle. Just love.

“I thought I was lost,” you whisper against his armor. “I thought I was never getting out.” He slightly hushes you and runs a hand through your hair for comfort.

“I’ll always come for you. Don’t ever doubt that.” He places a kiss on your temple. He shifts you over so that he is standing, holding you in his strong arms.

“Come on. I’m getting you out of here.”

The chill of the Batcave lingered while Kyle was gone. Everyone sat still around the monitors waiting for a sign of anything. Dick huffs.

“Are we just gonna keep sitting here? We should go help.” Bruce shuts him down.

“Rayner has got it all planned. He was not interested in help, he will be fine.”

“B, really? He didn’t want help? That was you!”

Their near argument is cut short by the appearing green portal. It lands both of you in the middle of the Batcave. The moment the construct goes out, Dick is at your side, helping Kyle ease you down onto the nearby med table but your grip tightens on him for a moment.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, reading you before you even have to say it. “I’ve got you.”

Dick’s hand hovers over your shoulder, his face pale with relief. Tim lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. And Bruce stays by the monitor. Just standing and staring at you, his daughter. The one he almost failed for what felt like the millionth time.

You laid there, blinking against the harsh med lights with the Batcave coming into focus. Familiar. Real. You flinch slightly as the medical equipment buzzes behind you

“Easy,” Kyle says gently, sitting beside you, his thumb brushing your wrist. “It’s real. You’re back.” Your eyes lock with his. You nod, but there’s something broken just beneath your surface. You focus and center on the warmth of his touch.

Bruce steps forward slowly. He stops a few feet from the table. You look at him, your expression unreadable. There’s so much hurt and exhaustion behind your eyes. He opens his mouth to say something. You cut him off with a hoarse voice.

“Don’t.”

It’s not a shout. It’s barely a whisper. But it silences the entire room. Kyle speaks up again.

“I’m taking her to the healing center on Oa. Where she’ll be protected.”

Bruce takes another step forward on the opposing side of the medbay bed. He glares into Kyle’s soul.

“No, she is staying here. She will do just fine. I will not let Scarecrow get to her again.”

“Like hell you will. No. She’s coming with me.”

You feel the tension peering out of both of them. You stay still and quiet, too weak to interfere. A few moments of silent staring pass and Bruce keeps on with his stoic act. Kyle makes his final decision.

“We’re leaving.” He states. Bruce’s jaw tenses slightly. But he doesn’t speak.

“She needs rest,” Kyle continues, his voice calm but full of conviction. “Real rest. Not Gotham. Not the Manor. Not with everything she’s just survived.”

Dick steps forward slightly. “Where will you go?”

“To Oa. The healing center. They’ve handled trauma deeper than this. It’s quiet there. No fear gas. No nightmares echoing down alleyways.” His hand brushes over your shoulder, steady. “No Batman.”

Bruce’s gaze finally shifts over first to Kyle, then to you. He still says nothing. You meet his eyes, and though your throat is sore, your words are loud.

“I can’t stay here, Dad. I need… to find myself again. Somewhere else.” Something changes in Bruce’s eyes. Guilt, maybe. Or loss. Maybe both. Kyle gives him a moment. Bruce lowers his gaze slightly. When he speaks, his voice is quieter than anyone expects.

“Take care of her.”

Kyle doesn’t nod. Doesn’t salute. “Always.”

Dick steps to your side as the green light begins to build again. He places a hand on your shoulder, offering a soft smile. “You’ll come back when you’re ready. We’ll be here.”

You smile back at him and thank your brothers. As the constructed green platform forms beneath you, Bruce takes one small step forward. Not close enough to touch, but enough to mean something.

“I love you,” he says, barely louder than a breath. “You know that.”

You nod, eyes tearing up. “I know.”

Then Kyle takes your hand, and the two of you rise in a quiet blaze of green light—bright, but soft. No more shouts. No more shadows.

Just a quiet goodbye.

a/n: ITS OVER!!!!! (im writing pt2) LOL. tbh i absolutely adored putting this together. im an angst kinda girl and a half. pt 2 should be more fluffy stay tuned ❇️🥰 also just now seeing that i spelt babs name wrong majority of the time. whoops.

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aleksatia · 2 months ago

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Unnatural Terrain for a Natural Thing

CW/TW: emotional birth content, graphic childbirth (natural/emergency), blood, pain, implied nudity, medical stress, fear of complications, strong emotional reactions, vulnerability, soft!Xavier, forest birth, wilderness setting, temporary communication loss, pregnancy in danger, protective partner, trauma-adjacent intensity, one (1) terrified man doing his best. Pairing: Xavier x Pregnant!You (established relationship) Genre: Emotional intensity meets survival-mode devotion. A birth story set far from sterile walls, where instinct, love, and sheer will carry the moment. Hurt/comfort turned reverent awe. Domesticity cracked open under pressure. Summary: You said you'd stay home. But you didn’t. Now Xavier’s running through the forest, chasing a signal that won’t answer and praying he’s not too late. He’s trained for every scenario — except the one where you’re bleeding and breathless and still managing to smirk at him through the worst pain of your life. A story about trust, blood, one white shirt, and the moment love becomes something holy. Word Count: 3.6K More: same birth scenario (give or take), different men, drabble-style.

You kissed him that morning. Just a brush of lips above the collarbone, warm and lazy. He hadn’t looked up from the monitor—too focused on the glitch in the west perimeter readings. You told him you were staying in. That you’d rest. That you’d be good.

He believed you.

He even smiled a little, hand trailing across your swollen belly in silent promise. His world, right there. Home, heart, purpose.

And then you were gone.

He found out from Simone. She cornered him outside Ops, biting her lip so hard she bled.

“She said it was nothing—just to check a reading—I didn’t think she’d—Xavier, please—”

But he was already moving. His blood had gone cold.

The coordinates were dead. No signal. No comms. No teleportation. The anomaly had killed everything.

He couldn’t reach you.

And so he ran. Boots pounding the moss and root-laced dirt, trees slicing past in green and gold. He hadn’t been through this forest in years — but his feet knew the shape of it. Memory blurred into instinct. He expected to find you lost. Angry. Turned around. But nothing—nothing—prepared him for what he found.

You were curled at the base of a tree, half-collapsed. Pale. Breathless. One hand white-knuckled in the soil, the other clenched over your belly.

And blood. A dark line streaked down your thighs.

His breath stopped.

He had studied birth.

He had read every godsforsaken guide. Natural deliveries, complication charts, premature signs, maternal distress indexes. All of it. He knew, on paper, exactly what to do. Timing contractions. Supporting the perineum. Assessing dilation.

But this—this was you.

You, gasping. You, crying out. You, blinking up at him through pain so deep it cracked something in his ribs.

He dropped to his knees beside you.

Not Lumière. Not legend. Not even soldier. Just a man—your man—terrified out of his mind.

“Gods,” he whispered, throat tight. “No—no, no, no—”

You tried to sit up. Another contraction slammed through you, and you bent double, screaming. He caught you. Arms around your body, shielding you from the world.

He’d studied the graphs. He’d watched the tutorial videos. He could recite the stages of labour in six languages. But none of them mentioned what it would feel like to see you in this kind of pain. None of them told him what to do with the way his heart was breaking open in his chest.

Still—he moved. He had to.

He pulled off his coat, laid it down. Positioned you on your side, cradling your head in one hand, the other stroking your spine in the slow, anchoring rhythm he'd read about. You were shivering. Muttering broken syllables.

“You’re doing fine,” he told you. It was a lie. You were doing the impossible. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

His voice shook. He bit down on it. Hard.

You looked up at him. Your face was wet with sweat, eyes glassy, but you were still there—you. Breathing. Thinking. Glaring, even. Gods, how were you still glaring?

And somehow—smirking.

That undid him more than any of the blood.

“I’ve read everything,” he murmured, brushing your hair off your forehead with a hand that definitely wasn’t trembling. “Everything. Diagrams. Protocols. Tactical field delivery guides. But I’ve never—” He hesitated. “Not with you. Not like this.”

You hissed as another contraction flared, teeth gritted. “Cats do this in bushes.”

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Cats,” you repeated, voice cracking around the pain. “No gloves. No comms. No Evol.” You sucked in a breath, eyes narrowing. “So you can—damn well manage.”

His mouth twitched. Gods. Of course you’d throw zoology at him during labour. Of course you would.

“Right,” he said. “Noted. Next time we’re in crisis, I’ll consult a tabby.”

You didn’t laugh. Not really. But something in your chest hitched, and your hand found his shirt, bunched it in your fist.

His heart was pounding. Not from the running. Not from the forest.

From this—you, in pain, clutching at him like he was the only fixed point in a world gone to chaos.

He lowered his head slightly, resting his cheek against your temple for just a moment. You were so warm. Too warm.

“Alright,” he murmured. “We’re okay. You’re okay. We’ve got time.”

You gave a weak, disbelieving snort. “Feels like being stabbed every four minutes.”

He gave a breath of something almost like a laugh. “Yes, well. We… expected that.”

Sheer understatement. The books had used words like waves, pressure, discomfort. None of them had mentioned the way your whole body convulsed like it was trying to tear itself in half.

Another tremor passed through you. Short. Not a full contraction. But enough.

He adjusted behind you, sitting straighter, bringing you with him so your back rested fully against his chest. You sagged into him.

His arms tightened around you instinctively. Shielding. Anchoring.

“You don’t need to push yet,” he said gently. “Right now, you just breathe. That’s your only job.”

Your fingers gripped his wrist. “How do I know when it’s time?”

His throat worked before he answered. That part wasn’t in the books. Not really.

He cleared his throat. “Technically, you’ll feel pressure. Downward. Like—like you need to use the toilet.”

You were silent a moment. Then: “That’s deeply undignified.”

He exhaled, half amused, half wrecked. “You’re telling me?”

He paused, swallowed hard. Then, softly:

“Before that… I should check for dilation.”

There. It was out. Clean. Clinical. But it still landed like something heavy.

You stiffened almost immediately. He felt it in the way your back straightened, in the way your fingers stilled on his forearm.

“No.”

His heart pulled.

“Love,” he said gently, “I won’t—not unless you say yes. But if you think we’re getting close—”

“No,” you said again, voice shaking now. “You’re not going to see me like that.”

And that—that landed like a blade. Not because you said no. But because of why. Because underneath the pain, underneath the fear, there was shame.

You, who’d walked through fire with him. Slept under broken skies. Faced Wanderers with a pulse of steel and a half-loaded blaster. You were ashamed to be seen—by him—like this.

It gutted him. But his voice didn’t shake. It couldn’t. Not for your sake.

“Alright,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Alright. Then we wait.”

No judgement. No pressure. Just quiet, certain presence.

He settled back again, supporting you more fully now, your spine curved into him, your breath ragged.

His fingers traced calming patterns along your arm, light as wind. He focused on the rhythm of your breathing, trying to sync his own with yours. Trying to lend you his steadiness.

“You’re doing everything right,” he murmured. “You’re breathing. You’re listening to your body. That’s what matters.”

You let out a noise between a groan and a whisper. “What if we don’t make it? What if I can’t do it? What if something’s wrong and we don’t know because you’re not allowed to look—”

“Hey. Hey—” He turned your face gently toward his. His forehead touched yours, grounding you. “Look at me.”

You did.

“We had the scan last week,” he said. “Head down. Perfect alignment. No signs of complications. No warning flags. And you—” his voice caught, but he steadied it, “you are doing this exactly as you should. She’s just taking her time.”

“She?”

He blinked. “I didn’t mean—just… the baby. Sorry.”

But you didn’t protest. You were too tired.

He kissed your cheek again. “I will be here for every breath. Every second. You don’t have to do any of this alone.”

There was a pause. Then—quiet, small:

“If… if it gets worse. If I feel like I need to push. Will you…”

“I’ll help,” he said instantly. “Only then. Only if you want me to. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

You nodded. Once. He felt it.

And then you sagged into him again. Not surrender—just trust.

He held you tighter, but gently, as if afraid you might shatter.

Inside, his mind kept running—measuring minutes between contractions, tracking signs, remembering every medical note, every diagram, every scenario from those long, sleepless nights when he studied for this moment and prayed he’d never have to use any of it in the middle of a godsdamned forest.

But outside?

Outside, he was steady as the roots beneath you. Because you needed him to be.

The next contraction hit like a thunderclap—violent, full-bodied, and merciless.

You twisted against him with a sound that wasn’t a scream, wasn’t even human—just raw, desperate pressure breaking free.

He held you as you arched, gritted his teeth as you clawed at his arm.

Your voice came in fragments now. Shattered glass.

“Xav… it’s… Gods— it’s too much—I can’t— I can’t—”

“You can,” he said, though his own breath was starting to shake. “You are.”

You slumped forward. Your body had no more room for words. Just breath. Just heat. Just fire from the inside out.

Then you whispered—so small, so hoarse it barely registered:

“Pushing. Want to—push—can’t stop—”

His entire body went still.

That was it.

That was transition.

He closed his eyes for half a second. Felt the cold edge of panic knock once—just once—on the door of his chest.

He didn’t let it in.

But when he opened his eyes again, they burned.

“I need to check,” he said quietly. “Just once. Then we’ll know.”

You didn’t answer. Another spasm wracked you. You doubled over with a broken sob. And then—your hand weakly gripped his wrist.

“Okay,” you rasped. “Do it. Just—don’t say anything. Don’t react. Just—do it.”

His throat was dry. He nodded.

“I won’t see you,” he promised, voice stripped down to the core. “Not like that. I’ll see what needs seeing. Nothing else.”

He moved quickly, precisely, laying you back just enough, bracing your hips with one arm, reaching with the other—slow, clinical, careful.

He had to separate it. You—the woman he loved—

And this: the medical necessity. Function. Anatomy. Nothing more.

His fingers found you. Not clumsy. Not invasive. Just precise. Controlled.

He had no clinical experience. Only theory. Diagrams burned into memory. Models. Sketches. Silhouettes.

He remembered the spacing—two fingers across, then three. The depth. The softness of the rim when it was ready. The slight give under pressure.

He measured with his own hand, adjusting, confirming what he hoped he already knew—

And what your body had already told him. Pressure low. The baby was descending.

And then—

No rim.

His breath caught.

You were fully dilated. Ten. Complete. The cervix had disappeared under his touch. It was just you now—you and the child between.

And the next contraction came on like a thunderclap. He was barely back behind you before you surged forward with a sob.

“Push— I have to push—”

His arm wrapped around your waist, catching you, steadying.

“It’s time,” he whispered, breath hitching. “You’re ready. She’s ready.”

He didn’t let you see the way his eyes burned. He didn’t let you hear the part of him that was shaking, not from fear—no.

