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[catgirlpwr]

has anyone said "everything will be okay but you have to take part in making it that way" or like "Things will get better but you have to be one of the mechanisms by which they do"

[catgirlpwr]

❝where two are joined, relentlessly❞

V. ballroom blitz.

parts: previously / next plot: bruce needs a date, batman needs a partner. to some, there isn’t much of a difference. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: romance, flirting, fake dating, angst, protective bruce, something bisexual will happen to you, brief mention of human trafficking and drugging. words: 8.5k.

a/n: I have toiled with this monster for a bit, so I hope y’all enjoy!

Miss me, baby? xx

The note is written in ink so thick that it’s still wet when he folds it up his sleeve. As for the empty milk bottle it was left in, Bruce imagines the sender had enough foresight to keep their prints off the glass. Gordon leans out onto the balcony, not looking up from his notepad and pen, “Getting some fresh air?”

Tonight’s robbery was residential, another home with what should’ve been a brick wall of security. Within a matter of 45 minutes, the thief had gotten in and out with nearly $400,000 in jewelry. It wasn’t without great work, however: every security camera was smashed, and the airtight security detail the owner boasted of had not only been bested by the thief but incapacitated. Their methods weren’t complicated, but they were thorough. Not a trace left at any scene. 

Except for this one note. 

Seguir leyendo

[catgirlpwr]

Sugar on the Rim I

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

warnings: implied that reader is a virgin, age gap (bruce is older than reader), mentions of sex, smut in next part

You twist the stem of the wine glass around between your fingers slowly. Your chin rests atop your knees as you stare vacantly at the tiny puddle left of the drink. You could go refill it, but then you’d have to go back out to the main room and man…you really do not want to do that. So you’ll sit here, swiping your tongue across the bumps of the roof of your mouth as if it's a fascinating new discovery.

The creak of hinges has you shooting upright, your back thumping against the stair step behind you. You’re not immediately sure how to act as though it’s normal that you’re sitting in the stairwell outside the gala rather than in it, fraternizing with old and new money alike. You freeze, trying to relax your posture so it doesn’t look like you’re alarmed at the sight of another person, but not so relaxed that you look as bored as you are.

Your neutrality stutters when you glance up to find the host of the fundraiser. The billionaire host of the fundraiser. Bruce Wayne, the billionaire host of the fundraiser. Your posture straightens right back up and your mouth snaps shut as you make eye contact.

Should you stand up? 

No, he’s rich, not royalty. 

You are in his house though—

He looks you over contemplatively, “I don’t know you,” It’s not accusatory, rather he says it like it’s something interesting.

You perk up at that, immediately formulating reasons to justify your presence. “Oh, uh, no—” the words nearly spill out of your mouth all at once. You clear your throat, “I’m just a plus one for my boss—”

“Who’s your boss?” he asks, relaxed. 

“Arthur Mullins.”

He looks to the side, squinting, “Mullins…he’s the executive at Williamson Industries, yes?”

You nod and he returns the gesture, slower, like he’s processing through something. “I’m Bruce,” he says warmly after a moment, holding his hand out to you.

You nod before you can even think to get any words to come out, “I—yeah, I know,” you accept his hand, shaking it as you tell him your name.

There’s a slight glint in his eye when he hears your name, and he repeats it quietly to himself. “A pretty name.”

“Oh, it’s just…” Just your name. But rather than fill him in on that fascinating tidbit, you let the sentence die off.

He smiles kindly anyway, “What are you doing in here? Party’s out there, or so they tell me.”

“I…I’m hiding in here,” you admit sheepishly.

He leans in towards you slightly, lowering his voice. “I’ll let you in on a secret—so am I,” he smiles at you like it’s easy.

Your grin matches his, “It’s your party,”

“That’s why I need to hide.” He tilts his head, “Doesn’t give you much of an excuse though, does it?”

“I don’t know anybody here.”

He puckers his bottom lip contemplatively, “Your boss.”

You shake your head, “I’m just his assistant. I’m pretty sure he just brought me as a precaution in case he needed a designated driver.”

He laughs at that, “Based on the way I’ve seen Mullins’ attempts to operate, his assistant would have to be a hell of a lot more important than just a designated driver.”

Well, he’s certainly right about that. Your boss doesn’t exactly “have it together” per se. He’s an unorganized man with little to justify his importance in Gotham, so he tends to insist on taking on more responsibility than he has any business having. Not to mention, he’s a bit of a try-hard and you’re constantly left to sweep up the pieces of his reputation that he shattered himself. Not to say he’s necessarily unprofessional, he just will do anything and everything to prove he belongs in any given space. It’s honestly a bit exhausting to watch. It’s more exhausting to try and convince him that the exchange went well afterwards.

You nod slowly, eyes on his shoes. “Mr. Mullins has…a unique approach to business. It does usually leave me fairly busy, I’ll give you that.” You take a quick deep breath, plastering on a fake smile. “But that means I occasionally get to go to fancy parties where I don’t know anyone, so..”

“Well then it sounds like you’ve got it all worked out,” he ribs, “Or don’t you agree?”

You smile coyly, “I would never be so bold.”

“I don’t mind boldness. For example, the reason I came in here is because he spotted me.”

You laugh at that, “Mr. Wayne—”

“Bruce.”

“Mr. Wayne,” you suppress your smile as you pause, choosing your words carefully. “I think he’s just networking.” He doesn’t have the money to give.

He nods surely, “He’s definitely just networking.” He really doesn’t have the money to give. You allow just the faintest wisp of a smile to adorn your face as you look down again.

You check the time and realize that you’ve been hiding away for too long and that if he hasn’t already, your boss will notice soon. You sigh quietly to yourself, “I should..”

He turns his head to the closed door where the chatter can be heard from beyond, sighing in defeat as he shakes his head looking back at you. “So should I.”

You feel a bit insecure as you stand, the gown you’re wearing is pretty but it is very much affordable and you’re sure someone as wealthy as Bruce Wayne would know the difference.

If he does notice he makes no deal of it, motioning you forward gallantly to walk ahead of him.

He follows after you, hands behind his back. “Would it be rude of me to ask you to distract him while I run for the bar?”

It’s busy, even for a Sunday afternoon, and you have to sidestep past someone nearly every step you take. You stick next to the windows of the line of boutiques down the road, trying to balance window shopping and not bumping into other pedestrians.

You're in a nicer district of Gotham, truthfully an area you don't quite belong in. So far you’ve only managed to find a couple shops that weren’t several ranges above your budget. 

A call of your name has you blinking rapidly and turning around as if you’re lost. It doesn’t take long for you to pick the six foot two billionaire out of the crowd and it’s only half a second longer before you realize he’s walking towards you. A few people collide shoulders with you as they move past thoughtlessly, no regard for the personal space of the idiot that stopped in the flow of traffic.

You let him approach a couple feet closer before you ask him, “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Wayne?” The presence of his figure in front of you allows for a break from being bumped into, as he seemingly makes for a far more easily seen and intentionally avoided target.

He sways a bit, “Bruce. I’m not sure yet,” he looks down to the couple of bags you’re holding, extending his hand out. “May I?”

It takes you just a moment to move past your surprise at the request, allowing him to hold them for you. “Are you in a rush?”

You shake your head quicker than you meant to, “No, I—not at all,” he gestures his head forward, allowing you to walk before him.

You traipse ahead in silence for a moment before deciding against biting your tongue, “What exactly is it you’re not sure about?”

He raises his voice a bit so you can hear him over the crowd, “Whether or not you’ve got plans on the 19th.”

You look back at him, “What’s on the 19th?”

He stops with you as you admire a set of jewelry inside a window display, “We’re hosting a gala for something or something else, hopefully less boring than the fundraiser.”

You blink, “You’re inviting me?” He nods. “Why?”

“I could use someone who wants to be there even less than I do.”

He said it so casually it takes you a second to even register his meaning. You blink, face contorting defensively, “That’s not—” you can barely make out the smile on his face as he continues on walking.

You shake your composure back together and trail after him, rushing to catch up. “I don’t think Mr. Mullins would be very happy to hear that I’m attending a business gala without him.”

He shakes his head as he scans over the crowd, “He can’t fire you for that.”

“He’ll try.” He would. A petty little man, he is. 

He scans across the rows of clothes leisurely. “Well, then he can speak to me about it. Besides, it wouldn’t be for business.” And then he just lets that sentence linger.

It takes you a moment to recover from those words and begin to start processing the world around you again. After a few more feet down the sidewalk he pulls you gently to the side by your lower arm, out of the rush of traffic, and looks at you dead on, “What do you think?”

You try not to waver under the weight of the eye contact, “I don’t…uh, I don’t really have…” you look down, hoping to get the message across without actually having to say the words.

He glances into the store window next to you and raises his eyebrows, “Well then I’d say we’re in the right place.”

You can’t manage to tell him that this store is definitely far too expensive for you, walking through the door as he opens it for you, albeit apprehensively.

Well. Up close window shopping is more fun anyways. 

The spotless white of the floors and walls has you intimidated, and just as much so by less by the no doubt designer clothes lining the walls. The saleswomen all look pretty highbrow themselves, hair up in tight buns and uniforms chic.

You only break from gawking at the store to look behind you at Bruce. You note the way his eyes roam around blindly, looking for something and clearly having no means to narrow down where it might be. You take one more glance around, immediately finding the women's section with no such difficulty. 

“This way.” You say, nodding your head over to the left. He recovers nicely and lets you lead the way towards the section of dresses. You peer back at him, “You don’t seem like someone that does much of his own shopping.”

Thankfully, he laughs at that. “Well, special occasions.”

You keep your gaze ahead this time, asking as casually as you can, “Is this a special occasion?”

He hums in consideration, “I’d say so.”

You stop upon approaching the dress section, taking in the immediately stunning display of options. 

“What are you doing up here anyways?” you ask, hand brushing across a particularly plush dress.

“Ah, I was headed to a meeting.”

“Oh,” you frown, looking at him. “Don’t you need to go?”

He shakes his head with a puckered lower lip, “No.”

A few seemingly heiresses roam down the aisle mindlessly, not caring much that you’re in their path. 

Bruce sees them before you do, knowing well that they were not going to excuse themselves. “Sweetheart,” he nudges you gently to the side, closer to him as the group passes. His hand remained open-palmed and flat as he guided you to the side, seemingly very careful not to touch you with uninvited boldness. Though you’re quite shaken by the chivalry of the gesture, a brazen touch wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world.

As your arm brushes against a rack of clothing your gaze follows, met with something rather appealing.

Bruce is quick to notice you admiring the sleek black dress that looks like something you’d see a model wearing on a runway. “You like that one?”

“It’s nice, yeah,” you murmur, not really thinking. You flip the price tag over and your face drops. “It’s $800.”

He nods thoughtfully, “We can find a nicer one,” he says, though it’s clear he knows exactly what your problem with the price tag was.

“I can’t—” you restart, “I would never have a reason to wear something this nice again.”

He shakes his head coolly, “That’s alright.”

Your shoulders drop and your head tilts seriously, “It’s not, though.”

“You like it?” He looks you in the eyes, his own searching for a truthful answer.

“I mean, of course, but it—”

He nods affirmatively, “Then we’ll get it. Problem solved.” He turns his back to the rack, casually observing the rest of the store goers. “Pick your size.”

Apparently not one to argue, you thumb through the row until you find one that should fit. 

You sigh, realizing that you’re running out of time to mention that you don’t have $800 to spend on a dress. “I can’t—”

“You don’t need to,” he says simply as he takes the dress off the rack and drapes it across his arm, making his way towards the salescounter.

You try to stop your mouth from hanging open as you follow, “It really is okay, I don’t need—”

His grin cuts you off, just in time for you to hear him mutter, “Sweet girl..” to himself. You stop right in your tracks, feeling very thankful that he’s not looking at you right now because you’re certain the look on your face would give you away.

He still doesn’t face you as he calls out, “Come on,” as he continues on.

Obviously you’re not stupid. You know what type of intentions a billionaire playboy must have with a younger girl that he doesn’t even really know. However, if said billionaire is offering to buy you a pretty dress…no, you’re not sleeping with him because he bought you a dress—of course not—and you’ve made absolutely no promises to do so, so what’s the harm in letting him? Really?

And yeah, maybe it’s a plus that he’s not bad looking, but how is that your fault?

You stand a bit awkwardly next to him as he puts his card in the machine, not even glancing at the outrageous number, and declines the offer for the receipt.

As you exit the store together and stand at the doors as he hands your original two bags back to you along with the new shiny black one that on its own looks like something people would pay for.

“You will be there?” he asks, eyes more hopeful than you were prepared for. 

You nod, gesturing the bag up, “Well you just bought me the dress.”

He shrugs that off, “I would’ve bought you the dress anyways.”

You linger in the midst of the ado wearing a dress that you feel far too overshadowed by, fidgeting with the half empty wine glass in your hand. Unfortunately, this time around you were invited by the host of the event and it would be extra rude to run away and hide. That doesn’t stop you from considering it, though.

A hand sliding across your lower back has you momentarily startled, and for reasons you couldn’t quite verbalize, you’d naturally assumed it was Bruce. The disappointment rings strong when you turn around to be met with the sight of an even older man, who looks considerably wine drunk. 

“Hello there, Miss.,” The words themselves are polite but the salacious smile on his face and the way his eyes have no trouble roaming your body gives you a solid idea of what this conversation is going to entail.

“Hello,” you fake a polite, tight smile and shift your attention to the rest of the room. 

This does nothing to deter him, as he takes a sizable step back into your line of sight. “Having a nice time?” 

The man is clearly from money, if his attire didn’t give it away his attitude sure did. There’s an heir of entitlement around him, like he’s inherently deservant of your attention—a quality you were notably surprised to not have found in Bruce. 

You give him your faux-smile again, this time tighter but half a second longer for the sake of politeness. A rookie mistake.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks, gesturing to the bar.

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say, gesturing your wine glass up.

A momentary flash of irritation crosses his face, but to his credit, he does a better job recovering from it than you would have expected. Though, that’s not really saying much. “Well, pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be all alone here,”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” Both of your heads snap to the side, finding a much more welcome surprise than you’d previously received. 

Your counterpart's posture straightens immediately, “Mr. Wayne,” he fawns, “What a lovely event you’ve thrown. I’m sure the Bernsteins will be appreciative.”

