#(<-added some wording to clarify my points)

[cottonlemonade]

“I’m too pretty for academics.”, you whined and slumped dramatically over your textbook, chubby cheek smooshed into the paper. The words on the page stopped having any meaning long ago and with a pout, you turned your head to look at your friend (and longtime hopeless crush) Ushijima.

“Don’t you think I would make a great sugar baby?”

“Absolutely.”, Semi piped up from across the table, “You’re just cute enough to forget all your annoying whining.”

“Oh! - Oh! Is that how it is, Mr “I forgot my hairdryer and so I cried in the showers after practice”?”

“I can’t believe you still bring that up.”

“It was like… three weeks ago.”, Tendou noted, eyes hooded with mischief.

Ushijima looked from one to the other and raised his pen as if in class, waiting for the teacher to call on him.

“Apologies. But what does a sugar baby do?”

You shot up and searched his eyes trying to figure out if he was serious or if it was one of his rare deadpan jokes that went over most people’s heads.

This seemed to be a sincere question, but Semi and Tendou were still buffering, frowning, to determine how they should react.

Ushijima went on: “I know a sugar baby gets money from a sugar parent and they get spoiled with gifts and things alike. I know this, because Satori refers to me as his “sugar daddy” whenever I get him a soda from the vending machines. But then what?”

Tendou bit his lips to stop from snorting and Semi apparently tried to jumpstart the one brain cell he borrowed from Shirabu earlier. Since no one said anything, Ushijima asked, “What does the sugar parent get in return?”

Tendou cleared his throat “Well, in some cases - not in ours, though -“, at this point he wagged his finger between himself and Ushijima to make it very clear, “whatever the… sugar parent wants in return varies. Some want arm candy for events, some want saucy favors - intimate favors… sex”, he clarified at last because his friend still seemed lost, “and some just want a feet pic every once in a while.”, he ended with a shrug.

“And anyone can be a sugar parent, right?”, Ushijima asked.

“Please stop calling it that.”, Semi pleaded under his breath.

You and Tendou nodded and confirmed.

“Then… I guess I can also be your sugar daddy, y/n.”

Your face turned boiling hot and you scrunched your hands in your lap to stop from screeching. How did he always say the most unhinged things with the blankest stares?

Even though you turned his offer down, he would still keep coins in his pocket for whenever you wanted a drink, just in case.

a/n: based on a conversation with @haikyu-mp4. Thank you for always being the Tendou to my Ushijima (and thank you so much for adding the perfect final line).

[the-sage-libriomancer]

I wonder what Kyoko would've thought of Shigure. She's the only non-Sohma adult in the series who's also in his age group (albeit barely - she's about a decade older than him) and I feel like her optimism combined with her no-nonsense sensibilities would've been an interesting foil to Shigure's morally grayness hidden under a cheerful exterior.

They probably could have bonded over pursuing socially unacceptable relationships and being outcasts in their family (if Shigure was ever able to be even slightly honest with her, that is). I don't think they'd have hung out often, but in a Kyoko Lives AU where Tohru befriends Kyo and Yuki, it's likely they would've had to meet at least once or twice. I can't tell if they'd like each other or if it'd be more of a "polite acquaintances" sort of thing. Probably some awkward mixture of both lol.

[thef1diary]

Little Big Fan | Four

- Little Big Celebration

Series Masterlist

wc: 1.6k

After getting over the initial shock of seeing him, you greeted him. "I thought you were room service, I ordered some food."

He smiled but then he asked the question he's been meaning to ask since he couldn't find you after the celebrations, "why did you leave so fast?"

"Isabella watched you hold the trophy then she fell asleep. I didn't want the noise to disturb her," you explained, and he nodded in understanding. "Is that why we're still standing here, because she's sleeping inside?"

You shook your head, "as long as you keep it down." You moved out of the way to let him inside and he saw your favourite show queued up on the tv.

"Looks like you already have plans for the night," Max commented and you chuckled, "This is how my nights are usually spent."

"Well then I probably shouldn't ask if you want to come celebrate with us." Both of you sat on the couch, facing each other. "That would mean going to a club, which I can't do but you should go celebrate your win."

Based on the celebrations you saw on the podium, you knew the afterparty would be even better. A little part of you wished that you could go, but you were content with how you've been spending your nights lately.

"Congratulations by the way," you added. "Do you want me to leave?" Max asked bluntly which made you frown. "No, but if you have plans—"

"My plans are here, with you," he interrupted you, making you shut your mouth with his response. A smile threatened to grow on your face but you managed to compose it. "Plus I can celebrate next weekend at the next race," Max added, a smug smile on his face and you couldn't hold back yours any longer.

"That confident in your winning capabilities?" You asked with a teasing tone behind your words. He shrugged, "if I don't think I am the best, then I won't be the best."

There was another knock at your door, and this time you were certain it was room service. Fortunately, you ordered enough food so you could share with Max.

Watching your show was at the bottom of the priority list, replaced by wanting to keep the conversation going with Max.

"Don't tell Brad about this," Max spoke, pointing to the meal that surely wasn't part of his diet. "Oh no, the champion is a rule breaker," you teased him, earning a smile from him in return.

Max looked at the closed bedroom door, "did she have fun today?"

"So much fun! I think she would start asking me when we're going to another race," you told him, the excitement on Isabella's face is something you wouldn't forget anytime soon.

"All you have to do is ask, I can get you the passes for the next race." Based on his tone, he wasn't joking and you quickly shook your head.

"No, you've already done so much for us; the hotel, flight tickets, caps and whatnot," you explained, but he was quick to retort. "I don't want to sound like a stuck up asshole, but the cost doesn't matter as much as the experience."

You couldn't help but chuckle, "maybe another time, Isabella is starting school soon too."

"First grade?" He asked, and you nodded, "yeah, she's growing up so fast."

"And what about you, did you enjoy this weekend?" He looked at you in anticipation, hoping you enjoyed his company as much as he enjoyed yours.

"Maybe not as much as Isabella, but it was a very nice experience and I still can't believe you do this for a living." He chuckled at your response, but then you added, "and what about you?"

"What about me?" He asked, and you clarified, "did you enjoy this weekend, home race and all?"

He seemed taken aback by the question but he answered nonetheless. "A lot better than it usually is," the meaning behind his words was clear to you, especially with the way he looked at you.

"If you told me earlier, I would've worn orange for the race." Max shook his head, "Then people would've thought that you were supporting McLaren."

An idea popped in your mind and you slapped your hand on his thigh while exclaiming, "I should've taken the cape from Daniel!"

Your hand remained on his thigh but you didn't seem to realize, and he didn't move it away either. "I'll get you one next year," Max suggested.

Your focus shifted away from Max as soon as you heard footsteps in the room Isabella was sleeping in. "Hold on," you stood up and went to check on her.

As soon as you opened the door, Isabella paused in her step, looking at you with a sheepish smile on her face.

"Angel, are you hungry?" You asked, knowing that there were a bit of leftovers. She shook her head, then pointed at the suitcase or rather the teddy bear sitting on the suitcase.

You passed it to her and she climbed back in bed. "Are you sure you're not hungry?"

"No, mama, I'm tired." On cue, she yawned as you walked closer to her. Tucking her in properly, you placed a kiss on her forehead and sat by her side, brushing your fingers through her hair until she was sound asleep. Which again, didn't take long.

You noticed the glittery clips still in her hair from earlier in the day. You carefully began taking them out one by one while trying not to wake her up. Then, after placing another kiss on her forehead, you left the room.

"Everything okay?" Max asked as soon as you sat down on the couch. You nodded, "yeah, she went back to sleep."

"The race really tired her out today," he smiled because of his next thought, "seems like she's the one who raced instead of me."

You chuckled, "looks like it." Then you added, "I know you're a professional and all but it was just as much fun as it was scary watching you drive so fast."

"So you're not a big fan of fast cars?" He didn't comment on the fact that you only mentioned him while there were nineteen other drivers on the grid.

"That depends, will your follow up question be if I would trust you to drive me around?" You responded with a question and he had a sheepish smile on his face, "maybe."

"I guess I'll have to get in a car with you one day to know the answer to both questions."

Your conversation was interrupted by a call on Max's phone. He muttered a curse before declining it. "Why don't we watch your show?" Max suggested, leaning back on the couch comfortably.

You didn't ask him about his other plans, as he had already assured you earlier that the only plan he has for tonight are with you.

It was possible that he wanted to spend more time with you before you leave tomorrow evening, and you couldn't help but smile at the thought.

The thought of leaving didn't sit with you, but you pushed it to the back of your mind and focused on the present, with him.

You grabbed the remote and pressed play, shuffling a tad bit closer to Max.

Somewhere along the way, a few episodes later, Max's arm rested on the back of the couch. His fingers lightly grazed your shoulder every time either of you moved.

Max's phone rang two more times. The second time he picked up and quickly muttered, "I'm busy." Then he turned it off, and apologized to you.

"It's okay, you're the most popular man of the night, people want to see you," you shrugged casually.

"Yeah well, I don't want to see them." You chuckled, liking his bluntness.

It was pretty late when he decided to leave, both of you were so tired but neither wanted the night the end. You opened the door for him, but as he stepped out, he turned to look at you.

"I'll drop you two at the airport tomorrow, just let me know when you're leaving." Once again he said it so casually that you had to remind yourself that he only knew you for a few days. Although it didn't feel like it.

"You don't have to," you reminded him that he was under no obligation to send you off. He shook his head, "I want to, if you let me."

You couldn't say no to him, and perhaps it was a little selfish because you wanted to spend all the time there was with him. You haven't been selfish in a while and it is about time to change that.

"I'll text you tomorrow then. Isabella is going to be very happy knowing she'll see you tomorrow as well." You stated, not mentioning that you would be happy to see him too, using your daughter as an excuse. But then, you didn’t lie either because Isabella would be overjoyed as well.

"Trust me, I'll be very happy too," he added with a smile, preferring not to tell you how delighted he would be to see you as much as he was to see Isabella. That information was best kept to himself.

Then he left. While Max hadn't properly celebrated a race win tonight like he usually did, this sort of celebration felt better than any others.

He walked away with a smile on his face that wasn't related to his victory at all. He was just looking forward to seeing you and Isabella again.

Taglist: (let me know if you want to be added or removed) @xjval @mrsmaybank13 @cherry-piee @urfavnoirette @solphin @burningcupcakefire @nessacarty1 @dreamsarebig @omgsuperstarg @fanficweasley @redbullgirly @llando4norris @wonnou @randomgirlnumber13 @dark-night-sky-99 @chanshintien @leilanixx @gisellesprettylies @peachiicherries @monsieurbacteria6 @67-angelofthelordme-67 @arian-directioner @distancedss @morenofilm @sachaa-ff @lighttsoutlewis @teamnovalak @casperlikej @sadg3 @d3kstar @lewisvinga @lpab @queenofmanydreams @glitterf1 @honethatty12 @drunk-teens-doing-drugs @its-avalon-08 @yourbane @oconswrld @noneofyourfbusinessworld @ssrcsm @softtina @namgification

[marauder-misprint]

hey! love ur fics! my request is a james potter fic where he’s jealous and decides to spy on the date (eat that type of stuff up loll) i can totally see him being in complete denial under the guise of being a protective friend, and then it all clicks. thanks!

Hi! Thank you for this request ❤︎ James is a protective friend. Reader shant be harmed! He is totally not jealous, he is just looking out for your safety. ❤︎ This is Fabian Prewett slander. Also, there is a sibling age-gap between Molly and the twins??? lol at least in my fics there is.

Hope y'all enjoy ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

Jacket

James Potter x fem!reader

4.2k words

cw: fluff, y/n, oblivious pining?

James was drying his hair in the locker room after quidditch practice when he heard of your upcoming date. He was minorly insulted that he hadn’t heard it from you, but rather from Fabian Prewett. Even worse, the date was with Fabian. All of it caught him off guard. James didn’t peg Fabian as being your type. Just don’t ask him what your type is; he doesn’t have an answer. Just not Fabian. 

When Fabian had announced that he snagged an absolute ten, he had the ears of the whole team. James thought Fabian was talking about some seventh year Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff that he personally would never pay attention to. James whipped his head toward Fabian when he clarified that it was you. He was almost certain that he must’ve heard wrong, but then Marlene questioned him further and Fabian repeated your name. 

James didn’t say anything as he finished changing and left the locker room. Usually, he would have a snarky comment or two. Not tonight. He was trying to process that Fabian really thought he had a chance with you and the fact that you had said yes.

“It’s a bit strange, innit?” James asked after relaying the information to the boys in his dorm. 

“That Fabian actually got a date? Yeah,” Remus said from his desk, earning chuckles from the others. 

“But with Y/N? He’s not her type.”

“I don’t know, mate,” Sirius said. “Girls are strange creatures. Bloody beautiful and distracting… but strange.”

“Just last week, Mary was screaming about someone taking her nail polish and then two seconds later, she comes back from her dorm with a chocolate frog ‘n’ is perfectly agreeable. Strange,” Peter added to support Sirius’ claim. 

James grumbled to himself as he reclined on his bed. This was you. You did strange just like every other girl, but a date with Fabian wasn’t right. It wasn’t you.  

“Oi, why you fuming?” Remus asked. 

“Fucking Fabian…” 

Sirius laughed, knowing his friend all too well. “That’s what happens when you don’t ask her out first.”

“I don’t want to ask her out,” James snapped before supporting his body with his forearms so he could glare at Sirius. “She can just do better than Fabian.”

“Uh-huh. So, you’d have no problem if one of us asked her?” Sirius asked.

James frowned. “No.” 

“Then who is she allowed to date?” Peter asked. “We’re the best people you know.”

“She can date…” James’ voice trailed off as he tapped his lips pensively. “Someone worthy of her. Prewett? No. You lot? No. … It’d have to be someone she could tell me about. I shouldn’t be hearing about her dates in the locker room.”

“Why is she telling you about who she dates?” Remus asked as he set his essay aside. That wasn’t getting worked on any more tonight. 

“Because I’m her friend! She should run these things by me.”

“Have you considered that you’re not her father?” Remus asked.

James pointed his finger excitedly at Remus. “You have a point! These idiots should get permission from me before asking her.” 

“No…”

“I can vet them before she wastes her time on them,” James continued, getting more confident in this theory as he spoke. “She should only be going out with the best of the best and I can weed out the gits and pervs.” 

“Prongs,” Remus warned, but James either didn’t hear him or pretended he didn’t.

“I’ll talk to her tomorrow. Get her to cancel on Prewett until I make sure he’s worthy.”

“She won’t,” Sirius said.

“If she won’t… I’ll go on the date with her. Make sure his hands stay where I can see them. No funny business. No getting back to the common room too late.”

“I don’t think getting back late is going to be a worry,” Peter muttered. James sent a confused look his direction. “You’ll want to keep her away from his dorm.”

“Wormtail!” Remus groaned, throwing his back. “Thanks for putting that idea in his head.”

“No, thank you, Wormtail! That is definitely something I should be preventing!” 

Sirius threw a pillow at James. “Let a girl do what, or rather who, she wants!” 

James threw the pillow back with more force. You would not be sleeping with Fabian if he had anything to do with it. You could do better. He would make sure that you did.

---

“Y/N!” James practically sang as he sat across from you at breakfast the next morning. 

You grumbled out some kind of greeting before taking a bite of your breakfast. James being chipper in the morning wasn’t new. You weren’t a morning person while he was. You only put up with it because he had been one of your first friends at Hogwarts and he wasn’t someone you stopped being friends with. That and the part of you that wished he saw you as something more than friends. You knew you couldn’t hold out on that dream forever, so you had agreed to go on a date with Fabian. 

“You won’t believe what I heard last night,” James said as he piled food onto his plate. You raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “You have a date?”

You coughed, choking on your breakfast until Marlene hit your back firmly. You had told the girls almost immediately after Fabian asked you; they all squealed excitedly at the news. A seventh year? That was the talk of the dorm for the week. James didn’t sound like he was going to break out into squeals. 

“Yeah,” you wheezed before reaching for your cup to take a drink. “This weekend.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

You gave Marlene a sideways glance. 

“Is it your business who I go to Hogsmeade with?”

He flexed his eyebrows and ran a hand through his hair. He thought your friendship warranted the sharing of life events. You told him when you had your first kiss – a muggle boy from your neighborhood over the summer. You told him when you aced exams and received excellent marks on essays; you told him when you nearly failed assignments as well. You had knocked on his dorm door a few times when you had a nightmare or just couldn’t sleep in general. 

“Feels like something you’d share with me, yeah.” 

Good answer, James. Good, clean answer. Casual. Platonic and doesn’t seem like you’re expecting every detail. Work up to telling her that she shouldn’t go.

You rolled your eyes fondly and stabbed a potato on your plate. 

“Well, sorry you had to hear second-hand,” you said, sounding genuine, but then you added dryly, “How ever can I make it up to you?”

“I don’t think you should go.” Fuck.

The words left James’ mouth before he could stop them. That wasn’t the ‘work up’ he was mentally planning on. Marlene, Mary and a few more girls around you all stared at James in shock. Murmurs of ‘the audacity’ and ‘what did he say’ and the like filled the air. James was a loud person. Add that to the fact that people tended to listen when he talked, whether or not they were a part of the conversation or not, more people heard James’ statement than either of you would’ve liked.

“Ex-excuse me?” you managed to sputter out after a few seconds. 

“I… don’t think you should go,” James repeated, a hand ruffling his hair in an attempt to briefly cover his red-tinted face.

“And why is that, Potter?” His surname left your lips tasting bitter. You didn’t call him Potter. You called him James. 

“It’s Prewett! You can do better than him. I mean, come on!” he started spewing out. “Anyone can see that you’re out of his league. He shouldn’t even have had the balls to ask you out. And… and… What if he just wants to get into your pants?” 

You scoffed a laugh, but you reached across the table to pat his hand affectionately. 

“It’s just butterbeers,” you said sweetly. “Flattering you think I’m out of his league though.”

“You are.” A firm statement that made you flush slightly.

“Still, I’m not one to turn down free butterbeers, and I think it will be a good time. So… I’ll be going on the date,” you said, taking your hand back. “How about this for making it up to you: you can help me pick out what I wear.”

James’ immediate thought was to turn that down. Deciding what outfit you wore was something girls did. Why would he be interested in that? Then he realized that if he helped you pick out what you would wear, he could ensure that you didn’t wear anything too revealing or tempting. He could make sure that you were nicely dressed but not in a way that made Fabian really want to take you back to his dorm. And then spotting you in the Three Broomsticks would be even easier. 