From awe.

From the unbearable, quiet truth that the woman he loved was about to bring his child into the world. Right here. In his arms. And all he could do was catch her. Hold her. Witness you become divine.

Your cry tore through the trees.

It wasn’t loud—not really. But it was final. Elemental. A sound ripped from the deepest part of you.

Xavier braced you gently, one hand supporting your thigh, the other steady at your lower back, guiding your body as it arched into the next wave.

“Push,” he said, voice low, calm, anchored. “Now. With the contraction. Just this one.”

You bore down with a guttural sob, and he felt it — all of it. The power. The resistance. The moment everything began to give way.

Then silence. A breath.

And it was starting.

He shifted slightly on his knees, closer, reverent. The forest around you didn’t exist anymore. Time didn’t exist. There was only this clearing, this woman, this child — and him.

He needed something clean.

His gaze flicked to the ground—his coat. Already beneath you, soaked through with dirt, sweat, and blood. It wouldn’t do. Couldn’t.

He cursed under his breath.

Then—his hands went to his collar.

The shirt. White. Crisp. Still dry. It would have to be enough.

He stripped it without hesitation, fumbling only once with the buttons, skin prickling with cold as he peeled it off. The air hit his back like ice, but he didn’t care. He folded the shirt quickly, then spread it across his lap—his thighs just beneath where your body rested against him.

That’s where she’ll land, he thought. She deserves something clean.

His hands moved before his mind could catch up. He reached for his belt—unfastened the sheathed knife he always carried. A weapon, once. Now, a tool.

The blade caught what little light there was. Forest-dark steel.

He flicked the lighter open, held the flame to the edge of the knife until it hissed, glowed dull orange. His palm burned from the heat, but he held it steady. The acrid scent of scorched metal twisted into the night air—earth and sweat and blood and fire.

Once done, he laid the knife on the clean white fabric beside him, far from you but within reach. Handle turned just so. Ready.

Only then did he look up at you. And everything else disappeared.

You cried out — a sound pulled from the centre of the earth. Your body curled forward, shaking. He reached — one hand bracing your thigh, the other steady beneath to guide.

You pushed.

And the world cracked open.

A slick weight slipped into his hands.

She was here.

He caught her. Gently. As if she might fall through the world if he wasn’t careful.

She was warm. Heavy. Unbelievably small.

For a moment he couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak.

She let out a wail that startled birds from the trees.

High. Piercing. Demanding.

Alive.

His lips parted, but no words came—just a choked sound, part laugh, part sob.

He turned her slightly in his hands, instinct leading action: checking her chest—rising. Good. Legs flexing. Strong. The cry—forceful. No retraction, no dusky colour, no silence.

She’s breathing. She’s breathing on her own.

He pressed her to his chest, skin to skin, the heat of her sinking into him like something sacred.

Then, with trained precision, he laid her down briefly on the shirt across his thighs. His hands moved without hesitation: found the cord, still pulsing faintly. He tied it carefully with a strip of thread from his own seam—double-knot, firm but not tight. Just as the manual had said. Two fingers from the belly.

He reached for the sterilised knife. No shaking now. Only purpose.

A clean slice. The cord slackened. She was fully in the world now.

He scooped her back up, bundled her gently in the folds of his shirt, and turned to you.

You were half-conscious, panting, eyes glassy—but they locked with his the moment you heard her.

“She’s here,” he whispered. His voice broke. “She’s alright. You did it. Gods, you did it.”

Your hand found his wrist. Weak. Wet with sweat. But real.

He returned to you immediately, settling behind you once more, your back folding into his chest, his arms wrapping around you both. Warmth. Shelter. The world narrowed to the circle of his embrace.

He moved gently, reverently, unbuttoning your blouse with one hand, baring the curve of your chest. You didn’t stop him. Didn’t need to.

He laid the baby on your skin. And everything fell silent.

Her cries softened. Her mouth turned instinctively, nuzzling, searching. You curled your arm around her—slow, protective, shaking.

Xavier stared.

Not at the blood. Not at the mess. At you. And her. And what you had both become in this moment.

And then you groaned again.

His whole body tensed.

“What is it? What’s—”

“Still,” you managed. “One more…”

Of course. The placenta.

“Okay,” he said quickly, his arms tightening around you, helping you lean forward just enough. “It’s alright. Let it happen. Don’t fight it. Just breathe.”

You pushed once—twice—and then the soft, wet mass slid free. Heavy. Intact.

He gave a ragged exhale. It was over.

You collapsed back into him, hollowed out but whole.

The baby shifted on your chest. Still now. Warm. Real.

And for the first time, Xavier let go—just a little. He pressed his forehead to the side of your head, eyes closed, breath catching in his throat.

You were safe. She was alive. And he—

He was undone.

The forest had never been this quiet.

You were limp in his arms, the baby bundled tight against your chest beneath the folds of his ruined coat and his dirt-streaked shirt. He’d covered your hips as best he could—your legs, trembling and bare, now wrapped in everything warm he had left. His body heat did the rest.

He looked down once—just once.

You. Her. Breathing in the same rhythm. Your cheek against her forehead.

His family.

“I’m carrying you,” he said softly. “We need to get you to a hospital. I’ll run if I have to.”

You didn’t answer. Just stirred faintly. Trusted him.

Of course you did.

He gathered you both into his arms and stood—slowly, carefully, making sure her head was cradled between you, that your spine aligned with his chest. One step. Another. The weight didn’t matter.

He’d carry you to the end of the world.

But he didn’t have to.

Light glinted through the trees. Voices. Boots. Flashlights cutting through the fog.

Medics.

Simone had sent them. He knew it instantly. They rushed forward—soft chaos, hands outstretched, voices sharp and gentle at once.

He didn’t speak. Just surrendered you both into capable arms with a kind of silent reverence. He stayed close. Never let you out of his line of sight. Never let her out of his hands.

The hospital was white. Quiet. Sterile in a way that made the memory of forest moss and blood feel like a fever dream.

You lay on a low cot, pale but stable, a drip in your arm, your heartbeat steady under layers of warm linen. Antibiotics. Fluids. Everything under control.

“She’s perfect,” the doctor said after checking her over. “Strong lungs. No sign of distress. You did everything right.”

Xavier hadn’t sat down since they brought you in.

He paced. Slowly. Back and forth. The baby in his arms, bundled in the softest blanket they could find. She was sleeping now, one hand curled like a tiny fist near her mouth.

He looked down at her like she was made of glass.

Or starlight.

He had seen her come into this world. Had felt the weight of her as life began. Had watched blood turn into breath, watched pain become existence. Nothing—nothing—had prepared him for that.

She stirred, and he stopped pacing.

You were awake now, watching him through half-lidded eyes, drug-heavy but calm.

He came to your side. Sat carefully on the edge of the bed.

“She’s yours,” he said, and there was something cracked in his voice he didn’t bother to hide.

He placed her gently into your arms, guiding your hands with his, still beneath hers. You cradled her awkwardly—your arm stiff from the IV line.

“She wants to feed,” you murmured. “I can’t… not yet.”

He shook his head. “She’s fine. Just hold her. That’s all she needs.”

You both watched her sleep.

So small. So utterly here.

Her hair—soft and pale, almost silver-gold—shone faintly under the hospital light.

You smiled. “She has your eyes.”

Xavier was quiet a long time. Then—his voice, low, fragile, certain:

“I didn’t know I could love you more than I already did.”

You turned your head. He was still looking at the baby.

“But I watched you carry her. For months. Every discomfort. Every fear. Every impossible day.”

He swallowed hard.

“And then I saw you bring her into the world. With your body. With your pain. With your strength.”

His eyes flicked to yours, and for a moment, they were sea-glass clear.

“And I realised,” he said, almost a whisper, “I’ve only ever loved the surface of you.”

Your breath caught.

“Everything deeper,” he said, “everything you never let me see until tonight—that’s where the real love lives.”

The baby stirred.

Just a small twitch—her fingers unfurling like petals, her lips parting in a dream. She shifted closer against your chest, seeking warmth she already knew by heart.

The monitors hummed softly. Footsteps passed far down the hall. But here—in this corner of sterile light and borrowed linen—everything was still.

Xavier's hand found yours, fingers threading together without thought, without effort.

You turned your head, your voice barely a breath.

“I want another.”

He blinked, startled.

“A boy,” you added, eyes never leaving the baby’s face. “Next time.”

He stared at you a moment. And then—he smiled. Quiet. Wrecked. Entirely in love.

“Yes,” he said. “Next time. And I’ll be with you again. From the very start to the very end. Always.”

#lads #love and deepspace #lads fanfic #lads fandom #xavier love and deepspace #lads xavier #xavier x reader #caleb x reader #xavier x you #sylus x you #storytelling #fanfic

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leviathanleva · 7 months ago

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Caffè Crema

[Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!FemReader]

Excitement for your morning coffee turns to panic when you bump into a mountainous stranger in a grey hoodie, sporting a skull mask. Sputtered apologies become a conversation in a corner of the café. And he’s so beat up, battered and bruised and scarred that you can’t help the words that leave your lips:

“Do you want to come home with me?”

[5k words ]

Chapter 1 "Caffeine Rush"

Airpods in your ears, music vibrating through your soul, you were ready for the world outside.

Sweet Saturday morning, after a week of work and barely any time for yourself, you’d decided on a treat to start off the weekend. You’d slept in late, phone alarm turned off and sleeping mask tugged on, new sheets prepared the night before because it was so comforting to wake up to the subtle smell of detergent. And once you were finally up, you’d decided fuck it, go out and get a nice steaming hot coffee in a cute paper cup from the local café, listen to Lofi or Lana Del Rey or whatever Spotify had prepared for your daily suggestions on the way, cozy up in a warm winter jacket and a thick scarf. Bless the crisp December air, it nipped at your cheeks and filled your lungs with sharp frosty air. It numbed your nose too and made your eyes water, but those weren’t as positive as the previous two affixes.

The streets were buzzing, a rare sight of the sun peeking through a blanket of grey clouds was shining down on you.

All in all, it was going to be a good day.

You waited impatiently for the light to turn green before crossing the street with a horde of nameless individuals, keeping in tandem with them.

Snow was still a no-show, you could only hope for its appearance at least on Christmas. The holidays without a fluffy coat of white powdering over everything from trees to rooftops just didn’t sit well with you, but at the end of the day, it was up to Mother Nature, not you. Anything but the ice rain you’d had the week prior; you weren’t ready to skate to the store again.

The bell above the café door shakes to life, signaling your entrance. You tuck one airpod in your pocket to listen in on the chatter in the comfy, coffee bean scented establishment, and also because you didn’t want to miss anything the cashier said. You were the anxious type after all, didn’t wanna miss a thing ever.

The heating system is blasting, cranked to the max, steam comes in large waves from behind the oak counter, be it from warm beverages or baked goods fresh from the oven, it lingers long enough for you to get a whiff before being diligently sucked away by the range hood. You unzip the top part of your jacket before getting too stuffy, loosen your scarf and take off your gloves. The staff, donned in their creamy yellow aprons, zip back and forth between tables like worker ants and you step into the line of waiting customers to keep out of their way.

The hardwood floor is licked spotless, looking down, you can almost see your reflection staring back at you. The hum of the large coffee grinder fills your exposed ear and you decide to turn off Spotify for the moment and bask in the café’s ambience instead.

The line moves, it’s almost your turn and you glance up at the display monitors listing off all the choices on the menu for today. Lattes, milkshakes, espressos, you decide on a large cappuccino, leave experimenting with unfamiliar drinks for another day when you’re feeling more courageous.

“Large cappuccino, please.” You say with a polite smile and fish out your wallet from your pocket.

Coffee is cheap here, cheaper than in most cafés and that’s one of the things that keeps you coming back to this place. It’s not easy to afford treats when you live on your own and have to pay the bills and groceries alone. However, you manage, and being able to afford a coffee or takeout once in a while is all the sweeter when knowing you owe nothing to nobody.

You take your cup and nudge your chin for the barista to keep the change before stepping away to the sidebar littered with plastic lids, sugar packets, and cheap wooden teaspoons for stirring your drink. After a brief consideration, you decide not to sweeten your coffee and only take a large lid, pop it over your cup and after zipping your jacket back up, you’re about to turn and walk out.

A walk through the park where you can sit down and enjoy your drink suggestively passes by your mind. Deciding that’s exactly what you will do, you palm through your pocket for your discarded airpods while nursing your paper cup to your chest.

And maybe it was your fault for not paying enough attention because you were buzzed to have a nice relaxing weekend. Or that you’d already achieved your first goal of the day and you were about to have a nice vibey stroll while hurrying to stuff your ears with music before you left the café. Maybe you’d jinxed your Saturday by confidently thinking it would be a swell time and nothing wrong would happen for once.

You should have known better. You should have suspected something would go wrong.

Something always goes wrong.

You whirl around with the intent of being on your way, expecting the glass doors to be in view, but they aren’t. A mountain of flesh and muscle stands before you. And your reaction time is too slow to save yourself or your coffee.

You jump, your hand flinches and the paper cup goes flying, a gasp upon your lips so loud it turns heads. You can only watch in horror as it makes contact with a wide chest clad in a grey hoodie, the lid pops off from the force of the impact and the hot contents inside go in every direction.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my freaking God.”

One hand goes up to cover your agape mouth while the other clutches at the zipper of your jacket as panic crawls up your neck and prickles your scalp.

The worst part is that your coffee wasn’t the only casualty. The poor guy had dropped his beverage to pull his hoodie off his chest the moment your scalding beverage had soaked it.

There was steam coming off it. It was boiling and you’d spilled it on him.

You wanted to die.

And he’s fucking terrifying too. Easily two heads over you and built like a truck. The intricate skull mask obscures the lower half of his face and you can’t discern if he’s absolutely pissed or just mildly uncomfortable with the large stain plastered on his top.

His eyes are sharp, trained on his ruined hoodie, crow’s feet crinkled, and you’re grateful they’re not directed at you because you were a step away from breaking down on the spot.

A stone lodged itself in your throat.

If he didn’t curse you to oblivion, he’d either break you in half, or worse, sue you.

You can’t get fucking sued. You don’t have the money to get sued.

So much for having a good day…

“Oh my God, I’m sorry.” You sputter out and grab a handful of paper towels from the counter. You’re glancing up at him every now and again for fear of his patience running out. “I’m so so sorry.”

Shaky hands are tapping away at his top, soaking in the liquid as best you can while trying to keep from breaking down. Your tongue is arrested between your teeth, bitten down on hard in a self-soothing attempt. Your fingertips are stained with coffee because there‘s so much of it that it’s turning the paper towels to mush. You couldn’t care less about that or that you were practically sweating bullets under your jacket.