Bruce hums, eyes narrowed slightly. “You are…”

The man startles and rushes to finish off his sentence, “Alexander Watson, senior executive to the accounting department for the research wing of the company.”

He nods slowly, no recognition actually present in his eyes. “Ah. The research wing of the company that just blew fifteen million dollars on prototype self-operating cell phones.”

You’re trying hard to fight the smile creeping up on your face.

“What exactly is a self-operating cell phone?”

Watson’s face drops, hurrying to justify his approval of the proposal’s funding. As he rambles, Bruce’s gaze lowers to where Watson has once again placed his hand on your hip, though he’s not close enough to you for it to rest fully or naturally. You don’t know him well but you can say confidently that he doesn’t look pleased. 

He looks back up to Watson, attitude challenging. “Surely you’re not poking around where you’re unwelcome?”

Watson stutters at that, blinking and shaking his head quickly. “No, no, of course not! I was just hoping to provide the young lady with some company. That’s all.”

“And so you have.”

“I—,” about two steps behind in this conversation, Watson finally decides to retreat, “Yes, good evening, Mr. Wayne.” He bows his head and shuffles away back into the crowd.

“Mr. Wayne,” you smile knowingly, turning to him. “How are you?”

The hardness of his gaze fades quickly as he takes in your appearance, quite liking how you wear the dress you’d picked out.

“Things are looking up,” he smiles, “You look lovely.”

 “Thank you,” you glance over to where Watson has made his way to the bar, likely about to down an entire glass. “Mr., uh, Mr. Watson makes quite the impression.”

His smile turns a bit sullen, “You know last year he tried to convince the board that battery-powered battery chargers were going to be the next big thing?”

You blink, tilting your head, “Thought you didn’t know who he was.”

His eyes are fixed on the wall as he tugs the corner of his lip down, knowing he’s been caught but not really caring. “I’m sorry to have been away for so long, it seems everyone needs my attention at these things.”

“At the gala that you threw? I’d imagine so.”

He rolls past that smoothly, “You’re having a good time?”

“I am,” you say with a confirming head bob.

He regards the room with a numb expression, “You know, I think I’m getting bored with all of this.”

You smile at him, brow furrowed, “It’s only been an hour.”

He looks at you, eyes wide. “It’s only been an hour?” He’s exaggerating his surprise to make you smile, and it works.

“I think we should go,” he says lower.

You stare at him, bemused. “You still have a whole room full of guests.” 

He shrugs, “They’ll filter out on their own eventually.” 

He clocks your hesitation easily, accurately noting it to be more out of politeness than actually wanting to stay at the party. “What, you’re not ready to leave?”

You look around at all the mostly old, posh guests, disinterested small talk evident all across the room. You take a breath, “Alright, yeah. Let’s go.”

He smiles and leads you out a side door and through a corridor that’s significantly longer than you’d expected. 

“Do you always ditch your parties this early?” you ask, following closely.

He makes a sharp right at the next doorway, “If I can manage it.”

You look around at the high wooden ceilings and grand furniture. “Aren’t some of them friends of yours?”

He shakes his head, “My friends aren’t here.”

You frown at that, “Then why do you throw them at all?”

“Why did you show up last weekend?”

You nod slowly, understanding. “It’s your job.”

He returns the nod, adding, “Only difference is, there’s not a chance in hell you get paid enough for the work you do for Mullins.”

For the sake of maintaining your wishful facade of professionalism, you’re going to not acknowledge that incredibly accurate statement. Instead you smile politely and continue on walking. He seems to get the implication, returning it with an even brighter adornment.

“Well, money’s money,” you say wryly.

His smile fades a bit, “You shouldn’t have to worry about things like that.” 

You shrug, “A day in the life,”

He looks sullen upon hearing that, with more sympathy than you’d have expected from someone of his stature. He’s done nothing if not surprise you, though.

“Here,” he says, taking hold of the handle of a glass door. It opens to a garden, lit up beautifully by the moon and outdoor light. A fountain sits in the middle, water rhythmically gushing out of the top and trickling down the sides. The bite of the Gotham night air burns at your cheeks a bit and you find yourself thankful the dress you’d chosen is so long.

Bruce leads the way to an expensive marble bench positioned nicely in front of it, allowing you to sit first before following suit. Your hands find a place in your lap, clasped together awkwardly in an attempt to find warmth through contact.

It takes Bruce less than ten seconds to stand, remove his suit jacket, and drape it over your shoulders before sitting back down. The material is thicker and warmer than you would’ve expected, surely reminiscent of the perks of being owned by a billionaire.

He doesn’t look at you to acknowledge the grateful expression on your face, simply carrying on like it didn’t happen. “Was hoping it was warmer,” he murmurs.

Your focus momentarily goes to the icy cold stone of the bench under your thighs, initially finding it uncomfortable before deciding the coolness actually felt quite soothing. You remove your gaze from the gray stone and turn your head to find Bruce already focused on you.

You start to say something, though you’re not sure what it would’ve been, when he brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down.

Well, he certainly knows what he’s doing, doesn’t he?

His eyes stay on your lower lip as he murmurs, “You’re a pretty girl, you know that?” 

God, he’s a professional.

You look up at him and refrain from saying anything, waiting to see if he follows it up with something that will make you regret agreeing to coming out here with him.

He doesn’t.

You shift, moving your hands off your lap to rest on the stone under you. “You can’t just do this—”

He smiles and lowers his chin to look you in the eyes, “Then what can I do for you?”

“You—” you blink rapidly, “Stop it.”

His coy beam persists, “Stop what?”

You raise your gaze up to him ever so slightly, a pouty expression across your face that you’re trying to sell as serious. “You’re trying to make me nervous.”

“Do I make you nervous?” He tilts his head down further, a ghost of a smile echoing on his lips, “I don’t mean to, sweet girl.”

Your eyes drop to the ground, biting your tongue. “Yeah.”

His simper grows, “I’m serious. I’d hate to scare away a new friend.”

You laugh at that and he perks up a bit at the sound, “What? We’re not friends?”

You cock your head to the side, “You’re the one who said none of your friends are here.”

He hums, “Maybe I spoke too soon.”

“You think so?” You should probably stop flirting so much. 

“Yeah,” he leans in a bit closer, “I do.”

“Why’s that?”

“Maybe I want to be your friend,” his hand finds a place atop yours. 

Your eyes flicker across his face as he closes in, “What if I don’t want to be yours?”

His eyes are on your lips, “I’m sure we can work something out.”

You take a slow deep breath, “Your intentions are blurry.”

He smiles lightly, amused. “We’ll have to clear that up then, won’t we?” His lips are inches away and his voice is soft as he says, “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

You look up at him eyes wide, barely processing his words as you nod. He gently grasps your jaw in his hand, tilting your head up. His other hand finds the back of your head, holding you in place as he kisses you with intention. Your hands hover in the air for a second before holding onto his forearms. 

He breaks the kiss only to give you another sweet one right after. Your mouths remain close when it’s over, eyes still shut, trying to catch your breath. You stay like that for a moment until he kisses you once more on your cheekbone before pulling away. His hands drop to rest on your knees, the weight of them gentle.

He hums lowly, “Sweet thing..”

Being under the heaviness of his gaze leaves you feeling vulnerable. It’s starting to get you concerned with the potential levity and implications of kissing him. The expectations.

“You…” you stare down at where his hands meet your skin, not quite sure that you actually meant to start that sentence. 

“What?” he frowns, brow pinched. Your chin lowers further as your mouth forms a tight line. He shakes his head, “No, it’s alright. What is it?” he asks gently.

It takes a surge of willpower for you to get the sentence out, “You just want to sleep with me..”

He frowns harder at that, pulling back a bit. “No. I’m…” he sighs, “I’m not trying to lure you in just to toss you out right after.”

That makes you look up again. His voice has a sincerity to it that you weren’t prepared for. 

He continues, “I would like to, yes. Yeah. You’re beautiful, of course I would, but..” he looks down at his hands before looking back up at you, “No, that’s not the most important thing to me.”

You break eye contact again, thinking over his words. If that’s not the most important thing to him, what is? You can’t think of what else he could possibly want from you, a billionaire who could have anything he wants..the only thing you could have to offer in his eyes is sex. 

Right?

He exhales, “If you want to leave, I’ll call you a car. No hard feelings.” He nudges your chin up gently so you’ll look at him, but he gives you the freedom to fight against it if you wanted to.

You let him move you.

“I don’t want to leave,” you tell him, looking into his eyes. “What do you want?”

“Whatever you want,” he says it like it’s automatic. You physically can’t help but roll your eyes at the corniness of it. He doubles down, though, “Seriously. Anything.”

You smile in disbelief, shaking your head.

“Alright,” he returns your smile, straightening, “Here’s what we’re going to do. Do you need a ride home?”

You blink at him, “I’m going home?”

“You are,” he nods softly, “Do you need a ride?”

“No.”

He nods again, more like he’s working through something in his head. “Okay. You’re going to go home and think through what you want. If you decide you want to, come back here next Saturday.” he stands up, extending his hand out to you, “Then you can let me know what else you want and we can get to work on that too.”

You start to shake your head, “I can—” 

He drops his chin seriously, “Think on it.”

You relent easily, taking his hand and coming to a stand.

“Alright?” Again, his question is genuine. He does really want to know if you’re on board with this plan. 

Already going against his request, you agree without a thought, “Okay.”

He starts to lead you back over to the garden door with a head nod and a kind smile.

It ultimately was not a decision you had to think very hard on.

You’d considered every scenario of how this could play out and none of them ended with regret as far as you could guess.

You’ll still admit though, there was one scenario you had missed, apparently, which is why you were immeasurably confused when you showed up and he invited you to play chess.

He’s not wearing a fancy three piece suit this time, but his clothes are still very nice. With the sunlight peeking through the windows, you’re able to see the manor more clearly than you had been the other night. It really is a beautiful home, clearly very old and charmed, but there’s a lot of little details of character and history scattered around. There’s portraits and photographs of his parents from when he was young and furniture decorated with trinkets all throughout, kept absolutely spotless and dust free. Everything is neat and tidy but there’s still traces of the house being lived in with the patched throw pillows and worn carpets. Still, it’s very, very placid.

You’ve met new money plenty of times over the course of dealing with countless businessmen for Mr. Mullins but old money is something entirely different. You don’t really have a frame of reference here. New money is almost always brash and demanding, they like things done quickly and correctly the first time around. They’re usually not very interested in hearing what you have to say (even if it would save them a lot of trouble) and prefer it when the assistants women keep their mouths shut. Bruce has proven to be very different from these standards already and you’re not sure where to begin with placing new ones.

You’re about halfway through a second game, and while you’re not awful at chess, you get the impression that he’s easing up on you considerably.

You sit on the floor in front of a short coffee table, the game having no clear lead so far.

“I think this is stressing me,” you mumble, no actual weight behind your words.

“It’s just chess,” he says, not looking up from the board.

You watch him move his knight forward as you ask, “And that’s all we’re doing?”

“As it stands, yes,” he looks up at you, though you don’t return his gaze.

“Yeah,” you sigh, sliding your rook, “But later?”

“Later?”

“Well, you said...” you meet his eyes, “You said you wanted to sleep with me.”

He nods slowly, “I do. Is that alright?”

You consider it for a moment. You already knew that, if you really weren’t okay with it you wouldn’t have come here. And yeah, the idea makes you a little shaky, but in a good way.

“Yes,” you tell him, moving your queen forward two spaces.

“Are you sure?” he presses, moving to sit on the side of the table rather than behind it.

You do the same, sitting on your knees. “Yeah, I just..” you shift your weight, eyes wandering. “I’m not…overly experienced.”

He just smiles at that, like it’s endearing. Your words didn’t quite convey your meaning but your tone did. In any case, he understands the implication. “That’s alright, sweetheart. I’m not going to throw you in the deep end.”

You nod, looking down again.

“You’re nervous,” he comments.

“No, I’m—I mean, maybe,” your voice is barely a murmur by the end of the sentence.

He’s quiet for a moment, observing the way you fiddle with your rings. “What if we get you something pretty to wear? Something that makes you feel pretty. Whatever you want.”

He fishes his wallet out of his pocket, opening and pulling out a lump of cash without even looking. He holds the money out to you wordlessly and you can see from the bill on the outside that it’s at least a couple hundred dollars.

You shake your head instantly, “I can’t take that.”

He doesn’t put the money down but his eyes turn to begging. “Please. I just want you to feel good.”

“Bruce—”

He wavers a bit at that but it’s more of a falter than you’ve seen from him before so it’s easy to take notice of. “What?”

He shrugs barely, “I like when you say my name.”

Your eye contact holds for a moment and your resolve starts to shake almost instantly.

You exhale, “I’m not taking more than a hundred.”

“Two hundred.”

“Bruce.”

He smiles and picks out some of the cash and pockets it, handing you the rest. You don’t comment on the fact that it’s a hundred and fifty more than you’d agreed on.

You look down at the money in your hand like it’s a foreign object, shaking your head. “I don’t even know what to get.”

His thumbs start to rub reassuring circles by the bend of your knees, “Anything you want,” he tells you. “What do you like? Silk, lace, cotton, anything.”

You look up, tilting your head at him with a furrowed brow. “It doesn’t matter what I like, th—”

“It only matters what you like,” He says seriously, lowering himself to meet your gaze. “I’ll love it, no matter what you pick. Don’t worry about that.”

You lean forward a bit instinctually, “Okay.”

His eyes scan across your face in something that you can only recognize as awe.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you whisper.

“I want to kiss you again,” he says, voice even quieter.

Your eyes go to his mouth and you can only manage a nod, lips already parted.

He moves forward not a second later, kissing you with more fire than you’d gotten to see the other night. His hands grab at your waist, squeezing lightly as you hook one hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

You hear the clatter of chess pieces falling over as he moves nearer to you, large frame leaning over you. You push up on your knees, meeting his lips up at his level. His hands caress around your hips as the kiss gets deeper.

You just start to fumble with the hem of his shirt when he takes your hands in his, pulling them away before breaking the kiss.

“Easy, sweet girl,” he smiles, nudging you back with little force.

You groan, “Why?”