Because, yes, if you were going on that date, so was he. 

“Alright.”

You smirked. You hadn’t expected James to actually accept your offer. But if he saw himself as one of the girls, it made sense that he was upset he didn’t hear about the date from you and being involved in the pre-date ritual would heal the wound you unintentionally caused. 

---

James laid on your bed on Saturday as you pulled clothing out of your trunk, tossing them on top of him. The boys had repeatedly cautioned James against this, and against what he was going to do. He couldn’t be reasoned with. He was fully convinced that this date was going to be a disaster for you and he’d be there for you when Fabian ended up acting like a dick. 

“So,” you said, standing up and clasping your hands together, “I’ve already decided on these shoes. If I’m going to Hogsmeade, I’m going to need to walk. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” James echoed. He picked at the skirts, shorts, jeans and shirts that laid around and on him. If you’d listen to him, you’d be in jeans and one of your plain t-shirts that didn’t hug your body all that much. 

“And I’ve already picked out my jewelry. I’ll touch up my makeup after we decide on an outfit. It’s still rather nice out, so I’m not thinking the jeans, but you never know. Some of the shirts just go better with them. But that red skirt? I really like that one. Is it too much for a first date?” 

Absolutely not, James thought. He thought you looked amazing in that skirt. But the goal was not to make you look amazing. James needed you to walk out of this dorm looking good, decent, alright. Not amazing. You were gorgeous so making that happen would be a struggle, but James was always up for a challenge. 

So he hummed, as if actually debating. “Maybe let’s pick a shirt first?”

Maybe he’d be able to find one of the shirts you said went better with jeans. You didn’t say anything as you started picking up shirts from the bed, holding them up to yourself as you looked in the mirror. 

“What about…” James riffled through the shirts until he found the plainest t-shirt from the pile. “This one?” 

You frowned. “I don’t know why I pulled that one out. It’s… not date material. Not making the cut. That’s a ‘Marlene nearly failed her Potions exam and we are not leaving this dorm until she can recite the ingredients to eight different potions’ type of shirt.”

“That’s a bit exact, don’t you think?” James laughed and turned the material over in his hands. “But I think it has potential.”

“James,” you said, putting your hands on your hips. “I am going on a date. Drinking butterbeers. Being in public. Give me that.” You snatched the shirt back and shoved it back into your trunk. “Back where it belongs.”

You sighed and picked up a different shirt. Holding it up to your body, James knew that it was too tight and showed far too much skin for tonight.

“Nope. That’s a third date shirt,” he declared. He sat up and started actively searching for something that would maybe tempt you. He picked up an ever-so-slightly more fitted shirt than the previous shirt he chose. “This is a first date shirt.”

You let your choice fall to your side as you looked at what James picked. It wasn’t too horrible. If you paired it with a nice skirt, it could work. 

“Maybe…” 

You threw James’ pick over your shoulder and scanned your skirts that littered the bed at James’ feet. James tried not to look too triumphant, which proved easier than he originally thought once he noticed that you were back to skirts and not jeans. 

“It’ll be colder when you’re coming back to the castle. Jeans’ll keep you warm,” he suggested.

“James,” you sighed. “James, James, James. Are you, or are you not, a romantic?” 

He scrunched his features. “I am.”

“Then, pray tell, what happens when a girl is a little chilly after a date and she’s walking back with her date?”

James pressed his lips together firmly. Of course. 

“The guy gives her his jacket. But! Do you really think Prewett is going to have a jacket? Too risky.”

You rolled your eyes. “Jacket, scarf, I’ll take whatever. I’d take the shirt off his back,” you laughed. “Or hold his hand. Or maybe he’ll put his arm around me. There are so many options, my dear James. And, worst comes to worst, I’ll be a teeny weeny, titsy bitsy, tad bit cold. It won’t kill me.”

But it might kill me. 

You picked a cute skirt and then held the shirt and skirt combo out at arms’ length. You tilted your head slightly. Then you shook your head and put the shirt back down. James watched you with bated breath. You scanned the shirts on the bed one last time before your face lit up and you fished a sleeveless top out of the piles. 

“I think this is it!” you said more to yourself than James.

You went behind the dressing screen to change. James was mentally schooling himself to have a nice reaction to how you looked when you walked out. It wasn’t the outfit he was imagining at all, which meant his brain might take the mean route and he was not going to be the reason you cried before your date. 

He didn’t consider that he’d be rendered speechless when you stepped out. You brushed your hands down the skirt as you took in your reflection. You didn’t need a reaction from James. You exuded confidence and your smile showed it. You spun in a circle, ending facing James. 

“What do you think?” 

You think that even if you weren’t looking at him, you’d be able to feel his eyes raking over your boy. Definitely a good reaction. 

“James?”

He cleared his throat and sat up on your bed. 

“You look lovely. Prewett is one lucky bloke.” 

He meant it. Both sentences. Although they were both lacking. Lovely wasn’t the right word for how you looked; it was weak, an understatement. He just couldn’t articulate it properly. And, as previously sentiment might have suggested, Fabian didn’t deserve to be going on a date with such a beautiful girl. Lucky… Fabian must’ve drank liquid luck before asking you out. 

The door opened with a bang and Lily said, “Alright, Potter, out. I need my dorm.”

“Right,” James replied.

He nodded and stood up. He pulled you into a brief hug.

“You have fun,” he whispered, and then he walked out, closing the door behind him. 

Forty-five minutes later, he was walking a handful of strides ahead of the rest of the Marauders on their way to Hogsmeade. James was a man on a mission. The others were there with half a mind to prevent James from doing said mission. 

“Watching her on her date is creepy,” Remus said loud enough for James to hear. 

“Not watching her,” James said, turning around and walking backwards. “We are going to just happen to get butterbeers while she’s coincidentally there and in view of our table.”

“Coincidentally,” Sirius laughed. 

“You’re paying, right, James?” Peter asked. “That’s why we’re humoring him?” he added in a lower voice to Remus and Sirius.

“Heard that, Peter! But, yeah, butterbeers on me.”

“Why didn’t we press for liquorice wands too?”

“Because then I would’ve come by myself and Remus thinks that’s a bad look for me.”

“Because it is,” Remus sighed. 

You had walked to Hogsmeade with Fabian. You were already nestled into a small booth with him with butterbeers in front of you when the Marauders arrived. Fabian was telling you about his little nephew, William, who’d be attending Hogwarts in a few years; having an older sister who got married right out of Hogwarts allows that to happen. You were listening too deeply to notice that James strategically chose a table in the middle of the pub that allowed him to see both you and Fabian. 

“Little Charlie is the wildest of the three. Kid never shuts up when they visit. But Percy? Percy’s a quiet little thing. Tiny too.”

“I couldn’t imagine having three nephews already…” you said, shaking your head. “Nice of you to babysit for your sister though.”

He laughed. “Like I have a choice? Molly and Arthur just drop them off with Mum and then she hands the boys over to me and Gid. What am I supposed to do with a baby, a toddler and a small child? I mean, Percy is about the size of a quaffle…”

“Please tell me you did not play catch with a baby!” 

Fabian held his hands up in defense. “I didn’t! We didn’t! But it did cross our minds.”

“James, you’re seething,” Sirius commented. “Ah, thank you, Madam Rosmerta.”

Sirius slid a mug in front of James. He robotically picked it up and drank. James was too focused on you and whatever Fabian was saying to make you laugh. At least the ginger was keeping his hands on the table and not on you. 

“You know, I was joking earlier when I brought up liquorice wands, but now I kind of want some,” Peter said. “We should stop by Honeydukes whenever this is done.”

Sirius shot Peter a confused look. “Mate, you can go to Honeydukes literally whenever.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Ah, no buts. We’ll need you to help rein in James when Y/N’s date goes fine,” Sirius stated. 

James didn’t even register that Sirius said his or your name. Maybe if he focused his hearing enough, he’d be able to hear what you were saying. 

“I could use a few sugar quills,” Remus mused. 

“Fine! We’ll stop by Honeydukes so you can get off on sugar.”

“Don’t act like you won’t be buying anything, Sirius,” Remus laughed, flicking some of the foam from his mug into Sirius’ face.

Sirius made a disgruntled noise as he wiped it off. Again, James didn’t notice. The conversation and antics of his table were nothing compared to you. Your smile, your laugh, the way you leaned in slightly, the way you reached out and let your hand brush against his arm, the way your hand lingered. It was getting more painful to watch the longer he did. 

James only tried to get up from the table two times throughout the night. Sirius grabbed his arm and forced him to sit back down both times. 

“Prewett’s not groping her, it’s fine,” Sirius hissed. 

Somehow you still didn’t notice the boys the entire night. Fabian successfully kept your attention. He paid for your butterbeers and you got up to leave the pub. This time when James got up to follow you, Sirius didn’t stop him. James threw a handful of galleons on the table and disappeared out the door, leaving the boys behind. He lingered far enough behind you and Fabian to not be noticed but close enough to hear you tell him that tonight had been fun. 

“I’m glad you had a good time. I really enjoyed myself too. Although, I’d say it’s hard not to when you got a pretty lady keepin’ you company.”

You giggled. Then you wrapped your arms arounds yourself – a telltale sign that you were cold. James called it. Just as he called that Fabian wouldn’t have a jacket to offer you. James wasn’t even sure if Fabian caught that you were cold. He ran a hand through his hair. He was growing irritated, especially when you shivered and Fabian didn’t even say anything. 

Then you stumbled on the uneven stone path. James lunged forward to ensure that you didn’t fall on your face. Fabian hadn’t even reacted. 

“Shit, thanks,” you said automatically. And then, “Fuck, James?” 

“You alright?” James breathed as he helped steady you, with Fabian now standing awkwardly a singular step away. 

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m fine.”

You brushed yourself off despite not having actually fallen and you shook out your hands. The trip had sent a jolt through your bones. James shrugged off his jacket and handed it to you.

“I told you you’d be cold.” 

You gave Fabian an apologetic look, but then you took James’ jacket and put it on. You muttered a thanks. Fabian scoffed and walked away. He wasn’t going to walk back to Hogwarts with his date when she was wearing someone else’s jacket; that would be weird. 

“Oh… I guess date’s over,” you said quietly as you watched Fabian disappear around the bend. 

“I also told you he wouldn’t have a jacket.”

“You did.”

“He wasn’t offering you his hand, didn’t put an arm around you. Maybe you should’ve taken the shirt off his back,” James deadpanned. 

“James!” you exclaimed, slapping his arm. You adjusted his jacket over your shoulders. “Thanks, though. Really. This is warm.”

And it smells like you. Yeah, you weren’t saying that part out loud. Especially being that you just had a date with someone else. 

Without thinking, James threw an arm around your shoulder and started walking back with you. Anyone who saw you at that moment would’ve assumed that you had just had a nice date with James; you knew how it looked. 

After a few minutes of silent walking, you asked with a laugh, “What were the chances that you were there when I almost fell?” 

“Just lucky.” 

“You just happened to be in the area?” 

James nodded.

“This wouldn’t be connected to you not wanting me to go on the date in the first place, would it?” 

He scoffed. “Of course not.”

“Right,” you said with a nod. Of course not. 

“Maybe… I was… making sure Prewett behaved himself.” 

You stopped walking. “He did.”

“But he’s not right for you, as I predicted. No jacket,” James reminded you, turning around to face you after having taken one more step after you stopped. He popped his jacket’s collar to keep your neck warm. 

“Then who is right for me?” you asked, tilting your head and crossing your arms. “You?”

“I-I… We’re friends. I was making sure you were being treated properly.”

“Friends. Right. Then where’s Lily? Marlene? Mary? Emmeline? Lucy? Madison? All my other friends who care for my well being?” 

James was quiet for a second. “I’m just going above and beyond. For a friend.”

“A friend.”

“Yes. A friend. I’d do this for any of my friends.”

“So you’ve spied on Sirius’ dates? Peter’s? Remus’?” 

James pursed his lips. He didn’t have a response to that. You knew he hadn’t spied on his friends. You took a calculated step closer to James and looked up at him. The proximity made James run a hand through his hair. 

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

You looked amazing in his jacket looking up at him with your beautiful eyes, and he could smell your perfume. 

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Is this just friendship? Fuck it.

James leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. His hands held your face against his and yours gripped the sides of his shirt. His lips felt soft against yours. You smiled into the kiss. When James pulled back, his hands didn’t leave your face. He stared at you with wide eyes and an unreadable expression. Your smile faltered slightly. 

“Was-” James sounded breathless. “-was that okay?” He swallowed. “Should I have done that? Was that wrong?” He let go of your face, took a step back and ran a hand through his hair and then adjusted his glasses. Then he started pacing. “I mean, you just look so good in my jacket and fuck, you’re beautiful and perfect and one of my favorite people… Merlin’s tits… I think you are my favorite person and seeing you with Prewett just wasn’t right, and everyone kept asking me who I would be okay seeing you with and no names came to mind and I just-”

“James,” you said calmly. 

You only said his name. You didn’t move. You didn’t do anything else, but he shut up mid-ramble. He stopped moving, completely frozen in place. You walked up to him and took his arm to place it around your shoulder. You wrapped one of your arms around his waist. 

“Walk me back to the castle and take me on a date some time?” you asked, looking up at him with a smile on your lips and a twinkle in your eye. 

“I can do that. I’ll ask you out properly too. Because, as I think I’ve already proven, I am a romantic.”

tags: @navs-bhat, @faceache111

[pitchsidestories]

Everything I know about female friendship II Arsenal Women x Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | word count: 2136

summary: Everyone in your flat share has moved on, except you. There used to be five of you, Alessia, Victoria, Laura, Laia and you, and now you think you're celebrating New Year's Eve alone in a flat that, if the pictures on the wall were anything to go by, was once full of friendship.

author's note: Dear readers, we hope you'll have a fantastic New Year’s Eve and a great start into 2025; however you choose to celebrate it.🫶🏻🫶🏻

This New Years’ Eve felt significantly different from all the others before. This year you weren’t out partying, dancing until the early morning hours and you also didn’t spend the night with your housemates and a bottle of champagne in your shared living room.

For the first time since you moved to London you were alone. Everyone that had shared the house with you at some point, had already moved out again. There was no Laura, no Victoria, no Laia and no Alessia anymore. Just you.

You really thought you had made peace with the idea that you would end the old year and start the new year alone. But sitting there, waiting for the hours to pass, the emptiness started to feel weirdly heavy. To counteract the silence, you put your favourite record on and opened a bottle of wine that you had saved for this night.

While you were pouring yourself a glass, a sudden ringing on your doorbell made you jump and almost spill some of your wine.

“I’m coming!”, you called out. Leaving your glass on the table, you slowly walked towards the door. As soon as you opened it, Victoria beamed at you: “Surprise!”

You didn’t know what to say. Victoria and Laura stood in front of you, their arms linked. Laia and Alessia appeared right behind them with multiple bags in hand.

“Wow, I thought…”, you stammered but Alessia didn’t let you finish.

“That we’re all celebrating somewhere without you?”

You nodded hesitantly: “Actually, yes.”

“Wrong!”, Laura clarified quickly and pushed past you into her old home without waiting for you to beckon them in.

You let the other girls pass without protest as well. Laia was the last one. She looked up towards the clouded sky one last time before going inside: “I wish the weather was better though.”

You almost snorted. Whenever she had the chance, Laia would bring up how bad the weather in England was compared to Spain.

Victoria rolled her eyes: “You will survive, Laia.”

”Would a hug help?”, you asked to which the Spaniard nodded immediately.

“Yes.”

“Knew it.”, you laughed before pulling her towards you. With your chin resting on Laias shoulder, you forgot for a moment that she didn’t live here anymore.

You stayed there until you heard Alessia yell from the kitchen: “Oh my god, we need to upgrade your dinner for tonight!”

Laia and you followed the others into the next room. You shrugged nonchalantly: “What’s the problem with wine and crackers?”

“With wine, you need Italian food.”, Alessia stated.

“And a spanish dessert.”, Laia added before turning to the other two Arsenal players that were too busy with their lips on each other to care about any kind of food. “And no, Vicky and Laura, you cannot each other up. Respect the single ladies here!”

“And we want to contribute some Dutch and Austrian food.”, the defender explained with a cheeky smile on her lips.

You couldn't help but get a little sentimental as you watched your friends teasing each other, reminding you of the time when you all called these four walls your home. The melancholy hit you out of nowhere and your heart was torn into a million pieces, but the presence of your friends managed to put the many shattered pieces back together again.

“Man, how I missed you girls.”, you sighed whole-heartedly.

There was an amused sparkle in Alessia’s eyes when she replied to your comment: “We still see each other in training. We’re not completely gone.”

“Yes, just because we moved out doesn’t mean we’re not your friends anymore you idiot.”, Victoria reminded you with her direct Dutch manner.

Instead of looking into anyone’s eyes you focused on the flickering candlelight in front of you, while you admitted: “I know that. It just sometimes feels a bit lonely. I miss the random talks in the living room and stuff like that.”

 “No wonder you’re a bit down the music is depressing.”, Laia observed, making her way to your beloved record player.

Maybe because the Spaniard herself went through dark times in her football career she was the one who was able to find the lightness in every moment so easily it was an art the defender perfected over time.

“Don’t turn that off!”, you protested smiling weakly.

“Can anyone help me to top the pizzas or not?”, asked the blonde striker.

Luckily for her the Austrian was the first to offer her help as they swiftly went to the kitchen to give the food the last finishing touches before it was put into the oven.

Alessia's face was one of pure concentration: “What do you think more cheese?”

“Of course, more cheese!”, Laura declared.

The half-Italian nodded in agreement: “Alright.”

“Laia put on something more.”, Victoria began but was confidently interrupted by the Catalan woman.

She assured her grinning: “You don’t have to tell me, I’ve the best playlist for that.”

“Excuse me!?”, you formed your lips to a pout which could almost compete with Leah Williamson’s one as Laia switched to Latin dance music.

Laia's brown eyes twinkled mischievously at you, her hips starting to swing to the rhythm of the beat: “Just trust me on this.”

“Fine, but I won’t dance.”, you quickly clarified.

She shrugged unimpressed by your statement: “You don’t have to.”

“Good.”, you replied.

“But you will later.”, Laia stated firmly.

A soft smile was playing on your lips: “I’m unsure about that.”