All you hoped for was that you hadn’t caused the poor guy a burn.

“ ‘s okay.” He murmurs in a thick British accent while watching you fuss over him with growing anxiety. The jitter in your movements would be almost comical if not for you practically hyperventilating on him.

“Excuse me, are you alright?”

“No.” You whine, before you can stifle your voice to normalcy, and turn to the cashier peeking from behind the counter with watery eyes and a deeply carved frown. “No. I’m so sorry, we spilled our drinks. I mean, I spilled - ” You take in a breath to compose yourself and brush a hand over your forehead, shoulders slumping. You’re giving your best apologetic expression, practically mourning over the mess you’d made at your feet and of the man looming next to you.“ – I’m sorry. I can clean it up if you have a mop.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, miss. We’ll mop it up.” The cashier replies, bless her, and signals for one of the waiters to fetch the cleaning supplies. The friendly smile never wavers from her balmed lips; neither does the caffeinated twinkle in her eyes.

She’s most likely seen this sort of thing plenty of times, but for you, it’s a first and it’s your fault to top it off. It’s not an easy pill to swallow and despite the atmosphere being anything but hostile, you can’t help but still feel guilty.

Of course, this had to happen to you of all people. You weren’t allowed a single day of peace and tranquility.

With the main cause of disturbance taken care of, you turn back to your victim, who’s joined you in trying to dry off his hoodie. Your stomach churns at the sight, and you’re afraid to look around in case all eyes are on you two. You can’t bear the scrutiny, even though most people have probably resumed their dwellings by now.

“Are you okay? Does it hurt? I’m so sorry, sir.” You ask and reach for more paper towels, pressing them against his chest more so to show you’re very apologetic and trying to fix the situation rather than actually fixing it because most of the coffee has already come out.

You glance up at him after mustering up the courage, curious as to what awaited you next. He returns your gaze with one of indifference or calmness, you can’t tell, blinks at you slowly, as if he’s just now taking your flustered form for the first time, then he speaks, more clearly this time.

“It’s fine.”

A server arrives with a mop in hand and you both step away from the mess to let them clean it up. You take the lead unintentionally and guide the stranger towards one of the vacant tables in the corner of the café, away from prying stares.

You pick the chair next to the wall that has a large ficus partially looming over the seat. Maybe with enough luck, you can disappear inside it.

Finally, unzipping your jacket because you’re about to faint from the stuffiness, you lay it on the cushioned backrest of the chair and pat it down to make sure you’d not accidentally dropped any of your belongings during the accident. You tug at your sweater to air out the thin sheen of nervous sweat that’s formed over your skin, brush off the strands of hair that have come to stick to your face and take off your scarf.

The stranger sits on the opposite chair, paper towel still to his chest and sucking out any leftover residue. The stain won’t leave your vision no matter how hard you try to rip the two separate. It’s the worry gnawing at your gut that keeps you rooted to your spot, wanting to approach but too afraid to do so.

But so far he’s been a nice guy, hasn’t said one single bad word to you.

Your mind reels with how red and irritated his skin must be, praying it hadn’t blistered up already. You have half a mind to ask him to take off his hoodie so you can take a look.

A fresh wave of panic wraps its dainty fingers around your neck in squeezes, sends needles to prick over random places on your body.

And all this time, you’ve been sputtering out apologies like a broken record, his dismissal of your regret not even reaching your ears let alone registering.

“Should I call an ambulance? Oh my God, I’ve never had to call an ambulance in my life…” You ask, mumbling the last part to yourself as the realization hits you square in the face. For a brief moment, you forget how to dial the emergency line because you’ve never had to use that number before. “I’m sorry, sir – I – I didn’t mean – ”

You continue to blabber while searching your jacket pocket for your phone. The guy might have said nothing at your suggestion, but you wanted to be safe and have your phone at the ready anyway. And you’re too preoccupied going ballistic with panic in your own little world to hear him repeatedly tell you that everything is fine and you’ve done no big deal, he doesn’t need an ambulance and that he’s fine.

“Hey!” He grabs the crux of your elbow and pulls you before him, a large knee on either side of your thighs. A startled noise crawls up your throat but you make no move to step away. You’re staring at him as your hands disappear inside his and he jerks them slightly, his voice lowering now that he’s caught your attention finally. “Relax. It’s alright. Happens.” His comfort is rough. His voice gruff and sounding more like a scold than anything. He shakes you a bit too hard, not used to handling something as delicate as you, and pulls you down enough to make solid eye contact. “Alright?”

You nod and avert your gaze away, soggy paper towels left in a pile on the table making your fingers twitch with the need to do more. Apologies simply aren’t enough, not when he’d probably need to apply ointment on his chest for a few days after your little fiasco.

Why did have to be such a hot mess all the time?

“At least…Let me buy you another drink. On me? It’ll make me feel better.” The frown is still tugging on your lips as you speak, shyly looking at him from under your lashes. “Please?”

He sighs softly at your relentlessness and shrugs before letting your hands slip from him, having kept them in his grasp for longer than he should.

“Sure.”

He leans back in his chair and readjusts both his hood and the cap poking beneath it before resting his elbows on the table.

“What did you order?” You question while fetching your wallet.

The innocent look you toss him has him forcing himself to stop staring at you like a creep. He clears his throat and rubs over his tired eyes tenderly before answering.

“Black tea with milk.”

And so you reorder your cappuccino, get him his tea and decide that a simple butter croissant as an apology is enough for the moment. Every time you turn around to glance at him, nervous that he’d simply slip away from your overbearing presence, he catches your stare without fail. Heat gathers around your ears and your lips purse unintentionally every single time and you quickly turn back to the cashier, pretending you hadn’t just been discovered ogling him.

The chair looks too small to encompass his hulking frame comfortably, the table is no different, but you guess he’s used to it by now. A man of his stature isn’t a common occurrence here. Poor thing probably has to bow to enter through most doorways and have his shirts custom-made with how wide his shoulders were. If he wore shirts at all that is.

He looks like he’s brooding when you return with the order, fingers linked together and thumbs dancing around each other.

You set the tea by his side, note the callouses and scarring around his knuckles, the roughness of his skin. Your first thought is that he’s a construction worker, it would explain his size, the biceps that are as big as your head and straining against the stitches of his hoodie, the casual clothes, and the dark circles under his eyes that make it easy for anyone to guess that he doesn’t rest enough. But then he pulls his mask down and lets it rest under his chin as he takes a prolonged sip from his drink. You note the crookedly mended nose after a trauma so potent it made your eyes water at the thought of what pain he’d endured. There’s a gash running along his thin lips, multiple ones that stand out from the light stubble peppering the lower part of his face, deep ones, ones that you guessed had needed stitches and took forever to properly heal.

Now you’re not so sure he’s a construction worker.

“So what do you do for a living?” It rolls off your tongue before you can stop it. You laugh nervously and raise a hand in a soothing motion before he even has a chance to answer. “You don’t have to tell if you’re not comfortable. I’m just curious.”

The mug of tea pauses before his lips and he gives you a skeptical look.

“Military.”

“Oh.” You blurt out and awkwardly take a sip from your coffee, nearly choking at how hot it is.

And that’s precisely the answer Ghost expected. It was a big turnoff for many people when they learned his career path, mostly because the news only displayed the bad outcomes of his work and never the good. He might have saved this entire city a week ago from a bombing and nobody would know.

It came with the territory and he half expected you to think up some lousy explanation as to why you suddenly had to go.

But you aren’t like that at all because of course, you aren’t. Why would it be made easy for him to forget you and move on with his day when you could be sweet and open and give him more reason to burn you into the crevices of his conscience instead? Why would you make an excuse and leave when you could stay and kindle the embers of his humanity and make yourself space to be a permanent memory?

That’s just his typical luck.

“Must be tough.” You muse, absentmindedly taking a napkin and wiping off the milk and tea mustache staining his upper lip, as if tending to a messy toddler. It comes instinctively and you don’t fight it until your fingers are already being poked by his stubble. “But thanks for keeping us normal folk safe.” You give his wide-eyed stare a warm smile, and tilt your head slightly to one side.

You notice the subtle way in which he moves his chin towards your hand, apprehensive of you pulling away. As if he’s fighting his demons to lean into your touch, to rest his cheek against your palm and close his eyes because he hasn’t been offered softness in so long that he doesn’t remember what it feels like anymore.

You don’t mind that his large hand reaches to try and still your wrist, aching for more delicate touches, but stops before coming in contact with your flesh, pulled back by self-deprecating restrain. You almost want to encourage him, he looks visibly altered by your simple gesture, like a dog who’d been beaten all his life and was given a treat for the first time.

“What happened to you, old soldier?” You want to ask gently, pry a little while you cup his face and let him rest on the softness of your palm, close his eyes for a brief moment of respite.

Your heart aches for him.

But then you remember he’s a stranger and the moment shatters.

The smile vanishes from your face, the warmth dissipates and you flinch back.

“Sorry.” You rush to say and crumble up the napkin in your hand before tossing it on the table and trying to brush off the suffocating awkwardness. “You had something there.” You motion to your upper lip before drowning in more coffee, hoping it will ease the discomfort.

Just what the hell had you been thinking?

And he’s not far behind you on that note. The flicker of softness dies in his chocolate browns and the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth stills and dips into neutrality. The exhaustion returns to his features and his gaze flits away from you as he gathers himself back together.

“You should eat tha’ ‘fore it gets cold.”

Your eyes trail to where he’d nudged his chin and you see the butter croissant you’d purchased along with your drinks. You giggle, it turns into a light laugh when his head cocks to the side in confusion because he’s yet to realize you’d gotten it for him.

Because why would he? He’s a soldier, he gets bullets and grenades, not tea and croissants.

Poor creature, sweet scarred sufferer, with so much weight on his shoulders you couldn’t imagine bearing.

“It’s for you.” You push the small plate closer to him and flick your hand for him to dig in, treat himself on your behalf if he won’t do it on his own accord.

“What?” He reels back in his seat slightly at your words, sets down his drink and tenses up. There’s so much disbelief there that it’s almost comical.

It’s like he’d never been treated before.

Maybe he hadn’t been.

Jesus Christ, what if he actually hadn’t been?

“I mean it’s the least I can do after drenching you in coffee.” You say and press the lid of your cup to your lips, hiding the sympathetic smile from view lest he takes it as pity.

You didn’t pity the man, not in the slightest, but from the tired eyes to the worn clothes, sunk-in shoulders and need for anonymity, you guessed he’d not seen much kindness.

It was easily discernable that he wasn’t used to taking care of himself. Coming to a café to get a drink was probably the maximum self-indulgence he’d permit himself.

“Didn’t ‘ave to.” He grumbles out, voice hoarse and cutting off at the end.

“I wanted to.” You say and wave off his meager comment.

Gods, you wanted to bathe him in sugar and softness.

He tugs the plate before him hesitantly, looking over the croissant as if not trusting it or you, then he picks it up. A small bite at first, one of apprehension before the treat melts on his tongue and awakens his taste buds. He finishes it in two mouthfuls, barely chews and you’re inclined to ask if he wants another, you’re ready to feed him the whole bakery stand if he so wishes. But he declines, whether from embarrassment or mistrust, you didn’t know.

You just know he’s hungry.

You give him your name while he’s washing down the croissant with his leftover tea, just throw it out there in the hopes that he’ll give you his. And he does after heaving a sigh.

“Simon.”

“Pretty name.” You note, toss him a friendly smile that’s a silent invitation for him to say more. “Nice to meet you then, Simon.”

But your friendliness doesn’t breach his defenses a second time. He eyes you with an unreadable expression, watches you slurp your coffee while you’re left to wonder if your compliment had been a mistake.

You might have been coming off as too friendly, trying to suck up to him after ruining his top and that was the reason why you were so nice. Or maybe he thought that there was a hidden agenda behind your acts, that you’d want something in return for your kindness and that’s why he kept his guard up.

Action without a need for reciprocation didn’t exist in his world. Nobody was stupidly selfless enough to just give and not want anything in return. But you were right there, proving him wrong and he wasn’t sure that fact was a fact anymore.

Throughout his internal debate, you’re doing your best to remain casual but it’s difficult with those dark orbs boring into your soul. It’s even more difficult when the silence settles, so you decide to ramble and keep the spirits up until he feels comfortable enough to join.

It might come off as annoying, but you’re sure he’ll stop you if you’re becoming too much to handle.

You tell him about your job, a brief summary of how rough your week had been that that was the reason why you’d come here this morning to treat yourself. You tell him you’re clumsier than you’d like to admit, that you can’t imagine drinking tea first thing in the morning. You tell him that you’d love to have a pet one day, but your landlord doesn’t permit any, ask him if he has pets or would want any. Then you ask if he’s more a cat or a dog person.

And throughout the entire time, he’s staring at you with this undigestible look and you have no idea what to make of it.

The caffeine pumping in your veins helps keep your monologue going until finally he speaks up.

“Bothering you?”

“What?” You spit out, cease your rambling and scrunch your brows at him in confusion.

“The face.” He says, motioning towards his partly obscured face like it’s so obvious. “Ain’t a pretty mug to look at.”

You blink at him silently, at a loss for words at his not-so-kind statement. Your mouth parts, struggling to form a coherent reply because you’re absolutely thunderstruck that he thinks so lowly of you as to believe you’d be affected by such a thing.

Then again, he doesn’t know you, and neither do you him.

But the fact that he’s polite enough to ask while already anticipating the answer tells you that he might have had this conversation one too many times already. Or maybe he hadn’t, maybe the mean comments and ugly remarks were all in his head and he hid his face to stifle those rather than hide from other people.

You don’t know which alternative is sadder.

“No! Not at all.” You say slowly, accenting every word that comes out of your mouth, with eyes trained on his and refusing to blink in case you missed anything. “You’re handsome, really.” You dare to reach out for him and rest your hand atop his, gentle and ready to pull back in case his features portrayed any hint of discomfort with your actions. “Plus your scars mean you put yourself before me to keep me safe, right? Can’t judge you for that.”

Now he’s the one left speechless.

Wordlessly, he twists his wrist, rolls his hand around and slowly unclenches his fingers to let yours through. And your hand is so soft and warm when it slips over his mauled palm, even the skin is a stark contrast because yours is so smooth, spotless, perfect, compared to his.

He runs his large thumb over your knuckles, relishes the tingly feeling it gives him, watches intently because he’s sure that as soon as his eyes move to somewhere else, you’ll vanish and it’ll all be over. Your fingers fall against his wrist where his pulse leisurely beats, only quickening when you shift in your seat because he thinks you’ll pull away.