He barks out a laugh at that, stroking your hips again. “I’m not fucking you for the first time on the floor.”

“Then let's go somewhere else,” you nod up towards the stairs.

He shakes his head, that soft smile still playing on his lips. “Not tonight.”

You sit back on your heels again, frowning.

He brushes your hair back, murmuring, “No. But for now, I'll kiss you ‘til you can’t think if that’s what you want.”

You really hope you didn’t perk up at that as much as you think you did.

🌾🌽 i heard a rumor that if you like without reblogging your crops will be cursed but hey what do i know 🌾🌽

[catgirlpwr]

The Alchemy vol. II

jason todd x fem!reader

aka the progression of your relationship with the red hood

part one

warnings: depictions of blood and injury, standard gotham violence, jason doesn't know how to have feelings, reader is angry, threats against readers life, implied concern of sexual assault

It might be a matter of deficiency in self-preservation skills, how the sound of your window sliding open does nothing to phase you. You don’t know if that’s your fault or his.

“How’s it goin’ down there?” You mumble, not sitting up from your position on the couch.

He pushes the window shut in his wake, huffing. “I am up here for a reason,” he says factually.

You crane your head back just in time to see him tug the red helmet off his head, setting it down on your side table. He has on his under-mask that covers the lower half of his face. You don’t like that one.

He glances around your apartment as he approaches with slow steps. “Why are all the lights off?”

“Forgot to turn ‘em on,” you tell him simply.

He frowns at you, confusion evident.

You pay him no mind though, taking an exaggerated breath and pushing yourself up off the couch before trotting over to the kitchen. You open the fridge and scrummage for a water bottle. Jason thinks it’s odd how long it takes you to find one in your own fridge. 

Once it's (eventually) in your hands, you chug down several gulps and toss the half empty bottle towards the counter where it lands with a sloppy thump and rolls.

When you return, he’s leant against the armrest of your chair, watching you. You stop in the middle of the room, a contemplating stare on the floor. He tilts his head at you, wondering what you could possibly be thinking so hard about.

You take a deep breath before plopping down to lay on the carpet all in one go. 

He peers down at you, barely trying to hide his amusement. “You’re drunk.”

You shake your head, “I’m not sober.”

“That’s—yeah.” He stands all the way, coming to lay down on the floor next to you, using significantly more coordination than you had.

He lays in between you and the couch, though it doesn’t seem you’d left him much room. If he minds, it doesn’t show. “What’d you do?”

“I jus’ went out with my friend,” you tell him, closing your eyes. “She moves pretty fast..”

It occurs to him that you might be laying on the ground because you got nauseous. He turns to look at you, scanning you over. “You good?”

“I feel great,” you keen. “I feel…swooshy.”

He gives you a bemused look. “Dizzy?”

You shake your head with a great deal of consideration on your face, “No, not even dizzy, just…swoosh.” You throw out a hand with a theatrical flick.

“Mhm.”

You pucker your lips to the side. “You come here a lot,” you comment, clearly working up to some greater observation.

“You’re in my neighborhood,” he shrugs. 

Your head tilts, “You live here?”

He pauses before correcting himself, “My territory.”

You hum, “Still. There has to be other people around here you know. ‘Specially if you’re passing out on balconies on the reg.”

He frowns, “I try not to make a habit out of it.”

You continue on, “Why do you always go to my apartment? There’s—”

“I don’t always come to your apartment—”

You deadpan, “You’re here like three nights a week. And I don’t even help you that much anymore, you’ve used up my whole first aid kit.”

You can literally feel the eyeroll like you have a sixth sense for it. “That thing wasn’t exactly impressive to start with..”

“Did enough for you, didn’t it? Anyways, my point is: I think you like me,” you say with a nod.

That has him going absolutely rigid, “What?”

“I’ve heard you’re an asshole.”

“What?”

You nod, “Like, people that run into you. They say you’re kind of a dick. You help ‘em ‘n everything, but also while being a dick. Sometimes.”

“Okay...”

“But you’re nice to me. Sort of,” you squint. “I think you like me.”

He hasn’t felt this straggled in a conversation in a while. “I—well I’m not here because you’re a world-class medic.”

You scoff, “There’s no world-class medics..” But then your tone switches up, into something lighter. “We’re friends aren’t we? I think we’re friends.” 

He shakes his head, staring up blankly. “Sure, we’re friends.”

“We’re friends and you like me,” you reiterate.

He really wishes you’d stop saying that. “Okay.”

“I like you too. Even though you’re kinda sketchy.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

You hum into the silence, looking up at the ceiling. “J…James, Jack, John…”

He smiles, gaze dancing across the egg-whitened popcorn texture of the ceiling. “I’m not going to tell you.”

You ignore him, “Jake, Jaden, Jason, Josh, Joe, Jesse…”

You’re about three shots too drunk to notice the way he briefly stiffens. 

“Juuhhh…” you lull your head to the side, the letter fading out slowly as you look into his eyes. If you focus, you think you can make out a few of those little specks of green again.

He seems to already be running his own study on your irises, his eyes now softer than you can remember seeing them before. 

His next words are whispered, the sounds barely escaping. “You’re pretty.”

What?

“What?”

“What?” He seems taken aback by his own words, like he also wasn’t expecting them to climb out of his mouth.

You can literally feel sobriety seeping back into your blood. “I’m…pretty?”

He blinks a few times, apparently trying hard to decide on what position he’s going to take here. “I—well…yeah.”

You blink once, relaxing. “I think…I think you’re pretty too.”

“What?”

“We can’t do this again.”

He breaks eye contact, looking almost dejected.

You turn your head down to where his hand thrums against the carpet. “I mean, I know I haven’t seen your whole face in one go, but I see the top half now and the bottom before, so I…maybe I shouldn’t be saying this.” You reset with a shallow breath, “I don’t know what your whole face looks like.”

“That was,” he blinks, eyebrows raised. “Fascinating.”

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You close your eyes again, though this time you remain facing him.

He feels a slight pang of guilt for the way he continues to ogle at you, eyes tracing over every detail of your face. But that ounce of guilt does nothing to outweigh the reward of gazing upon you. He didn’t mean to say it but he definitely meant it: you’re really fucking pretty.

Your eyelashes flutter for a moment before stilling, a display of peace washing over your features. It’s when your breathing steadies over and your face relaxes completely is when he starts to feel like a creep. It takes a lot of strength for him to force his eyes shut, depriving himself of the view.

And he doesn’t do it on purpose, but after a few moments his inhales and exhales take to the same rhythm of yours. The thin layer of the rug isn’t doing much to protect his back from the hardwood below and he’s pretty confident later he’ll curse himself for lying like this for so long. 

But as he lays, he doesn’t find himself focused on the dark red-gray of his eyelids like usual, so much as the warmth from the proximity of your bodies. He’s usually so concentrated on whatever the hell is going on in his head and it prevents him from really truly resting, but now, the only thing taking up his attention is physical sensations.

He feels this warmth in his heart that if he didn’t know any better, he’d call burning. His hands feel numb and he can distinctly feel the beat of his own heart in his chest, thrumming away.

He presses his lips to your forehead with a feather light touch, slow to pull away. He doesn’t make it all the way back to his original position before his movement lulls and his body relaxes again, joining you gladly in unconsciousness.

Gotham City has a particular gift for inconveniencing you at the worst possible moment and doing it multiple times a week.

Tonight's round of problems resulted in an entire city district getting shut down, the district which is regrettably right between your job and your apartment.

So on top of having to hole up into your work for two hours longer than you were supposed to, it took you an extra 45 minutes getting home while trying to maneuver around every other person in the same situation. And just to cement the quality of this night, the door to your apartment building slams nice and hard against your side and the light in the hallway is out.

You groan when you fail to get your key the lock the right way for the third time, lodging it in a final time and shoving the door open. You flick on the kitchen light and dump your bag onto the counter, kicking the door shut behind you.

You take a deep breath, eyes closed, as you lean your head back against the wall. The second you crack your eyes open again, a pile of red mass on the floor behind your couch catches your attention and startles some energy right back into your chest.

“Oh, shit,” you scurry over towards the window, crumbling down onto your knees in front of him. Your eyes dart across the red helmet, trying to makeout any signs of consciousness. “Hood?” 

There’s no response from him, no movement. You tug his helmet off, finding him eyes-closed with blood running down the side of his head. You push a hand down on his chest armor, shaking him. “J? J!”

His eyes flutter open slowly under his domino mask, adjusting to the light. With the disorientation on his face he looks younger, more his age. His hair is tousled up and you can make out some distinct curls in it when it's undone like this. 

He grimaces, gloved hand coming up to his head. He looks wearily at the blood on his fingers, before plopping his hand back down and blinking up at you. “Hey..”

You sit back on your heels with a sigh, “What the fuck?”

He makes a strained effort to sit up on his own so you try to heave him up by his forearm. As he comes up all the way you glance behind his back at a bag crumpled discarded on the floor. You can barely see some sort of fabric poking out the top. “What is that?”

“Huh?” He throws back a tired glance, “Oh. They're..curtains.”

“Explain.”

He looks at you blankly, “You don’t have any curtains.”

You blink. “Explain.”

“It’s dangerous for people to just be able to look in and see you. So. Curtains.” For a guy who reads Dostoevsky, he’s not much of a wordsmith. Though that could be the concussion. 

You reach around him and pull some of the fabric out of the bag, inspecting the linen. They match the theme of your living room.

You set it back down, blinking. “Thanks.”

He only gives a half-hearted shrug.

You look back at him, “How bad is the…?” You gesture to the side of your head.

He feels at the blood again, “It’s mostly just a cut. Shoulda stopped bleeding by now.”

You nod, “I’ll, uh—I’ll clean it up.”

He looks at you, shaking his head. “You don’t need to. Your kit’s almost empty anyways.”

“I restocked it,” you tell him, rising to stand. He lets you go retrieve your aid box without protest, listening blankly to the faucet run in the bathroom while you’re gone.

You return momentarily, damp rag in one hand, kit in the other. “Here, sit on the couch,” you tell him, nodding him up. 

He lugs himself up off the hardwood and onto the cushion with a groan. You position yourself on the cushion next to him, leaning over to inspect the cut. You brush through his hair as gently as you can, though you have to suspect he wouldn’t have minded either way—if only based on the pain threshold you know him to have.

As much as you are completely in his space, you’re having trouble getting all the access you need to fix him up right. You turn and adjust your angle this way and that but none of it works. 

You huff, sitting back. “I can’t..”

He nods his permission at you without delay, and you shift yourself over to sit fully on his lap, straddling him on the sofa. You put your focus into cleaning his wound, but you have to notice how deep he’s breathing and how he’s seemingly trying very hard to avoid eye contact. You’re sure your own breath is uneven and telling, and frankly you’re kind of hoping he has a concussion just so he might not notice it.

An unexpected sting has him flinching and grabbing your hips on instinct, a certain heaviness lingering in the air after contact. His hand tenses and he’s about to remove them from you completely when you manage to catch his gaze, and the few moments of silent eye contact are enough to convince him to stay. He forces his hands to relax against your waist, his fix on your face wavering before fizzling away completely.

You go back to dabbing at the blood and it’s clear that his thoughts get the better of him quickly. “You should move.”

“But then where would you go?”

He makes a rumbling noise from the back of his throat at that, saying nothing more.

You continue to wipe away at the blood until you can’t see it anymore, beyond the slice of the cut. You misjudge your own spatial awareness as you pull back from him, and the tips of your noses graze. Though the contact surprises you, you don’t move away from it. You become very acutely aware of his touch on your waist, how warm it feels atop your shirt. 

His head leans forward just barely before stopping. He retreats slightly and his body ultimately decides to come closer. He doesn’t stop until his lips, slightly parted, skim across yours.

Your breath catches as he looms nearer, lips touching against yours softly. He tests that pressure out for a moment, before moving to kissing you with more intent. You kiss him back, and though there’s an increasing resolve on both of your parts, the connection itself remains gentle, reposeful.

The last slight movement of his lips gradually slips away as he rests his forehead against yours.

A long beat passes before he’s tightening his grip on your waist and pulling you up to stand. You aren’t given the time to process the shift as he’s moving straight past you, head down. He pauses only when he gets to the window, back turned to you.

“Sorry—I’m…” his shoulders drop, “Sorry.” 

He climbs out and scales the fire escape in total silence until he’s gone completely.

You stand frozen in position, staring at the window with incredulity burning across your face.

What the fuck?

Two weeks pass of voided midnight visits. 

You’re not sure what to make of that. He kissed you, not the other way around. You couldn’t possibly have done something to upset him or throw him off since he’s the only one who did anything. All in all, it’s a little disappointing.

There had been tension there and it wasn’t shocking for you to learn that he wanted to kiss you. It was a bit of a surprise for him to actually do it, though not a bad one. But you were thrown for a grand fucking loop when he immediately bailed out.

Maybe you can’t read him as well as you think because you’d expected him to at least say something about it. It was a borderline given that he would come back and there would be a bonus surplus of tension but then there would be a resolution. Because he wouldn’t kiss you and then never come back. Nobody would do that, it doesn’t make sense.

It’s a little more than embarrassing to admit that you’ve been purposefully staying home in the hope that he’ll drop in. After fifteen nights of disappointment, you decided to put your focus elsewhere.

You’d asked a friend of yours to go out with you tonight, and never one to decline a night out, she agreed happily. 

The bell above the door jingles as you crack it open, peaking your head in. You find Chloe quickly, stood behind the bar with bottles in hand.

“Hey gorgeous,” she smiles at you, waving you in.

You step in, air conditioning hitting you hard. The sparkles on her cocktail dress catch your eye as she turns this way and that, trying to find the right spot for the whiskey. 

Chloe hums to herself as she searches, honestly taking a bit longer than she should. “You been cool?”

You nod, “Yeah, just—you know…” She doesn’t. Your affiliation with the Red Hood is something you’ve kept to yourself, though you don’t know why. It would be safer, more responsible to let someone else know about these drop-ins, but something about it feels personal. A strange feeling to tack onto it, you think. A regrettable one, at least. 

You take a deep breath, “You’ve been busy. Jessie call out again?”

She laughs dryly, “Oh yeah, of course. But it's fine, I love staying over an hour after close.” She sighs, “I’m almost done anyway.”