“Girls, the pizza is done.”, Alessia chirmed, the delicious smell of the Italian dish which was made by her family recipe filled up the room.

When she and Laura placed the finished pizzas fresh from the oven on the table, Victoria clapped excitedly:” Amazing.”

“Come try it.”, the Austrian said, waving Victoria over to her.

While the midfielder sat down, Laura cut her a piece of pizza and held it in front of her face so she could take a bite.

Victoria chewed happily: “It’s so delicious.”

One after the other, you all joined the table, pouring each other wine and trying the pizzas.

You watched all your friends crowded your kitchen like they used to do a few months ago.

“At least you’re all happy now.”, you grinned.

Laia turned to you with a raised eyebrow: “You should be happy too.”

“I am.”, you replied a little too quickly. A half-truth that came too easily and that was hard to describe to other people.

Alessia shook her head. As usual, she looked right through you: “She is not.”

“Rude.”, you said. You weren’t offended but a little taken aback by how quickly she caught on to your lie.

The striker remained unimpressed: “At least you haven’t told your face that yet.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, you hadn’t realized that you were frowning. Your eyebrows had begun to knit together, creating a small crease on her forehead, and her molars were clenched together. A bit longer and you would have given yourself a headache by the end of the evening.

Victoria refilled your now empty wine glass with a gracious smile: “Yes, so how are you really.”

You took a deep breath, preparing yourself to let your guard down: “I’m okay.”

“You’re sure?”, Laura asked for confirmation.

“Yes. I just get a bit sad and nostalgic around the end of the year.”, you finally admitted.

Your friends went quiet. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence but rather a thoughtful one which was quickly ended by Laia looking at you incredulously: “But you can be proud of yourself.”

“Proud? Are you serious?”, you laughed.

“Obviously I’m serious.”, the Spaniard nodded, glaring at you sternly.

You shook your head, the crease between your brows making a reappearance: “Of what?“

“Oh my god, are you kidding?”, Victoria suddenly burst out.

“No.”

The dutch midfielder heaved a frustrated sigh. “Remember when you moved in here? Look at you now.”

The memories came back with force like a ball hitting you right into the face during a football game. It was one and a half years ago and you should have been overjoyed to have just signed your first contract for Arsenal, but all your thoughts were preoccupied with your recent break-up. Your move to London was the last straw for your ex, she ended the relationship via text. The majority of your first few weeks at Arsenal were only made bearable by your housemates.

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh about your past self: “Vicky, I was a heartbroken wreck back then.”

“That’s what I’m saying! You’re so over it! You’ve grown so much as a player and as a person!”, she disagreed with you passionately.

You let your gaze wander lovingly over the faces of your beloved friends before concluding: “I grew only because of all of you.”

“Hey, no. With us all.”, Alessia corrected you promptly with a knowing smile playing on her pink lips.

She was right about that when you thought back fondly on the development of the friendship between the five of you.

The sense of togetherness you all developed on and off the pitch was nothing short of remarkable. Even at hard times when things with the head coach got difficult you stood together. Yes, you had befriended teammates in the past, but the true power of female friendship was evident in your former roommates.

“You’re right, Laia’s English improved so much since she moved to London.”, you remembered smirking.

“Excuse me?”, the Spaniard huffed playfully.

Laura patted her shoulder sympathetically:” It’s true.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.”, Laia admitted.

You gratefully squeezed the striker's hand: “Thanks for the pizza, Lessi. It was great as always.”

“You’re welcome. I tried to perfect the recipe in the past year.”, Alessia proudly raised her chin.

With curiosity in her voice, the Austrian wanted to know:” Is it originally from your Italian family side.”

“Of course.”, the blonde replied, her laugh warming even the coldest of hearts.

Meanwhile Laia rose solemnly from her chair:” You know what, girls?”

“What? It’s not midnight yet.”, you remarked after you checked it on your phone.  The time really flew by when you spent it with your friends. While the conversation and the wine flowed.

The defender rolled her eyes in annoyance:” I can read a clock, y/n. Thank you very much.”

“So?”, you looked at her with anticipation.

“Yes, what are we doing?”, Laura questioned matching your excitement.

“It’s time for dancing.”, Laia announced grinning roguishly.

“No.”, you objected.

“Yes.”, she answered, her voice full of enthusiasm.

“Laia”, you warned her as the Catalan pretended not to have heard the warning and took your hands to lift you from your chair.

“Come on, y/n.”, Laura interjected.

“Ugh.”, you groaned while the fellow Arsenal players started to dance around you.

Slowly you began to move your body to the music as well, feeling the weight of the year being lifted from your shoulders as Alessia chirped in your ears:”You’ll feel better afterwards.”

The promise which the sentence held turned out to be true. The melancholy wasn’t gone entirely, but there was a lightness in your steps now which was new tonight.  

“We’re such bad dancers.”, you laughed out loud.

“Who cares?!”, Alessia asked, flailing her arms as she spun in circles around the room.

You thought about if for a second and then nodded: “Good point, actually.”

Victoria who almost knocked a small golden table lamp from one of the dressers while doing the robot, reminded you: “It’s just us!”

“And that’s more than enough.”, you said fondly as you watched your friends doing silly dance moves in your living room like they used to.

They didn’t hear you though. Instead, the music stopped, and your teammates suddenly scrambled through your apartment. A glance towards the clock revealed why. It was five minutes before midnight. Victoria and Laura ran out on the balcony, carrying snacks while Alessia and Laia frantically filled champagne glasses.

You met on the balcony exactly at midnight, quickly clinking your glasses together.

“Happy New Year everyone!”, Laura yelled into the night sky, right as the fireworks started around you.

Victoria pressed a quick kiss to the Austrians cheek before turning back to the group in front of her: “Happy New Year, girls!”

Your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest as you just stood there on the balcony, watching your former housemates and current teammates sip on their champagne and light some sparklers.

The nostalgia was still there but less sad and heavy. It started to transform into something that filled you with hopefulness and excitement for the new year. You felt at peace knowing that no matter what, the girls would always be by your side.

You blinked at them one more time: “Can’t wait for another year with my girls.”

gif and image source: https://www.tumblr.com/stargirlsfc/746487956612775936/lets-fucking-gooooo?source=share, https://pin.it/3K5c1msTJ

[dickgraysonsptsd]

Hey, remember me? Idk if you do, but I looked through some of your stuff and you know a lot of what all went down with Devin Grayson's run when it comes to like... Interference from other comic stories and not being able to do what she was planning and also just everything that happened with her and her night wing run.

Can you help me understand what this person who reblogged my post is talking about and how to respond to them/refute their point?

https://www.tumblr.com/titans-thoughts/778916858908884992/the-problem-is-she-also-said-i-never-said-it-was?source=share

hi, i do remember you!! <333 yes, i'm familiar with what this person is talking about. i hope it's okay that i'm answering this publicly because i think this is useful information and context for understanding nw #93 and the 2004 interview this person is paraphrasing.

short answer: she apologized for saying this in 2011 and 2014. grayson saying something harmful one time 21 years ago doesn't negate the points made in that essay.

long answer... content warning for extensive discussion of sexual assault below!

what did devin grayson say about the rape scene she wrote in nightwing (1996) #93?

let's start by looking at the exact text of what grayson said. here is the excerpt from her 2004 comicboards.com interview that this person (and anyone else talking about this subject) is referring to (bold added for emphasis by me):

MSL: Male rape is a topic rarely touched on in comics. Why is it suited to bring it into Nightwing? DEVIN GRAYSON: For the record, I've never used the word “rape,” I just said it was nonconsensual (I know, aren't writers frustrating? *smiles*), but I think Nightwing is suited to cover any topic rooted in human behavior. The Batman characters are unique in that they're not super powered – they're extraordinary people who devote themselves to operating effectively in a very dangerous realm of human existence – crime and injustice and even, very often, mental illness. They are in constant physical danger, to the point that as readers we don't even always respond to that anymore because we assume they'll eventually be okay. I think sometimes it's more rewarding to put them in emotional or social peril of one kind or another, situations which challenge them as people as well as as superheroes. MSL: (Question by dmb1991) Will we be getting a reaction to Dick's rape anytime soon? Ever since it occurred the audience hasn't been privy to NW's thoughts, and I was really hoping you could flesh out that event in Dick's life. and I'm really hopping there will be an educating story to follow. DEVIN GRAYSON: That's very perceptive of you to notice that we lost Dick's narration! That was very intentional – he's so broken down at this point that he's gone quiet inside. I think if you read through issue 100, you'll see some of the response you've been waiting for, but remember, too, that events in superhero comics are often as much allegorical as actual – that is, we're not doing a public service announcement here, we're telling an ongoing, multi-layered story about one individual finding himself at an emotional rock bottom he doesn't know how to fight his way out of.

grayson did not say the act was not rape. she said that she did not use the word rape to describe it and clarified that she personally used "nonconsensual" when talking about it. this is absolutely talking around the issue enough to be a problem (and to qualify as rape apologism, imo--not acknowledging rape as rape IS apologism), but i want to come back to that in a sec.

do i think she spoke poorly here? yes. grayson also thinks that she spoke poorly here and has apologized for basically every line of her responses here over the last 21 years, from not using the word "rape" to talking about rape as something that can be rewarding when used as part of a narrative. her interviews from 2011 and 2014 make it extremely clear that she learned she was wrong for talking about it in this way and apologized profusely for it, even going so far as to apologize for writing the arc at all.

(i personally think there was no reason for her to apologize for writing the arc, but given that people to this day still loudly and passionately claim that writing the arc is proof that grayson loves rape and wanted to rape nightwing, i get why she did publicly apologize for it. people are deeply weird.)

so why, in 2004, would someone not call nightwing (1996) #93 "rape"?

in 2004 in the us, "rape" was legally defined almost exclusively as a female victim being penetrated through force or coercion by a male perpetrator. the us federal government via the fbi to this day still does not consider being forced to penetrate (what tarantula does to nightwing) "rape," which is deeply fucked up. it was only in 2013 that the fbi changed its definition to include male victims in rape statistics at all.

i'm sharing this for some context of what talking about sexual assault and rape was like at the time. it was not incorrect in 2004 for a progressive, educated person to refer to the act of being forced to penetrate a perpetrator as "sexual assault" or as a "nonconsensual sex act" rather than as "rape." i think a lot of people either don't remember or aren't old enough to know how abysmal and evil usamerican culture was about rape in 2004--it was either a punchline, something that happened to a male character's girlfriend to give him angst, or at best a Very Special Episode to Teach An Important Lesson (something that grayson points out wanting to avoid, which i appreciate--rape survivors don't exist to be educational material). we were AWFUL, culturally, about rape. imo that makes grayson's statement in this interview both more hurtful (it sucks badly that a fellow survivor would talk around the issue like that at a time when people were already terrible about it) and also more understandable (being progressive, anti-rape, and pro-survivor at the time still often didn't look great in a 2025 context).

what i think people get massively, critically wrong here is the assumption that because of this one interview line--one line that is very much of its time--devin grayson believed the act she wrote tarantula committing against nightwing was not sexual assault. there's an assumption that because she said this, the arc itself must be written to be titillating, dismissive, trivializing, or to frame the act of rape as not a big deal.

what did devin grayson actually write?

okay. so we've talked about how grayson talked about this run while it was being published in 2004. we've talked about how rape and sexual assault were defined and perceived in 2004. now let's talk about the actual content of the arc and what that means for the broader argument (which people keep insisting on making) that devin grayson thinks it wasn't rape.

i think it's really clear from the tone and writing of the following excerpts of nightwing (1996) #93-94 that grayson was well aware she was writing a traumatic sexual assault arc, and that she was intentionally tying together the trauma of the violation of dick's body (tarantula raping him) with the trauma of being an accomplice to an act that violates his moral code (tarantula killing blockbuster) and the trauma of blockbuster violating his secret identity and using it to kill whoever he can in dick's life. it's violation on top of violation, it's people who want something from dick or blame dick for something taking things from him over and over until he's empty and literally catatonic. it is very, very obviously a dark and serious look at the aftermath of rape.

putting this last bit under a readmore because it's long and includes screencaps of the actual rape scene.

nightwing #93:

above: the beginning of the repetition of "it will never stop"/"it's never gonna stop" that will be continued into the aftermath of the murder and rape.

above: a distinctive red frame is used as dick thinks "never gonna stop... never... stop it... STOP" as he steps away from blockbuster.

we lose dick's narration as soon as catalina shoots blockbuster. the last thing we see him think is "STOP" in distressed lettering. we get dialogue from him again as dick tells catalina not to touch him:

...but we don't hear dick's thoughts or narration again this issue until the final page.

above: the distinctive red frame returns as catalina rapes dick. the last time we saw this frame was in the "STOP" panel, clearly drawing a line between the moment of catalina shooting blockbuster and the act of catalina raping dick.

above: the final page of the issue. dick thinks again, "it's never gonna stop... never gonna stop... never..."

dick is about to enter into a several issue long "relationship" with catalina that overlaps with crossover events. in this arc dick is portrayed as traumatized, sometimes catatonic, and not consenting to being with catalina, who is using him for her own adrenaline high. "it's never gonna stop" will stay relevant because catalina isn't stopping. blockbuster may be dead, but the horror of the situation dick is in is still present. catalina will keep dragging him around like a chewtoy, breaking the code, murdering people, and abusing dick until nightwing (1996) #100 when he turns her (and himself) in for blockbuster's murder.

nightwing #94:

above: dick catatonic on his knees in an alleyway while tarantula is fighting baddies, unable to move or react while he thinks about the gunshot that killed blockbuster. he hardly reacts to a man about to bash him in the head with a baseball bat, lifting his hands up slightly as he thinks about the gunshot, and calling the gunshot (again, the gunshot is tied inextricably to that repetition of "it's never gonna stop" and the final "STOP") worse than the sound of his parents' bodies hitting the ground.

again, we tie the rape to the murder. dick goes from catatonic about the gunshot to flashing back to the rape.

above: catalina takes dick back to a motel room and drops him on the bed. dick doesn't respond to anything she says to him in this scene, instead starting to infodump fixatedly on the gunshot in small italic text. he's not present here. he's dissociating. catalina touches his face gently and stands over him. as dick keeps talking, clearly not responding to her at all, she starts to leave the room.

above: "so if i'd said 'stop,' we would have heard it. heard it and processed it along with the gunshot, simultaneously. 'bang'... 'don't do it, tarantula, STOP!'... bang... stop!... bang..."

as a reader, this is really obviously a rape victim reacting "weirdly" in the aftermath, fixating on the moment that it became real, on odd details, on the "STOP." dick is talking about blockbuster's murder, but he's also talking about catalina raping him.

and now... catalina isn't having fun here. dick isn't her cool crush doing stunts and unintentionally flirting with her, he isn't her trophy, he's a traumatized unmoving mess talking to himself about something she doesn't understand (and doesn't want to understand). so she leaves. this is grayson showing us very directly that catalina is using dick, that she doesn't care about his well-being as much as she does about her own adrenaline rush, and that she doesn't care that what she did to him traumatized him horribly.

now look at the tone of the dialogue when dick is up and about again after catalina returns:

dick: it's epinephrine with a generalized viperid antitoxin. batman developed it as a-- catalina: cool. whatever. dick: no, not "whatever." this is called being prepared, and if you're not, you've got no business taking on a meta-- catalina: where were you, anyway? dick: i... just went out to move the bike. if you leave it out in the open like that, anyone can-- catalina: --follow us? yeah, i noticed. you comin'?

earlier in the run, when dick was acting as a sort-of-mentor to catalina, he would give her these kinds of explanations confidently. now, catalina is cutting him off when he talks. she's demanding to know where he's been. she's cutting him off again, and looming in the doorway ominously as a clear visual sign that she is the villain here--she's the bad guy lurking in the shadows, she's the abusive "girlfriend."

everything about this scene screams that dick is off-kilter, that he's reverting to familiar things--infodumping about a batman-esque subject, trying to be a good mentor--because he's in a crisis and doesn't know what to do. it is SUCH an effective depiction of a rape victim trying to find some stability and normalcy in the aftermath. it is not something that someone who believes they didn't write a rape scene would write.

and that's my 2 cents on "devin grayson said it wasn't rape!!".... i think it was way more than you probably expected/wanted lmao 😭😭😭

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part seventeen: dream a little dream of me

word count: 1.6k

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff

sixteen | seventeen | eighteen

The second date should’ve felt more awkward. It didn’t.

Alex had picked a science museum of all places—not exactly romantic on paper, but the look on his face when he pointed out the replica Mars rover was too earnest to judge. He had this habit where his whole face would light up like a lightbulb the moment before he got excited about something, and Y/N had already learned to clock it like a warning siren.

“So, technically,” he was saying, hands jammed in his jacket pockets as they strolled past a massive display on deep-sea robotics, “the algorithms used for this submersible’s sensor mapping were adapted from AI software developed for self-driving cars.”

“Technically,” she echoed, teasing, “you should probably just work here.”

He looked sideways at her with a crooked grin. “I applied when I was sixteen. They didn’t take me.”

“They’re clearly still recovering from that mistake.”

He tried to play it off cool, but she caught the slight flush of his ears.

She liked him more than she expected to. Not in the way you decide to like someone—more like how you step outside one day and realize the air smells like rain and suddenly, you’re soft and open and all the windows are down. He was like that: unexpected and quiet and warm around the edges.

They made their way through the rest of the exhibits in no particular order, weaving between dwindling crowds of families and groups of students on field trips, neither of them in a hurry. He let her take her time at the forensic anthropology section, where she ran her fingers along the raised edges of a reconstructed skull, and she let him lose himself in the physics wing, where he explained, with ridiculous enthusiasm, why the double pendulum was so cool. It was there that the nickname Professor Albon was born.

At some point, he took her hand. It wasn’t a big deal. He just did it naturally, without hesitation, like it had already been a habit, and for a moment, that simple touch made her feel warm all over.

They ended the night sitting cross-legged on the floor of the museum café, long after it closed, surrounded by vending machine snacks and a half-solved crossword puzzle she’d found in her bag. The overhead lights buzzed faintly, casting a dim glow over the abandoned chairs and tables, but neither of them seemed eager to move. They laughed about everything and nothing, the kind of laughing that came from being tired but happy, the kind that made her lean into his shoulder without thinking.

"Okay," Alex said, tapping the eraser end of his pencil against the page. "Eight-letter word for ‘illuminates or clarifies’?"

As she took a moment to think it over, Alex watched in his periphery as she counted off the letters of her word on her fingers. "’Explains’ fits," she mused, popping a purple skittle into her mouth.