Manicured nails trace over the scars poking from beneath the sleeve of his hoodie and he shivers, the hairs on his arms rising. He lets you tug the sleeve back, wanting to know how far the violent marks go. Soon enough black and grey ink peeks from under the fabric and a ghost of a smile tugs at his lips at how delighted you seem.

“Oh, I love tattoos…” You hum while tracing the tips of your fingers over it.

“Got any?” He asks absentmindedly, almost mechanically as all his attention is focused on the little hand exploring his own.

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out.” You giggle, eyes closing briefly in delight as you bask in the fuzzy atmosphere.

He bites his tongue at that, decides now isn’t the time for flirty remarks, bids you too esteemed to fall for a sleazy comeback that might result in him naked in your bed. No, you were made to be courted, won over with effort and flowers and all the things he hasn’t bothered with in the past.

You were the type of woman that he avoided for fear of messing things up, someone who deserved better than him and he wasn’t ashamed of admitting that. Yet here you were, practically thrust in his arms by chance.

“Do you want another tea?” You ask because his drink is gone and what’s left at the bottom of your cup is two sips at most. And you don’t end this to end, you don’t want him to leave just yet.

“I’m good.” He answers and retracts his arm before standing. “Gonna ‘ave a smoke outside. Cheers for the tea.”

It’s not a goodbye, but it still makes your heart ache and your mind switches to turbo mode to try and think of something.

Your next question doesn’t come from a place of desire or lust. You’ve no intent of trying to get the battered soldier into your bed and use him for selfish pleasure. You’d never let yourself be so cruel.

“Do you want to come home with me?”

You ask because to you, he’s a stray in need of a home, someone to take care of him a little and nurse him back into a better shape before his next big military mission. It’s naïve, stupid really, to think a grown man such as himself can’t take care of himself.

But the way he looks tells you a sad story and you’d spoken before thinking. Now you’re left with a hot face and a fluttering stomach as he stares at you over his shoulder with something akin to surprise.

“I mean…for lunch, sometime. My treat of course.” You say next, trying to salvage the moment before it got too awkward and you were forced to go to the toilets and hyperventilate while beating yourself up internally. “You don’t have to – ”

“ – Yeah.”

And you swear you saw his eyes squint with a smile hidden somewhere behind the bulk of his shoulder.

Chapter 2 >>>

Masterlist

#x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost fanfiction #ghost cod #ghost x reader #cod x reader #cod fanfic #cod mw2

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reasonsforhope · 1 year ago

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"Rewilding in Scotland has created a more than 400% increase in jobs, research has found amid calls for it to continue.

Research by Rewilding Britain shows 35 jobs have been created at one site alone in the Highlands since 2008.

The research found there has been a 412% increase in jobs at 13 major rewilding projects covering almost 60,000 hectares, including sites owned or managed by charities, communities, private landowners, and public bodies.

Full-time equivalent jobs across the sites increased from 24 before rewilding to 123, across sectors including hospitality, estate management, ecology, environmental monitoring, rewilding interventions, recreation, and education.

The largest recorded rise in jobs was at Trees for Life’s 4,000-hectare Dundreggan estate near Loch Ness in the Highlands, a former deer stalking estate.

Since 2008, some 35 jobs have been created in addition to the sole previous position, while volunteer numbers have risen from zero to 100.

A rewilding centre was opened at the site last year and an open invitation has been extended to Hollywood star Leonardo DiCaprio to visit it after he backed a campaign for Scotland to become the world’s first “rewilding nation”.

All the sites are more than 100 hectares in size and are part of the Rewilding Network managed by Rewilding Britain.

The research found combined volunteer numbers at the sites increased from zero to 435...

The Scottish Government has been urged to commit to nature recovery across 30% of land by restoring habitats including peatlands, native woodlands, wetlands, rivers and seas, with no loss of productive farmland.

Kevin Cumming, rewilding director at Rewilding Britain and deputy convener of the Scottish Rewilding Alliance, said: “These remarkable job creation figures show how rewilding can turbo-charge social and economic benefits, while offering hope for reversing biodiversity loss and tackling climate breakdown.

“This is yet another powerful illustration of why the Scottish Government should declare Scotland a rewilding nation.

“The opportunity is huge – for jobs and local economies, better health, food production, access to fresh water and clean air.”

The alliance’s Rewilding Nation Charter – including representations from more than 20 organisations – has been signed by thousands of people since it launched in the spring.

A Scottish Government spokesperson said: “Restoring Scotland’s natural environment is a key way that we can help address the twin challenges of nature loss and climate change, including many of the interventions championed by the Scottish Rewilding Alliance.

“We welcome this evidence of employment in rural communities and will consider this research as we continue to work towards our commitment to protect and restore 30% of Scotland’s land and seas for nature.

“Our £65 million Nature Restoration Fund has committed nearly £40 million since 2021 to unlock the full potential that nature restoration projects can bring to communities.

“The fund has supported local businesses, helped landowners with pollinator projects to boost food production and supported improved access to green spaces throughout Scotland, alongside restoration of our marine environment.”

The charter can be viewed at www.rewild.scot/charter."

-via The Independent, June 19, 2024

#scotland #rewilding #united kingdom #uk #biodiversity #scottish #environment #ecology #ecopunk #solarpunk #ecotourism #good news #hope

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grimdarling69 · 10 months ago

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Another deaged Dan and Ellie or otherwise known as Crack pt 6

Pt1. Pt2. Pt3. Pt4. Pt5.

Kon could immediately tell something was wrong with the kryptonite weapons firing at them. Another green blur shot at himnand he spun in the air over it. A move to evade the blast and check on his family.

The kryptonite guns had just enough kryptonite for it to be dangerous only if the blast hit them. They'd immediately go down. Another blast entered his field of vision, and he swerved to the side. He tried to use his supervision but was only met with lead. They couldn't get closer because of the guns, and he could see Jon get angrier his eyes glowed red in warning of his laser, and Kon flew up to evade him.

"Superboy! Don't use them it could deflect -" his father spoke from his higher position quite a few paces away from them, but Jon ignored him.

The vision hit the gun, and the metal melted into orange, red, and green mess. Like an ugly Christmas tree. Weird. Usually, Luthor would have more security than this. Something is officially wrong.

The batjet he'd been keeping an ear out for since he left finally arrived just as Jon melted another one. The jet swerved the blasts even though he doubted it could even hurt them at this point. The jet shot st a few of the blaster and destroyed them an even more explosive mess. Kon used his own vision, his glasses held in place below the lasers on his face with his hand. Another gun exploded, and his father finally got the hint and exploded several of his own.

The jet careened around them and expertly angled between the already destroyed guns and landed onto the beach. He continued exploding the guns but kept an ear out for the bats on the beach. The ones closest to him were mostly destroyed, so he joined his father in his sector while Jon landed on the beach.

Good luck.

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

Jason was not having a good time at all. Not to say he expected to have a great time rescuing his little brother, but he was hoping to try to get some of the bubbling green rage under control by demolishing some robots. He may possibly not have the best guns for demolishing these robots, he was handling it of course, he was a bat after all, he'd be an even worse disappointment if he couldn't handle some glowing green robots that remind him heavily of thing he'd prefer to leave in the past. He risked a glance toward Dick and could see him take down several robots in an expert acrobatic movement that sent him soaring off each of their head and switching between crushing or electrocuting them with his escrima sticks. Show off.

One of the robots he was fighting suddenly crackled and burned a smoking trail into the sky before exploding and sent himself and several other robots crashing into the walls and each other. It must have been faulty wiring. He knew he didn't touch that one, Babs was still mostly blocked out, and none of his siblings were running to patronize him for getting hurt. If he didn't know better, he'd say the robots were cheaply made, but that's never been Lex Luthors style.

"Red Hood. Help Red Robin turn the robots off in the central monitor room. We need to manually plug Oracles systems into the computers here." Right. Thank you, Bruce, for always being there at the worst possible times. He groaned and attempted to shake the tweeting birds away from his head.

"On it, Batman." He couldn't bring himself to use any stupid nicknames right now. He cataloged all the other bats just in case. Goldie was still the same show off. Red Robin had knocked out his robots and joined him for destroying his wave. Spoiler and Signal were in the rafters doing... something with his powers and reflective baterangs. He wasn't touching that with a fifty foot pole no way. They had a tendency to make things explode with those things. Orphan and Batman were still outside the burning hole in the wall they blasted to get through, so he couldn't find them, but they were probably kicking ads anyway. Suddenly, Tim launched himself backward through the air using his staff and landed behind him, hunkering down and messing with his wristcomputer. That assshole definitely planted explosives. He quickly got one last hit on the current robot and used it to launch himself past his head. Just as he landed, several small bombs exploded on the robots and collided with each other, creating more explosions.

"Time to go Hood."

"Lead on, Replacement."

----------

Why does Superman always disrupt my plans? Not just Superman, he reminds himself, he'd brought their son and his brother. As well as Daniel's family or Damian, whatever. The bats were the worst destroying his robots and his walls. Okay, maybe he didn't have the best robots here because they might be missing quite a few parts and kryptonite. But he needed for the portal, and both Vlad Masters and Lex Luthor were anything but resourceful.

The monitor beeped erratically. Gods above if Damian was going to flatline again. He technically wasn't flatlining but pumping ectoplasm through his heart instead of blood at that moment, and that messed with moniters, and when that happens, nurses get all hysterical and almost actually flatline him.

It wouldn't be such a problem if Damian wasn't severely lacking ectoplasm. Typically, his blood was made of both of it. All that rest from the medicine induced coma that he put him in certainly helped him fight the corruption and was now creating his own. See, if only Damian listened to him more often. It'd be better for everyone.

The moniter died down again, and he sighed and ran a hand down his face.

"Whatever am I going to with you?" He muttered with his head leaning back.

"Maybe stop beating me up." He shot up toward the voice. He wasn't supposed to be awake yet, but this was better anyway. He had to get him into the portal before the bats destroyed all the robots. Another litte voice in his brain betrayed him and reminded him the portal was still not done, and they were closing in.

"Little Badger, you know I don't start fights. I end them." He reprimanded.

"And you know I hate that nickname, and we both know you start fights all the damn time."

"Language." Damian stared unimpressed at him. How was he meant to explain this? The supers and bats somehow discovered where we are and are fighting their way in and are currently tearing the main control room apart? Actually, that isn't that bad.

He told Damian just that, and somehow, he didn't seem to like his paraphrasing. Can't please anyone anymore.

"What do you mean my family is here? How could they track us? This isle is supposed to be superproof."

"I don't know, but I don't have some ideas. I believe Susan has betrayed our trust and ratted us out. I will unfortunately have to fire her, and I was just beginning to like her." He sighed. All the best employees turn out to be useless and disloyal. That's why he prefers A.I. Until it started to betray him, too. Ugh. Never get good help anywhere nowadays.

"Vlad! Focus! I need to get to the portal right now!" He winced.

"Well, about that -" Damian shot up and stumbled on his legs from not moving for two weeks, probably. He reached to steady him.

"Don't touch me! Leave me alone." His godson growled and scampered past him. He left the medical area and quickly started studying his current readings and calculations.

" I've already checked hundreds of times. I can't find out what's wrong with it." He tried to explain but was forced to watch, and Damian grabbed a random red pen and started scribbling all over his things. He sighed again. Teenagers.

"I've got it!" Oh you've got to be kidding me!

"You're trying to create your fancy portal. We don't have the time or materials for that, but we can recreate The Fenton Portal. Most of the ectoplasm is soda anyway. I stashed some in the fridge around here since you banned me from drinking it while we were working." He explained already halfway across the lab and opening a fridge labeled 'chemicals only'. Why does he even try anymore?

More alerts were popping up. Most of his robots were down now and the last remaining ones were the brainless ones not connected to the central computer that luckily he didn't have connected to some of his tech just in case, including this lab. Which now meant he would need to take control of the robots himself. Unless he wanted them to be defeated in less than a minute. Luckily again, most of the kryptonite he had that he hadn't rerouted into the portal was inside those portals.

"I'm going to attack your family now." He announced, cracking his knuckles and hacking into his own robots easily.

"Don't kill them, or I'd have to kill you." He replied, ripping and welding parts together. He's pretty sure he just watched him weld something together with 7up. Nope. Not today.

-----------

Jon was feeling...off. He, for some strange reason, felt an urge to let himself be hit by the kryptonite. Not in a suicidal way, but in a way, he instinctively wanted to be...with the kryptonite. Something that is incredibly dangerous to kryptonians like him even if he's only half.

For a while, he dodged guns, destroyed guns, destroyed robots, and then the Reds destroyed the main computer, and most of the robots deactivated until... the robots suddenly started to get stronger and smarter.

TV moniters suddenly flickered on and Lex Luthor was displayed.

"Luthor! Return Damian Wayne now to uss and we will consider lessening your sentence." His father spoke loudly, assuming mics were around somewhere.

"Oh really? You've never been able to get those charges to stick before. What make you think they'll suddenly stick now?" He mocked cruelly.

"You won't get away with this, this time, Luthor." Batman threatened.

"Coming from the man who can even get a failed circus clown to stay in prison? I think I'll be fine."

"Luthor, I know that something is going on. If you tell us we can help you." Nightwing spoke masterfully, emphasizing the man who stole his little brother. He didn't trust he wouldn't stare screaming and yelling at the crazy fruitloop if he tried to say anything. Wait-fruitloop? Where did that come from? He shook his head to clear the thought, but he somehow made eye contact with the shadow he suspected to be Orphan. Who is somehow emitting a very concerned aura. He ignored that and focused on the conversation just in time to hear large explosions from the TV.

"Damian!" Nightwing yelled out. Superman glanced around wildly as if trying ti will himself into seeing or hearing through lead.

He was concerned... but he didn't feel as worried as he should be for his best friend. Like he was definitely worried but he had a gut feeling he would be fine. And a little exasperated for some reason.

"What the hell are you doing? Get back to work! If we don't get that portal open before they find us, I'm going to rearrange your organs upside down!" Luthor yelled behind him. He could feel his face heat up, and he covered his eyes just in case.

"Don't you dare threaten him!" Nightwing yelled at the screen. Batman was starting at his wrist screen as if it would disappear if he looked away. The shadow had slunked away sometime. Spoiler and Signal nowhere to be seen.

"What are you gong to do? Reach through the screen and throttle me?" He taunted.

The screen suddenly started to glitch out in green bursts. It reminded him of kryptonite but...

"I've found them. Follow these directions. I'm almost there myself." He overheard Signal from Batmans comms. He repeated them twice, but he had already grabbed Nightwing and saw his dad grab his own bat. They couldn't go as fast as he wanted to because of the tight spaces, making superspeed dangerous to the supports. If they went too fast, the building could go down on them. They went faster than they should have anyway.