You circle around the bar, looking over the several yet-to-be-sorted bottles. “You need help?”

“No, there’s—” she cuts herself off as she looks over at the front door, face dropping. “Oh, shit. Duck.”

“Wha—” she yanks you down to the floor to crouch awkwardly behind the counter.

You hear the bell ring as the door swings open, followed by several pairs of footsteps and low voices.

“—Christ, if she forgets to lock the door one more fucking time I’m gonna kill her.”

You look at Chloe through furrowed eyebrows, her grip on you still tight. She shakes her head and puts a finger to her lips.

A second man mutters something you can’t make out.

The first voice continues, “Go around back and lug the crates in, we gotta start packing that shit.” 

Another voice, “The crates? They’re not here..”

There’s a heavy beat before the first voice speaks, “What the fuck do you mean they’re not here? She needs them now.”

“Well…the first shipments will be in later this week. The next batch’ll take until the end of the month, probably.”

A sigh, “Dumbass…”

The first voice huffs, “The end of the month? Are you fucking kidding me? I told you to get that shit ready weeks ago and you’ve got it coming in at the end of the month?” 

“I’ll…I’ll see what I can do to get it sooner.”

“Yeah, you do that,” he grumbles. “Motherfucker. I need a drink. Get a bottle of something.”

One of the men rounds the counter, tracks falling short at the sight of you and Chloe huddled against the counter.

“What the fuck?”

You and Chloe are wide-eyed and frozen as he sneers down at you. Still, he looks like he’s trying to be tougher than he is, compensating for size that he does not have, with an attitude that doesn’t match up with the way he sped around the counter to get the other man a drink.

Another guy comes around and you quickly recognize him as the man in charge. He frowns at Chloe, sighing, “You’re not supposed to be here still, Chloe.”

She shifts her weight, “I was just…finishing inventory…”

The bossman’s eyes move to you, laced with nothing but inconvenience. “Oh and you brought a friend. Great.” 

“Mr. Murray, we were just ab—”

He’s quick to cut her off with a hand, “Chloe. Stop talking.”

Her face falls flat and her words die off without hesitation.

“Get up.”

She’s pushing herself off the ground instantly while you’re still on the floor catching up with what the hell’s going on. As she moves out from behind the bar, you scurry to follow her. Your arm bumps against hers as you fiddle with the seams at the bottom of your outfit.

You dressed to go out with your friend on a Friday night, not to meet three mobsters in a closed bar with no witnesses. That’s to say, you’re feeling a little exposed.

You stand in the center of the bar, the three men looking various degrees of annoyed looks across their faces. Though the oldest looking of the bunch has something else in his eyes as he looks you up and down, in no rush to hide his engrossment in your bare legs.

“How old are you, honey?” Even without the blatant ogling, that’s never a good question to hear from a fifty year old man.

Your eyes avert to the floor, lips pursing. 

“Hey, don’t be rude. I asked you a question.” He nudges your chin up a bit rougher than necessary, forcing you to look him in the eyes. 

Somehow, you feel like there’s no answer here that would help you. 

The man at the bar serves as an unexpected saving grace of sorts, muttering, “We don’t have time for this.”

Your pursuer shakes his head, looking you over in a way that makes you feel very small. “I think we got plenty of time.”

“I disagree.”

All heads whip to the doorway where the Red Hood leans against the frame, checking his phone. A never invited but always welcome addition to the party. At least for you.

The man in front of you instantly steps back, putting some distance between the two of you. Hands across the room instinctively fly to holsters only to begrudgingly relax at their sides, probably figuring drawing on Red Hood isn’t in their best interest. Though your focus lies on the bell above his head that didn’t make a peep whenever he came in.

Hood shuts his phone off and puts it away with a quiet sigh before glancing up at the tension-filled room. He literally double takes when his helmet scans past you. You somehow feel more in trouble now than you did two minutes ago. 

“Hood..” the bossman says measuredly. “What are you doing here?”

He stares at you for a second longer before tearing his gaze away. “Just thought I’d check up on you, Murray. Make sure you’re not causing trouble in light of our agreement.” He makes a point of looking back at you and Chloe at that last part before looking to Murray expectantly.

He waves that off easily, “This is nothing. Just two late-shift employees.”

Hood takes a piqued breath. “You picked a bad time to lie to me,” he says flatly.

Murray shakes his head, “Look, we’re just cleaning up a mess. No harm.”

“Really?”

“This clean up benefits you too, they heard too much. The one girl—Chloe, get out. She’s fine, she’s not talking.”

Chloe wastes no time exiting hastily. Bye Chloe.

He continues, “We only need to kill one of them.” He says it like this is an ideal compromise. You’re feeling differently.

Hood huffs, pulling out a gun from his holster. “I’m thinking it’s implied that killing innocent people is a form of causing trouble. Which is in direct violation of our agreement.” He cocks the gun, pointing it at Murray’s head.

Murray steps back dramatically, throwing his hands up. “Hey, an alliance is an alliance!”

Hood wavers his head to the side, “Alliance is a strong word. Temporary tolerance maybe…”

The short man pipes up, “Okay, calm down, calm down. Nobody needs to get killed. We can cooperate.”

“That’s the spirit,” Hood quips, lowering his gun.

The older one shakes his head, “We don’t have anything on her, she’ll talk.”

The short man demurs, “We don’t know that—”

“She saw too much, we can’t have her walking around with that information,” Murray says, moving towards you. 

Hood puts his hands up like some kind of mediator, “Nobody’s killing anybody.”

Murray scoffs, “You were gonna kill me!”

Hood's hands drop as he stands in full, “And I still might!”

Boldly, Murray steps up to him.

But Hood looks down at him, easily a full head taller than him and at least twice his muscle mass. “Let's weigh out your odds here, Murray. Is that a fight you’re winning?”

The look on Murray’s face tells you it’s not and he struggles to maintain this chest to chest confrontation.

It only takes him a moment of wavering to decide to back off, though he sure as hell doesn’t look happy about it. 

Hood pushes past him, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you towards him. 

Murray splutters, watching you go. “You can’t—I-I know people.”

“I am people,” Hood grumbles, steering you towards the door.

Though you can be sure they have them, no one voices any objections aa he pulls you outside.

His stride doesn’t even falter as he marches you down the sidewalk in the direction of your apartment. Aside from the sound of the breeze wisping past your ears, it’s silent between you.

After two blocks you get the strong impression that this muted exchange of energy is just going to keep on, so you force yourself to find something to rattle off about. “That uh, that seems like something he’s gonna be mad about.”

He huffs, “Yeah, well he can get over it or die so I guess it’s a personal choice.”

You frown at his tone, “What’s your problem?”

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say as his head snaps in your direction. “Why the hell are you out here?”

His sharp attitude has you stumbling a bit. “Why are you out here? You have a concussion.”

“I don’t have a concussion,” he grumbles. “And I just saved your life so maybe complaining about it isn’t your best move right now.”

You try to stop and face him but he doesn’t let you, keeping you moving along with him. “That’s what we’re doing? Really?” 

Are these about the social skills that you had expected from him based on your first meeting? Yeah. But that first meeting was months ago. He’s proven again and again that he has half a brain and the ability to read a room so you’re really not fucking sure what the hell his problem is. He won’t acknowledge that he kissed you and all but jumped out your living room window, but he will snap at you for asking about his concussion that there’s no way he doesn’t have. Especially if he’s acting like this. 

He ignores your comment, blatantly at that. “Did they say anything about a drug shipment?”

This is what we’re talking about? Sure. Fine. At least you’re talking. 

You open your mouth briefly before closing it again, eyes narrowed. “I don’t know.”

He tries again, “What about Nocturna? Did you hear that name?”

“I…I don’t know.” You weren’t exactly taking notes behind the bar counter. 

His head drops down heavily, “Okay, I think I’m seeing a trend for how this conversation’s gonna go...”

You gawk at him, astonished that he thinks it’s you who’s handling this discussion poorly. “You cannot be serious right now.”

He sighs, slowing as you approach the steps to your building, “Just—why’d they let Chloe go?”

You blink a few times, “I mean, she has a drug problem…” You guess that might be where she’s getting them from…

He nods solemnly, “Okay.”

You huff, turning to walk up the steps, shoulders heavy. You hope he’ll come up with you and maybe, just maybe, address the elephant in the room. 

“Are you—” you turn around to face him again, met with nothing but vacant air. 

A deep, tense, breath from you before calling out, “Really?”

One month. One month. And he decides to show up tonight like it’s no time lost. But there was some fucking time lost.

Count ‘em up, that’s one period, two paychecks, three grocery trips, four laundry days, and thirteen showers. And that stupid fucking vigilante ransacked your head during every single one.

You went through the five stages of grief for this bizarre, undefinable relationship and then discovered about six more while you were at it. 

So when you walk out from the bathroom, you’re a little pissed to see him sitting there on your living room floor, helping himself to a glass of water. 

Maybe it’s his domino mask that gives his expression the illusion of neutrality. Or maybe he really has no idea how insane it is that he would occupy your apartment like this after skipping out on you for an entire lunar cycle.

He leans against your armchair, inspecting a scratch on his lower arm. You enter silently, watching him the whole time as you make your way over to the far end of the couch.

He doesn’t look up at you though, not until after a minute or two of silence. 

“You got any bandages left?” he asks, throwing a glance over his shoulder. 

You stare at him incredulously. 

After ten seconds with no response from you, he turns around fully, frowning. “What?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I—” he squints, eyes flickering across your face. “No?”

You continue to gawk at him, not trying for any words.

He stares back, eyes wide. “I don’t know what you want me to say...”

You tear your gaze from him, preferring to stare at the wall. “You know what, I think I know what your problem is.”

He gives a laugh with little life to it. “I only have one?”

You bite down on your lip, “You only have one I’m ready to kill you over.”

He sits with that for a minute. A long minute, before asking softly, “What is it?”

You shake your head, glaring at an unoccupied nail in the wall. “That you’re an idiot,” you mutter. You start to walk away  before turning around again after a few steps. “Where the hell have you been?”

He blinks, “Uh, there’s just been a lot of—”

“Bullshit.”

He’s about to argue his point, but quickly decides to concede, “Yeah.” He takes a deep breath, sitting back. “I…wasn’t prepared for this conversation,” he says carefully.

You scoff with a nod, “Yeah, neither was I, but it’s happening. I m—what did you think was going to happen here? I—you kissed me, you kissed me!”

“No I—” he huffs, “I shouldn’t have done that, okay?”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

He sighs, throwing his hands up at his sides. “What do you want me to say?”

You shrug without genuinity, “Anything that could possibly rationalize that sequence of decisions. You kiss me, run away, ghost me for a fucking month, and then show up again like nothing happened.”

He shuts his eyes, shaking his head. “I know, I know, I’m sorry!”

“I’m not asking you to be sorry, I’m asking you to pick a fucking lane and stick to it!”

He falls silent at that, eyes on the floor. It’s quiet for long enough that you start to think he’ll accept the silence as his cue to leave. You’re not sure if you want him to or not.

You take a deep breath, eyes closed. “I need you to start being straight with me. Now.”

He doesn’t look up, taking his time to find his words. “I am sorry,” he tells you. “I…I’m not good at this. I’m not good with words so I shouldn’t have fucking done it.”

Honestly you weren’t expecting him to actually come up with a reason, so you’re not prepared to weigh out whether or not it’s a good one.

“I like you...a lot. And I didn’t know—I don’t know—what to do about it so I kissed you and I didn’t think it through, and…I guess I panicked.”

That’s more than enough for you to warrant looking back over at him. It doesn’t take long for your gaze to start shifting around awkwardly while you scratch at your neck. “I would’ve taken you for more of a fight over flight kinda guy.”

He nods to himself. “Jus’ depends..” he says quietly.

And then it seems neither of you have anything else to say. You’ve run out of angry words to spit and he’s run out of apologies and excuses. But neither of you feel like you’re done.

The quiet lingers on for a painful amount of time. Your annoyance dissipates into something else, something more uncomfortable, but you couldn’t find a name for it. It’s got your thoughts going faster though and your chest feeling more hollow. Maybe not hollow…maybe just softer. 

He cuts through your thoughts before you can, “Are you mad that I kissed you?”

You shake your head, “No. I’m mad about what happened after.” You’re just mad about what happened after. Should’ve said just.

He thinks about that for a moment. 

“I can be honest with you,” he tells you. The way he says it, it’s somewhere between a peace offering and an assurance to himself.

You look at him again. He reads oddly vulnerable for a man his size with his reputation. You believe him. 

He goes on, “I trust you, you know? I want you to trust me too, if you can.”

You blink a few times, processing. “I…I don’t know anything about you.”

He nods, an anxious aura radiating around him. He leaves you hanging for longer than a few moments, getting you convinced that the conversation is just going to end there.

It doesn’t though, and after a few minutes, he sits up and reaches up to his mask.

It has you sitting up too, like he just pulled out a gun. Your hands fly up instinctually, as though this is completely uncalled for, as if he’s crazy for doing it.

He pauses his movements for a moment, making eye contact with you. His eyes reaffirm his words. He trusts you and he wants you to trust him.

You allow your hands to relax onto your lap and he continues on, taking his mask off.

You’re not revealed to much more of his face than you’d already seen before, but entirely in view like this, he’s a sight. You try not to stare but there’s little reward to removing him from your sight whereas the alternative…

All together like this you can see how his features balance his face out so nicely and make for a warm countenance, if not rough.

He takes a deep breath, setting his mask to the side. “My name is J…” he says with assurance. “Todd,” he tacks on.

You don’t mean to, really, but you’re sure the frown on your face is evident as puzzle pieces start forming and connecting in your mind. 

J…Todd…J…Jay…Todd…Jason…Todd…

Your mouth hangs open, “You’re Jason Todd. You’re de—” Well a couple things are starting to add up. “How are you…how are you not—”

He waves that away, tiredly. “It's a long story. Not particularly happy, either.”

Autopsy scar. Fuck. 

“I mean, I’ll…” he hesitates, “I’ll tell you if you want me to.”

He says it, but discomfort is painted across his face. You’re quick to shake your head, “It’s okay.”

He nods, likely relieved.

You stand up from your seat, crossing the room to sit down next to him. You’d half-expected him to tense up, but his body relaxes when you lean back against the chair.