"Hmm." He scribbled it in. "Not bad. Maybe I should keep you around."

"Yeah, yeah," she nudged his knee with hers, grinning. "You just like me for my crossword skills."

"Wrong. I like you for your crossword skills and your terrible puns."

“My puns are great, thank you very much.” She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

He liked her brain. She liked how funny he was. They made a good pair—two academically overworked people who laughed at obscure engineering memes and played footsie under café tables without meaning to. When they said goodbye that night, he kissed her like he was trying not to smile through it. Like maybe this could really be something.

It felt easy.

And in the days that followed, it stayed easy. He texted her every night.

alex: Made the Mars rover jealous. Can’t stop thinking about you.

Y/N: did you just say that unironically. because I might have to stop seeing you on principle.

alex: Too late, I’ve already added you to my will. You get the Lego Technic collection.

Y/N: wait nvm i’m back in

They made time. Even when they both shouldn’t have.

He’d bring her coffee before her class–something with cinnamon and oat milk in it. He’d scrawl dumb physics jokes on the lid just to make her roll her eyes. She started keeping his schedule in her head without meaning to. She knew which nights he had his advanced systems class and which ones he spent buried in the lab. He’d text her when his simulations crashed at 3AM. She’d send him memes about courtroom drama tropes in return.

He had an engineer’s sense of humor—dry, sneaky, often deeply specific. It took a while to catch on, but once she did, it felt like discovering hidden easter eggs in his sentences.

“You know,” he’d murmur as they lay back in the grass near campus, watching clouds roll over like they weren’t chilly out here in the autumn breeze, “you statistically reduce your lifespan by two minutes every time you eat instant ramen.”

“Cool. So I’ll be dying a noble, sodium-rich death then.”

He turned his head toward her, smiling with closed eyes. “Hmm, a martyr.”

“A hero.”

“Buried with your books and MSG packets.”

She shoved his shoulder. He let her.

On Thursdays, she’d sit outside his lab, cross-legged on the cold tile floor with flashcards in her lap, quizzing him on his presentation slides about failure analysis and impact resistance.

“Okay, explain to me like I’m five—what is a stress-strain curve and why should I care?”

“Because,” he’d say, crouching in front of her with a smirk, “it tells you how close something is to breaking.”

“And that’s relevant to your research…?”

He gave her a confused look, until it turned sheepish as he scratched the back of his neck. “I’m… not entirely sure about that bit, actually.”

She started looking forward to the moments in between—the walks across campus, the shared bag of chips while sitting on the hood of her car, the ridiculous voice memos he sent when he was overtired and delirious.

They kissed in stairwells and library corners and once,perhaps ill-advisedly, on a park bench in the middle of a thunderstorm. The rain had soaked through their clothes, cold and unrelenting, but he had just looked at her and said, "I think we should be stupid about this," right before he leaned in. It was impulsive and dramatic and made her laugh until she had to cover her mouth, their faces inches apart. Her hair was soaked, his glasses fogged up, and they almost dropped his backpack in a puddle, but the moment stuck—sharp and golden and untouchable.

They talked about future dates like there’d be dozens of them—bookstores they wanted to browse together, a tiny Thai place he swore by, a stargazing night he promised would be “scientifically optimized for romance” depending on the cloud cover. She rolled her eyes at that one, but her heart still fluttered.

They were still in the sweet spot—the space between maybe and more, where everything felt bright and possible. 

It wasn’t perfect – but it was promising.

The third date was dinner—some hole-in-the-wall Thai place with flickering neon signage and laminated menus stained with old curry thumbprints. He’d gotten lost on the way and sent a flurry of frantic texts.

alex :) : I passed the restaurant. Twice. There’s a cat staring at me through a laundromat window. I think it’s judging me.

Y/N: be strong. you can beat the cat.

alex :) : Negative, Sargeant. It’s very confident.

He’d arrived breathless, slightly damp from a drizzle, and holding a single packet of Skittles “for your efforts,” he’d said solemnly. She called him an idiot. He looked delighted.

That night, they talked about things that didn’t matter—TV shows neither of them had finished, foods they pretended to like for the aesthetic, the sheer horror of Alex’s undergraduate group project from hell (“We had a guy who thought duct tape was a structural solution”). 

And then, slowly, they talked about the things that did matter.

Like how she used to want to be a journalist when she was little, because she thought it meant you got to ask as many questions as you wanted and never had to apologize.

Or how he still wasn’t sure what kind of engineer he wanted to be—just that he wanted to make things that didn’t break when people needed them most.

“You know,” he said, nudging his glass in slow circles across the table, “you’re not what I expected.”

Y/N looked up. “Is that a good thing or, like, a 'you’re secretly a serial killer' kind of a thing?”

He smiled. “It’s a good thing. Really, really good.”

By the fourth week, they had a rhythm. It wasn’t just dates anymore—it was Hey, want to walk home together? and I saved you the last chocolate chip muffin, but only because I like you more than I like muffins. But barely.

It was him reaching for her hand without thinking, her resting her head against his shoulder on the bus when she was too tired to hold it up.

It was a shared Spotify playlist for when studying is ur 13th reason.

It was early Saturday morning sun filtering into her apartment while they quietly read their own books, his socked foot nudging hers on the side of the couch almost every ten minutes.

It was good.

But between the sleepy smiles and the shared muffins and the texts that kept getting longer instead of shorter, the truth was that they both had dreams. Big ones. All-consuming ones.

And no matter how much you wanted something—or someone—there were only so many hours in the day.

a/n: one of my more favorite chapters! an unfortunate lack of lando though :/ what did you think of it?

[db0xtae]

Winning the Breakup | Chapter 2

- Minho (Xo Kitty) X Reader

𝜗𝜚⋆ Summary : Y/N, a talented and athletic after an intense breakup, Y/N reluctantly agrees to fake date Minho, to make their exes jealous. What begins as a mutual arrangement soon turns complicated when their fake relationship starts to feel all too real. With humor, bickering, and tender moments, Minho and Y/N's journey proves that sometimes the best way to heal from heartbreak is to allow yourself to fall in love.

𝜗𝜚⋆ Warnings : None

𝜗𝜚⋆ Word Count : 858

𝜗𝜚⋆ Chapters : 1

𝜗𝜚⋆ A/N : Hope you guys enjoy!!!

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

Chapter 2: The Rules of Engagement

The next morning, Y/N regretted nothing—well, almost nothing. She wasn’t entirely sure agreeing to Minho’s plan was the best decision, but the image of Alex’s dumbfounded face as she and Minho danced at the social was enough to keep her second thoughts at bay.

It was Saturday morning, and the KISS campus was quiet. Most students were either still asleep or lounging in their dorms, but Y/N was already up and dressed, sitting at a small café table in the library courtyard. She was sipping on a latte and going over her notes for an upcoming quiz when a familiar, annoyingly confident voice interrupted her focus.

“Morning, darling,” Minho said, sliding into the chair across from her.

Y/N didn’t even look up. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not? We’re dating now,” he said, leaning back in his chair with that smug grin she was already tired of seeing.

“Fake dating,” she corrected, finally meeting his eyes. “Let’s not forget the fake part.”

“Details,” Minho said, waving a hand dismissively. “Anyway, we need to set some ground rules.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Rules?”

“Obviously,” Minho replied, pulling out his phone. “If we’re going to pull this off, we need to be on the same page. Can’t have you ruining my image.”

She snorted. “Your image? Please, enlighten me.”

Minho ignored the jab, opening a notes app on his phone. “Rule one: public displays of affection. We’ll need to sell the relationship, so a little hand-holding, hugging, maybe the occasional kiss—”

“No,” Y/N cut him off, her tone firm. “We’re not kissing.”

He looked up, feigning disappointment. “You wound me. What, you think I’m a bad kisser?”

“I think I don’t want to catch whatever inflated ego disease you’re carrying,” she shot back, smirking when Minho gave an exaggerated gasp.

“Fine,” he relented, typing something into his phone. “No kissing…unless absolutely necessary.”

“There will be no ‘necessary,’” Y/N clarified.

Minho shrugged. “We’ll see. Rule two: we text daily. It doesn’t have to be anything deep, but it’ll look weird if we’re not in constant communication. People will notice.”

“Fine,” she agreed. “But no texting me at 2 a.m. with some nonsense about how amazing you are.”

“I would never,” Minho said, looking offended.

Y/N gave him a flat look.

“Okay, I would,” he admitted with a grin. “But I’ll restrain myself.”

“Good. Next?”

“Rule three: we go on at least one ‘date’ per week. People need to see us together outside of school events. And no ditching me halfway through because you get bored,” he added, pointing at her.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Like I’d be the one ditching.”

“Trust me, darling, I’m a delight,” Minho said, flashing his most charming smile.

“Stop calling me that,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“Rule four,” Minho continued, ignoring her complaint. “We don’t tell anyone it’s fake. Not even our friends.”

Y/N hesitated. “Not even Kitty?”

“Especially not Kitty,” Minho said firmly. “She has the biggest mouth at KISS. She’d blow our cover in two seconds.”

“She’d probably make a PowerPoint about it,” Y/N murmured, earning a chuckle from Minho.

“Exactly. So, we keep it between us. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” she said reluctantly.

“Great,” Minho said, setting his phone down. “This is going to be fun.”

“Fun isn’t the word I’d use,” Y/N muttered, taking a sip of her latte.

By lunchtime, news of Y/N and Minho’s “relationship” had spread like wildfire. As they walked into the cafeteria together, side by side, the stares and whispers were impossible to ignore.

“You’d think people have never seen two attractive people together before,” Minho said, loud enough for the nearby tables to hear.

“Subtle,” Y/N muttered under her breath, elbowing him in the side.

“What? I’m just stating facts,” he said with a grin, guiding her to their usual table.

Kitty was already there, along with Dae, Yuri, and Q. The moment they sat down, Kitty leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Okay, spill,” she said. “How did this happen?”

Y/N opened her mouth, but Minho beat her to it.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he said, slinging an arm around Y/N’s shoulders. “She couldn’t resist my charm.”

Y/N shoved his arm off. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“What’s there to regret, darling?” he teased, winking at her.

Yuri raised an eyebrow. “You two are…dating?”

“Yep,” Minho said confidently.

“Since when?” Dae asked, looking genuinely confused.

“A few days ago,” Y/N lied smoothly. “It just…happened.”

Kitty frowned, clearly trying to piece things together. “But you’ve always been at each other’s throats. What changed?”

Minho leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “She finally realized how amazing I am.”

“I realized you’d never shut up about it if I didn’t give you a chance,” Y/N shot back, earning a laugh from Q.

“This is going to be interesting,” Yuri said, smirking as she sipped her drink.

That evening, Minho texted her.

Minho: “Tomorrow. 2 p.m. Meet me at the park.”

Y/N: “Why?”

Minho: “Date #1, duh. Don’t bail on me.”

Y/N sighed, tossing her phone onto her bed. She had a feeling this was going to be a long few weeks.

[alexanderwales]

One of the software concepts that I found useful to bring over to writing is the concept of technical debt.

Technical debt is the additional work that gets created when you choose a fast option over a good option. It's "debt" because there's a very good chance that at some point you're going to have to repay it: you hardcode in some variables, deciding that you'll figure out the proper way to do it later, and eventually, surprise! It's later. You have to implement the solution you were putting off. And because you've been using the kludge for so long, sometimes that kludge has become load-bearing, and you have to spend quite a bit of time unraveling and refactoring. One of the reasons it's called debt is because you have to pay interest on it.

And the thing is, it's not always wrong to accrue technical debt. Sometimes it helps you get to working on the important thing, and can clarify design details or implementation concerns, and sometimes you can just ship without ever having to do it the "right" way. Sometimes you can wriggle out from under that debt and never suffer any consequences from it, even if there were theoretical consequences when you made the decision to do it the fast way.

The way that this applies to writing is mostly in terms of worldbuilding, character building, and plotting. You can sit down and map a whole novel out without writing a single word, whipping up character bibles and setting details and everything that you might possibly need, all before you write a single word.

... or you can accrue some debt and just gun it, writing as you go, making things up, adding them to some kind of tracking document or just not even doing that.

And as with code, there will come times you have to pay that debt back with interest.

Sometimes you skimp on a character's backstory, and then a few chapters down the road you need to make a decision about it, and suddenly there's a bunch of editorial work as you have to make sure that everything you just decided on matches up with what you've already written. A more extreme example would be writing a mystery novel where you haven't decided on what the answer to the mystery will be until very very late: it would either produce a bad mystery or require tons of rewriting.

As with code, the difficulty is knowing when you're incurring technical debt for a good reason and when you're shooting your future self in the foot.

Here are my rules of thumb for writing, in terms of what's acceptable technical debt:

Plot stuff should not wait. You should have a resolution for your story within the first few chapters of writing that story, and ideally, before you even start.

Everyone (and everything) gets a name the first time it appears. You cannot say "the gardener" a dozen times because you don't want to think of a name for the gardener.

All magic systems and superpowers and whatnot should be rigidly defined before they come onscreen. This doesn't need to be known to the characters, and "soft" magic has less of a requirement, but having rules be thought up midway through a fight scene is essentially the definition of generating technical debt.

Descriptions take little effort to bring into alignment, so can be skipped on first draft, so long as there is a description there. Having descriptions written afterward can help to understand mood and requirements of the scene.

Backstory is really variable, depending on how relevant to the plot it is. If it's going to be driving conflict, it needs to be worked out ahead of time. If it's flavor, it can be winged.

I am, of course, not the best follower of my own advice, and sometimes for very long webfic it's impossible to plan that much in advance. And of course I never go into every work having had every idea I'm going to have, and some of those ideas are good enough to include even if they disrupt a plan and require some refactoring.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗺 | ghostface!darren (pig) x reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | he probably wasn't even invited to this party, because who would invite him? but he came anyways... just to torment you. far more than you could've imagined, in fact.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 | 2.5k

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | NONCON DARK SMUT 18+ ONLY!!, public sex, degradation, pain kink, knife kink, a bit of predator/prey, blood kink, smoking, unprotected sex/implied risk of pregnancy, darren is kind of an incel lmao

It was a pretty traditional high school party— overcrowded, loud and sweaty, bad music and worse liquor— but at least the sea of costumes, ranging from scary to silly to sexy, added at least some new layer of interest to the whole thing.

You hadn’t tried very hard with your devil costume— more accurately an attempt at a ‘sexy devil’ costume— but you put on horns and heels with a tight red dress and nobody can really complain.  You weren’t really here to get into the ‘spooky spirit’ or whatever anyways, just an excuse to drink and maybe chat with some people you’d been missing.

The person you ended up chatting to right in that moment, though, was exactly the last person you wanted to talk to.

You didn’t even know there was someone behind you until you felt him press up to your back, suddenly hovering right by you.  “Want a drink?” he asked, shoving a cup towards you, but you were too busy nearly jumping out of your skin to care— you almost knocked the drink over, actually some of it did splash onto another partygoer, but she was too drunk to notice.

“Fuck!” you yelped, turning to see the gangly boy behind you.  “Christ, Darren, do you have to always sneak up on a girl like that?”

He just smiled and tried to offer the drink to you again.

“M’already holding one,” you pointed out with a frown, “didn’t ya notice?”

“O-oh yeah,” he mumbled, lowering the cup finally.  “Costume looks good.”

“Thanks,” you shrugged, though you suddenly felt the urge to tug down the bottom of your dress.

“You’re not worried what the boys are gonna think with you dressed like that?” he asked, and you glared at him as you shoved his shoulder.  

“Don’t you think before you open your fuckin’ mouth?” you spat.  “What are you, anyway?”

The black robes didn’t really tell you anything— not until he reached behind his head and pulled a Ghostface mask over his face.

“Oh,” you snorted, “not the most original, is it?”

“Don’t like t’movie?” he wondered as he pulled the mask back again.

“I mean, it’s pretty good,” you relented, “but—”

“You wanna fuck ‘im, don’t you?” he insisted suddenly with a lascivious grin. 

“What?” you squinted.

“Ghostface,” he clarified, “you’re one of the girls who thinks he’s fit, yeah?”

“Why are you always such a creep?” you asked him with a grimace, but then you decided to change the topic quickly.  “Kinda thought you’d be a pig or something,” you admitted, “with the nickname and all.”

“Nah, that’s stupid,” he rolled his eyes, crossing his arms— which made you notice the prop knife in his hand.  It actually looked pretty good, shinier than most plastic costume knives.

Just then, Jimmy O’Doyle sauntered up beside you, slipping his arm around your shoulders.  “Ay, little devil,” he greeted, flicking the red horns on your head as you smiled sheepishly.

He hardly acknowledged Darren, spare for a quick nod, but Darren was staring at Jimmy for a little too long before he looked at you again.

“Thought you said you didn’t want a boyfriend,” Darren said sharply, glowering a bit.

Jimmy scoffed and you shifted uncomfortably; Darren tended to be… what’s the word… desperate?  Clingy?  Overall bizarre?  He certainly couldn’t take much of a hint.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you said first, though that didn’t really matter— you didn’t need any reason to reject Darren, outside of your natural self-preservation instinct.  He actually wasn’t bad-looking, but it was hard to tell past those leering eyes and the uncomfortable smile.  He wasn’t smiling now though… he looked quietly enraged, sipping pointedly on his drink as he glanced away for a moment.  

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” Jimmy smirked at you, hardly waiting for your nod before disappearing back into the crowd.

Suddenly, as you felt Darren’s livid gaze from awkwardly close, you decided that you needed a little fresh air.  And by that, you really meant a cigarette.

Not wanting to tell Darren that you were going outside for a smoke, you instead mumbled some excuse about going to the loo— somewhere he was just sane enough not to follow you to— and bumped through the crowd until you found a door out into the neighbourhood.

There was a slight drizzle still going outside— more of a misting, really— that made everything all foggy and grey, spare for the yellow-y glow of the streetlamps dotting the way.  It wasn’t a full moon, as cool as that would be, but near to one… regardless, it wasn’t visible behind low, dark clouds, leaving the night starless and dreary.  There wasn’t much to look at in the alley as you lit your cigarette and took slow drags from it, so as you stared blankly forward at brick walls with chipping whitewash, your mind wandered a bit.  Nothing of great merit: upcoming assignments, the possibility of an afterparty, the lingering hope you could find a steamy hook-up for the night… you didn’t just put this outfit on for the pictures.