They reached the door where Signal, Spoiler, and Orphan were trying to wrench the doors off the hinges using several blowtorches and a misshapen crowbar.

"I've got it." He set Nightwing on the ground and cleared the door off the hinges just to see a large explosion of green. And Lex Luthor shooting powered up kryptonite(?) from his hands.

He dodged the blasts but his father wasn't able to and was sent flying to the wall smoking.

"Dad!" He screamed his anger at him forgotten. He flew over him and he vaguely remembers a yellow blur following him.

There was a smoking crater on his chest. Burns of all degrees decorating his suit.

"Dad?" He collapsed to the floor infront of him.

"It's okay, Jon. It's not that... bad... it looks worse than is. I promise. Go...bakc to the...fight." his dad spoke, his voice cracking, and he knew his dad was completely powered down. He had to get him to the sun.

"I'm getting you out of here." He promised and gathered him into his arms carefully. He was about to laser several random walls down when Signal handed him the closest trajectory to the outside.

"Hurry. We can handle this." He lied. They couldn't handle a powered Luthor, and he's couldn't let his dad die. He nodded and turned his head away, and his eyes lit up in burning pools of red.

----------

The green was mesmerizing. The only word Cass could describe it. Like it was the only thing that could understand her. It reminded her of the Lazarus Pits.

She ran inside with Spoiler, Nightwing, and Batman close behind. Luthor tried to shoot at them, but they dodged skillfully. She looked past him and could see Damian typing madly on a computer. His movements were deliberate, and he knew what he was doing, but his body betrayed hum to her. His fingers were still, but his wrist twisted slightly too much. His ankles shifted weight between one another. His head tilted backward like he was physically stopping himself from looking at them.

"Damian!" Nightwing vaulted over a blast.

Damian froze for a second but willed himself to continue with new determination, painting his body. Something wasn't right. He should be running to them. Telling them he had a plan they ruined but would pause for enough time they knew he was struggling if they asked for it.

"Damian? We're here to save you!" Nightwing dodged another blast. She could see his plan. Distract both Damian and luthor. It was working, too. Luthor was occssionly shooting her, but he'd all but forgotten about Batman and Spoiler in the rafters.

Damian wasn't at all easily distracted she could tell from his headtilt he was watching them. He sped up the computer. The large portal machine expanded, and greens swirled around.

"Shut it down, Damian!" Nightwing shouted, attempting to rush luthor but failing. She launched herself using the distraction to take luthor out. He is somehow stronger than she can remember flung her off rough enough she hit the wall. She saw stars and failed to rise. Her vision was blurring, but she could see Batman's blurry figure attempting to subdue luthor and succeeding. Where's spoiler?

There she is! Spoiler kumped down on top of Luthor and put meta cuffs on him using the elemnt of suprise. Nightwing reached Damian just as the portal exploded, adding unfamiliar purples mixed in. Nightwing was thrown back, but he recovered and ran back. Batman and Luthor struggled in vain for control. She blinked, and Spoiler was a purple blur at her side.

Her body riddled with worry. She reached out and gently prodded her for injuries.

"Fine. Help little... brother." she tried to say, but it was mostly slurred from the blood loss. Spoiler glanced at her nervously and took out her field aid.

"No. Fine." She attempted to convey, but she just shushed her quietly. She turned back to the fight just in time to catch Damian slip through the portal. Nightwing didn't hesitate to run after him.

"No!" Her father's voice and anguished growled after watching two sons slip through. He tried to follow them, but Luthor got free and broke the computer powering. Just as Batman reached the edge, he hesitated, and the portal fizzled out.

She tried to stay awake but the gentle shushing from Spoiler lulled her into the embrace of darkness.

---------

Dick Grayson hit the strange glowing bluish snow and rolled to a soft stop. He looked around frantically and spotted Damian kneeling on the ground. He had his arms wrapped around himself, and his face was screwed up in pain.

"Damian!" He ran to him and kneeled by his side, hesitating to grab his son if he was injured but wanting to scoop him up after being missing for two months now.

"You shouldn't be here." He murmured but he leaned against him heavily.

"I've been looking for you everywhere. We almost thought you were dead." He gave up looking for physical injuries apart from the maybe a mix between 1st and 2nd degree burns and clutched his son to his chest.

"It's not...safe for you...here."

"And it is for you?" He gathered him in his arms best he could, minding the burns on him. Neither of them were wearing clothes meant for the storm.

The strange snow was colder than any snow he's ever seen before, and it had an otherworldly component to it. Another point for the interdimensinal portal. Behind then sharp hissing screeched behind them and the greens snd purples disappeared. Shit. That was their way out.

"Who goes there?" A large voice echoed from the trees and he cursed himself for not studying his surrounding more. A large...yeti? Emerged from the pine trees he wore armor and had a ice prosthetic hand. He looked mean and rugged.

"Frostbite!" Damian yelled from his arms and started struggling. He gripped him tighter. Like hell, he was letting him loose after everything. Even if he somehow knew this kinda of cool looking yeti. The yetis eyes lit up in what he thinks his recognition.

"Great one? Have you returned to us? Who is this?" The yetis voice was softer but still dangerous he kept his mouth shut and hoped Damian knew what to say.

"My-baba? We need to get your village. I need some help." Wow. Damian had never acknowledged he was anything other than his older brother before. If he wasn't a bat and damn good at compartmentalizeing, he'd probably start crying. Or pass out. Probably both.

"All right then, Great One. Any family or friends of his is friends of ours. Follow me."

Which is how he came to be standing in the middle of an entire town of yetis getting scrutinized by Frostbite(?).

"So how did you meet our King? I've never seen you before." He questioned curiously. What the actual fuck did he get into now.

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mikkies · 2 months ago

Text

「 YOU'RE LUCKY I ADORE YOU. 」

Griefer x GN! Botanist! Reader

warnings: none!

notes: I just beat McCool for the Aggressor card, it's an aight card.

THE FAINT HUM of crickets filled the warm night air as you climbed the wooden planks spiraling around the massive tree that housed Griefer’s room. Balancing a pot of freshly potted aloe vera in one arm and a bag of homemade soil mix in the other, you muttered under your breath, “I swear, one day I'm going to break every game console he owns if he doesn’t keep his space clean.”

You reached the top and hesitated outside the makeshift door made of corrugated metal. Despite the chaotic mess that likely awaited you inside, you couldn’t help but smile. There was something endearing about his unapologetic lifestyle, even if it clashed with your love for organization and plants.

Knocking softly, you called out, “Griefer? It’s me. I brought you something.”

There was a loud crash, followed by a muffled, “Y0U C4N C0ME 1N OR WH4T?”

Pushing open the door, you stepped into the dimly lit room. Neon lights from his numerous monitors illuminated the clutter of soda cans, game cartridges, and stray socks strewn across the floor. He sat cross-legged on a beanbag, wearing his signature neon green jacket with red finishes and his black cap adorned with the red cobweb design.

“WH4T'S TH4T?” he asked, his red eyes narrowing at the aloe vera in your hand.

“It’s an aloe vera plant,” you explained, setting it down on his desk. “It’s great for purifying the air and can help with burns. Not that you’d ever leave this room long enough to get sunburned.”

He scoffed, leaning back and crossing his arms. “PFFT, WH0 N33DZ PL4NTS WH3N Y0U H4V3 TH3 D1G1T4L W0RLD?”

Ignoring his attitude, you knelt to clear a small space for the plant, brushing aside an empty Witches' Brew can. “Do you know that aloe vera has over seventy-five active compounds that are good for you? It’s been used for medicinal purposes for thousands of years.”

“BL4H, BL4H, BL4H,” he interrupted, mimicking your tone. “Y0U R34LLY TH1NK I C4R3 4B0UT S0M3 L34FY G00P?”

You stood, placing your hands on your hips. “Well, maybe you should care. This room is a biohazard. If you’re going to keep living up here, you need to at least have some greenery to offset all this... mess.”

For a moment, he said nothing, staring at the plant with a half-scowl. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he muttered, “F1N3. K33P Y0UR W33D.”

You smiled triumphantly and began rambling about the care instructions, completely oblivious to the way his expression softened. Despite his rough edges and tough-guy act, you knew he appreciated your company more than he’d ever admit. You caught him glancing at the aloe vera as you spoke, his lips twitching into a faint smile when he thought you weren’t looking.

“And,” you added, “in case you were wondering, aloe vera is also great for cuts. Just in case you, you know, get too into one of your games.”

He snorted, his red teeth flashing. “Y0U’R3 R34LLY W31RD.”

You grinned. “And yet, here I am, taking care of you.”

His gaze softened further, but he quickly turned away, pretending to focus on his screen. “WH4T3V3R. JUST D0N’T T3LL 4NY0N3.”

“Deal,” you replied, laughing.

As you left his room that night, you couldn’t help but feel a tiny victory in your heart. Maybe, just maybe, Griefer wasn’t as tough as he liked to pretend.

#* ∙ ✰ ◞ 미키 ✗ posts.#block tales x reader #block tales #roblox block tales #block tales roblox #griefer x reader #griefer #block tales griefer #griefer blocktales #x reader #blocktales x reader

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necrolog1st · 2 months ago

Text

headcanons/sketches with LUKA/gn!reader

fandom: ALIEN STAGE

warning: gn!reader, romantic, sfw, BUT toxic relationship(?) in 'First Kiss', angst, bad english (sorrrry, give me a chance), comfort to hurt, mention of bl00d, slightly yandere.

1,5+- words

First meeting...

Luka has been a winner in life since birth, in terms of indicators, in terms of the plan that was created long before him. Born from a test tube, an ideal boy who was ahead of his peers on all fronts. His baby teeth had just started to fall out, and he was already on a strict diet, his pulse was constantly monitored, cardio training had become torture. Control over him was on the surface, permeating his every movement.

He sat alone. As always.

In front of Luka's eyes, artificial grass slowly moved, children ran along the green lawn. Ringing laughter in the distance, like a stuck record, was spinning in his mind as an echo. Luka quietly leaned against a tree and looked at his palm, sitting on an artificial lawn. His whole life was spent in this garden - or rather in a glass box, a zoo where aliens raise cattle for the stage. Few children dared to meet the 'elite' idol, even though he was a child, so he unconsciously remained alone in this dollhouse for days on end. He didn't know what the word friendship meant, but sometimes he caught himself wishing that someone would come up to him. Caress him. Just stay silent together.

The wind touched his back - for the first time that day, he shuddered. Someone's shadow slid past Luka's gaze, creating a barely perceptible breath of wind. The first thing he saw in front of him, still looking at his palm, were the petals that were swirling around him like a whirlwind of butterflies. He blinked in surprise. Looking up, he saw you holding a bouquet of various flowers in your hands, some of the flowers scattered, although the owner carefully held them in his hands. Luka felt the touch. A red flower lay on his palm. Finally, looking up, Luka saw a small smile on your face, previously unfamiliar to him.

— You're looking at your palm so intently. Was there something interesting in it?

The stranger carefully sat down in front of Luka so as not to break the stems of the flowers in the bunch. The flowers were tangled in his hair, and strands fell on his forehead, tickling his eyelids.

Luka looked. And suddenly — the corners of his lips twitched. He snorted, not knowing how to laugh sincerely. Not loudly, almost to himself, but truly.

As if the air around him became a little lighter. It was not just a smile. It was the first movement of life in the boy.

Awareness of feelings. . .

Since then, he stuck to you like Velcro. Before you appeared, there was an invisible crack between him and his peers. He knew by heart how to speak, the necessary expressions and smiles, learned by heart, but he did not understand, did not feel why. You were the first whose presence broke through this wall. He was indifferent to many, but as soon as he heard your voice in the distance, his eyes immediately shone. For the first time, he felt that there is a balance in control and freedom. You guided him: pushed him towards the company of children, prompted how to enter into a conversation. But you did not pressure. Although usually Luka just sat solving the secret of the Rubric cube, leaning on your shoulder, touching his temple with it, drooling. However, you also allowed him to feel fleeting freedom, when you discreetly gave him a sweet from your lunch, when you casually wove flowers into his hair. Nevertheless, he keeps the very flower that you gave him on their first meeting as a bookmark. However, after you saw his small herbarium, you often gave him flowers of different varieties. Tactility is his special form of showing love. Luka rarely understands your emotions, when you are angry or confused, he is simply unable to understand this, so in any situation he smiles the most sincere smile and hugs you. At such moments his hands trembled slightly. And in his chest something was born that was probably called love. He didn't care what label this feeling was signed with, but he already knew that he would not let you go.

The first kiss. . . (!Agnst)

From the cradle, Anakt Garden instills in children that after death there is a wonderful serene place. Paradise - just wait for your reward. It was worth only a fleeting visit on the stage - dreams were shattered into pieces, and the fragments stuck deep in the soul.

The first round. When you saw aliens in front of you, your heart sank with fear, your trembling lips continued to sing, but your hands shook. You wanted to turn away, run away to the side, just take a step into the darkness, but there an opponent was waiting for you, the same - scared, clinging to life. You were afraid to look him in the eyes, afraid that he was a reflection of yourself. His trembling voice, breaking, tore the melody, turned all sounds into noise. It doesn't matter how talented he is, it only matters how much he is ready to hide his fear and trembling lips. As soon as the results flashed on the screen, you stood petrified, the sea humming in your ears. A smile appeared on your face, only you, those who lived through it, understand how forced it was.

Because you didn't want to die.

A shot rang out close, almost point-blank, your opponent fell to the ground. The stage was filled with applause - alien, cold. Somewhere they were shouting your name.

A dull metallic hum rang in your chest, while spotlights shone on you and erasers in support warmed you brighter than the stars. Your legs became cottony, your lips became salty, your hands went numb. Finding the strength in yourself, you waved to your 'fans', chewing, energetically, as expected of you.

You survived

No part of you - remained there, bleeding, where a complete stranger lay whose life you unknowingly ruined. And this part will rot for a long time. For the first time, it became scary to be alive.

You sat on the cold floor in the hallway, unable to reach the dressing room, leaning your face on your palms. The air was heavy - as if made of plastic and blood. The white lamps above your head dimly blinked like your eyes, in which there was not even the strength for tears and self-pity. The pupils were wet and empty, you could not lie that you did not care. The feeling that something important had left your life, and nothing new would come. Your feelings were equivalent to their absence. Hair careless, stuck to the skin, hands trembled, fingers could not close. Before that, you were congratulated, but you heard only your own breathing, as if you survived not thanks to but in spite of. You were completely alone, not understanding how much time had passed since that moment. There was no spark in the eyes that could prove that the person was alive. You felt discomfort hearing mechanical sounds. The camera was watching you. You were just a singing animal in their eyes.