You close your eyes before asking, “Who’s Nocturna?”

“She’s just this woman that’s been causing trouble for us.”

You don’t say anything and he continues on, shaking his head. “She’s more annoying than anything.”

You open your eyes, looking over. “Yeah?”

He shrugs, “Just trying to take over the underworld, the usual stuff. Nothing you need to worry about.”

You give a laugh that’s barely more than an exhale, relaxing your body completely..

There’s the slightest lull in activity before he sets his hand down on the floor, right on top of yours. The sounds of your breathing are the only thing that fill the room for a few minutes, save for the occasional car horn.

He glances at the clock on the wall, nearing midnight. “I have to go...” He says reluctantly.

You try not to let the disappointment show through your body language. “Go where?”

He pauses before telling you,  “A cemetery.”

You nod vacantly, “Oh. Just for fun, or…?”

He gives a dry laugh, “Just meeting an associate. They’re a bit dramatic, so.”

“Yeah, I’d say.”

“I’ll come back—I’m going to come back,” he mutters against your hairline.

You don’t respond, but you both know he’s good for his promise.

He looks around your apartment for a second before seemingly getting an idea. He pushes himself up off the ground and heads for your kitchen. You watch as he rips a sticky note off the deck on your fridge and scribbles something down on it. 

He returns to you, kneeling down and pushing the square of paper into your hand. “Here,” he says, looking you in the eye. “If you need anything. Anything.”

You engulf the note in your palm, nodding sincerely. His eyes flicker across your face, like he’s thinking about something. He hesitates for a moment, turning towards you, away from you, then towards you again. He holds the back of your head tenderly before pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead.

You look at each other up close for a second with nothing short of starry eyes before he turns away and ducks out the window.

You open up your palm and look down at the paper, at the ten digits scrawled across it.

Huh.

Must be official. 

🧨 reblog or die (this is a threat) 🧨

[catgirlpwr]

[catgirlpwr]

A Man With a Plan.8

prologue // p1 // p2 // p3 // p4 // p5 // p6 // p7 // p8

Remus Lupin x whimsical!reader - Hogwarts Era (no Voldemort) - Soulmate AU

CW: Remus losing his ever loving mind, temporary(?) truce w/ Slytherins, truth is revealed, Peter is very nervous when the discussion turns to plotting murder [3.2k words]

✧A/N - please read ✧ this fic is still and will remain on hiatus until it's completion. I will not respond to asks about when the next update will be (feel free to gush and discuss, just please don't ask for updates). this fic, for whatever reason, is a sore spot for me & if I didn't have people who loved it so much, I'd have trashed it by now, so please take this into consideration. secondly, the taglist is closed and I will no longer be tagging anyone on future updates - kudos to all of the creators who take the time to offer tag lists because it is not easy and I will never be doing it for another fic again lol

Remus had been trying (and failing) to pay attention to the lesson, but apparently watching the odd bird fly past the window was far more entertaining than listening to Professor Binns’ sluggish lesson about the Goblin rebellions.

Yesterday’s conversation with you was still replaying at the forefront of his mind; most of Remus’ thoughts were already about you, mind you, but this had become an incessant point of worry for him. He found that he was particularly bothered by how bothered you appeared to be.

Remus was the first to admit his friends weren’t always the…easiest to be around. They were loud, abrasive, brash, somewhat aggressive, and always up to something.

He should have been more patient with you and your friends; as much as Moony called you his; you were your own first. 

You always had to come first.

Moony huffed in response to that but seemed to relent when Remus insisted the utmost importance was your happiness and safety.

Even the werewolf couldn’t argue with that.

He could tell you were still bothered today; he could feel it, in the rise of your heart rate intermittently throughout the morning, or the white hot heat that would settle in his (your) chest before evening out just as quickly. He had learned by now that you were quite attuned with your own feelings, and seemed to control them very well. Remus found himself quite jealous of that trait. It was clear how deeply you were attuned to emotions, both yours and others, and the way that tended to influence your behaviours.

You seemed to be content right now, and Remus found himself wondering where on the castle grounds you might be right now.

Gods, he was such a freak.

Want. Mine? Where mine?  

He fought the urge to groan at Moony as he returned his gaze to the front of the class.

It appeared that Remus wasn't the only one with a lack of interest in Binns’ wearisome lesson as most of his classmates were beyond even pretending to pay attention; a few even drooling on their textbooks and letting out the odd snore.

It didn’t appear to bother Binns much who continued drilling on about the role goblin metal played in the rebellions.

Remus wondered if the professor had ever put himself to sleep during one of his lectures. He let out a small snort at that.

Before he could be concerned about whether anyone heard him or not, Remus felt an abrupt tension wash through him. No, not him. You. 

You were beyond tense, a tight kind of worry worming its way through your core. 

Not good. Not good. Not good. 

Though Remus didn’t find himself in a position to argue with Moony, he didn’t find the commentary particularly helpful. But for the first time since the soulbond came into effect, Moony quieted completely - almost as if he was allowing Remus to fully lock in on you. 

Shock - horror? You’d been startled… a painful surprise. Why couldn’t Remus think of the bloody word for the way you were feeling?

It quickly moved to heartbreak; it was as if Remus could feel himself sinking to the ground along with your heart.

Where the hell were you right now?

The heavy, sinking pain settled in Remus’ stomach whilst the sounds of Professor Binns and the surrounding student’s snores fell away into a quiet hum; Remus simply ceased to exist in the physical world as his consciousness went looking for you. 

Disappointment and guilt is what you seemed to settle on; a decisive determination forming in your mind. 

Then your heart spiked.

Worry?

Pain? 

Panic???

Remus had little time to acknowledge his realisation before an ice cold terror overtook you.

He could feel the violent rattle of your heart in your chest as your lungs started to burn; it was as if he could hear you screaming. 

And Moony went feral. 

NOW. NOW. NOWNOWNOWNOWNOWNOWNOW NOW. 

Remus hardly even realised that he had shot up until the chair fell to the ground with a loud thunk, likely startling the many napping students out of their slumber but he found that he just didn’t care about the disturbance he made as he took off in a full sprint out of the History classroom. 

He took the stairs two at a time in what felt like an arbitrary direction; he couldn’t tell you even if he tried where his feet were taking him, all his mind was concerned with was getting to you.

Remus had no idea where you were, but he'd find you.

If he didn’t know something was terribly wrong before, he certainly knew it now when your panic turned into a frantic desperation; cold, so cold was the terror that seeped down into your very soul. He was certain your magic was calling out to him, even as your core began to weaken. 

I’m coming, dove. I’m coming. Remus chanted as Moony howled in agreement. 

Remus’ own lungs burned nearly as badly as his legs did but he didn’t slow down, even when he shoved past a group of first years as he tore through the courtyard. He’d be sorry later; right now he had somewhere to get to, someone to get to.

Remus was just beginning to regret not taking up James’ offers to go for runs with him in the mornings when he felt a sharp relieved feeling - it was not relief, but a relieved moment - before shock and horror took over.

Your heart rate was a riot and you were distressed but Remus was sure he could feel you breathing and it was enough, it had to be enough until he got to you. 

He had to get to you. 

“Remus!” James shouted in a manner that told Remus it hadn’t been the first time he did so. 

Remus simply turned to look at him over his shoulder without slowing down.

“Mate! What the hell?!”

“Something is wrong.” Remus shouted.

“Yeah, you’ve bloody lost the plot it seems - I’d say that’s very wrong!” James replied breathlessly. 

Remus was going to tell him to sod off when relief came in the sight of you, though the relief was tentative when he noticed you soaking and hunched in on yourself in the sand. 

“Y/N!” He shouted then; you didn’t react, which only resulted in him panicking more.

“Y/N!” He shouted again as he made it to you; sinking to his knees in the wet sand as his chest burned. “Dovey, hey. Hey, look at me. Are you okay? Baby please, look at me.”

He finally brought a hand to your chin and tilted your head up to him; your skin was horridly cold and eyes were wild as your own chest heaved like you, too, had just run all this way.

“What happened, dove? Are- are you okay? What happened?” He was practically begging at this point but he couldn’t bring himself to care, even as James made his way over to stand behind you. 

“What’s going on?” James asked quietly; Remus could only shake his head at him.

“You’re soaked. Did you fall in?” He tried asking you; you simply looked towards the water in response. 

James quickly shed his jumper and handed it to Remus who wrapped it around you before he shed his own cardigan to wrap that around you as well. 

“Please baby, talk to me?” Remus begged. Your lip trembled and you pointed your gaze to your lap. 

He felt completely helpless; he had this deep desire - no, need - to help you, to protect you. He wanted to know what happened so he could fix this; he wanted to fix this.

But this wasn’t about what Remus wanted, it was about what you needed… what you deserved. 

“Prongs?” Remus said quietly as he simply settled into the wet sand beside you, pulling you into his lap and cocooning you with his body to provide you with some of his warmth. “Can you go get Junior? Please?”

James quickly looked between the two of you before nodding and running back towards the castle. 

·。·。·。·。·。·。·。·。·。·。·。·。·。·。·

Remus had been unable to encourage any more from you than a few shuddering breaths and a squeeze of your hand that he was holding hostage in his.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to let you go again.

Unfortunately, this appeared to be one more of his many plans destined for failure.

“Treasure!?” Barty called as he and James ran over. “Hey! Tres, you okay?” He breathed as he knelt in front of you and Remus, much like Remus had when he found you mere moments ago. 

“Talk to me.” Barty whispered as he pushed your damp hair away from your face.

You let out a short breath that had you deflating significantly, as if you’d been sitting with every string in your body pulled taut until Barty had shown up. 

It hurt, for a moment, knowing you weren’t Remus’ person - or rather, that he wasn’t yours - but he bit back the emotion flooding in his mouth because it still wasn’t about what Remus wanted, it was about what you needed.

And right now, you needed Barty.

Your chin dimpled as your bottom lip began to wobble and Remus watched as your eyes filled with tears. 

“What happened?” Barty begged through a whisper, and that seemed to be the last of your resolve.

Remus was forced to relinquish his hold on you as you dissolved into tears and fell bodily into Barty’s embrace; he seemed to be expecting it though and caught you readily in a way Remus wondered if he’d ever be capable of.

Unable to explain your hurt to Barty, you simply sobbed and clung to him as he looked at Remus in horrified bemusement.

Remus could only shrug his shoulders and shake his head remorsefully. 

“Okay, you’re alright Treasure. We’ll figure this out, yeah? We’ve always figured it out; you and me, okay?” 

Remus immediately felt like he was encroaching on something entirely too private and stood; bitterness, grief, and worry twisting up an emotional cocktail that he knew would taste horrid on the way down.

“Lupin.” Barty called out, forcing Remus to pause as he made his way towards James. “Thank you, for fetching me.”

Remus simply nodded before turning back for the castle. 

“I’ll-” Barty called again before pausing, waiting for Remus to turn around once more. “I’ll let you know how we make out.”

Remus nodded and let out a breath. “Thank you.”

The two boys shared a knowing look before Remus turned, joining James as they headed back towards the castle - no doubt facing a detention or two for causing a scene and abandoning class - in silence. 

Remus learnt little else about what happened at the lake until dinner when Regulus approached them with the small amount of information Barty had managed to get from you.

“She said she fell in?” James asked quizzically then.

Regulus tilted his head side to side in a so-so. “It was less that she said it and more that she agreed with Barty that that’s what happened. Why?”

James shook his head as if jostling around the thoughts in his brain would make it make more sense. “She’s been going to that dock for months to feed the mermaids, I-”

“She wasn’t feeding them.” Remus interjected quickly. “She was bringing them gifts.”

Remus looked up from his novel to see his friends and Regulus staring at him incredulously.

“Right…” James continued after a beat. “So, she’s been going to that dock for months to bring gifts to the mermaids, and she’s never once had an issue. Why now?” 

Regulus heaved a sigh as he shrugged his shoulders defeatedly. “We’ve not been able to get much more out of her; she just keeps saying she needs to ‘fix things’.”

“What things?” James asked then, causing the younger Black brother to sneer at him. 

“I just said we haven’t been able to get more out of her, Potter. Merlin; tu t’entoures d’idiots, frère.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Sirius moaned in exasperation. “Thank you, Reg.”

“Thank you.” Remus seconded, earning him a nod of understanding from the younger Black.

Remus returned to his novel, though he found himself unable to make sense of any of the words. James was right; something just didn’t make sense.

Just yesterday you had laughed at Remus for his concern for you on the dock 

… Remus quickly stood and gently helped you stand and pulled you closer to the middle of the dock, away from the edge you’d been inhabiting.

You giggled at him; the first real spontaneous emotion he thinks he had ever heard from you, and it caused Remus’ heart rate to speed up double time.

“You needn’t worry, Remus.” You expressed solemnly. “I’m very careful.”  …

And James seemed to know that to be true as well.

What weren’t you telling them? And what did you need to fix?

It wasn’t until later that evening that Remus came to realise what it was that you weren’t telling them. 

“Remus! Is she okay!?” He heard Amelia call breathlessly as she approached him in the library.

Remus was momentarily confused; he hadn’t spoken to Amelia in what felt like weeks, and he couldn’t imagine who she was possibly referring to.

“Pardon?” He asked dumbly.

“Y/N.” Amelia answered quickly; a deep divot present between her brows. “I just heard what happened; I swear I had no idea what they were doing, Rem. I would have never allowed it!”

Remus quickly slammed his History tome closed and stood over her menacingly. 

“Allowed what?” He sneered at her. “Who are ‘they’ and what exactly did ‘they’ do to her?”

Amelia seemed to baulk at the sudden severity of Remus, but she soldiered on. “I.. it was Silas, Shirley, and Coraline. They- I guess they figured, well-”

“Spit it out, Amelia.” Remus hissed at her.

“They think they were like, defending me, or something… by picking on her. I guess they tried to tell her to back off from you, and Silas said he shoved her in the Lake.”

Bad. Bad, bad, bad. Kill.

And while Remus knew, generally speaking, that he couldn’t kill a bunch of Hufflepuffs, he didn’t exactly disagree with the enraged and murderous Wolf howling inside of him.

“Is she okay?” Amelia asked again, quieter this time.