Before you could get too far into your imagination, you were startled by a distant sound, jumping slight as your head turned towards it— but it was just the dark alley, not much to see.  You squinted, trying to make out movement in the shadows, but for quite a while you couldn’t see anything.

Only when you turned your head back forward with a shrug was there any sign of what you’d heard, just a shift in the corner of your eye.  You looked at it again, and you hated to admit it, but your heart froze up for a second when that white face emerged from the darkness.

Of course, you gave your best unaffected scoff when you actually processed what you were looking at.

“Quit it, Darren,” you warned, willing your voice to sound stable as you shouted down the road towards him, “you’re not gonna scare me.”

You watched him move closer, stepping into the light so you could see him better, and tried to ignore the way the hairs on your neck stood up.  If he knew he was getting to you, he’d just keep doing it; you rolled your eyes and took a drag through your cigarette to try to seem nonchalant… but you had to stop your hand from shaking just a bit.  Only because it was chilly out, surely…

You thought it was a joke— a stupid joke, but still just a joke— until he dragged his knife along the brick wall as he stalked toward you.  The sharp, high-pitched screech of metal against stone was unmistakable… and that was how you realised it was a real knife.  A very sharp, very real knife; he’s going to actually kill me, you thought, just before you let out a primal and instinctive scream.

Turning on your heel, you ran as fast as you could.  Each rapid pulse of your heart pumped adrenaline through your veins, and you felt so shaky that you worried the light night breeze would knock you over.  

These were far from running shoes, though— they were pretty excruciating to just stand in, actually— and it was only a few blocks of a chase before you tripped.  Yelping in pain, you tried to scramble up or even crawl forward… but just as you rolled over and winced from landing on your hip, you saw him stalking forward into the flickering light of a streetlamp.

He was probably just going to take the mask off and laugh at you, right?  Reveal the whole thing was a silly prank and the knife was fake and that he just wanted to prove you were scared of him.  Yes, that would be the most sane thing for him to do at that moment, even after being so not-sane by chasing you with a knife.  Instead, as you tried to crawl back, he just tilted his masked head curiously at you, and with his free hand reached down and palmed at his groin.  He was hard— you could see the outline of it through his costume, his hips rocking forward slightly into his palm as you heard a muffled hiss from his mouth.

He knelt down and grabbed your kicking legs, roughly yanking you closer and hovering above you menacingly.  “C’mon and scream for me,” he ordered with a delighted purr, pulling his mask back, laughing when what came out of you was more of a wail or sob instead.  “Louder, y’little whore—”

“Get off me!” you shrieked, trying to fight him away, whining as he laid down over you instead and licked your neck.  You turned your head with a grimace, shuddering as his weight pinned you against the slightly-damp pavement.

“G’na show Pig how tight the little hole gets when you’re scared— aren’t ya, fuckin’ slut?”

“Be serious, Darren— s’not funny, get away from me!”

You struggled less when he flashed the knife; as little as you could, in fact you actually nearly froze as he teased you with it, running the tip down the front of your dress with just enough pressure to pop a few sequins off, making you whimper in terror.  He laughed, though— a small, dark, chuckle.  “Quiet now,” he noticed.  “Don’t make a fuss, sweetheart.”

You had to bite your lip to hide a shout, though, when a gloved hand up slipped under your short dress, grabbing greedily at your lacy panties.  He licked his teeth, bared by his grin, as he stared at you with those haunting eyes of his.  “Wet, aren’tcha, girl?” he taunted— not that he’d be able to feel it through his black gloves, but past your own groaning you could almost hear it (though you tried not to).

“You’re such a creep!” you spat, though you tried to regulate your tone as you glanced at his knife again, held against you by one of his hands on your arm; maybe part of you still thought he would stop and admit it was a joke, but the darkness in his stare made you doubt that more and more.  The gravity of the situation still hadn’t really set in yet— sure, you were coursing with fear and had goosebumps all over, but it didn’t totally feel real.

“Won’t take too long,” he promised with a sigh as he hastily tugged his costume out of the way, still pinning you down with one hand (if not as effectively).  When he roughly yanked his cock out, proudly brandishing it between your legs as your eyes went wide… that’s when it felt real.

“Don’t,” you gasped instantly, looking up at him with pleading eyes.  “Don’t, Darren, please— you can’t—”

“Shh,” he hissed quickly, “s’good— gonna feel good, alright?”

He gasped loudly as he pushed inside you, eyes shutting tight before he dropped his head down onto your chest.  “Fuck, girl— what’s a whore cunt so tight for?”

Not wasting any time, he pulled his hips back and roughly thrusted forward into you again, making you choke on your cry.

“S’for me, isn’t it?” he decided with a sick sort of grin.  “Want Pig to feel good?  Like t’squeeze the thick cock, don’t ya?”

“I— I fuckin’ hate you,” you whimpered, shutting your eyes tight, in disgusted disbelief that this was happening— that it was him inside you, holding you down.  But you couldn’t forget it, not with him moaning and purring above you, mumbling stuttered praises… and the feeling of it, it was impossible to ignore, as much as you hoped to somehow.  It was a deep stretch, each thrust making your chest tighten out of more than just fear.

“Mmf, fuck,” he grunted, holding onto you tighter— another reminder he still had that fucking knife.  “Pretty— it’s a pretty thing… it’s warm inside…”

Grimacing, you hated the way your body responded to his lewd comments about it; your walls clenched on him slightly, you could tell by the way you felt even more sore inside than before.

He pressed the knife up against your neck, growling in amusement at your wince of fear.  “Think Pig’s gonna slice you?”

“I… I don’t know,” you stammered out your answer, eventually.

“Waste of a pretty face, no?” he smirked, moving the knife up and caressing the side of your face with it— not that it could really be called a caress, all rigid and cold like that… “Say please.”

“Huh?”

“Say please,” he repeated, “beg me not to hurt you.”

“Already are,” you sneered at him, but he pressed the knife to your neck with a little more intention— a little more pressure, a wild look in his eyes suddenly— as he insisted again.

“Wanna hear you beg,” he spat.  “Do it or Piggy might hurt you worse.”

“Please, please,” you whispered shakily, shutting your eyes.  “Please don’t, Darren…”

You gasped sharply as he pressed the knife down just enough to draw a thin line of blood, only to pull the blade away and lick hungrily at the wound.  Feeling dizzy and sick, you winced at the sting of his tongue lapping at your pierced skin, lips wrapping around and suckling as teeth dug painfully into your pulse.

He thrusted faster, recklessly so, and bit down on his lip as he breathed heavier.  You were too focused on how painfully deep he was going to really process anything when he started to slow down— that is, you felt that he was slowing down, and didn’t think for a minute about why he was slowing down.  

His loud, low groan gave it away; you snapped back to reality and looked up at him in a new kind of fear.  “Fuck, Darren, did you just—?!” you whimpered, squirming harder as you realised what he’d done.

“Shh, shh,” he soothed you sharply, hissing as he grabbed a tight hold of your hip.  “Stay fuckin’ still, girl— fuck, I’m still coming—”

You yelped and tried harder to fight him off, but he kept you pinned down easily, even forcing you into a rough and sloppy kiss.

He sighed into it after a second, relaxing on top of you until it was a little hard to breathe under his weight.  You whined and tried to break away, but the hand with the knife still in it held your jaw, the cold metal pressing threateningly against your face.

Whimpering and blinking up at him, you met his icy gaze and he smiled proudly down at you.  “Little devil, eh?” he smirked as he toyed with your horned headband, which had become quite dishevelled from all the running and struggling.  “Your blood matches the outfit— poor whore, red all over…”

“Darren,” you choked, fighting a sob of disbelief as you felt him pull out of you with a hiss— a steady, sticky leak giving away how much he’d come.  “What the fuck did you do?”

“Don’t be fussin’, girl, like I said,” he rolled his eyes, though he was still grinning wide.  “Ready to go back to the party now?  Or do you just want Pig to take y’home, sweetheart?” 

[azes-ocean]

Illusion in shattered glass 

An: I promise I’m working on reqs but this was already in my drafts so 💙 I need more Mr. Reca content so I decided to make some! He’s a character with alot of potential 🫶🏼

A dream is just a nightmare you do not want to wake up from.

Inspiration: I can’t find the post anymore but there was a post about someone talking about Mr. Reca erasing his darling’s memories every time he confesses that to try to achieve perfection, if you find it plz tell me and I can add the link 💙 

An: I didn’t reread or review it so it might suck, but I did add effort. First few chapter are skip-able ish if your impatient. 

Summary: A picture perfect love story directed by Penacony’s greatest director.

Except it isn’t perfect.

You don’t remember any bit of this so-called ‘story’.

Because you-

—CUT!—

TAKE ONE 

“I love you, y/n.”

     “!?-Mr. Reca-I-do too…”

    Directors notes: Disapproved! Adding a title in the acceptance just makes there seem to be a distance or unfamiliarity!

TAKE TWO

“Ah. Y/n. I do adore you.”

         “-Reca…? In a platonic or a romantical way…?”

Director’s notes: Disapproved! The way in which y/n still must ask the intent of those words making them seem dense whilst they have much more intelligence then most actors.

TAKE THREE

“Y/n. Will you marry me?”

       “Gasp. I-ofcourse, Reca…!”

Directors notes: Mhmm…getting better! But it should be perfect! Therefore disapproved!

TAKE FOUR

Disapproved!

TAKE FIVE

Disapproved!

TAKE SIX

Disapproved!

TAKE SEVEN

——

TAKE EIGHT HUNDRED AND EIGHTY EIGHT

————1—————

Mr. Reca slammed his fist on the table as he re-watched the records for the nth time. “Ugh. Disapproved…disapproved…Y/n deserves only perfection, not this dogwash!” He cried, cupping his face between his hands in frustration, mumbling under his breath. “No…no…no….” He murmured, why was this so hard? He was the greatest director in the world! Why couldn’t he properly direct his own love story,..?

Yes, yes, he had tried all the cliché proposals and confessions, flowers, letters, even using a cat to carry on his letter. So what was missing in his grand vision of this ‘perfect confession’!?

———2———

{{This chapter is to give depth to the reader and extra interactions. Skip it you want though somethings may be a bit confusing 💕}}

“What I think of Mr. Reca…?” You echoed, tilting your head in confusion. This was…not what you had expected your friends to ask you during your truth or dare game. “Yeah! I heard you rejected him before!” They gasped excitedly, one of them bumping your shoulder and giggling, covering their mouth. “No. I never did that. He’s just my boss. Those are just rumors.” You clarify, shaking you head with a shy smile. You’d never reject him. Well, you’d never reject him if he asked! But that was just most likely your brain too full of those telenova romance movies you binge watched over the weekend. You looked down to your hands and shook your head lightly, trying to wipe those thoughts from your brain. “Anytyywwwaaayy…. y/n!” Your friend called, pointing at you, already seemingly forgetting their previous question, “You didn’t answer the last question, so you better answer this one!” They chirped in their usual bubbly manner, happily shaking your shoulder like a needy child. Oh no. They had a mischevious glimmer in their eyes. “Tell the truth…why do you only hang out with us in the dreamscape!?” They demanded, huffing while crossing their arms dramatically. Your pulse unknowingly quickened, but your expression was still positive. “I just am too busy outside of the dreamscape. Nothing secretive. Now….F/N!” You smile and point at your other friend in the same matter as the latter, grinning, “Truth or dare?”

———3———

Mr. Reca sat on his desk, Assistant Director across his lap as he went through script after script after proposal after proposal. How boring. It would be a hundred times more interesting to be spending these wasted hours with you. But oh well. Duty called, much to his chagrin. What an artistic block. Almost all of the scripts these days lacked individuality and creativity.

All but lacking stories with a totally predictable ending, boring characters and poorly suggested visuals. The director eventually ran his patience through, crumpling the paper in his hands and throwing it across the room in absolute irritation.

“Mr. Reca…? Are you alright?” You called, knocking on the door after you had heard his exasperated grunts. “Oh, y/n! Please, please, come in if you wish! of course I am alright!” He called, his mood already being lifted by your prescence and concern. As soon as you opened the door he ushered you in and had you seated on the couch in the far corner of the messy room in a matter of seconds. You glanced across at him akwardly, only given a few moments to settle where you sat before Mr. Reca began talking endlessly about the films he was working on, the potential-less stories and manuscripts he was forced to read and a lot of his day. In truth, most of it went over your head, merely keeping up your part of the conversation with the bare minimum occasionally nodding and throwing out “Mhmm”’s “Er-yes…” and “Totally.”

———4———

“Y/n. How do you feel today?” Mr. Reca smiled, drapping his jacket across your shoulders. Even though the weather in the dreamscape was hardly cold, today felt a bit different. “A bit…cold…” You offer, snuggling into his warm jacket and hunching slightly. You looked up to see Mr. Reca with a sad smile, which surprised you. “Is…something wrong?” You asked, looking at him with a concerned look. Mr. Reca never usually showed sadness, but now his expression also held something you never thought was possible for him.

He looked…in grief?

Before you could open your mouth to ask him again, Mr. Reca looked you straight in the eye, his hands clasping together nervously, “Y/n…I love you.”

Your brain could hardly comprehend that. You stared at him for a while, wide eyed and your mouth half open when you finally remembered to swallow. You looked down and turned to him with a joyful smile, “I do too, Reca.” Mr. Reca returned your smile, though it still seemed like he was thinking of something else. You put a hand carefully on his shoulder and hesitantly kissed his forehead. “Is there…something wrong?” 

You were met with some silence, which seemed incredibly heavy, not something you would expect the atmosphere of a confession to be like. You knew what was wrong. You did. 

But you didn’t remember. 

And you can’t remember why.

“Wrong? No. We are actually following the ‘right’” Mr. Reca finally replied, shaking his head whilst forcing a smile. He pulled you into an unexpected embrace, burying his head into the crook of your neck as his shoulders seemed to sag. “And in the will of fate we can never be together.” 

You stared at him, though you weren’t confused. Yes, because this happened before.

Eight hundred and eighty eight times, to be exact.

This was what the aeons had written in both your destinies.

“Yes…yes…”

“Because you never existed in the first place.”

———5———

Mr. Reca was now hugging his empty jacket, devoid of the warmth it used to hold. 

And he cried.

It had never gotten easier to accept every time that you were a mere memory zone meme.

A fragment of his consciousness and the embodiment of his wish.

Salty tears fell one after the other in a bitter waterfall as Mr. Reca bit his lip, trying to regain his composure as his breath hitched and more tears spilled.

It was an ironic, almost funny thing

The missing piece in his ‘perfect confession’ had always been you.

———

TAKE EIGHT HUNDRED EIGHTY NINE

———

[millie-multifics]

Miles to Go

Jack Abbot x f!Attending!Reader

Dr. Robby and the day shift take over, though not before he can question Jacks new interest in you. You are forced to take a break as you are determined to prove you’re okay.

Warnings: Talk of death, broken bones & severe injuries, PTSD, self-doubt. Teasing remarks, Jack being soft.

Word Count: ~1.9k

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Previous | Next

Edited: 05/28/25

x x x

Hour Four: Day Shift

7:00am

You were thankful the nurse’s main desk was tall, allowing you to lean on it inconspicuously to ease weight off the aching pain radiating through your lower leg. You feigned interest in the tablet, reviewing patient notes to update the board for a smooth handover to Dana and the day shift. You updated the status of Abbot’s deceased trauma victim and added your name to a few patients awaiting consultation.

“Look what the cat dragged in.” Frank Langdon had always been an instigator, teasing anyone and everyone about any information he retained.

You glanced up from the tablet to give him your best glare, though it quickly gave way into a slight smile as other Residents and nurses joined you at the hub.

“Ignore him.” McKay gently patted your shoulder in the form of a side hug, “You look good.”

You leaned into Dana’s welcoming hug, accepting the warm embrace, offering smiles to the group that had now gathered to check in and welcome you back to work. “How’re you doing, sweetheart?”

“I’m doing good.” You smiled reassuringly, though the charge nurse knew you well enough to recognize your discomfort with the attention. “Bridget had to step out a few minutes early and Abbot went for some air, so I prepared everything for you to take over.”

Jack and Robby stepped into the quiet elevator, the heavy doors shutting out the burning gold sunrise as it peered over the horizon. Both doctors carrying the weight of death on their shoulders this morning; Abbot shouldering the regret of not being able to save a fellow soldier and Robby haunted by the anniversary benchmarking the loss of his mentor and friend. It was quiet for a moment before Robby spoke.

“How is she doing?” There was no need to clarify whom he was asking about, your recovery and return hanging in the balance of the ED all morning. Abbot sent him a glance, recalling the information divulged by Bridget in the early hours of the morning, your confirmation when you did not deny that you had spent the night with Robby.

“Seems to be doing okay. Had her in triage but didn’t stay there for long.” He explained, eyes glued to the ripped flyer tape to the wall promoting STI prevention. His mouth opened once more before he could stop himself: “I heard you spent the night?”

Robby had worked alongside Jack for a long time; he was one of the few people he had spent time with outside of the hospital walls. He would consider the veteran a friend, someone to share a beer and catch the game with every once in awhile, and he easily clocked the mans pointed curiosity.

“Did something happen between the two of you?” Robby asked, but Jack was saved by the elevator doors opening. “Look, I don’t know what went on with you two, I only know what I can see.”

Robby paused, moving to block Jack’s escape route from a conversation he would rather avoid. “You hear she’s hurt, and you come in here like a bat out of hell, spend months helping her out then suddenly one day come in and ask me to start checking on her.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets as he mimicked Jack’s signature ducking maneuver to force eye contact. “Whatever happened, it’s really none of my business but I know last night she was feeling lonely. She invited me over for pizza and we fell asleep watching reruns of ER, that’s as far as it went, brother.”

His assurances hung in the balance, Jack silent as he digested the words. Nothing nefarious had happened, he trusted Robby’s word on that. The fact that you had felt lonely made his chest ache.

“ER? She had me watching Grey’s Anatomy.”

Jack frowned as they entered the Emergency Department, immediately observing you leaning against the tall desk. He recognized the stance; it was the same one that you had called him out for when his prosthetic was particularly uncomfortable. Your leg was bothering you, to be expected as you had yet to spend much time on it since it had begun to heal. Your injury had been brutal; transverse split of the tibia and compound fracture of the fibula, surgery and pins to realign then a heavy cast for six weeks. You had gotten your cast removed earlier than anyone had originally anticipated, replaced with a removable walking boot to keep it stabilized as you eased back into weight bearing until just two weeks ago. The orthopedic surgeon and physiotherapist had agreed you were clear to return to work, with restrictions, but you were more focused on proving to everyone (including yourself) that you were fine and capable rather than actually taking care of yourself.