A dull stomp came from the silence. You sluggishly turned your head - your neck crunched, as if something inside, not a bone but something deeper. You did not see the face of the person who entered, but at the same moment you realized that it was Luka. The red light on your collar continued to burn - like an ominous distress signal, like a reminder: you are not free. The collar seemed to not allow you to breathe fully, the metal squeezed your throat, like someone's squeezing palm, you wanted to rip it off, break it, cling with your nails, but you knew that after that there would only be pitch darkness. Having fully felt the hopelessness, that there would be more rounds after this one, and most importantly, that you were afraid of your death no less than the others, you smiled. Or tried to. Dry, cracked lips did not obey, there was a glassy reflection in your eyes, like a caught fish that has not yet realized that it has died. You did not know what Luka would do, you only returned your face and covered it with your palms. The fabric rustled somewhere behind your back, someone's warm hands wrapped around you. The warmth was alive, real, almost homely. He laughed quietly, almost tenderly - the same laugh that you heard when you first met in Anakt Garden. The same laugh that then seemed sincere, and now - sounded like mockery.

And you understood: he does not feel. He does not hear your thoughts, does not feel your horror. For him, all this is just a game. A round. Control. Your pain was unspeakable, incinerating, nothing more than numbers on a screen for him. It felt like warmth after torture. Luka wasn't a villain - he was just emotionally deaf.

Luka looked at your back - his gaze was warm, almost stupidly loving. His hand slid to your face, blue fingertips gently moved your palms from your face. Like someone stroking a broken bone - gently but as painful as possible. Instant eye contact, and then you realized his plan.

And then - a kiss.

It was soft, almost gentle. His lips covered yours. He buried his hand in your hair, still behind you, squeezing your body tighter. Euphoria raged inside Luka, he kissed obsessively, trying not to miss a single centimeter. For a second he froze, trying to feel and remember every breath. Luka smiled quietly under his breath, kissing the corners of your lips, in order to let you catch your breath. At that moment, he felt a drop fall on his face. He carefully ran his finger from the place where the drop fell to his lips, wetting his lips with it. It was your tear.

He noticed how your body jerked. He saw how you inhaled convulsively, trying to take at least one full breath through the spasms and approaching nausea. Your stomach twisted, your throat tightened - you did not throw up only because there was almost nothing left in you. Your nose was blocked from tears. Your breathing became intermittent, dirty, with wheezing. Your body trembled not from the cold - from horror, from helplessness. You did not respond to the kiss. You could not. This touch was the last thing that kept you from falling - and now it worked the other way around. You broke. Scenes from the round flashed through your head like flashes of pain. The world began to float, as if underwater - blurred contours, alien sounds. Tears flowed down your face, merging with snot, with coughing, with wheezing. There was no more dignity, no meaning. Only you - broken, pathetic, choking on yourself. And Luka was still hugging you. Carefully. As if he was saving you. As if he thought he was doing the right thing.

But you felt nothing but pain. And hatred.

Not for him. For yourself.

@.SAM1_studio(tg) TY FOR BANNER

Cr: @.alienstagepngg(tg) , @.uzmacchiato,

#alien stage #alnst #alnst luka #alien stage x reader #gn!reader #alnst x reader #luka alien stage #fanfic

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lostinlovingrevery · 6 months ago

Text

You Set Me Free

Weapon X! Logan X F! Reader

A/N: Weapon X? More like Weapon SEX, amiright? Huh? Huh?

Logan gets some serious post nut clarity in this one

Plot: You'd been watching the secret research lab at Lake Alkali, searching for a way to save your husband who's been turned into a weapon. You find one night that your reunion may come sooner and more differently than you think...

Warnings: SMUT, 18+!, MAJOR DUBCON/NONCON/CNC ELEMENTS YALLS, Unprotected PiV, multi creampies, feral Logan, oral (F! recieving), logan sniffs reader a lot, mentions of fluids, rough sex, outdoor sex, a nice reunion I guess?, I didn't mean for this to go on as long as it did., yall are prob gonna judge me when you finish reading. Maybe this be seen as an analogy for sex connecting people? idk

Word Count: 4453

The wind blew softly through the trees, making leaves and branches rustle through the warm spring air. Crickets chirped rhythmically. Stars, nearly hidden by the green canopy of pine trees, twinkled in the night sky. The forest was dark, and mostly quiet, save for a distant noise that was approaching slowly. A deer runs by - stopping first with its tail up, and a twitch of its nose, before disappearing between the trees.

It was observing you as you walked through the forest, each step crunching the leaves and sticks underneath.

You were coming back from an unsuccessful reconnaissance mission. Walking back to the cabin you were temporarily calling home. The cabin, conveniently located on the other side of Lake Alkali, allowed you to observe the activities at the concrete giant posing as a regular dam for the lake- when inside you knew the horrific truths that were happening.

It’s been 6 months since you last seen him. Well, see him as…him. The real him. Not the weapon they turned him into. It pains you to see what they’ve done, and what they will continue doing to him.

You deemed Logan the love of your life almost immediately after you met him- about 6 years ago. When he was brought to the mansion, he nearly pummeled you after running into you in the hall during his confused haze where he was trying to figure out where he was. After that, he was nothing but polite and apologetic, and soon you two got to know each other and eventually fell in love.

You continued walking through the forest, your hand unconsciously moving to your ring finger, twisting and fiddling with the ring that Logan had given you. It was nearly a year ago when he proposed- and you two got hitched a month after. You were too impatient to plan a wedding, and neither of you was much for throwing big parties after all. You were lost in thought, not paying attention to the surroundings you have become so familiar with in the last 5 months.

You didn’t notice how the sound of nature has stopped.

Only the quiet crunch of your footsteps echoed through the woods.

A few months after Logan came to the mansion, the team got into a nasty skirmish with Dr. Stryker and his group of scientists and military officials that worked under the radar of the U.S government, performing illegal and immoral experiments on mutant kind. It was found out that Logan had apparently been a victim of those experiments years and years ago, and he had supposedly gotten his revenge on Stryker, leaving the man for dead, wounded and bleeding, in the cold, secluded forests that Lake Alkali was found in.

Only years later, the X-men find out the bastard escaped his fate, and had still continued his operations after successfully alluding and then tricking the U.S. government, which allowed him to continue his research. It led to a complicated scheme that captured Logan, your love.

They broke him down and practically tortured him, turning him into the base layer of his mutation. A beast. A creature they themselves could barely control, having to create a device that allowed them to track his movements and monitor him- and make him come back to the base once the mission was complete. They used him for countless assassinations- another part of Stryker's plans, in order to gain more power over the government.

It practically destroyed you. It took the entire team to talk you down from storming into the secret base of operations alone with your powers and wiping out every single fucker in the place, and saving your love- and the other victims trapped there. It was Hank really, who managed to calm you down, since his position as secretary of Mutant Affairs allowed him to be able to get to the right people that can help. It wasn’t that the X-men couldn’t do it, but Stryker's operations have grown, with a lot of loyal subjects and a lot of controlled and dangerous mutants- Logan being one- that would make things even more complicated.

The plan was reconnaissance- something you quickly volunteered for. Someone who will stay nearby and observe the base- learn the schedules, the people- whatever information that could help. Your powers helped you with that, allowing you to get close and learn much information needed.

Some days you’re able to get some real information, but other days- like today. It was dead quiet. The usual trucks moving in and out, scientists and guards on smoke breaks, talking about their plans for the weekend. You saw no sign of Logan, so you assumed they must be keeping him inside today, no “missions” for him to complete.

You continued twisting the ring on your ring finger, a comforting habit that you have developed when you found yourself missing him. You counted the days when you’d see him again. Looking up at the sky, you noted how the stars always looked bright and beautiful around here.

When will Logan get to see those stars again?

You suddenly felt your hair rise along your arms and neck, and a sudden sense of danger was screaming at you. You stopped in your tracks, slowly glancing around at the dark forest that surrounded you.

When did it get so quiet?

Fear crawled up your throat from your gut, as you took a few steps backward, staring straight ahead. Something, someone was watching you. There were predators in the forests, coyotes, bears, whatever, you’ve encountered them a few times but never actually had an issue with them before. Whatever was stalking out there, hidden in the darkness and tree lines, was something you felt was more dangerous than a bear.

Turning on your feet, you took after back towards the small cabin. Your footsteps echoed through the trees as you ran down the path, weaving through trees to hopefully throw off whoever was following you, someone was certainly following you though- because you could hear the sound of footsteps that weren’t your own closing in behind you.

Your heart was pounding, blood rushing in your ears. You don’t know what or who was chasing you. The closer the sound behind you got, the more your limbs began to feel like jello- and you prepared yourself for a fight. It was when you turned your head to try to get a glimpse at your pursuer- that your blood ran cold.

You could see Logan, chasing you on his hands and feet. Snarling face, wild untamed hair, with that metal cage-like helmet on his head. He had next to nothing on, aside from some cloth that looked like shorts or boxers. He looks like an animal. You knew you would not be able to escape him- Logan was too fast. Just in the few seconds you had looked at him, he had already closed in several feet between you.

You turned forward, and could see the silhouette of your cabin in the distance.

Maybe I can make it

Your thoughts were drowned out by the loud growl emitted from Logan, and you felt your body being tackled to the ground. The harsh tackle knocked the wind out of you, and your head knocked to the ground.

You were barely able to comprehend what was happening, feeling a heavy weight pressed on top of you- at first you only saw stars, before Logan’s snarling face came into view.

He was so different. His hair was wild and grown out, and face twisted and contorted into something you didn’t recognize, wrinkled nose and bags under his eyes. His teeth bared- his canines sharp like an animal. He looked at you with murderous intent- yet you couldn’t bring it in you to use your powers to fight back. You couldn’t hurt him even though you knew that he was likely about to kill you right then and there.

You reached your hands up to cup his face, his own hands roughly grabbing yours and pinning them on either side of your head. You gasped-

“Logan-” You breathed. There was no change in his expression- except…He sniffed. You blinked, staring up at him in confusion. He took another sniff, his face relaxing into something more bewildered, as he leaned down into your neck, and took a deep sniff, his nose pressed into the crook of your neck.

Confusion wracked your brain, and then you heard him grunt.

Wait a minute, did he recognize you? Your scent?

You always teased him over that. The way he liked to deep inhale of your hair or neck. He’d always rolled his eyes and smirked.

“Can’t help it, princess, you smell so damn good all the time.”

You felt his hip press into yours, as he groaned again before his tongue licked against your skin, hot and wet.

You’re fucking kidding me,

Is he seriously getting fresh with you?

You’re never going to let him live this down if you get out alive

His nose brushed up the crook of your neck, his hot breath sending goosebumps down your skin. His hips started to grind against yours. You’d almost laugh at the situation you found yourself in; if it weren’t for the fact that you were getting wet by his mere rutting over you. You didn’t know what to do, what the hell do you do in this kind of situation?

One of his hands let go of your wrist that he had trapped, and came down to grope at your breast, soft and careful at first, before he gripped it, fondling it roughly. His head came up to lick the space behind your ear. You swallowed, your eyes watching his every movement when it occurred to you that your hand was free- and he was close enough for you to rip off that helmet.

You waited, letting him grunt and lick at your skin, keeping him distracted with…Whatever he was doing. You counted the seconds- hoping that Logan's superior senses were clouded by his pure animalistic horniness to notice the change in your body.

In a quick movement, your hand reached up, yanking the metal cage of his head with a rough movement, and throwing it to the side. His head shot up - eyes wide and angry, staring at you and then to the helmet, where it rolled across the ground before finally stopping, upside down, a few feet away from where you and Logan were.

Not paying you any mind he climbed off of you, walking on his two feet over to the helmet. You turned to your side, panting as a little relief climbed over you.

Did you do it?

He bent over, picking up the metal cage, his eyes examining the object. There was a quiet neutralness in his expression, and you wondered if your Logan has come back. He looked insane, with his hair and beard grown out, bulging muscles all the way from his shoulders down to his calves, cloth- which looked similar to some type of jean shorts was the only thing covering him- still, tight enough to leave little to imagination, you could see his erection pressing against the cloth. He looked like some rated R version of Tarzan.

A beat passed, and he suddenly tears the metal apart with a roar. You watched in terrror- and slight arousal- as he raged against the helmet, tearing it into smaller pieces- shrapnel flying into the woods and landing on the ground near you. You could make out small pieces of electrical wire and circuit boards scattered in the grass and dirt.

Bastards, you thought to yourself, as you moved to push yourself up from the ground. Logan finished his rage, yelling into the forests with a fierce roar that echoed through the trees and sent fear up your spine. You were up on your knee when Logan turned out- looking straight at you. Your stomach sank at the sight of his eyes- still wild and frenzied.

It wasn’t him, whatever part of Logan you knew was still deep asleep inside the beast of the man you were gazing at.

You were not safe yet.

You pushed up to your feet, and quickly turned to continue running back to your cabin. It was stupid, considering you barely got two steps before you were knocked down to your stomach. You attempted to crawl, but his hands grabbed your ankles, and pulled you under him- flipping you roughly onto your back.

You didn’t have a minute to process when his hands went to your shirt and r i p p e d it apart. He ripped your bra apart too, baring your stomach and breasts to him. You gasped, your hands went to his shoulders, some attempt to regain control that was completely futile.

He dipped his head down to your chest, his tongue running over your nipples, his hands roughly gripping your waist and pulling you onto him, grinding against your core.

“Logan-” You gasped- your hand moving to press against his forehead to push him off you. “Lo- I know you missed me and all-” You say, some feeble attempt to calm yourself and your pounding heart to add some humor to this…situation you found yourself in.

He growled, shoving your hand off him as he lurched forward, licking and biting your neck roughly, making you whimper at the feeling of his teeth scraping over your skin. You attempted to crawl out from under him, but he held you in place.

You couldn’t run, you couldn’t fight.

You managed to turn your head to look at him, grunting and grinding against you. A deep part of you wondered if maybe there was some part of him inside that was reaching out to you. Did your scent trigger a memory? Does he recognize you through his animalistic haze, and he’s desperately trying to connect with you in the only way he knew how due to his brainwashing?

It was Logan. He could never hurt you.

He sat up, his attention moving to your jeans, a deep growl escaped him as he reached down and grabbed where you jeans were buttoned together and pulled them apart, ripping them open at the seams, exposing your panties to him, wet with your arousal due to his grinding and licking at your skin. He lifted your hips ups, face planting against your mound as he took a deep inhale of your scent, making you gasp. He stuck his tongue out, running it up your clothed pussy- and letting out a deep groan, almost a whimper.