Remus felt bad when he noticed her cowering slightly beneath him; he felt bad about all of it.

Leading her on, playing with her feelings when he knew she liked him as more than a friend, and for ever getting you tangled up in this mess of his. 

He planned to never let it happen again.

“I’m not sure, Amelia.” He admitted then, realising somewhat belatedly that he had been simply waiting on you to come to him instead of actively working to help you fix this. “But she will be; I’ll make sure of it.”

Amelia offered him a sad smile at that. “Okay…thank you, Remus.”

“I’m sorry, Amelia.” He blurted then, watching as her sad smile turned soft.

“Thank you, Remus. Tell Y/N I’m sorry, too, okay?” 

And Remus watched Amelia walk away as he formulated a plan. 

James was easy to find, seeing as he was currently hanging on to every word coming out of Lily Evan’s mouth as she practised her presentation for the upcoming Herbology assignment.

“Hey, Rem.” Lily greeted with a smile as she shuffled through her cue cards, causing James to turn comically in his place on the couch where he’d been sitting with his elbows on his knees and his chin on fists.

“‘Lo Moons!” 

“Prongs, I’m sorry, but are you terribly busy right now?” Remus immediately felt bad for asking when James grimaced and turned to look at Lily. “It’s Y/N.” He clarified.

James immediately turned back towards him. “Is she okay?” 

Remus shrugged his shoulders. “But I know what happened.”

James’ face turned solemn as he turned to give Lily an apologetic smile.

She quickly smiled tenderly at him and waved him off. “Go, Potter. Make sure she’s okay for me, yeah?” 

James beamed at her before jumping up and planting a smacking kiss on the red-head’s cheek. “You were doing brilliantly, Lils! I’ll help you practise more later!”

“That seemed cosy.” Remus murmured as they stepped into the hallway and shut the door behind them. 

“It certainly felt cosy.” James agreed readily.

With the map that James had on his person, finding Sirius was an easy feat - what was not an easy feat was opening the broom closet door to find him and a Ravenclaw in various states of undress with their tongues down each other’s throats.

“Sorry, sweets.” Sirius winked at the other student as he pulled up his fly. “Duty calls.”

They found Pete in Chess Club and pulled him away from the game he was currently “winning, you absolute sods!” by the collar of his uniform shirt. 

And with the full moon a little bit more than 24 hours away, even Moony couldn’t deny the advantage they’d have with a little more help…

“It says he’s in the library.” Peter explained as he trailed behind the group with the map.

“Where’s my- where’s Y/N?” Remus quickly corrected himself.

Peter hummed as he searched the map whilst Sirius and James shared a knowing look behind Remus’ back. “Says she’s in Ravenclaw.”

Good, that was good.

You were fine. Safe.

And Remus knew that just had to be true, because Barty wouldn’t have agreed to leave your side otherwise. 

Back where Remus had begun this search, they did indeed find Barty hunched over a large looking tome at a table as Regulus, Dorcas, and Evan conversed quietly beside him. 

“Unless you’re here to learn the art of the Mermish language, bugger off.” Barty muttered without raising his head as Evan and Dorcas eyed the Marauders warily. 

“Relax, Meadows.” Sirius taunted. “We’re not here to prank you lot.”

“Forgive me if I don’t particularly believe you.” She muttered in response, narrowing her eyes at the boy. 

“To what do we owe this displeasure?” Evan drawled as he twirled his want in his hand.

“Play nice, Rosier.” Regulus muttered; obviously not particularly grateful for the Gryffindors’ company but clearly understanding there was  a reason for it.

“What, did you just say you were learning Mermish?” James asked Barty then; never one to manage to stay on task. 

Barty did look up at that only to look at James in bemusement. “Yes?”

“Why?” James continued, causing Barty to scoff.

“To thank them for saving Treasure, obviously. Do keep up, Potter.”

A disbelieving breath escaped Remus’ lips as he scrutinised your oldest friend. “That’s…actually really nice of you, Junior.” He admitted quietly, causing Barty’s bemused gaze to flit to him.

“Well yeah…I’m a real sweetie pie.” Barty muttered as if that had been really quite obvious and didn’t know why they were all talking about it, suddenly. 

“Listen, I found out what happened to Y/N.” Remus announced then; every Slytherin quickly standing at attention for Remus to explain. 

“They shoved her in?” Regulus confirmed slowly, earning him a nod in agreement from Remus.

“Well boys,” Barty started as he stood with a flourish, pausing at Dorcas’ pointed ‘ahem’ to amend “and Meadows, fuck’s sake”, “looks like we’ve got some Hufflepuff’s to kill!” He cheered gleefully, moving towards the library doors as if expecting everyone to follow him.

“We’re…we’re not going to actually kill them, right guys?” Peter asked nervously as the Slytherin’s rose from their respective seats, and the Gryffindor’s trailed after them.

“Right!?”

Tag list [NOW CLOSED] part 1:

@hanniejji , @y0urm0m12 , @c0nsc10usworld , @aphrcdites , @starsval , @anuncalledbridge , @klazina-couch-potato , @cancelledkaley , @ttulipwritezz , @boo8008 , @imobsessedwitholiviarodrigo , @frostooo , @myriadmoons , @aremuslupinsimp , @simars3 , @stargurl99 , @dreamingofts18 , @agent-tempest , @xxrougefangxx , @serenadingtigers , @adhxmoony , @hufflepufffangirlqueen , @thebiggestnaturaldisaster , @urmomw4ntsme , @b4tm4nn , @jamieolivia27 , @stqrgirlies-blog , @loving-and-dreaming , @cultish-corner , @all-in-the-fandoms , @sadslasher13 , @enamoredwithbella

[catgirlpwr]

HEAR ME OUT

former fboy barty who is now madly in love with reader and reader is like his first actual serious girlfriend

ARE WE SEEING THE VISION

I'M SEEING THE VISION HERE YOU GO; also, it's a continuation of this post but can be read as a standalone

Barty Crouch Jr x fem!reader who doesn't do 'casual' [1k words]

CW: brief mention of past harassment, mention of past sexual encounter but nothing explicit and SFW

Barty said goodbye to Evan in way of putting his hand against his mouth to get him to stop talking and then shoving his face away from him as he started taking purposeful strides for you. 

He’d only opted to come to class today in hopes of seeing you, and he’d only deigned to hang around afterwards so that he could talk to you after you finished speaking with the Professor.

Barty had been struggling to get you out of his mind for over a week now ever since you approached him in the club asking him to pretend to be your boyfriend, which ended in a very enjoyable romp afterwards.

And he’d be lying if he wasn’t hoping for another tryst as he pulled the door open for you before you’d even had a chance to push it; a look of wary surprise crossing your face before it melted into a smile.

That smile made him feel funny. 

“Well hello, my darling girlfriend.” He teased as he fell into step with you. 

“Hello, Barty.” You chuckled as you gently nudged him with your elbow. “Alright?”

“Fantastic, thank you. I’ve been thinking about the fun we had the other night.” He said as he moved to stand in front of you, smiling in that way of his that he knew usually got him what he wanted.

You simply smirked knowingly and raised an eyebrow at him. “What? Fleeing from a bar without paying your tab?”

Barty scoffed and waved you off. “My dad owns that bar, it’s fine. No, I meant what happened afterwards.”

You hummed in acknowledgment as you scrutinised him. “You mean when I thanked you profusely-”

“-multiple times-” Barty amended, earning him a salacious grin from you.

“-multiple times, for saving me from that creep?”

“Precisely.” Barty agreed with a nod. 

“That was fun.” You admitted, to which Barty quickly agreed. “But I don't think so, Barty. Sorry.”

“Oh… oh! Okay…erm, may I ask why not?” He sputtered as he took two long strides in order to catch up with you as you continued walking across campus. 

“You may.” You relented simply, smirking when you saw Barty roll his eyes from your periphery. 

“Okay…why not?”

“I…listen, I had fun and I don’t regret it, but I don’t usually do…casual.” You admitted, looking embarrassed for all intents and purposes as you stared down at Barty’s shoes and chewed on your lower lip. 

“Casual.” Barty parroted, fighting the urge to relieve your lower lip from its torment and, perhaps disturbingly, afflict it to his own torment. 

“Right, I…I don’t usually do casual sex, that was uhm…that was a one time thing for me.” 

“Oh, so…so, you only have sex when you’re dating someone?” Barty concluded.

“Right.”

“Great. Go on a date with me.” 

You barked a laugh as you continued walking, only to turn and see that Barty wasn’t following nor was he laughing as he was really quite serious.

“Are you-…you’re not serious, are you?”

“Mmm, nope, I’m quite serious, actually.” He responded.

“Barty.” You huffed somewhat chidingly. “I’ve never once seen you speak to the same girl twice. Well, save Meadows, but I’m quite certain she likes girls, so.”

Barty simply shrugged at you, not seeing at all what the issue was here. “There’s a first time for everything, no? I’m standing here talking to you for a second time, am I not?” 

“I’m just…I’m looking for something serious, Barty.”

“I can be serious!” He argued rather petulantly. 

“I’m not going to ask you for something you might not be capable of giving me.” You sighed.

“Are you challenging me? Is this a challenge? Because I’ll have you know I’ve never once lost a bet.”

“I’m not challenging you, Barty.” You laughed affectionately at him. “Monogamy and commitment isn’t your thing, and that’s fine! I’m not judging you or blaming you at all; I just think we might want different things.”

Barty stepped forward so that he was standing but a few inches from you, forcing you to look up at him. “Well, what I want is you.”

“You want me right now.” You whispered back; some of the fight clearly leaving you as you searched between his eyes.

“I’ll prove it. Let me prove it to you.” He insisted, daring to push some of your hair falling from its restraint away from your eyes. 

You sighed somewhat sadly as your bottom lip threatened to jut out. “I’m not worth breaking your rules for, Barty.”

“I think I can decide that for myself, no?” He murmured back.

He had to admit this is the softest he’d ever been with anyone before, but it was also the softest he’d ever felt with anyone before.

He didn’t usually get caught up on people; not like this, not like you. 

But you awoke something inside of him that night when you darted out of the sea of bodies like he was the last life raft of a sinking ship, your eyes wild and desperate as you clung to him.

He was always down for a ruse, so when you’d asked him to pretend to be your boyfriend he was more than happy to cause a little chaos. But when he’d heard you were scared, harassed, bothered? Well, the deep, black, protective rage that had him nearly fusing your body to his was something completely foreign to him.

He wanted more of it.

He wanted you.

And if this is what you needed from him? Well, he’d be that for you. 

“Teach me? I’m a quick learner, rather clever too.” He asked as he tilted your head up by your chin and forced you to look at him. 

“I…I don’t want to be an experiment.”

“I don’t either.” He agreed. “I just want you to be mine.”

You searched his eyes for a few more moments before letting out a dramatic sigh. 

“Fine, but I will be teaching you and there will be a quiz at the end of this so do keep up.” You hollered at him over your shoulder, though your small smile gave away the fact that it was all for show.

“Don’t you worry, treasure; I perform very well on tests.”

[catgirlpwr]

We'll heal together: Chapter Four

Drops of Jupiter Train

Remus Lupin x Reader (Ambiguous)

Masterlist

Summary: The return of Y/N and a reunion of a mentor and apprentice / More description on how her friends reacted to her 'Death'

Cw: Use of {Y/N}, Reader in pain, cursing, more jealous and mean Sirius, descriptions of death and mourning, PTSD (please reach out if I missed something}

Wc- 3274

“It's really not that bad, we’re lucky she didn't give us detention!” James laughed as he shoveled spoonfuls of oatmeal into his mouth, making Remus give him a look between disgust and disappointment as he continued to talk through the food. 

“You should really get to know her before you judge her, Sirius.” Peter piped up, being bold, but the look Sirius sent him made him quickly look down at his hands. 

“Get to know her? She's wicked! Not the good kind! Not to mention, may I remind you, a Slytherin?” He spat the house name out like it was venom on his tongue. Remus rolled his eyes and scoffed, making Sirius give him a look. 

“And, may I add, a pureblood witch.” He sneered. “The {L/N}s are horrid! Knowing they do business with my parents is enough reason to steer clear of her. But then she runs around with my brother of all people! Crouch and Rosier? Whatever, but then you add in Snape. She's a dark witch for sure.”

“You're one to talk.” Peter mumbled under his breath.

“What was that?” Sirius snapped.

“She's nothing like her parents.” Remus snapped back, eyes narrowing at Sirius and James gave a huff. 

“She's like my sister, watch it, Padfoot.” James muttered past a bite of his apple. 

“Right, I forget she has you three under some spell.” Sirius huffed and looked down to poke around at his plate. He curled his bottom lip between his teeth and bit down hard, glancing up at Remus, who seemed to have settled down. Making the choice to push further, Sirius leaned his hands on the table.

“You know, just because you have a little crush on her doesn't make her a perfect person.” He hissed across the table at Remus. Remus, in turn, flushed up to his ears, but his expression hardened. Glaring at Sirius as James clicked his tongue to try and dissolve the sudden tension. 

“Well, you know who is a perfect person?” He suddenly called out, lighting up as he looked over at the front doors. Lily and {Y/N} had just stepped through, laughing and teasing each other. 

“Oh, my Lilypad!” He sang across the hall and Lily grimaced, You smirked at her before looking over at the four boys, waving as Evans avoided their eyes.

“We are not sitting by them.” 

“Oh, but we are.” You purred and began to walk over to the table.

“You little shite.” Lily hissed at you, making you laugh. 

“You have the temper of a muggle.” You teased and she jabbed you in the side, making you throw your head back in a cackle. She tried her best to suppress a smile. 

“And you? The boldness of a pureblood with no brains to match.” Lily smirked and you playfully shoved her. 

“My brains are perfectly intact, it's yours I worry about.” You smirked and she narrowed her eyes in curiosity. You lowered your voice and leaned over to her ear. “Considering all that seems to run through it is a certain Potter boy?” You teased before you turned back to the group as you made it to the table.

“Morning all.” You greeted and gave another laugh as you sat down and Lily purposefully hit you with her bag, sitting between you and Peter. 

“Oh good morning beautiful, you know, I've been wondering if you'd like to make a little wager with me.” James leaned across the table towards Lily, practically shoving a huffing Sirius to the side. 