“Good morning, Dr. Robby.”

“You,” He frowned overdramatically, “Need to buy new coffeemaker, that thing is possessed.”

You scoffed, offended for your precious Patricia. You had tried to get a new coffeemaker; you had shopped around over the years and tested plenty, but none made the perfect tasting cup like her.

“Good ol’ Patricia just needs a little love and affection while she’s brewing.” Jack knew the struggle of the coffeemaker all too well, being faced with the flooded counter of hot liquid many times before you divulged your secrets. The handle of the carafe had to be facing your kitchen window, and you could not fill the water reservoir with a drop over 4 cups otherwise the filter would backup.

“You would be the type to name your coffee maker.” Langdon quipped, filing the fact both Male Attendings had seemingly spent time in your apartment away for later purposes.  

You half listened to Robby as he introduced the new Med Students to the Residence, offering a kind smile to the four young faces as he gave them a quick introduction about you, but you were distracted by the avoidance of eye contact from Dr. Mohan. She followed as Robby led the handoffs, explaining the procedure and purpose to the fresh faces.

Suddenly, you realized that you had been left alone with Jack as you could feel his eyes glued to the side of your face with a mildly disapproving glare. He moved from the computer to lean on the counter beside you, his elbow and warm bicep brushing against your sleeve.

“You need a break. Meet me in the lounge in two minutes?” He left no room for protest as he turned on his heel. You knew that running or hiding would be futile, you could no longer avoid the stern look of concern he had been giving you all morning.

Chairs scraped the floor, not yours. The location and extend of your multiple broken bones meant you were confined to a wheelchair for the beginning of your healing journey. Jack made sure you were settled before he claimed the creaky folding chair to your left, subtly shifting it closer to you to ease your uncertainty of the unfamiliar, cold room.

Jack had insisted about a month into your misery that he take you out; you needed a desperate break from the bleak walls of your apartment, the dip that was now worn into your end of the couch and the harsh light of doctor’s offices. The last place you expected to be was seated in a circle of Veterans at the Rec Center. During last weeks support meeting, he had unintentionally mentioned you; brief snippets of what had occurred and your obvious struggle to allow yourself to accept and heal. A few of the members encouraged him to bring you along, as the week progressed, he decided that maybe it would be beneficial for you.

At first you had felt out of place, like an intrusion into their shared traumas and camaraderie. You simply listened as some opened up more than others, each with their own story and struggles. Details of how they were injured were generally kept minimal, sparing you the gory realities of war but they were honest about their past and current struggles, both physical and emotional.

When it was Jacks turn, you listened intently. Until recently you had only ever known calculative, level-headed Jack. This was new, surprising, the way he shared his struggles so openly; the blood of fallen comrades he still felt soaking his hands, the loss of his own limb then his wife passing just as he had gotten a grip on his new reality. How he became a doctor to fill the void and does his damn best everyday to help those in need, to feel worthy of making it home.

Then it was your turn, but your struggles felt miniscule compared to those around you. You hesitated as their eyes settled on you.

“You can share, or not, if you’re not ready.” Jack ducked his head to force your avoidant eye contact, “But we’ve experienced firsthand that you can’t heal until you face it.”

“My problems seem so tiny compared to the struggles you all face.” You spoke directly to Jack, keeping your voice low.

“You’ve been through a trauma, sure it may not be the same kind,” He reached for your hand, carefully as to not disturb the sling holding your clavicle in position, “But that does not make it insignificant.”

His thumb brushed the back of your hand; the warmth of his palm pressed against yours brought you ease. His hands were significantly softer than you had thought they would be, expecting them to feel rough and calloused from the constant handwashing your job required.

“You should really be sitting.” His gruff voice from behind startled back into reality. The barren room with the veteran’s circle was replaced with the empty emergency department staff lounge. You had been leaning on the counter, lost in reverie.

Jack pulled one of the chairs away from the table, signalling for you to sit. You rolled your eyes but obliged, silently acknowledging that doctors really did make the worst patients. He dragged another chair closer, a soft groan leaving his lips as he bent to lift your left leg onto the chair.

“Keep that elevated.” He instructed, reaching into his pocket to fish out a cold pack he had commandeered from the supply room. “Put that on your collar for a little while, that CPR must’ve hurt.”

You hummed, not bothering to deny it as he could see right through you.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, claiming the seat across the table from you. He rested his elbows on the tabletop, as he studied you.

“Obviously sore, apparently.”

“If it gets any worse, let Robby know. He’s got enough staff on board that you could go home and rest. No one would judge you for that.”

You both knew that there was no way in hell you would be doing that. You would rather suffer in silence.

“You doing okay though?” He asked again, choosing his next sentence carefully to prevent you from bolting. “Thought maybe I see you earlier, taking a moment.”

You nodded, chin ducking to your chest to break eye contact. It was truly debatable, were you okay? Sure, you had a slight drawback this morning and your body was crying to go home, yearning to crawl into bed. Yet, the feeling settling in your chest as Jack fussed over you felt heavier than the rest of it all.

x x x

Tags: @nosebeers @eugene-emt-roe @wolfbc97 @qardasngan

[just-dreaming-marvel]

A Princess & Her Knight ~ 5

A PRINCESS & HER KNIGHT MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,600ish

Summary: You go to court with your father. It doesn't go well, causing you and Logan to semi-work together.

Notes: I hope you enjoy this! Please send in reactions!

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

Logan was surprised to find himself feeling much better the next morning. He got ready for the day with ease and went up to your chambers, waiting outside. When you stepped out for the day, you smiled when you saw him.

“You can say it,” you teased. 

His brows pinched together in confusion. “Say what?”

“Thank you.”

“Are you serious?”

“It’s not that hard. Just a simple, thank you for the best soup of my life and making sure I don’t stay sick. Come on, Sir Grumpy Pants, you can do it.”

Logan’s jaw clenched. He was definitely not going to give you the satisfaction of you being right. “I am well rested, Princess, and the royal doctor took a look at me.”

You scoffed. “Just not man enough to admit it. That’s fine. You’ll thank me one day.”

You pushed past him, making sure your dress swayed enough to hit him. Logan clenched his jaw as he followed you. Breakfast was quick and before either of you knew it, you were sitting beside your father in court with Logan behind you.

“The first item of business today is that I have officially betrothed the Princess to the Prince of Dolad,” the King announced. “We will make it official at the Princess’ birthday ball.”

“What a fine match,” one of the men commented.

“I do hope that you aren’t dumb enough to believe that this engagement will change people’s opinion’s on the Princess’ ability to rule,” a man, Sebastian Shaw, stated. You inhaled sharply, gripping onto your dress to try to prevent yourself from saying anything to make it worse. “No matter who she marries, she will be the head of this kingdom. And the Princess has not proven that she can handle such things.”

“The Princess has proven it and will continue to,” Charles retorted. 

“If the people are not happy with the choice, they will over throw her.”

“It is something we need to consider,” Cassandra added. 

“Are you questioning her status as heir to the throne because she is a woman?” Ororo spoke up, getting fiery over this conversation. “Because if it is—“

“It has nothing to do with her being a woman, let me clarify that,” Sebastian Shaw interrupted. “She is just… not as poised as she should be at this age. The Princess has been allowed too much freedom.”

“The Princess is right here,” you finally spoke up. “I know the ins and outs of running a kingdom better than most of you in this room. I have watched my father, the King, as he rules. I have studied the history of our kingdom and others to learn how to rule. I am sorry that I am not a pretty little princess who just sits around and obeys. That is not how I was raised and it’s not who I want to be.” You stood up. “I know that all of you doubt me. By doubting me, you are not trusting in your own King, who has said that I will take the throne one day. If you truly follow your King, you would not question this.”

“They have a right to question what they may,” Cassandra said. “As this, spectacle, is proving some of their points. You are not ready for this.”

“Enough!” Charles’ commanding voice stilled the room. “That is enough. The Princess will be excused from court for the remainder of the week.”

“What?” You questioned.

“During this time, the court will come up with a plan to ensure that the Princess is ready for her marriage and her reign as Queen.”

“Father—“

“End of discussion.” Charles turned to Logan, the only person in this room he trusted with you. “Please escort the Princess out.”

You stood, unable to believe what had just happened. Logan, who had to stop himself from speaking up himself, stepped up and carefully wrapped his hand around your arm. He began to lead you out of the court, surprised that he didn’t get a fight from you. As soon as the two of you were out of there, you pulled your arm free from Logan’s grip and rushed away.

“Princess!” Logan called after you, following. 

Logan knew you were upset, hell, he was too. And the fact that Charles seemingly sided with the members of the court? That was making him question things. He followed you as you slipped into a secret passageway hidden behind one of the large tapestries.

“Princess, please stop,” Logan urged. 

“Just leave me alone, Logan,” you requested, trying to hold back the tears. You could handle everyone else’s doubts, but you couldn’t handle your own father’s doubts about you.

“Y/N.” He caught up enough to catch your arm. You stopped, but didn’t turn around. “What happened in there… it shouldn’t have happened. Your father—“

“Apparently has no more faith in me than the other men of the court.”

“We both know that can’t be it. He has to be doing this to protect you.”

“Doesn’t matter…” You shook your head and pulled your arm out of Logan’s grip. “Whatever happens in there this week, my life will never be the same after. I’ll be forced to be the Princess that they all want me to be. Guess it will make your life easier.” You looked at Logan finally, eyes shimmering with tears.

Logan hated this. Yes, he hated how he was constantly trying to get you to be more aware of your safety. But it was who you were, this free, fighting spirit. And they were going to try to take that away from you. 

“Then we do what we can in a week,” Logan said, much to your surprise. “You have more time now. What do you want to do?”

“You can’t be serious, Logan. You’re willingly going to do everything with me?”

“Can’t promise that I’ll be happy about any of it. But I’ll go along with it.”

“You can’t possibly understand what you’re saying. Did some of your brain cells die while you were sick?” Without thinking, you reached up and placed the back of your hand against Logan’s forehead. “Are you still sick?”

Gently, Logan grabbed your hand and pulled it from his face. “I’m not sick anymore… Thanks to you.”

You smiled. “See? That wasn’t so hard was it?”

Logan rolled his eyes, letting go of your hand. “Yeah, whatever.”

“So… are you ready to follow the troublesome Princess?”

“Always.”

~~~

Of course, the two of you weren’t going to do anything too crazy. But, at this point, anything you did the court found crazy. You sent Logan to grab a few of your books and ready the horses while you went to the kitchen. You packed up a bag of food before meeting Logan at the stables. Both horses were already ready and he had satchels on both horses. Your books were in the satchels on his horse while you placed the food and a blanket from the stables into the satchels on your horse.

“Ready?” Logan asked.

You got yourself onto your horse before responding, “Always.”

Logan let you lead the way towards the edge of the property where there was a large willow tree. You stopped there, laying out the blanket before getting out the food. Logan grabbed your books and set them on the blanket. You sat down, back up against the tree while Logan stayed standing, looking around.

“No one is going to do anything here,” you said as you grabbed a book from your stack. “You can sit down and relax.”

“My job is to protect you, Princess,” he responded. “Whether you feel it’s needed or not.”

“Do you ever relax? Or are you always so tense?”

“If I enjoyed relaxing, I would have a different job.”

“So you enjoy this job?”

“Being a Knight? I enjoy it.”

“What about being my Knight? Do you enjoy that?”

Logan looked down at you. You were already looking up at hi, eyes seemingly searching for an answer. “It’s too soon to say, Princess.”

You nodded, going back to focusing on your book. “Guess we will see once my consequences arrive, whether you stand by me or not.”

“Princess, it is my duty to stand by you.”

“That does little to convince me that you enjoy your job or that you would stand by me willingly, without it being your job.” You kept your focus on the pages of your book, learning more about the kingdom you were going to be married into. Logan opted to stay silent, not having a good response to you. “Feel free to help yourself to any of the food in the bag, Sir Grumpy Pants.”

~~~

You and Logan stayed out there until the sun began to set. Once the horses were in the stable, Logan grabbed the books and your bag of food before following you into the castle. The King was waiting for you in the doorway. You saw him and immediately began walking the other way.

“Y/N, please, my child,” Charles pled as he started to follow you. “Just stop and listen to me for a second.”

“I have no desire to do that right now, father,” you responded. “I’m tired and will be heading straight to my chambers for the rest of the night.”

“Y/N.”

“Goodnight.” Then you slipped into another hallway and then into a passageway before another word could get in. 

Charles sighed as he turned to Logan. “I am just trying to protect her. She knows that, right?”

“The Princess is hurt right now,” Logan explained, not wanting to overstep on either side of this fight. He had his own opinions, that Charles was not doing the right thing by you. But it was not his place as a Knight to question his King. “It will take time for her to be ready to listen.”

Charles shook his head. “She cannot be doing this now. It will only prove the others correct. You must keep her adventures to a minimum while I try to get the others to calm down.”

“I can do what I can. But the Princess has a mind of her own.”

“I know… Just as I raised her to be. I just want what is best for her.”

~~~

The next morning, Logan was left waiting outside of your room. It was later than you usually got up and their was no sign of you coming out any time soon. Anna Marie stayed silent as she came in and out of your room, until Logan had had enough.

“I need you to tell me if the Princess is okay in there,” Logan demanded as Anna Marie exited your room once more.

“She’s fine,” Anna Marie mumbled, unable to meet him in the eye.

“You’re lying. Where is she?”

“The Princess snuck out this morning. She told me I had to keep it a secret.”

“Do you know where she went?”

“No,” she shook her head.

“I need you to think. Are there places in this castle that she would go to that no one really knows about?”

“I— I don’t know.”

“Think!”

“Well… a few days ago, she did say something about going into the nearby village.”

“What?”

“There’s a large market today.”

“Great, just great. Just what she needs right now. Why can’t she stay still for just five minutes? Go tell Bobby to meet me at the village.”

~~~

You pulled your hood up further as you walked into the village. It was already bustling with people going from stall to stall. There was an easy peace around the village, a sense of normalcy that you would never have. You watched with a small smile as the children ran through the stalls, laughing and shoutings. They didn’t have a care in the world and there was no one chasing after them, telling them to stop. You wished for that life, or just to be able to go and do things without someone telling you that you couldn’t. 