It made your skin hot, the way he groaned at the taste of you. You’ve heard him let that same noise out countless times, the way he inhaled your scent like you smelled like a fresh baked pie. He’d act like you tasted so sweet, like he could never get enough of you.

He let out something resembling a whine again, and his hand came up, grabbing the hem of your panties and ripping them off you- the fabric scratched your skin- but you could barely register the pain of the fabric because Logans mouth crashed onto your wet pussy. You squealed, the feeling of his tongue running up and down your folds, not in any particular pattern, it was like he was drinking every ounce of you, unable to quench his thirst as you swore you could hear him audibly gulping your fluids down.

His tongue came over your clit, making you involuntarily thrust into his mouth. He opened his eyes and looked up at you- filled with a hazey lust, his brows creased angrily. His beard and hair scratched your inner thighs, leaving them red, but the juices of his spit and your fluids coated them as he carried on practically eating you alive. His nails dug into your hips, tight enough to scratch you.

You felt your stomach getting tight. He wasn’t even doing anything particular to stimulating you other than his tongue running over every inch of your slit, occasionally dipping into your hole- pulsing around him. The wrongness of it all, the animalistic nature of him though- you couldn’t help it. You attempted to push his head off you, snapping out of your lustful state, I shouldn’t let this happen. Both your hands came up pressing his against his forehead, as you started to squirm in attempt to get away.

He grunted, attempting to continue devouring you, before anger flashed across his face. He snarled, shoving you into the ground and flipping you onto your stomach.

“Ah! - Lo!”

You yelped, as he pulled off the tattered pieces of your clothes still on you, leaving you completely bare and vulnerable to him. He leaned over you, his tongue running from your back up to the back of your neck, you felt drops of his spit on your shoulder- as he shuffled behind you, desperately pulling off his pants. You attempted to crawl away one more time, but his hands grabbed you, pulling you back under him. One hand went into your hair, fingers gripping and pulling your head back and to the side eliciting a cry from you, as he leaned down and bit into your shoulder.

His other hand, brought your hips and ass up- and you felt his throbbing member press into your soaked folds, grinding into you. His legs pressed against the outside of yours, your body tensed, your toes curling as you waited for the inevitable thrust. You knew this was so goddamn wrong, but your body hummed in anticipation and excitement.

It had been a kinky pleasure between you and Logan, the way he would let his animalistic side out on you, pinning you down and fucking you until you nearly blacked out. What was happening now was no different, other than the fact that the Logan you knew was not there to control himself from going too far.

His tip found your leaking hole, and pressed into you. He let out a harsh pant against your shoulder, where he was still biting down on you, before fully thrusting himself inside- a shriek escaping you. Your legs kicking from the intensity of him forcing inside you. It didn’t matter how many times you and Logan had been together- the size of him was always intense the first few minutes. Your body trembled, your hands digging into the dirt below you. You could feel his chest heaving against your back, and his other hand went and grabbed your hip, before he pulled out nearly to the tip, and thrusting back inside harshly.

He began to pick up pace, the weight of his body pinning you to the forest floor, he was grunting with every thrust, your body bouncing with his movements as he took you with a ferocity you never felt before. His hands gripped your hair tighter, yanking your head back farther, as he moved to clamp down on your neck, leaving a deep bite mark in your shoulder that was turning shades of blue and purple, a whine escaping him as he continued thrusting. You felt him slamming into you, his large cock molding shape inside of you, and eventually you melted- pleasure fully enveloping your body.

“Oh god- Logan-” You cried, hot tears pricking your eyes from the stimulation of him everywhere.

It’s been so long.

You attempted to arch your back, trying to get that perfect angle so he could hit that sweet spot that would send you careening. Logan hissed at how tight you pulled around him. He let go of the clamp he had on your neck, pulling your hips and angling you to be practically folded in half. His large arms wrapped around your waist and he pressed his face into your mid-back, and you felt his drool falling against your skin, practically burning from how hot it was.

He thrusted into you with an inhuman pace, you could barely keep up, your eyes rolling back as you felt your stomach tighten, your hole squeezing tight around him, and your thighs began to tremble. His tip repeatedly thrusted into you, hitting the sweet gummy spot inside you- and sent you over the edge.

You cried out his name, as he fucked into you through your orgasm that seemed to never stop- you body shaking and you could barely focus on anything. He fucked into you one more time, and a loud roar slammed his hips into your ass, burying deep inside you and you felt spurts of his cum covering inside your walls. He kept thrusting, burying himself over and over inside you, making sure every bit of his seed is buried inside. It felt neverending the way he seemed to keep cumming in you.

With a harsh grunt he finally stopped inside you, his arms still wrapped around your waists holding you tight against him. He was panting, his large chest heaving- your body still trembling.

He pulled out, pushing and manuevering you onto your back. Your arms laid out on either side of your head, your hair tangled into the dirt and twigs below you. Your legs spread wide, as your combined fluids soaked your thighs and lower stomach and his cum slowly leaked out of your hole. The strength of your muscles felt utterly depleted.

Your eyes took in the wild man sitting up before you. Sweat dripped down his body, your arousal from earlier covering his lower face and beard. His muscles flexed and veins popping out down his arms and stomach. He panted, as he stared down at you, his eyes still wild- but not as quite ferocious. Your eyes trailed down to his cock, hard and swollen already, his tip beet red and leaking generous amounts of pre-cum. You swore you could see him throbbing.

Oh fuck

He climbed back over you, and you couldn’t bother to try to move. Your legs were spread wide for him, and your body was pliant. He braced his hands on either side of your hips, and thrusted back into you with a swift motion of his hips. You gasped, the feeling of fullness returning but not as quite overwhelming as the first time.

He grunted as he begin bouncing in and out of you again. You were overstimulated, your heart was pounding in your ear, and pleasure enveloped your body as he took you roughly again. You could barely move, as his large cock moved in and out of you with ease. It wasn’t quite as rough as the first time, but you swear he was being gentler with you.

You felt yourself relaxing this time around, letting him do what he wanted. Your mind pictured all the sweet moments you and him shared in the past together. If he wakes up out of this haze, break free from the brain washing- you’re not quite sure if he’ll remember this...Or how you’ll explain it to him.

He watched your breasts bounce with his movements, fascination and enjoyment in his eyes. If you hadn’t felt so weak, and fucked-out, you’d probably laugh. His hands grabbed your legs, the space under your knees and pushed them up towards your chest as he went deeper, angling himself inside you and once again hitting that gummy spot. You thought you were crazy, but you swore he was trying to hit the spot that made you cum the first time.

He leaned back down over you, his chest pressing against the back of your legs, as one hand braced next to your head. You moaned, tipping your head to the side as you weakly brought your hand to grab his arm and hold onto it. He seemed to be spurred on by your moans, and picked up his pace, thrusting into you with a renewed vigor. Wet noises echoed through the forests as his hips slapped into yours.

You felt your body tensing again, a second orgasm quickly approaching, a white hot burning in your lower belly building up with each hard and quick thrust into you. He was whining, leaning down to bury his face into your neck, tongue coming out to lick the sweat off your skin.

“Oh- Logan-” You whined, arching your back, and he growled, bracing his arms on either side of your head, pounding into you once more until you both snapped, your greedy pussy squeezing tight around him almost painfully, as he filled you up again with his hot cum. He yelled out in pleasure into your neck, as ecstasy rolled between both your bodies as he continued thrusting.

Your body went slack, your muscles occasionally twitching from being pushed so far. Logan was panting, his breath hot on your skin. You felt him move, pushing himself up and looking down at you.

You gasped at the sight of his eyes- his face. An expression of regret, and a little confusion. His eyes- It was him.

“Logan?” You whispered, your hands coming up to cup his face.

“Baby I- I’m so sorry I don’t know what-”

You cut him off; pulling him down to kiss you. Your heart felt like it was going to jump out of your chest. You didn’t care how it happened, why it happened. You just had him back. Broken free from the tortured recesses of his mind. His arms wrapped carefully around you, kissing you back gently, almost as if he was scared he was going to hurt you. You pulled back, looking up at him.

“I missed you.” You say softly. He looked at you with small relief.

“Are you okay?” He asks, brushing hair out of your face. “I didn’t- fuck I didn’t know what I was doing. I just could smell you and then- you took that helmet off. I’d be fighting for so long and…”

You shushed him. “Doesn’t matter. You’re back now baby.” You brought him down to kiss you again. “Typical that it takes sex for you to wake up...” You mutter. He let out an exhaling laugh. His arms cradled you safely against him. “You need a shower by the way.”

He chuckled again, looking down at you and looking up around him, then up at the sky. The relief that flooded his face as he saw the stars.

"I couldn't control myself. It was...Like I was trapped in my head, watching someone else control me." He says. "They'd do these things that send me into this...rage. Nothing would stop me. But no matter what I did....You were always in my thoughts. I think that's what happened. I think I smelled you and I recognized you somewhere...You got me free."

#logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #logan howlett smut #weapon x #vans daydreams #logan #weapon x fanfiction #i can't believe this went on as long as it did.

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lieutenantbatshit · 3 months ago

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03 - red light, green light | just another player. (hwang in-ho x reader)

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——

They arrived like cattle.

They were silent, in uniform, and trembling in some spaces and defiant in others. The new batch of players consisted of 456 players - 456 bodies and desperate hearts still clinging to the illusion of hope, marched into the dormitories with blank stares and colorless dreams.

You watched them arrive through the compound’s surveillance monitor hours ago, hidden behind your mask. Most were too tired to speak. Some clutched their numbered vests like lifelines. A few stared blankly at the tall metal bunk beds that stacked the room like a child’s toy set. The dull echo of metal-on-metal rang with each footstep. Some collapsed on their mattresses without words, while others curled up in corners like frightened animals.

It was always like this in the beginning — full of quiet dread.

You stood in the crisp morning air of the Red Light, Green Light arena now, far from the cold steel walls of the dormitory. At least in this place, something felt real — the sky above showing the clouds and sun as if you’ve been deprived of it inside for so long. The field stretched before you like a grotesque playground, bordered by tall fake trees and unmoving grass. At the far end stood her—the doll.

The giant, vacant-eyed creature faced away from the field for now, her pigtails swaying gently in the manufactured breeze. Her mechanical limbs were still, but you could hear the hum beneath the silence. Her systems were powering and preparing. Her eyes hadn’t turned yet, but when they did, death would follow.

You stood beside her, assigned as one of the motion guards. Your circle mask stared forward, motionless. And yet, your thoughts were louder than the silence.

You shifted your weight subtly, keeping to the practiced stance of stillness. You were nothing more than part of the background, a tool of enforcement, a watcher at the edge of a massacre. You’d done this before. You’d stood beside this monster of a doll for more seasons than you could count now. You’d watched hundreds and thousands fall.

You recalled your first time at this station. How your heart had thundered beneath your uniform. How you had almost flinched at the first gunshot. How you’d stared as red bloomed across white vests and bodies dropped like flies, twitching and gasping. The smell of blood, even here in the open, had found you that day.

But now? You barely reacted. You stood like one of the trees. You counted the corpses in your head before they hit the ground. From behind your mask, your breath fogged lightly against the inside of your helmet. It was all too familiar. The stillness. The silence. The feeling just before the first scream.

The speakers crackled above, then came the hollow, mechanical voice of the announcer.

“Red Light, Green Light will commence in five minutes. Guards, take positions. Players will be released into the field shortly.”

You inhaled slowly. The words slid over you like ice. You watched as other pink guards moved into position behind the boundary lines, lining up like the walls of an execution chamber.

In the distance, the dormitory gates creaked open. The players stumbled out, dazed and blinking into the sunlight. The fear settled into their faces quickly as they took in the massive doll, the blank faces of the guards, and the open field with its deceptive tranquility. Your gaze flicked across the crowd. You tried not to look at their faces, but some stuck out anyway. A woman biting her nails down to the quick. A man clutching a photograph in his palm. A teenager too young to be here. A father. A criminal. A dreamer.

They always came from different stories. But they always left the same way: dead or broken.

The gates slammed shut behind them. Then the silence fell, heavy as death itself. The doll clicked and whirred as she powered on fully. You heard the rise of energy, the hum that tickled your nerves. The air buzzed like static against your skin.

“Green light,” the doll’s singsong voice chimed.

They ran, while some hesitated, but most of them ran. As if their lives depended on it, well, because they did. Then, the doll’s neck twisted as the sound of turning gears where its head spun sharply.

“Red light.”

There was silence. Your eyes scanned the field with terrifying precision, and so did hers. The motion sensors clicked once, twice, thrice, and a lot of times. In a heartbeat, gunshots exploded into the air like cracking bones as the screams followed. Bodies crumpled into the grass, blood spraying against fake soil as some of them whimpered.

“Green light.”

They ran again. Again. And again. Again and again. Through it all, you stood still. Even watching a player who seemed young collapse under the bullet, your heart gave one heavy thud and then settled again. They didn’t know mercy here, and neither could you. Still, you stared ahead and watched as the game went on.

After what seemed forever, the five-minute timer was up. The last body dropped as the final scream dissolved into the air — all gone in what seemed an illusion of calm.

You stood stiff beside the doll as you felt your breath fogging against the inside of your mask. The game had ended. The field was still. What was left behind were bodies and silence.

“427,” the voice crackled in your earpiece, curt and sharp. “Sweep. Confirm all are deceased.”

You stepped forward like clockwork, moving past the stiff limbs and twisted bodies littering the fake grass. Some had fallen with their eyes wide open. Others bled quietly into the dirt. You checked pulse after pulse through your scanner onto the tracker placed near their ear.

You tried not to make sense of it when you found a young girl, maybe around twenty. Her face was frozen in mid-sob, arms curled over her head as if shielding herself might have saved her. You stared at her a second longer than necessary.

She was young, you thought. Poor kid didn’t have a chance at a good life.

You swallowed hard. The helmet filtered the sound, but inside, your throat ached. You know you’ve seen this in different games and in different seasons.

Once the final death was confirmed, you gave your report and marched back toward the facility, boots echoing against the tunnel floor as the field behind you was reset for the next bloodbath.

——

High above, in a room carved into shadows and surveillance, the Front Man watched.

In-ho sat still before the screens, mask polished, posture rigid. In front of him was a wall with a huge monitor, replaying the day’s footage from all angles. He watched as the players ran, fell, and died. Then, he focused on another live footage, filled with the remaining players tucking themselves to sleep.

His eyes went on Il-nam, who foolishly wanted to join the games instead of just watching them.

The control had been unusually quiet, bathed in a low red glow from the auxiliary systems. Il-nam sat in a chair near the central console. There were no mask and guards.

It was just him and In-ho.

Il-nam’s hands trembled slightly as he poured himself tea. His movements were slower, more fragile than usual. Still, his eyes never lost their gleam.