“And what is this wager, James?” Lily asked with a sigh, eyes flicking down to her plate before she reached over for the pumpkin juice just as James quickly took it and poured for her. Making her bite her cheek and roll her eyes. 

“The Quidditch match, next week? I figured, if I win, you would humor me with a date to Hogsmeade.” He smirked and Lily closed her eyes with a low sigh, leaning her chin on her palms before she fluttered her eyes open in annoyance and met his own. His heart could have stopped for a moment, but he stayed ever confident. 

“What do I get if you lose, Potter?” She sighed with a tilt of her head. You could have sworn she was flirting if she didn't have such a bored look to her. 

“I'll buy you whatever you'd like from Honeydukes.” He persuaded, dented his cheek with his tongue and a charming smile. Lily gave him a look before she pressed her hand to her cheek. “So I'd spend the day with you either way?” 

“I-”

“Not interested, Potter.” 

You watched the interaction with a smile before Remus nudged you with his elbow. Looking up at him you smiled, letting Lily and James flirtatious bickering fade out.

 “Hey.” He whispered over to you and you lifted your eyebrow with a smirk.

“Hey yourself.” You whispered back. 

He had his arms crossed and began leaning down on the table so his head was a little lower than your own. You mimicked his body language, crossing your arms and lowering your head so you were mere inches from each other. “Why are we whispering?” You asked with a smirk and he chuckled low.

“I wanted to know what you two were chatting about, you were whispering so it seemed fitting.” He muttered so just you could hear, you giggled at this and rested your legs up on the bar below the benches. 

“We were talking about a boy.” You teased and he bit his cheek, before slowly smirking. Oh Merlin, save you. Those pretty eyes and dimpled cheeks would ruin you. 

“Any boy in particular?” He pried.

“Jealous?” You pushed in a playful tone.

“Maybe.” 

Your cheeks grew hot at this, but you couldn't help but smile. Using your eyes to gesture towards James and Lily. “Who do you think, Lupin?”

His smirk turned to a quick and bright smile, lifting himself back up with a new filled confidence. “Anyone else?” 

“Don't worry, next time I go ranting to Lily about you, you'll be the first to know.”

“Next time?” He cheeked, looking you over.

“Definitely next time.” You matched his look before that ever bitter voice piped up. 

“Get a room.” Sirius hissed and your expression fell, looking over at him. You looked him up and down and scoffed. “Managed to get rid of the glitter did you?” 

“Managed to hide the horns, hm? Your morning routine must be tireless.”

“Not as horrid as yours, can't imagine it's easy slicking the slime off your back, you toad.”

“Wicked witch.”

“Fucking bit-”

“Woah woah woah, I hate it when mom and dad fight.” James spoke up and you shot him a glare, making Sirius scoff. “Mom and dad? Try Uncle and rancid egg.”

“Rancid egg? That's the best you could do? That pretty head of yours must truly be just for show.”

“You think I'm pretty?” He smirked and you groaned. Your petty argument interrupted as some of the kids gasped in excitement, making you look up curiously as the owls rolled in with the postage.

You looked over at the Slytherin table as one of the owls crossed the great hall to you. Dropping two letters in your lap. One was from your parents, that Lily quickly stole from your grasp. She made it her personal duty to review your parents letters and summarize them for you, after finding you heartbroken over some choice words your mother had for you after she found out you had missed an ‘O’ on your report card for a tardy.

You smiled gratefully at her before you looked over the much more professional looking letter.

“What's that?” Sirius barked out before he could think and you clicked your tongue. “Wouldn't you like to know, Black?”

You opened the letter and felt both Remus and Lily lean in closer and sandwich you between them. You tried to manage reading it before you tutted and shooed them back, making both of them look at eachother with a laugh.

“Are you going to Azkaban? Finally?” James asked and you sighed, eyes still scanning the page as you waved your hand to tell him to continue with his crappy joke. “Because your smile is so great, it's criminal.” He leaned towards you. 

You slowly looked up from the paper and gave him a look, both of you holding a serious gaze before he cracked and laughed, making you smile and look back down. This time ignoring any distractions and muttering along with the words. “Blah blah blah… this and that.. we are happy to inform you that YOUR APPRENTICESHIP AT THE AUROR DEPARTMENT WITHIN THE MINISTRY HAS BEEN ACCEPTED!” You practically announced to the entire hall. Lifting up the paper in absolute starstruck delight and Lily gave a gasp and a bright smile.

“Merlin, {Y/N}! Congratulations!” She squealed and hugged your arm tight. You leaned into her side and your legs kicked out in excitement. 

“Ministry apprenticeship? As an Auror? You're sixteen.” James spoke up and even his ignorance couldn't deter your mood, just sending him your dazzling smile. “Yup! I am basically learning the ins and outs of the ministry office work, but if this goes well I'll be in the field by graduation!” You narrowed your eyes, still smiling bright. “I told you this last year when Slughorn helped me apply.” 

“When was this?” James scoffed and you rolled your eyes.

“At the party? When you beat Hufflepuff?”

“Which time?”

“Come off it, mate.” You snickered and your head snapped over to Peter who tapped your thigh to get your attention.

“You earned it, {Y/N}.” He praised in a low tone and your brilliant smile returned. “Thank you, Peter.”

Suddenly you gave a small yelp as Remus pinched your side. You look over at him in playful irritation. “What was that for?”

“Congratulations.” He whispered as if you two were the only ones at the table. You felt that smile growing ten fold. “You could of just said that.” You tried to muse playfully but your voice came out broken. 

“How else would I be guaranteed that smile of yours?”

“Flirt.”

“I am trying. Is it working?”

“Unfortunately, quite well.” You two bantered and didn't notice the look Lily and Peter shared.

“Soo.” Lily interrupted your game of eye contact with Remus.

“Hm?” You asked and looked over. “You said you are being trained? Who specifically is overlooking you?”

“Oh! Uhm.” You quickly scanned the page again before your jaw went slack. “What?” You whispered in shock before you quickly pulled Lily closer and shoved the paper in her face.

“Are you seeing what I'm seeing?”

“Hm.. oh Merlin!”

“Alastor Moody!” You declared with a fist in the air and James gave you a look of surprise. Remus snapped his head to the paper and leaned in to read it, Peter clapped for you. Even Sirius seemed a bit impressed.

“He's like..”

“Your hero, we know.” Lily cheeked and you giggled. Looking over to the door as three more figures walked in, quickly, you excused yourself and ran like a bullet down the hall. “Mary! Alice! Marleen! Guess fucking what!” 

~~

The Weasley’s house was lively as ever, even with all the boys and Ginny at school. Molly was rushing around downstairs trying to keep herself busy, and her mind off the girl resting upstairs.

Dumbledore gave no warning, coming to her early morning with an unconscious girl, a girl she remembered instantly. {Y/N}, a girl she had known from her closeness with her elder brothers, having known her since she was 16, working as an apprentice under Mad-Eye, who worked closely with the Prewett twins.

The same girl who saved her eldest brother, Gideon Prewett, on her last ever mission for the order. The very same girl they buried days later. It took everything in Molly not to letter him and demand he come back from America to see what she discovered. The girl's death destroyed him, he lost his friend’s apprentice and his brother the same night, the older Prewett moved shortly after. Unable to face Moody or his family after his supposed failure.

A knock on the door pulled her out of her thoughts and she snapped her attention over to it. She remembered Dumbledore’s warnings of him bringing someone to set up better charms around the burrow temporarily. 

She tutted as another knock came louder, making her dry her hands faster. “Coming, coming!” She declared with a huff and stomped over, opening the door and her eyes went wide. “Alastor Moody!” She gasped and he nodded, walking inside and took off his shoes. 

“Mornin’ Mrs. Weasley. Dumbledore said you'd be needing some protection charms around the place. Something about a friend needing some extra protection?” He asked out in a professional but clearly bitter tone. He had better things to be doing. Better things to be hunting than playing protector. Albus would owe him greatly for this.

Molly stared at him in shock before she quickly snapped out of it as he let out an obnoxious. “Hmmm?” 

“Right! Right, well get right to it dear, don't let me be a bother. I'll put some tea on, it seems you need it.” She huffed and walked back into the kitchen and waved her wand to get everything ready.

~~

Your head was throbbing. It was dark, or maybe your eyes just refused to open? Your limbs were buzzing and limp, and your eyes burned in their sockets. You could feel yourself blink, but nothing changed with your vision. 

You began to breathe heavier, the realization hitting you like a truck. You had been living as a muggle for twelve years. Every memory, every moment, every dream and feeling you had was fabricated. Your mouth grew dry as you felt your heart speed up. ‘Never panic, you lose control of the situation.’ You heard Alastor scold you. Slowly, you collected yourself. ‘What is happening?’ He implored from your memory, the step by step questions he taught you.

No light.. I can't see what's happening. Everything hurts, Moody. ‘Can you see, hear, smell, or feel anything?’ Moody implored. No. Can't see. You tightened your eyes closed and heard the wind rushing through the grass below. The sound of ticking clocks and gnomes tearing apart the lawn. But you were in what felt to be a bed, the fresh grass smell prominent. You were by a window. A window out in the country, in the wizarding world, and by the sound of it, in the middle of nowhere it seemed. No where else had that smell, or the nightmare of a gnome infestation. 

‘Good job.’ You could hear his praise. This was something you developed early on into your first few missions with Alastor, his voice was the closest you could get to memorable. It was easy when he was so bossy, you could guess.

‘So, where are you?’ 

In a bedroom, by an open window, in the wizarding world, out in the country. I can't see, but I hear a clock ticking and- 

There was suddenly a loud whistle coming from downstairs.

A wizard using a kettle? Making tea, perhaps someone's home?

‘In a bed?’

It seems so.

‘Do you think it's safe?’

It feels safe.

‘Open your eyes.’ 

You hissed and slowly scrunched up your face, trying to ignore the pain that shot threw your body. 

It hurts Moody.

‘Open them.’

You shook your head and slowly forced them to open. This time, light entered. It was blurry, but you could make out a few details. The room was familiar, soft red and warm, cozy and peaceful in a way that felt nostalgic. Gryffindor colors, trinkets here and there. Finally, you forced your knees to bend up and hissed out in pure pain. “Fuck. Fuck.”

You looked around as you felt yourself fill with dread. You couldn't move. You had to wait. 

‘You'll be a sitting duck.’ Moody snarked in your head and you scoffed.

“You move then!” You shouted, louder than intended. You groaned and rolled onto your stomach. Forcing your wobbly arms under your chest and pushing threw the agony. Every muscle that you felt could possibly tear, began to pull and ache, every sharp pin and needle that felt like it ran deeper than just the flesh, and the throbbing of your skull. Alastor would taunt you, you had both been through worse together. ‘Twelve years out of practice affect you that much?’

I'll still beat you old man.

You finally managed to tumble out of bed, falling hard to the floor with a few sharp breaths. Shaking your head you jerked your trembling body to your feet and stood. Leaning forward and falling towards a desk you used for support. Then you saw it. Photos. Photos of a red haired family, one you knew instantly. “I'm at the Weasley's.” You breathed with a growing watery smile.

‘Then you're safe.’ Moody finally agreed in your head as you gave a soaked laugh. “Molly finally got her girl.”

~~

Molly had managed to convince Moody she just needed to pop out for a few errands. He, of course, was very displeased with this revelation. At first he complained about being left alone, but when she reminded him he was posted here indefinitely, he relented. 

So there he was, it was much later in the day when he heard shuffling upstairs. The steps heavy and echoing a bit and he grunted. Of course they were loud. He looked over to the stairs with a glare, and he let out a shaky breath. The figure was so familiar, he would know those reflective mischievous eyes anywhere, those bundled locks and blemished skin. 

He had been to the Ministry assigned combat therapist plenty of times, forced to sit and listen to them rattle on and on about getting proper help for his clear trauma regarding his very first apprentice. The first time it happened, something similar to this had taken place. He was sitting at his desk, writing away at some paperwork. It had been a year since he lost her, and the ministry was still picking up the pieces and apprehending death eaters that tried to push past Voldemort’s death. 

He was knee deep in paperwork, and he heard tapping. You were always tapping your quill to the table, or the inkwell, or even just drumming your fingers against the table. It irked him horribly, when you first began. But now, it brought him a strange comfort.

His head snapped to the side you usually sat on, seeing you as clear as day, just tapping your Quil to an inkwell. 

He was given five days leave after that melt down. The next time he saw you walking the same route as him to work, appariting to the front gate, he even saw you in the corners of the record room.

Never like this, however. You were older. Merlin, you were older and you looked just as stunned as he did. His visions never acknowledged him, so when you came running down the stairs his body moved before he could think. You stopped a few feet away from him and looked him over, and he stared at you, stunned. “Wow old man.. you look like shit.” You snarked and he hurried over to gather you in his arms. You sobbed into his shoulder and you both melded into a silent comfort.

It was safe, Moody. Just like you promised. 

So safe, in fact, for the first time in your entire life.

You felt Moody begin to cry.

[catgirlpwr]

the 'having a fun little daydream world as a child' to "i rely so much upon escapism to escape from the monotony of life that days seem to pass too quickly and sometimes i don't feel real" pipeline

[catgirlpwr]

this sucks so bad i need to [remembers suicide jokes only worsen my mental health] put on the best talent show this towns ever seen

[catgirlpwr]

pls tell me u will write a part 2 for not alone?🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

took me a while to get this to feel cohesive (also couldn't decide for the longest time what I wanted the outcome to be for a few people so that took a while to figure out) and I'm still not 100% sure it reads cohesively but I hope you all like it <3

poly!marauders x fem!reader who they are 'worried' about...whatever that means [2.2k words]

part 1 | part 2

CW: hostage situation, attempted overtaking of camp, brief and hardly noticeable implied suggestion of SA, death of minor and unnamed character, blood, injury, Sirius being an arrogant son of a bitch even when his life is at risk

You have quickly come to realise why the boys chose this location to set up camp since agreeing to stay with them.

It was in a rural, secluded area with a small population prior to the End Of The World As You Knew It which left it almost next to empty now, but it was still in walking distance of a small town with various shops that they could pilfer when they began running low on supplies.

There was a creek about half a kilometre behind the barn that they could use to collect drinking water and also to bathe and wash their clothes.