You knew that Logan would be unhappy when he found out that you snuck out. You also knew that Anna Marie couldn’t keep a secret for very long, but you longed to go to the market in the village and now was as good of a time as any. You walked through the market with a basket on your arm. You stopped at the stalls that seemed interesting to you: the baked goods, the old books, the small trinkets. Your basket was filling up quickly, but you didn’t care. You were simply enjoying your time and the atmosphere around you.

~~~

“Are you sure she’s here?” Bobby questioned quietly, not wanting to draw attention to the problem at hand. The two weren’t dressed up in their normal soldier gear, but dressed as normal villagers. 

“She has to be,” Logan responded. “You stay here and make sure she doesn’t head back to the castle alone.”

“Are you sure? I can help—“

“Stay here.” 

Then Logan began making his way through the crowded marketplace. His eyes scanned everywhere, looking for you. He knew that there was only a slight chance that something bad could have happened to you, but he wasn’t going to take that chance. Logan’s movements became more rushed and frantic. Finally, towards the end of the marketplace, Logan caught sight of you. You were crouched down, handing a pink flower over to a little girl. You still had a hood covering your head and a basket full of items. Logan hurried over and grabbed your arm, pulling you to stand up straight.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Logan questioned angrily. 

“Nice of you to finally join me, Sir Grumpy Pants,” you teased. “Took you long enough."

“This isn’t funny.” He moved his hand to hold yours as he pulled you into the alleyway for privacy. “We need to get you back.”

“But I’m not done yet.”

“Don’t care. This was reckless and stupid and—“

“And exactly what we were going to do this week, right? You said you were willing to go along with things.”

“This was not what I agreed you. You sneaking out to the village crossed the line.”

“So you would have come if I had talked to you about this before hand?”

“Well, we don’t know what I would say now because you didn’t do that, did you?”

“Can we at least go through the market once more before you drag me back to the castle?”

“No. We are leaving. Now.”

Logan dragged you down the alleyway to the next street in the village and led you back to the edge near the castle. Bobby was waiting with the horses.

“Good! You found her!” Bobby exclaimed. “Oh! And it looks like you got a lot of great things in your basket there, Princess.”

“Thanks, Bobby,” you smiled at him. “I did enjoy my time before it was so rudely interrupted.”

“We’re not doing this right now,” Logan grumbled. He pulled the basket from your arm and shoved it into Bobby’s chest. Then he grabbed your waist and hoisted you onto the horse.

“Hey!” You protested. “I can handle myself.”

“Sure you can, Princess.” Logan got onto the horse, sitting behind you. 

“This is ridiculous. You know very well I can ride by myself.”

“Yes, but would that ride lead you back to the castle?” You stayed silent. “That’s what I thought.”

“You’re a party pooper.”

“If that means, I care for your safety, then that’s what I am.” Logan’s arms came around you and grabbed the reins, forcing you to lean further back into him. “Come on, Princess, let’s get you back home.”

next chapter >

[dayasfilms]

Chapter Three - Shot in the Dark

Summary: You have an idea that may or may give you some sort of clue, so you, Nancy, and Robin head to the library to do some research.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Y/N, jealousy, mentions of murder and blood

Word Count: 3k

Note: I can’t wait for the dynamic between reader, Nancy, and Robin! One of my favorite friendships this season for sure.

Series Masterlist

ㅤ♡ ㅤ♡ ㅤ♡

Morning had come, and you and Nancy had already explained the situation to the police several times. The officers had lent you both coats to keep warm since the air was just a little too chilly.

You couldn’t think straight. The cops had found Fred’s body, his limbs completely broken, and his eyes pulled deep into the back of his head. When you and Nancy saw it, the shock on your faces couldn’t even begin to reflect what you were feeling inside.

Nancy immediately burst into tears, her eyes welling up. You wrapped your arms around her, trying to calm her down, helping her steady her breathing. You knew this brought back memories of Barbara, the memories she tried hard to forget.

Your heart pounded. You couldn’t believe something so horrific had happened so close to you. You’d only known Fred for a day, but he had already started to feel like a friend.

The ambulance arrived and took Fred’s body away, but you and Nancy remained at the crime scene, going over everything you knew with Chief Powell.

“Did you look into Victor Creel?” You asked, arms crossed tightly over your chest. You couldn’t stop thinking about what Wayne had said, how these murders were similar to the ones from years ago.

“Sorry, what’s that?” Powell asked.

“Victor Creel,” Officer Daniels repeated with a sigh. “Wayne’s got it in their heads that the old nut did this.”

Powell clicked his tongue and looked at you. “Victor’s locked up, Y/N. Don’t need to worry about him, all right?”

You took a deep breath and stepped away, letting Nancy continue the conversation. You bit the inside of your cheek, unwilling to let this go. It sounded insane, but knowing Victor Creel had committed similar murders, and was still alive, wasn’t something you could just ignore.

Suddenly, the sound of an approaching car pulled your attention away. You turned toward the road, the officers’ voices fading into the background as Nancy kept talking.

Your breath caught in your throat when you recognized the vehicle, a familiar BMW you’d ridden in so many times before.

Four people stepped out, including Steve, Robin, Max, and Dustin. Worry was written all over their faces.

Your brows lifted, furrowing slightly in the middle. Steve caught your gaze and waved a hand. You waved back, your breath shaky. This was your first interaction since you moved away.

“You’re saying that this thing that killed Fred and Chrissy…” Nancy said slowly, trying to piece together what the four of them had just told you both. “It’s from the Upside Down?”

“If the shoe fits,” Steve replied with a shrug.

You pressed your lips together, arms crossed as you sat at the table. You were between Nancy and Robin, while Max, Dustin, and Steve sat across from you.

“Our working theory is that it attacks with a spell or a curse,” Dustin explained, trying to make it make sense. “Now, whether or not he’s doing the bidding of the Mind Flayer or just loves killing teens, we don’t know.”

You furrowed your brows, trying to follow along.

“All we know is this is something different,” Max added. “It’s something new.”

You shook your head, exhaling sharply. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s only a theory,” Dustin reminded you.

“No, not that,” you clarified. “I just don’t understand why Fred and Chrissy were targets. It doesn’t add up.”

“Maybe they were just in the wrong place,” Dustin tried to reason. “They were both at the game.”

“And near the trailer park,” Max added.

“Well, we’re at the trailer park,” Steve pointed out, glancing around. “Uh…should we maybe not be here?”

“There is something about this place,” Nancy said, eyes scanning the area. “Fred started acting weird the second we got here.”

You nodded, remembering how shaken up Fred had been when you arrived.

“Acting weird as in…?” Robin asked.

“He was…scared,” you said softly. “On edge. Really upset.”

“Max said Chrissy was upset too,” Dustin said, turning to Max.

“Yeah, but not here,” Max replied. “She was crying in the bathroom at school.”

“Serial killers stalk their prey before they strike, right?” Robin said, looking at you. You nodded in agreement. “So maybe Fred and Chrissy saw this Vecman–”

“Vecna,” Dustin corrected.

“Dunno about you but if I saw some freaky wizard monster, I would mention it to someone,” Steve said, scratching the side of his neck.

“Maybe they did,” Max said, her brows pulling together. “I saw Chrissy leaving Ms. Kelley’s office. If you saw a monster…you wouldn’t go to the police. They’d never believe you. But you might go to your–”

“Your shrink,” Robin finished. Max nodded.

With a plan forming, you all agreed to head to Ms. Kelley’s house, hoping Max could get more information. As everyone stood to head for Steve’s car, you pulled Nancy aside, gently tapping her arm.

“Hey…you should go with them,” you said. “I need to check something else out.”

Nancy raised an eyebrow. “Wait, what?”

You didn’t respond. You just turned and started walking toward your own car, hands buried in your jacket pockets.

“Whoa, whoa–Y/N!” Steve called after you. “Where are you going?”

You stopped and turned. “I just need to check on something first.”

“Something you wanna share with us?” Dustin asked, arms raised.

You sighed, looking down before locking eyes with Steve again. “I don’t know if it’s worth your time. It’s probably nothing. Just…a gut feeling I can’t shake, and I need to check it off the list. It’s a real shot in the dark.”

Steve squinted at you, frowning. “Yeah, okay. Are you out of your mind? Flying solo with Vecna on the loose?” He shook his head, clearly frustrated. “No. It’s too dangerous. You need someone to–”

He trailed off, digging into his pockets for his keys. You noticed the concern in his eyes, and a part of you felt warm.

He tossed his keys to Robin, who caught them easily. “Here. I’ll stick with Y/N. Take the car, check out the shrink.”

“I don’t think you want me driving your car,” Robin said, waving her hands around.

“Why?”

“I don’t have a license.”

Steve stared at her. “Why don’t you have a license?”

“I’m poor,” she deadpanned.

“I can drive,” Max offered.

You smiled slightly at the memory.

Steve immediately pointed at her, shaking his head. “No. Never again. Please. Anyone but you.”

Dustin tilted his head, smiling.

Steve turned to him. “No chance.”

“Oh, come on!” Dustin groaned.

Nancy shook her head, stepping closer to you. “This is getting ridiculous. Y/N and I will go, okay?”

Robin joined you both, tossing Steve’s keys back at him. “You know what? Us ladies will stick together. Unless you think we need you to protect us.”

Steve’s mouth flattened into a line, clearly irritated.

Robin grinned and walked off, Nancy following her. You gave Steve one last glance, smirking slightly.

“Be careful!” He called after you.

You, Nancy, and Robin climbed into your car, with Nancy in the passenger seat and Robin in the back. You started the engine and pulled away from the trailer park, heading toward the library.

Even though the officers insisted Victor Creel was locked away, your instincts told you there was more to his story. If he was connected to the murders, you needed to find out how before someone else ended up dead.

Nancy quickly picked up on what you were trying to research, and together, the two of you tried to bring Robin up to speed. But she was still visibly confused, struggling to understand why Victor Creel had anything to do with what was happening.

You pulled into the library parking lot and got out of the car. As the three of you walked toward the entrance, Robin spoke up, trying to make sense of it all.

“Okay, help me get this straight,” Robin said. “Eddie’s uncle, Wayne, thinks Victor Creel escaped from Pennhurst and that he’s the one running around committing these murders?”

“Pretty much,” you said, glancing at her, still slightly uneasy about her tagging along.

“But Victor committed the eyeball murders like way back in the fifties.”

“Fifty-nine,” Nancy corrected.

You opened the library doors and made your way to the front desk.

“So that means these murders predate Eleven in the Upside Down by about thirty years?” Robin asked.

“Yeah,” you answered.

“Which makes spooky Victor Creel like seventy years old?”

“Yep,” you said with a pop of your lips, then hit the bell on the desk for the librarian. Nancy gave you a look, clearly picking up on your growing impatience.

Robin leaned on the desk with her elbow, resting her chin in her hand. “So, he’s a grandpa murderer who can turn invisible and lift people into the air.”

You exhaled and glanced at Nancy. “It doesn’t make sense. That’s why it’s hard to believe. But like I said, it’s a shot in the dark.”

“And it’s also a lead,” Nancy added. “It might not get us far, but it could point us in the right direction. Y/N’s instincts are usually pretty good.”

“I know,” Robin said, straightening up and turning to face you both. “I just thought by ‘shot in the dark,’ you were being modest or hiding something super solid up your sleeve that you were gonna wow us with later.”

You tapped the bell again, a few more times. You inhaled sharply, trying to keep it together.

“But this is really, truly a shot in the dark,” Robin continued. “Like, we are snipers with blindfolds on who’ve been spun around fifty times.”

You rung the bell once again, more aggressively.

Nancy glanced at you, her expression curious, clearly aware of your tension. She didn’t say anything, but you could tell she was starting to piece it together.

“Coming!” The librarian called in a sing-song voice as she approached.

“Hi,” you said, forcing a polite smile. “Sorry to rush, but we’re kind of in a hurry. Is it possible to get the keys to the basement archives?”

“Of course,” she replied warmly. “Just give me a second.”

As the librarian walked away, Robin looked back at you, now visibly more self-aware. “Did I come off mean or condescending?”

You furrowed your brows. “No.”

“Right.” She stood up straighter, hands gesturing awkwardly. “Sorry. It’s just, you seem annoyed.”

You stared ahead, jaw tight. You didn’t know why you felt the way you did. You weren’t exactly annoyed, just unsure. Robin had been talking non-stop since you arrived, and you weren’t convinced she was the right person for something like this.

Robin glanced at Nancy, offering a sheepish smile. “You guys don’t really know me yet. I don’t really have a filter or a strong grasp of social cues.”

“Okay,” you said, nodding.

“If I say something that upsets you, just know that I know it’s a flaw,” she added. “Believe me, my mother reminds me daily.”

“Got it,” you replied, raising your brows slightly.

The librarian returned and handed you a set of keys. “All right, ladies. Here you go. Have fun.”

You gave her a tight, polite smile, casting a quick glance at Robin before looking back at her. “Yep. We’ll try.”

As you walked off toward the archives, Robin and Nancy stayed behind for a moment, watching you walk away. Robin looked at Nancy, then at the librarian, and shrugged before following you down to the basement.

You and Nancy sat side by side, sharing one seat, while Robin occupied the one across from you. You scrolled through pages of documents on Victor Creel, but so far, nothing stood out.

“Anything…juicy over there?” Robin asked.

“Nothing new,” Nancy said with a sigh, lowering her head.

“Same here,” Robin muttered. “Victor seemed like a normal guy. Dead family, missing eyes, took a plea deal, sent to Pennhurst. Blah, blah, blah.”

You closed your eyes and pressed your lips together, trying to concentrate, but it was increasingly difficult with Robin’s constant talking.

Robin leaned forward, arching her brows. “What are we looking for exactly?”

There was no response.

“Y/N? Nance?” She knocked on the wood to get your attention. Both you and Nancy glanced over, though only Nancy gave her a genuine smile. Your expression was tight, your lips drawn into a thin line.

“Any mentions of dark wizards or alternate dimensions? Things in that vein?”

You finally snapped, shaking your head in frustration. “I don’t know, okay?”

Nancy looked over as you stood abruptly and walked away from them.

“Honestly, I’m starting to think this was all a waste of time.” You turned back, your eyes on Robin. “And you’ve looked bored since the minute we got here, so why don’t you just call Steve and have him pick you up?”

At the mention of Steve, both Robin and Nancy raised an eyebrow. Nancy’s lips threatened to curl into a smirk.

“I mean, I’m not in danger,” you added, gesturing to Nancy. “I’ve got Nance. So you’re free to go.”

You turned and walked off, leaving the two of them behind. Robin stared after you, lips slightly parted, but Nancy simply sighed and got up to follow you.

You walked deeper into the archives, opening drawers and flipping through files, trying to settle your breathing. You didn’t mean to act like that, but Robin’s constant questions were making you lose your mind. She seemed to not understand why you were doing this and kept doubting your idea. It also didn’t help that jealousy kept creeping in. It stung, knowing you weren’t Steve’s person anymore. That you’d been replaced. You didn’t know if there was something going on between them, and maybe you didn’t even want to find out.

A hand on your shoulder made you turn to see Nancy.

“You okay?” She asked gently.

You let out a sigh, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry.”

Robin walked down the steps. “You do know,” she said carefully. “Steve and I are, like, totally not a thing, right?.”

You blinked, unsure of what to say. “What?”

Robin made her way down, standing beside the two of you. “I figured, you know, since you’re in California now, doing the whole college and law thing, you’re probably thriving. But I just want to make it super clear that Steve and I are just friends. Like, platonic with a capital P.”

You paused, processing her words. The tension inside you loosened, just a little.

Robin kept going. “I mean, I’m just saying this in case there’s any tension between us.”

“There wasn’t,” you said flatly, offering her another tight-lipped smile.

Robin turned to Nancy. “And, uh, speaking of California, I figure that you and Jonathan are still going strong ‘cause you guys are going to college together, right? You two are like one of those unstoppable power couples, which is super cool,” Robin told her, chuckling a bit.

Nancy raised an eyebrow. You could see the slight hesitation on your best friend’s face. “Um, yeah. Thanks…”

Robin gave a sheepish grin, glancing between you and Nancy before opening a drawer of her own. Her eyes widened. “Holy shit. The Weekly Watcher.”

She held up the issue, turning to face you both.

“Don’t they write about, like, Bigfoot and UFOs?” Nancy asked.

“First, UFOs are absolutely real. Bigfoot I’m still on the fence about. But may I remind you we are looking for information on dark wizards?” Robin walked closer to you two, grinning. “If someone’s gonna write about that, it’s gonna be these weirdos.”

The three of you returned to the archive machine, flipping through pages of The Weekly Watcher. You stood between Nancy and Robin, scanning headlines.

“Ah,” you sighed. “‘Elvis Cloned by Aliens.’ Great.”

Robin looked at you, shrugging. “You never know.”

You shot her a look and rolled your eyes before stepping away, pacing back and forth.

“‘Victor Creel claims a vengeful demon killed his family,’” Robin read in a dramatic voice, turning to Nancy and then toward the back of your head. “‘The murder that shocked a small community.’”

“Ha, ha. Very funny,” you said dully.

“She’s not joking, Y/N,” Nancy called, making you turn back.

“‘According to several insiders,’” Robin continued. “‘Victor believed his house was haunted by an ancient demon.’”

You moved in closer, scanning the screen with wide eyes.

“‘Victor allegedly hired a priest to exorcise the demon from his home,’” Robin read, then looked between the two of you. “Pretty novel for the fifties. The Exorcist wasn’t even out yet.”

“Keep going,” Nancy urged.

“Okay,” Robin said, scrolling. “‘Victor claimed the exorcism failed, but it angered this demon, which then murdered his family, removing their eyes. Victor believed he was spared as punishment.’”

“That’s pretty convenient for Victor,” Nancy muttered.

“Yeah, or super inconvenient,” Robin replied. “Victor was declared legally insane by the court, right? What if this is why? It just didn’t go public because–”

“The plea bargain,” you breathed, eyes widening. “The records were sealed.”

Nancy nodded slowly. “So maybe a demon really did invade Victor’s home…”

Robin looked at both of you. “Exactly. Except this demon wasn’t just any demon.”

You stared at them, completing the thought. “It was Vecna.”

You quickly returned the keys to the librarian, and the three of you headed out. Robin raised her walkie as you walked to your car.

“Dustin, do you copy?” Robin said into the walkie.

“Yeah, I copy.”

“So, Y/N and Nancy are geniuses,” Robin reported. “Vecna’s first victims go all the way back to 1959. Their shot in the dark was a bullseye.”

“Okay, that’s totally bonkers,” Dustin replied, panting. “But I can’t really talk right now.”

“What are you doing?”

“Breaking and entering school to retrieve confidential and extremely personal files.”

“Can you repeat that?” Robin said, blinking. You shook your head in disbelief at the teen’s words.

“Just get your ass over here, stat. We’ll explain everything.”

Nancy raised her hands as she got into the passenger seat. “I thought they were talking to Ms. Kelley?”

“We leave them alone for two hours,” Robin muttered, climbing into the backseat.

You scoffed as you got behind the wheel. “This is exactly why I can’t leave them unsupervised.”

[fluentmoviequoter]

Big Decisions

Requested Here!

Pairing: Dick Grayson x fem!reader

Summary: Dick makes an offer you can't refuse, but there's something he's forgetting as he makes big decisions with you: that you aren't the only ones affected by your choices. Or, how Dick forgot about your cat and his dog living together when he asked you to move in.

Warnings: fluff, banter, Dick gets jealous of your cat a lot

Word Count: 1.0k+ words

Masterlist | DC/Dick Grayson Masterlist | Request Info

A/N: As always, the characterization is up to you but I can't resist Brenton Thwaites' smile.

“Haley!” you exclaim, dropping your bag to pull her into your arms. “I missed you so much.”

“Just Haley?”

You smile as Dick moves to your side with his eyes locked on yours. His hand raises to rub your back as you rub Haley’s ears.

“I haven’t seen Tim in a while either,” you tease.

Dick shakes his head before he dips his chin and kisses you. You turn toward him, holding an incredibly content and comfortable Haley between your chests.

“I saw you yesterday,” you whisper as you pull back. “But, yeah, I missed you, too.”

“Speaking of which,” Dick begins.

“Oh, no,” you murmur, wrapping your arms tighter around Haley.

“Stop,” Dick demands with a laugh. “I just assaulted you before you were three steps in, clearly it’s not bad news.”

“Okay,” you reply.

You kick your bag away from the door and set Haley in her bed. Dick takes your hand to lead you to the couch, and you fold your legs beneath you to face him.

“Last night, we were at your place. Most nights, we’re here. You know Haley, I know your cat-”

“Supes,” you interject.

“He can still be renamed,” Dick points out, raising his free hand toward you. “You like my family – for some unknown reason – and I’ve met your folks. We work.”

“We do.”

“My point is, the back and forth is tiring. We’ve been dating for a while.”

You bat your eyelashes and tip your head to the side, acting as if you don’t know what your boyfriend is getting at.

“Yeah, and we’re happy,” you add softly.

“You know what I’m saying,” Dick replies, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

Shaking your head gently, you lean closer to Dick.

“Seriously?” he questions. “C’mon.”

“What are you saying?”

Dick opens his mouth again, but nothing comes out. Your smile reappears as you laugh and move your hand to his chest.

“Are you asking me to move in?” you clarify.

“I thought it was obvious!” he counters.

“It was, it was. Although, there’s one thing you didn’t think of.”