“You know,” Il-nam said. “The games used to make my heart race.”

In-ho didn’t respond. He simply stood, still and silent behind his mask.

“But somewhere along the way, just watching stopped being enough,” he stirred the tea, smiling faintly. “What’s the use of building all this if you can’t taste the terror yourself?”

“You designed the games,” In-ho replied. “Isn’t that enough?”

“Watching animals run through a maze and being inside the maze,” Il-nam said softly. “…are two different kinds of living.”

In-ho tensed. “You’d be risking your life.”

Il-nam chuckled, his voice almost low and old, like creaking wood. “My life’s already out of time, boy. That’s why I want to spend what’s left of it remembering what it meant to be afraid.”

“You would die.”

“So what?” Il-nam leaned back, his gaze lifted to the ceiling. “Wouldn’t that be more honest than this slow rot behind the glass?”

For once, In-ho had no reply.

There was something sacred, almost something twisted and tender, in the way Il-nam spoke. A dying god choosing to walk among the damned. It wasn’t for sympathy nor redemption, but a mere sheer thrill of it.

Il-nam sipped his tea slowly, eyeing In-ho. “You still look like you haven’t found what you’re searching for, In-ho.”

In-ho didn’t answer right away, his fingers tightening around the edges of his mask. He couldn’t get rid of the memory. In fact, it haunted him.

“You knew about the guard, didn’t you? The one who saved me during the lights out,” he said.

Il-nam took a sip of his drink, eyes narrowing as he studied In-ho. “Still chasing shadows, are we?”

“Who was she? Why did she help me?” In-ho gritted his teeth. “She broke the rules, and you know it. She should have died.”

Il-nam’s smile faded. He leaned back in his chair, taking a long pause before speaking. “Rules? You think the rules matter when life and death are at stake? She made a choice, In-ho. A choice she believed in. But that choice… the act of mercy… It wasn’t just a mistake. It was a test for you.”

In-ho froze, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. The words hit harder than he anticipated. “A test? For me? What are you saying?”

Il-nam’s gaze never wavered. There was heaviness in his voice now, a clarity that only someone who had seen it all could possess. “You think I didn’t know she’d save you? I had everything calculated. But mercy is a dangerous thing. That guard, whoever she was, failed. She thought she could get away with it, thinking she was saving you. But she’s a fool. I made sure she paid the price for it. People like her... they get too soft. Softness doesn’t belong here.”

In-ho clenched his jaw, anger and confusion swirling inside him. The realization that the woman who saved him was punished harshly struck him harder than he expected. “You made her pay…?”

Il-name gave him a long, unblinking look, as if sizing him up. “Mercy is weakness. That guard thought she could escape the game. But there are no exceptions. Not for her. Not for anyone. You, In-ho, you need to understand that. The games don’t allow mercy. Not if you want control. And you will learn to live without it.”

In-ho’s hand tightened around the edge of the table, his knuckles white. His mind raced, but his words caught in his throat.

“You want to find her, don’t you? You still think about her. That’s why you’re here, asking me these questions. But understand this: what she did is irrelevant now. The game continues. You’ll never find her, In-ho. She’s been... removed from the equation. The question is: Can you keep your focus?”

In-ho snapped. “And if I can't forget her?”

Il-nam leaned forward, his voice sharp, as if testing him. “Then you’ll fail. You’ll lose everything you worked for. Your control, your power. You can’t afford distractions. If you want to be the Front Man, you need to be cold. You need to rule with an iron fist. If you don’t, you’ll end up like her. Soft and pathetic. And you’ll die in the darkness.”

A tense silence filled the room, silencing In-ho as well. He wanted to rip off the mask from his face, but Il-nam’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“The game is as much about you as it is about the players. You’ll learn to wield your power. You’ll understand what it means to control life and death. But first, you need to prove to me that you have what it takes. Prove that you can put everything aside.”

The conversation hung in the air like a thick fog, and In-ho felt the questions in his mind multiply. But he knew now wasn’t the time to push further.

At least, not yet anyway.

“You’re not a player anymore. You’re the one who controls the game. And in this game, there’s no place for soft-hearted fools."

Il-nam’s words echoed in In-ho’s mind as he turned to leave. But deep down, the question remained: who was the guard who saved him?

And more importantly, why did he still feel drawn to her?

The clock in the surveillance room ticked past three in the morning. Most of the staff were tucked into their respective routines — guards asleep in quarters, surveillance teams rotating shifts, medical reports filed. But In-ho sat alone, unflinching, behind a biometric-coded console deep in the restricted archives.

But there were other staff who were still awake who brushed past each other in silent compliance, the maintenance crew locking down gates, the last remaining players in the forms finally succumbing to a drugged, exhausted sleep. The first day of the 33rd season had concluded.

In-ho’s eyes were drawn not to the carnage or the chaos. At least, not tonight.

Monitor 23. Sector B. Pink Guard Quarters. Room 427.

The only hint that In-ho had on who saved him was a woman. He searched for every guard who had female records; only a few of them made it in, including 011, 003, 314, and so on. But in Room 427, there was something that caught his eye.

She moved quietly in the cramped, sterile room. Four steel walls, one bed, a locker, and a vent that hummed like an ever-watching ghost. No photos, notes, even belongings. Just her.

She peeled off her gloves slowly, one finger at a time, as if the latex were skin. As if she detached herself from what she’d done today took effort. Underneath, her hands were pale, slightly trembling as she flexed them out.

She sat on the edge of her cot for a long moment, mask still on, like she couldn’t bring herself to shed the final layer. He leaned closer, eyes narrowing behind the black glass of his mask. He observed how she exhaled, the stiffness in her posture, and the smallest tilt of her head.

He played the recording of that night countless times, trying to picture who she was based on mere audio. It was like fate had shielded her from digital eyes. He still didn’t know her face, but something in him, maybe instinct or madness, told him it was her.

But then, she finally took off her mask, her back turned to the camera. She placed it carefully beside the bed, as if there was precision in every movement. As if she were trying not to disturb the ghosts in the room.

In-ho stared harder, willing her to turn, to look into the lens even once. But she didn’t. She laid down with her back still facing the wall, curling slightly into herself, a posture not of rest, but of armor. And that’s when he saw them.

Scars.

It wasn’t the kind that was left by childhood mishaps or stray accidents. These were deliberate. A long, diagonal one across your left shoulder blade. Another jagged and puckered trailing the side of your ribs. Also faint burn marks coiling near your nape. And one… just under the edge of your shoulder strap, a thick, raised welt, like a lash that never healed clean.

He zoomed in on the footage, but not enough to violate, just enough to confirm.

These scars weren’t recent, as if they were old, layered, and lived in. A cold weight settled in his gut. Could it be her? Because if it is, it was no wonder she moved like that, how she could stand still for hours beside monsters in golden masks and not flinch.

In-ho’s hands curled into fists on the desk. The camera still showed you, sitting now on the edge of the bed. You weren’t resting nor sleeping. Just existing and staring at nothing.

For a brief second, his finger hovered over the button. The one that would ping your room, but he pulled back. Because what if he was wrong? What were the possible consequences if he was indeed correct?

“What did they do to you?” In-ho whispered into the empty room.

But then, a thought came to his mind.

The system beeped softly as line after line of data filtered across the screen. Thousands of entries were enlisted that included guard numbers, assignments, shift logs, facial mapping, redacted files, surveillance pings — all accessible to only one person: the Front Man itself.

Yet even here, in the temple of complete control, he still couldn’t find her.

Until now.

Guard #427-C.

This guard had a circle designation, standard duties, patrol, escort players, enforce order, routine, and the ordinary. In-ho skimmed further, then stopped.

There was another entry with the same number. The exact same one, only to be under a completely different file: Escort Division, VIP Services.

In-ho’s brows furrowed beneath the black mask. That wasn’t possible.

Each guard was coded with one specific role — Circle, Triangle, or Square. The system didn’t allow any overlaps. Even the escorts assigned to the VIPs were chosen through a separate vetting process. There were no duplicates and double lives. That was the point of the masks.

He pulled up both records side by side. It had the same biometric signature, walk pattern, height, and stillness in posture captured by motion AI. Same number, and same guard. Yet… two assignments.

One as a low-ranking, faceless enforcer of order. Another as a mute companion to predators in gold masks.

In-ho’s hands tightened over the edge of the desk. He opened the footnotes as one line stood out. It was manually entered, not system-generated.

“Escort role ordered as special reassignment. Punishment issued by the upper command. No appeal.”

He blinked, then read it again.

The system didn’t reveal faces and never showed the human behind the mask. But he felt it in his chest, a distant, clenching certainty. The ghost that haunted his memories. The one who dragged him through blood and broken bodies all those seasons ago. The one he had been trying to find.

Could this double role be the punishment because… she saved him?

He sat back in the leather chair, breath held, heart suddenly louder in his ears. A ripple of something he couldn’t name. Was it guilt? Confusion? Fury?

The screen flickered as he leaned forward again, gaze locked on the unfeeling digits of your records. Was this you? Are you even still alive after all those years? Most importantly, why did you stay silent all this time?

A thousand theories bloomed in his mind, but the one that hurt the most was the simplest: maybe she didn’t want to be found.

——

A/N: SHEESH a lot of things happened over the past few weeks (ph elections, university stuff, extracurricular stuff, and work stuff) that made me lose my mind a bit 😅 Had to travel back and forth in our province to the city BUT WE'RE HERE NOW 🥰 I missed writing so much and being so delulu so here's an update for yall 🥳

Don't forget to leave a comment in this chapter to be tagged on to the next chapter. :)

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#hwang in ho #lee byung hun #player 001 #squid game #the front man #oh young il #squid game netflix #001 squid game #001 #in ho x reader #hwang inho #in ho #frontman x reader #frontman x you #inho x reader #inho x you #hwang inho x reader

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fishnapple · 1 year ago

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CRYSTAL READING: What would bring you good luck?

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost Book a reading with me - KO-FI (→ personal reading)

1. Trolleite group

There is a contrast of two sides.

blue vs. red

personal vs collective

A hidden fire underneath a calm blue surface.

Wearing or using white and blue objects during travelling, especially long journey, dealing with a large crowd or going to public institutions, religious or spiritual places, the banks etc. would help you navigate the surrounding environment more smoothly.

It could be the colour of the clothes, vehicles, bottle, backpack etc.

Bringing a book and a notebook with you while travelling is also very beneficial.

Going near a large body of water, the ocean, the seashore, fish, and shells will help calm and ground you.

But for your private home, planting lots of flowers, paint the wall in warm pale tones of pink or pale orange, yellow will bring wamrth and vitality.

For harmonious communication, you could use a pink phone or a pink phone case, a pink notebook and pen, and pink accessories.

As I have said above about a hidden fire, intimate connections would stoke a creative fire within you, bring in more inspiration and life force to your projects.

Show a more vulnerable and soft side of yourself to the world and see how that would lead you on an unexpected, lucky journey.

2. Citrine group

There is a sense of an overall blessing draping your life. It's soft and jubilant.

You should surround yourself with soft, pastel colours and oceanic motifs.

Having a kaleidoscope and occasionally looking through it can unwind some restrictive thought patterns.

Travelling will bring lots of luck and valuable lessons. Schools and learning are also very important steps.

The more you study broadly but also deeply, the more depth and value you will find in life and in yourself. There is a calling from the depth of the ocean. To go deep, your life is not meant to be spent in a light, breezy, superficial way.

Have an exercise routine, not necessarily something vigorous, but just move your body around, writing or practising something with your hands daily will also assist you in this journey.

A teacher with masculine energy would also help you transform your fundamental way of thinking, building a more solid and vibrant inner core.

I also see that keeping yourself warm and monitoring what you eat closely would bring positive changes to you.

Bright red, orange, soft purple and blue, black would be your lucky colours.

3. Garnet group

Some period of wandering by yourself, away from familiar faces and environment, would do wonders to you. Especially when you feel quite lost, confused, or aimless.

Allow yourself to be guided by your intuition.When the urge strikes, just pack your things and go without too many thoughts and concerns.

It would be like a spiritual cleanse.

Things that relate to cleansing would also help you. Soap, salt, something smells of lavenders, lemon, rose, and water.

After some long walks or runs, taking a shower with soap or shampoo of these scent.

Take good care of your hair. Our hair is one of the most visible signs of life growing, of progression. I would usually imagine it as inverted roots of the tree that is our body.

A healthy root system would make a healthy tree.

I also see that some objects with cradle-like shapes are quite beneficial for your financial and physical growth. A bowl, a basket, a candy dish, something that can hold others.

The colours to bring you luck are jade green, sky blue, lilac, and dark red.

4. Rose quartz

When I saw your spread, I immediately heard the sound of wind chimes. More specifically, a brass wind chimes, the one with no frills, just simple tubes of brass swaying gently in a place with lots of dark trees. The place feels simple, quiet, serious, and solitary.

Hanging some objects like wind chimes, dream catchers, or something light, delicate by the door or windows. Or wearing earrings with that kind of shape would bring good luck to you.

Even more so if it was made by your own hands. I even saw some kind of transparent panel make of glass or acrylic with painting on it, dangling in front of the window, sunlight striking through, making rainbow dance in the room.

Light and sound would affect your energy profoundly.

When things feel unstable, difficulties arise, you could go to places that are old, with lots of history, have big, strong, square structure, or anywhere that has 4 walls surrounding you to feel more grounded.

Number 2,3,4 would show signs of blessing.

Things or beings that come in pair, in groups of three or groups of four.

Consider using things with contrast, a combination of complementary colours ,

dark and rich colours combine with light, soft colours such as green and pink, light blue and brown black, lilac with dark red, orange with cold grey.

5. Carnelian group

For this group, it's not really about something physical like a place, an object that could bring you good luck. It's more about words, thoughts, and emotions.

When dealing with others, sometimes not revealing yourself entirely would actually achieve more peace and honesty in that relationship.

You have an intense inner world, you see clearly the hurts, the vulnerability, and the darkness in yourself and others. Your words would have a heavy , serious trigger. It's not easy to always bring that heaviness out into the open because it would create misunderstanding and anger in others.

So, not showing yourself too much, wait and observe, until you and the other person reach a certain understanding of each other.

An outward elusiveness and detachment sometimes would help balance out the inward gravity.

Having a psyche like that would manifest as sensitivity in the physical body such as allergies, so avoid eating too much spicy and hot food or strenuous activities so as not to aggravate the body further.

A healthy bridge between bodily nourishment and the psyche should be established. Observe how some food would affect you.

The biggest message is to take good care of your health. No amount of blessings is enough if you are not actually healthy to receive them.

For colours, dark earthy and creamy tones would make a nice comfy blanket for you.

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