And need to bathe and wash your clothes did you ever. 

So, whilst “keeping an eye on the encampment” (which was really just a polite translation of none of the boys trusting you enough with their safety to bring you along on a run into town), you opted to head down to the creek to clean up. 

The water was freezing, but you breathed through the pain in your toes and fingers as you waded into the water, reminding yourself that feeling pain meant you were alive - that you were still here. 

You used to fear pain - before - but now you almost craved it; now you found comfort in the discomfort, knowing that it meant you had survived another day. 

Soon enough your body acclimated to the cool, running water and you submerged yourself into the deepest part to let the steady flow wash away the layers of grime, dirt, and sweat that you were likely covered in. 

There was a time in your life you probably would have felt rather horrified that three very attractive men had seen you in such a state - but it seemed that there was no room for vanity or ego in an apocalypse.

Once you were cold enough that you were sure you had squiggle lines surrounding your being like an old cartoon character, you used a rock to scrub at your clothes, feeling (though cold) quite peaceful as you listened to the trickling water and various birds singing around you. 

You laid your soaked clothes on a boulder in the sun to dry and pulled on a second set of clothes - or rather, your only other set of clothes. You wondered for a moment if you should have more - how many sets of clothes should one have in an apocalypse? You couldn’t bear the thought of having to carry around a third change of clothes, so came to the conclusion that you were fine with just the two.

You were interrupted in your musings when you heard your name being shouted. 

“James?” You called back, hastily finishing tying your shoes before grabbing your gun. 

But it was Sirius you saw first, sprinting through the bushes and staring at you with a mixture of dread and outrage. 

“Is everything okay?” You asked him as he stalked towards you. 

“Where the fuck were you?!” He barked instead of answering, looking like he was just itching to grab you roughly by your shoulders.

“I- what? I was here? What happened? Is everything okay?” You continued, not moving your eyes from the fuming man in front of you as you heard James and Remus step through the bushes Sirius had just come bursting through. 

“No, everything is not okay; the fuck were you thinking just taking off and not saying anything!?” He berated you.

“Pads.” Remus warned carefully; slightly breathless from chasing the long-haired man over to you. 

“You’re a fucking piece of work.” Sirius spat with finality before turning and shouldering his way past Remus and James, disappearing through the bushes on his way towards the barn.

“Was the trip not successful?” You asked quietly once you could no longer hear Sirius storming away. 

“No… it was.” James offered cautiously. 

“He was just… worried about you, dove.” Remus placated.

You shot him an unimpressed glare. “He was worried about me, not about me.” You muttered back, shoving your gun back into your bag and running your fingers through your wet hair that was leaving damp patches on your shirt. “If you guys don’t want me here, just say so, but if you’re going to keep me around you’re going to have to start trusting me.”

“We do trust you.” James argued, causing you to scoff derisively as you slung your bag over your shoulder.

“Not enough to join anyone on excursions! And not enough to take a night-watch shift alone; but sure, add taking a fucking bath to the list of things you definitely trust me to do.”

You didn’t wait for a response before you were stalking back to the barn, leaving your clothes behind to dry for the rest of the afternoon. 

You were just about to push through the slightly open door (none too gently, either, mind you) when you heard Sirius’ voice.

“There’s no one else; I’m alone.” 

Ice cold dread seeped into your bones as you held your breath in wait for a response.

“Are ya now?” A cocky voice taunted. “This seems like quite the setup for one bloke.”

You crept along the edge of the barn until you found a hole you could peek through.

Sirius was kneeling with his hands up in surrender whilst three men stood before him - one man loomed over him and the other two formed a blockade between him and the barn door as well as the stairs to the loft. 

“What can I say?” Sirius countered. “I’m quite the bloke.”

The man currently interrogating Sirius was apparently not interested in his haughty quips and slammed the butt of his rifle into Sirius’ jaw, causing him to fall over.

You quickly looked over your shoulder, ears straining to see if you could hear Remus or James following you back, and you prayed to a God that you weren’t even sure you believed in anymore that they had decided to stay at the creek to give the two of you a chance to cool down. 

You crept back along the side of the building slowly before pulling yourself up the ladder to the hay hood that Remus had put up as an emergency exit. 

You could kiss that brilliant, brilliant man right on the mouth for it now. 

You crouched low and snuck over to look beyond the edge of the loft; the man with the rifle was the only one with a firearm from what you could see, the other two men holding only a crowbar and machete. 

You silently opened your rucksack, pulled your gun out and put a knife between your teeth as you edged closer to the beams so you were effectively standing directly atop of the man currently looming over top of Sirius.

“I’m not gonna ask you again, where the fuck are the others?” He spat at him.

“We heard the lot of you arguing - we could just finish you off and go looking for them, if that’s what you prefer.” One of the cronies added tauntingly.

“You’d be looking for an awful long time.” Sirius grunted as he spat blood out from his mouth. “Seeing as I’m alone.” 

“Stop fucking lying.” The interrogator barked as he landed a kick to Sirius’ ribs. “Pretentious or not, one bloke doesn’t need four sleeping bags.” 

“How do you know I, hmph,  didn’t find it like this?” Sirius choked out as he rolled onto his back where he spotted you in the rafters. 

You brought your finger to your lips, and Sirius let his head roll back towards the guy so as to not alert him to your presence. 

You watched as one of the guys - the one with the machete - started poking around the makeshift kitchen area, and the other moved towards the door to keep watch.

Taking the split attention of the group to your advantage, you waited for Sirius to look back up at you before you jumped from the rafters.

Sirius rolled out of the way just before you landed on the interrogator, the two of you crashing to the ground - though you were the only one prepared for the impact - causing the rifle to slip out of his grasp which you kicked towards Sirius. 

You slipped the knife from between your teeth and held it against the interrogators throat and pointed your gun at the machete wielding man, firing a shot which hit him in the right shoulder. 

The man with the crowbar who had been stationed near the door made for you when Sirius shot the rifle, the bullet grazing the man's thigh and bringing him to his knees. 

Your ears rang when an elbow met your temple right before a fist connected with your mouth as the interrogator forced you off of him. 

“Is this why you were lying?” The man spat as he stood above you. “Trying to keep this thing all to yourse-”

Sirius shot the rifle again, silencing the interrogator for good as he fell to the ground with a thud. 

Apparently, the machete wielding man didn’t deign to wait around and see how things played out after you’d shot him in the shoulder and had fucked back off from whence he came, so you and Sirius pointed your firearms at the last man still standing (or… you know, breathing at least) who seemed to have the sense to raise his hands in surrender. 

Remus and James appeared at the barn door, then - both winded from clearly having run at the sound of shots being fired - to find the two of you holding the remaining captor captive.

“Nice of you to come by, boys.” Sirius joked as he lowered the rifle with a pained groan now that Remus and James each had a weapon pointed at the attempted usurper. 

“What the fuck just happened?” Remus barked as he took in the body on the ground and the state of each of you at the same time James murmured “we thought you were firing at each other”. 

“Oh, take a wild guess.” Sirius muttered bitterly, hissing in pain as he lowered himself into a chair. 

“How many were you?” Remus barked at the man, sounding so unlike himself that it actually made you flinch.

“Fo-four, four of us and a 12 year-old. Us…three and then a woman and the child stayed back.” He responded quickly. 

“From around here?” James continued.

“No…passing through.”

Remus looked up from him to share a look with Sirius; a well practiced silent conversation passing between the two of them.

“Keep fucking moving then.” Remus gruffed as he grabbed the bloke by the collar of his shirt and threw him out the door.

Your - for all intents and purposes - home fell eerily silent then, save the sound of your attempted assailant’s leg dragging along the gravel road as he stumbled away from the barn.

“You alright?” Remus asked finally as he let out a breath.

“Fine, moons. Never better.” Sirius muttered.

You were too busy watching the blood pooling around the interrogators body to realise your companions were waiting for your response. 

You looked up at the lingering silence to see all of their eyes on you.

“M’fine.” You offered.

James hummed in acknowledgement, though you could sense disbelief in his tone. “Rem and I will get rid of him, okay? Please try not to get into any more altercations whilst we’re gone?” He tried to joke, but there was a lingering anxiety in his voice as he and Remus began wrapping the body up in a blue tarp.

“Do not go to sleep until we’re back; either of you.” Remus added before muttering something under his breath about concussions and how someone not concussed ought to be on watch in case they come back, except “they” was replaced with “those” and then some Welsh word that you were sure was simply very unflattering. 

Once they had left, you and Sirius sat in silence as you both grappled with what had just happened, and alternatively, what had just almost happened. 

You weren’t sure what you might have looked like - though the metallic taste of your teeth let you know that you at the very least had a busted lip - but Sirius’ jaw where the rifle had hit him was already turning a purple colour, his chin was scraped and bleeding from hitting the concrete flooring, and he had a protective hand placed over the ribs that were kicked. 

You wordlessly placed a bowl of water in front of Sirius before moving to your seat with your own bowl to clean the blood from your persons.

You could feel his eyes trained on you as you wiped away blood that was staining your face; likely equal parts your own and someone else's. 

“Don’t go down to the river alone… please.” You heard him say quietly suddenly, feeling your eyes roll to the back of your head as you let your two arms fall from their tasks. 

“Are you still on this? Haven’t I proven my trustworthiness yet? Honestly, I-”

“It’s not safe.” Sirius interrupted; a strange look crossing his face as his brows furrowed at you. “It’s not safe.” He repeated, quieter this time. 

He stood abruptly then; abandoning his bowl of water and grabbing a pack of cigarettes before disappearing around the side of the barn for a smoke. 

Oh.

So apparently he had been worried about you, not about you.

And though you really wanted to feel embarrassed that they had picked anything like that out for you, you also couldn’t help but notice that a new jumper, trousers, and some knickers had been folded and placed on your sleeping bag for you.

[catgirlpwr]

so like did no one who worked on tua s4 do any critical thinking at any point ever? any thinking at all even? was there any thinking

[catgirlpwr]

This is such a minor nitpick in the grand scheme of things but I can’t believe we never ended up getting Viktor and Five interactions despite the two of them having been the closest growing up and having so many parallels

[catgirlpwr]

the utter character assassination five hargreeves recieved in 6 episodes was an absolute tragedy

[catgirlpwr]

the problem with tua's ending is that it was IMPOSSIBLE to do without retconning and defacing the themes and characterizations that have been central to the story since the very first episode. if you had to end it that way, if it really was "the plan all along," then fine. there ARE good ways to do that -- so the execution should have been much different here if that was the case. take a look at "the good place," for example. everyone ceased to exist at the end of that story as well, but it was beautifully done because it ADDED to the show's core themes rather than take away from them. tua's ending was hollow and unavailing. at some point i have to commend the precision with which someone can desecrate an entire series and certain characters (looking at five, diego and lila especially) like this.

it made no sense. diego and lila formed a beautiful (albeit chaotic) relationship built upon mutual trust and authentic love that neither of them had ever experienced before. it was something they were teaching each other and learning together. that was a new beginning to them, and it was painted as such by the narrative. at no point were there hints that things would go sideways, no build up. every time they stumbled in the past it was still right back into each other's arms. at no point did their chaos look like an ending until it was shoved in our faces for... shock value? to shake things up? i fail to understand where it came from. they were relentlessly devoted to each other and the only two people who could stand each other for long. and so what became of them was very jarring. very messy.

five's ENTIRE character has been focused on and motivated by one thing: saving the people he loves. to the point that he was willing to let his own humanity become a forgone ideal, a renounced concept, as many times as it took. to the point that he essentially INVENTED TIME TRAVEL and INVENTED THE COMMISSION TO REGULATE IT. five's stoic exterior only barely concealed the claw-grip he had on every single family member, so why forget it now? why choose to go back on that? and in what world would five hargreeves willingly wait MONTHS to return to his family? because he was SUDDENLY in love with lila, no less? forgetting the very apparent fact that his age and body are not in alignment, five had never shown any interest in romance. especially not towards lila. but they do have very similar backgrounds, and so this was a chance to enrich the mutual understanding five and lila have with each other, expand the familial connections they have, especially seeing as how both of them -- in their own ways -- spent most of their life without that sort of connection.

ben's entire arc felt so, so out of place. completely and very ironically isolated from the entire rest of the series. nothing about it was fulfilling, nothing about it offered any sense of closure or even development. jennifer made no sense even as a plot device, much less as her own character. these two brought out nothing in each other.

klaus had the foundations of a good arc, but too much was introduced in too small an amount of time and none of it really went anywhere. i can say roughly the same for allison and viktor. THAT being said, of most of the scenes i did find myself genuinely enjoying this season, THOSE three were usually at the center! in fact, i really did love the scenes with klaus, allison, and claire. so that's cool. i guess. luther? he was just kind of... there?

and ray just fucked off with no explanation? okay. and reginald? until this point he had all the qualities of a potentially VERY GOOD and nuanced villain. his arc fell flat. and let's not forget all the other loose ends, but, you know, we've been here long enough. so. onto the next point.

none of these characters got to heal. none of them ever got to revel in anything meaningful, or, rather, the things that WERE meaningful across the whole series were rendered worthless because... none of it exists anymore! none of it ever existed! this is like an "it was all a dream" ending but much worse. and these characters are so, so incredible. i can only name a few other stories that have had characters i've connected to this deeply. and despite everything i could never really stop loving them. that makes it hurt more though tbh

anyways. i know i'm about to sound incredibly dramatic but the ending made me sob my lungs out. this show was really important to me. it led me to incredible people, other incredible stories, helped me live, etc. but i honestly found myself wishing i'd just never watched this series at all. the ending was eviscerating and Just Fucking Pointless. i don't think i'm ever going to be able to rewatch it. it's still hard for me to conceptualize that it was even real, that this is all we get. there's a lot more i could say about everything, but again, i've said a lot already and i'm not trying to write a fucking novel. i'll say more of what i want to in sporadic bursts i guess.

[catgirlpwr]

look how they massacred my boy and my boy and my boy and my boy and my boy and my boy and my girl and my girl

[catgirlpwr]

want everyone on here to know that everyone on Instagram is also losing their minds it’s honestly comical. every post from the official tua account is like ‘hey brellies 😃! here’s a clip from the new season ❤️! ’ and then every single comment is variations on ‘can you delete the new season.’