Now, Dick’s the one to be confused, only it isn’t an act.

“You’ve met Supes,” you say. “And, no, I’m not renaming him Nightwing. I’ve met Haley. We love the pets, yes, but the pets may not love each other.”

“Oh,” Dick sighs. “Then we should introduce them.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. I love you, and I’m sick of letting you leave for stupid reasons.”

“Getting clothes is a stupid reason?” you argue before immediately adding, “Don’t answer that.”

“Dress Supes up in his Nightwing sweater and we’ll make a night of it,” Dick suggests.

“He has the S emblem in his fur, covering it up won’t change that.”

“Haley might not like it,” Dick says, shrugging.

“Really? Last I heard, she likes your uncle Superman.”

“Stop talking to Tim.”

You laugh and twist to lean against Dick’s side. With his arm around your shoulders, you kiss his jaw.

“Let’s do it. We’ll introduce them and see how it goes.”

“So, you’re saying yes?”

“I’m saying, let’s see what these two think about it before we make any big decisions.”

Dick nods, but he sighs and murmurs, “Being a single parent is hard.”

“Like father like son,” you muse.

“Take that back right now,” Dick demands, moving his hands toward your waist.

You set the cat carrier down to unlock Dick’s apartment door with the key he gave you, but before you get the key in the lock, the door opens. Dick has Haley in his arms, and when she sees you, her tail begins wagging against his side. Then, she notices the carrier beside your feet and wiggles, attempting to get down to see it.

“Come on in,” Dick invites, opening the door wider for you.

You carry Supes inside, then kneel beside the carrier as you wait for Dick to lock the door. He walks to your side and lowers, still holding Haley.

“She’s not barking,” he says. “That’s good, right?”

“She’s the most loving dog in the world,” you point out. “I didn’t think she’d be the problem.”

“It’s because you named him-“

“Set Haley down,” you interrupt, failing to hide your smile. “If they’re okay through the carrier, I’ll let him out.”

Dick nods, sets Haley on the floor, and clutches your hand tightly. Haley sniffs the carrier door, then yips joyfully as she runs around it. Supes moves into the back corner of the plastic crate, and Haley drags her nose along the outside to find him. Dropping onto her stomach, she waits with her tail wagging wildly.

“Here goes nothing,” you murmur as you unlock the door and pull Supes to your chest.

Haley sits up, waiting with her nose tilted toward your cat. Supes looks at her, then jumps out of your arms onto the floor. Haley remains still – besides her wagging tail – as Supes sniffs her. Suddenly, she boops her nose against his, and he drops his head to rub against her side.

You watch with wide eyes as Haley stands and trots toward the hallway, and Supes follows her.

“Is she…” you begin.

“Giving him a tour?” Dick finishes. “I think so.”

You lay your head on Dick’s shoulder and watch.

“They get along really well,” you say. “I’m glad.”

“You still need to rename him,” he complains, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“I’m about to live with you, Dick, stop being jealous of my cat,” you insist.

Haley and Supes return from the hallway, and Haley leads him onto her bed, where they snuggle up together and let their eyes close.

“Looks like you’re moving in,” Dick says as he lithely moves to his feet.

You accept his hand and are unsurprised when he pulls you up and against his chest in one fluid movement. Raising your hands to his chest, you kiss Dick. Your lives have been intertwined for months, but being close to Dick all the time sounds perfect, and if Haley and Supes can make it work so quickly, you have no doubt you can too.

[luciferlightbringer]

Love in a Hopeless Place

Chapter 6

Hi lovelies! Please be warned that this is a heavier chapter that discusses trauma and depictions of violence! I'm sure I'm going overboard with the warnings, but I'm just wanting to make sure I cover all of my bases here! xoxo, Dany

Chapter 5|Chapter 6|Chapter 7|Updated through Chapter 12

Lucifer x prostitute fem!reader Word Count: 5.3k CW: Slowburn, Prostitution, Hurt/comfort, trauma, fluff, cuddles, depression, anxiety, protective "not-boyfriend" !Trigger Warning!: Physical violence, abuse, neglect, vague mentionings of underage sex work, drug use, torture, and drug dealing

The next couple of days seemed to creep by more slowly for the both of you, nothing drastic, just... slower, more... unpleasant. It could have been because of how good everything felt to be with each other, but at least for you, there had been another new factor.

You had still been seeing other clients while working for Lucifer, and sure, he took up the largest amount of time, but there were still others, some one offs and some regulars, and a handful of new clients. Most of them didn't give you much grief, but one of your newer clients had taken quite a shine to you, and wanted to see you more often. He was... ok...ish... not really. He was a little selfish, which was fine, but he also had an aggressive personality, and not the fun kind. He had not done anything "bad" to you yet, but he toed the line and that made you nervous.

This had not been as much of an issue until someone tipped him off that you did house calls it was Cynthhhhia, and in the last two days he had asked for you to go to his place, and he seemed to push the boundaries more outside of the brothel. Larry had always told you that if anyone made you ladies uncomfortable, that you could put them on your "No Kiss List", basically being banned from being scheduled with you, and depending on the intensity of the issue they could also get banned from the Lounge entirely.

Again, at this point, this newer guy, Jethro, had not done anything yet, so you still felt like you could handle him, but he was still a cause for some stress. The night of your next visit with Lucifer was a welcome one. When you got too Lucifer's, you pulled him into a tight embrace. He welcomed your hug, but noticed that it felt a little different, a little heavier than usual.

"Well hello to you too! Haha! Hey, you doing ok?" he said, looking at you with soft concern as your released him from your embrace.

"Of course! Why wouldn't I be?" you smiled, trying to hide your stress from the day.

"Oh nothing, you just uh... felt a little tense is all," he said sheepishly.

"Oh! Haha, ya it's nothing. Just a long day. Lots of clients, lots of... you know," you said trailing off.

"Of course! Haha, how silly of me! Do you, uh... need a minute? Do you want to, like, take a bath or shower or something?" he asked, "By yourself of course! I'm sure a minute to yourself would be nice. Plus, I still need to finish up with dinner," he added nervously, he felt his checks tint pink.

You chuckled, you thought it was funny when Lucifer would overthink his statements and felt like he needed to clarify something.

"That sounds nice, I might just take you up on that," you smile.

"Great!" he smiled, "Chose any bathroom you like, dinner should be ready in like 30 minutes."

The two of you part ways as you headed to one of the close-by guest bathrooms and Lucifer headed back to the kitchen. Lucifer had some updates that he had wanted to tell you about from Charlie's meeting with Heaven, but he figured that could wait a little longer. Plus, he was now preoccupied by his own dumb comment.

'"You want to take a bath or shower or something? By yourself, of course!" no duh, you idiot! She understood that's what you meant, why did you felt like you needed to clarify that?! Why do you gotta be so weird sometimes?!' he scolded himself as he made his way to the kitchen. Lucifer definitely had people that would cook for him, but he liked that it gave him something to do sometimes while he waited for you to get there in the evenings.

Meanwhile, you drew yourself a bath and slipped into it. You examined the bruises on your legs and chest from where your earlier guest had bitten and grabbed you. You were normally all for kinks like these, but these feel more forceful, and therefore made you upset to look at. You hid your legs under the water and just floated in the big tub for a while.

You smiled to yourself again as you thought of Lucifer stumbling over himself 'You want to take a bath or shower or something? By yourself, course!' followed by that little nervous smile. It was cute, and it was funny that he kept forgetting that he could just request that if he wanted to. You wouldn't have minded, you honestly would have liked it. He would be so warm and soft, snuggling into your chest in the warm water. You realized you had only ever seen him down to a barely opened shirt, while he has seen you down to your lingerie, for a fleeting minute.

How odd it was, that he had been one of your longest running and most consistent clients and yet, you too had not been sexually intimate at all. It was nice, but also... a little disappointing? Why was that disappointing? Why did you care? And why did you actually like the thought of bathing with him?

Your thought process was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Uhh... occupied?" you said.

"There you are!" you could hear Lucifer through the door. "Jesus Christ, darling why do I have so many bathrooms?"

You shrugged, "Uhh.. cuz you're rich and its funny?"

"Hmm... That is true..." Lucifer chuckled on the other side of the door, "Anyways, dinner is ready whenever you are!"

"Ok!" you called out, and you started to get ready. As Lucifer walked away, he paused for a moment, thinking about how you were naked on the other side of the door.

He shook his head and kept walking, "Dude, stop it," he said quietly to himself.

A few minutes later, you were out, a toweling off your hair, back in your earlier clothes.

"How are you feeling?" said Lucifer as you entered the room.

"Much better, thank you," you said with a smile.

You and Lucifer sat down to eat, and Lucifer was finally able to tell you about the whole ordeal of setting up the Heaven with meeting the exhausting bureaucracy and drama of it all, and then... the aftermath of Charlie's meeting. Charlie had gone up with Vaggie, met with a bunch of the angels and seraphim, including Adam, the first man and leader of the yearly exterminations, and his right hand exorcist, Lute, and... it did not go well. Charlie had gotten them to start actually start thinking about the whole issue, then Adam dropped the whole "extermination" thing on the counsel, and most of the angels in the room knew nothing about the extermination of souls in hell! Consider the tea, spilled. Then on top of that, the council said their was not proof sinners could be redeemed, and Adam basically declared war on the Hotel.

Well, this was very stressful, but in a way that made you care more and made you forget about your worries from earlier in the day. You thought about Lucifer, Charlie, Vaggie, Angel... everyone at the hotel... You were wondering how they were feeling, how they were going to get out of this. So much for your idea about moving into the hotel. You chuckled to yourself.

"What is it?" Lucifer asked.

"Oh... it's stupid," you say with a wave of your hand, Lucifer gives you a look. You sigh, "Just... puts a little damper on my daydream to try out the hotel."

Lucifer cocked his head to the side, "You were thinking about moving to the hotel?"

You sat back and shrugged, "It was... a passing thought. Nothing serious. I realize that probably would have made things complicated, it's probably just easier this way."

Lucifer studied your face, "Maybe after the next extermination, see what happens. I just don't want you to get caught up in all of that right now."

"Ya," you say, staring off. Your worries returning back to thoughts of Charlie and the others.

Lucifer read the concern on your face, and placed a hand over yours. You looked up to meet his soft smile.

"It's gonna be ok..." he said with hesitation. "I don't exactly know how it is going to be ok, I would be lying if I said it wasn't nervous... but I trust my daughter... and her friends seem to be good people... outside of Alastor," his glared off to the side at the mentioning of the Radio Demon.

He was right, maybe not all hope was lost, maybe Charlie would figure out something. You smile at the face he made, then looked down at his hand on top of yours. Your face shifted in thought in response to something he had just said, "her friends seem to be good people..." Did he really believe that? Did that visit really change his mind that much? That's not what he had made it sound like the other day. You had forgotten about that comment, and now the reminder left you with a bitter taste.

Lucifer looked over and caught your expression, "What's on your mind?"

You look at him sideways, "Do you really believe that? That her friends are good people?"

"Well... as far as I have seen, why do you say that?" he said with worried confusion.

You look up at him, "I just thought that sinners were all violent psychopaths, hell-bent on causing as much pain a destruction as they can."

Lucifer froze, shit did he really say that the other day to his daughter, in front of you and all of Charlie's friends? Yeesh.

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, "Jeez, I really did say that didn't I?" You gave him a slow judgmental nod. He sighed, "I... I was wrong, I shouldn't have said that... I'm sorry... I realized that I have never really taken the opportunity to actually get to know many sinners, and I've passed a lot of judgement on them the last... 10,000 years. They are not like that... you, are definitely not like that... Honestly, meeting you has made me really confused on the matter of how they decide who ends up here entirely."

Your slight distain turned you curiosity, and you raised an eyebrow, "How so?"

Lucifer took a minute to try and find the words, "Uhh, well... fuck, ok... I guess I just don't understand why you are in hell in the first place. The way you treat people puts people I used to know in Heaven to shame."

You blow a puff of air out your nose in a laugh, "Maybe the way I treat you and hotel people, I'm not like this with everyone, you know?"

"Well ya... but still..." Lucifer held back his next question a moment, he didn't want to say anything to upset you. "Can I ask... um... how you ended up here?"

You prop your head up on your hand and thought, being alive felt so long ago. Lucifer waited nervously for you to answer, but he was pretty sure you didn't look mad at the question.

"You really wanna know?"

He nodded.

"Well... I was the oldest child of drug addict parents, who had no right having any kids, spent much of my life fending for myself and my siblings, my parents would not stop having fucking kids and I was basically the only parent for them. I had to do... whatever I could for them, steal from neighbors, stores, random people's cars, anything to get food and money for my siblings. When I was older, my grandmother got custody of us and it got a lot better, but we struggled a lot mentally and it was hard to shake the old habits. She had to knock some sense into me to stop stealing, but I could never get past the idea of needing to be the parent of the house. I didn't go to school until end of middle school, and when I started it was hard, I skipped school, never finished an education. I wanted to... but I was way too far behind by that point, and with so many kids, grandma couldn't get all of us caught up. I encouraged her to focus on the younger ones. I tried getting a normal job, but I ended up meeting shitty people and I get ended up selling drugs and my body to get by. It wasn't great but it made me money. I had bad and sub-par relationships, nothing great. During my last relationship, I was actually starting to learn about boundaries and shit, feeling like it might actually go somewhere... and then I was killed during a bad drug deal," you looked back at Lucifer casually as you finished your story.

Lucifer looked at you with so much heartbreak in his eyes. No pity, no belittlement, no tears, just sadness. "How are you still so full of kindness then? After all of that?"

You smiled, "Partly cuz I can act, but mostly because... everything stupid, reckless, or "sinful" I ever did... it was for my siblings. I always thought that I would damn myself to hell so that they didn't have to." You shook your head, "I sure did damn myself to hell, but... I don't know how successful I was, my siblings always seemed mad or annoyed with me... but... I just loved them all so much."

Lucifer stood up and wrapped his arms around you as you remained sitting, your head at his chest level. You were taken by surprise, but hugged him back, "What's this for?"

He released you slightly from his hug, and held your face in his hands. "If you gave your siblings even an ounce of the care you have shown me, I know you were successful, and I know they will never forget the sacrifices you made for them."

Your eyes go wide, 'Could it... could it be? Could he be right? Could you have saved them? Saved them from the same pain you endured? Could your actions have changed the course of their lives? Could you have saved them from a fate in hell?' Tears started to form in your eyes. 'No. No. No no no no no. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, no crying in front of Lucifer.' You rip your face away from Lucifer's hands and wipe your face before the tears fall.

Lucifer ached to see you tear yourself away and wipe your tears. Until this moment, he had never realized how much of a wall you had up, how much you protected yourself, how much space you gave to him and how little you gave for yourself. He knew the dynamics were weird, this not being a normal friendship and all. Those dynamics were starting to make him so frustrated, he just wanted to hold you every night and tell you how much he cared about you... but things were way too messy now. He had no idea how to untangle this, and emotionally vulnerable conversations did not seem like the best idea right now with everything going on.

"Sorry," you say as you finish wiping your tears, "Thank you, really, I mean it. I'm just... not used to that."

Lucifer smiled, "Well... I hope this can be a good... beginning to that..."

'Nice job Lucifer, fucking nailed it, idiot.' he thought you himself.

You laugh, he laughed with you. Alright, enough of that, time for some tv and snuggles. You also remembered another question you had for Lucifer from you day at the hotel. You asked Lucifer about how he could teleport, and asked if the driver was necessary or if he could just pick you up from your apartment for your evenings together. He didn't know why he hadn't thought about that before, he had been worried about people following the car back to his place, or bothering you, and that would make him feel better. Plus, it would be cool to see your place. You guys made a plan for him to just teleport in to grab you in the future.

______________________________________________________________

The next couple of weeks were a weird mixture of fun and stressful, Lucifer started teleporting in to get you right at your set meeting time and he got to see your place. It was... small, really small, and there wasn't much to it. He made a comment oh how "minimalist" it was, but you just said you didn't need a lot, you weren't used to much, which wasn't completely a lie, but you didn't want to worry him with images of the other girls trying to break into your room.

Outside of that, Lucifer had the added stressors of worrying about Charlie, the hotel, and the upcoming extermination/war with Adam. You would go a visit the hotel crew with him often, but it only seemed to ease his mind while he was there. He started to complain again about struggling a little with sleep, he would fall asleep fine, especially with you there, but he started having nightmares that would wake him up in the middle of the night and would make it hard for him to fall back asleep. You were frustrated that you did not know how to help him with that, but you also knew he could take care of himself. You couldn't fix all of his problems.

You on the other hand... had reached a boiling point with Jethro. He continued to ignoring safe words, become more controlling, manipulative, and aggressive, until one day you had enough. You stopped the scene you were in and told him that he would not stand for his behavior anymore. Jethro did not like this, and you left his house with a black eye, as well as several other bruises across your body, may be even a sprain. You ran back to the Lounge as quickly as you could, trying desperately not to cry in public.

You got into the Lounge and ran up to your room to hide. Luckily, one of the girls you were closer to saw you, and told Larry. Larry texted you, asking what happened and if he could come up to talk to you. You agreed. Larry came up to your room, you opened the door for him to see you in tears, covered in bruises, trying to ice your eye. You told Larry what happened, and he told you he was putting Jethro on your "No Kiss List", banning him from the Lounge, and that he would handle Jethro if he tried coming back in.

You thanked him, he patted your shoulder, and asked if you wanted you clients canceled for the rest of the day. You asked who was left for the day, and the only one left was "Lance". You shook your head, just asking that no walk-ins get scheduled with you between then and now so that you could be ready by "Lance's" appointment. Larry agreed, and left you to your wounds. You had no idea how you were going to pull your yourself together and hide this all from Lucifer by tonight, but you had to try.

You went into the bathroom, ran a bath, played some music, and cried, partly from the pain, partly from fear. You were so in your head from the experience, that you did not do as well keeping track of time. Before long, Lucifer teleported into your room. Lucifer was a little shocked to not see you in your room, but then he heard the music from the bathroom. Oh ok, you must have been just running a little late.

He want to go knock on the door so that he knew you were there and didn't surprise you, but then he heard something else from the bathroom that made him stop. Was that... crying? Was that part of the music or was that you? He waited, the song changed, and the crying continued. That was definitely you. He finally knocked.

You were startled by the sound of the knock, "Uhhh... occupied?"

"It's me darling, I hope I didn't startle you," you heard Lucifer's voice through the door. You picked up your phone and looked at the time. Shit! You quickly got out of the tub.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, uhh... I must have lot track of time. Busy day. Lots of clients. Uhh... I'll be out in a minute!" you say has you hurried to get dressed. Luckily, you had already brought your clothes into the bathroom with you, so Lucifer wouldn't have to see all of the bruises.

"No rush! You take as much time as you need," Lucifer called back, then he went to go take a seat on your couch.

His words made you feel a little better, but you did not want to keep him waiting any longer than you already had. You quickly did what you could to put on makeup to cover up the big bruise around your eye, you could cover the coloring just fine, it was the swelling you were worried about. It had gone down a little, but it might still be noticeable.

Part of you wishes you had canceled on him, but that would have made you sad more than anything else, and it probably would have worried him. That is if he actually cared about you. Errrr... stop that. Lucifer is not like Jethro or the others, he actually does care, at least... to some amount. You just did not want anyone to see you like this, but especially him.

Eventually you finished your makeup and looked at yourself, it would have to be good enough for today. You painted your best sweet smile on your face, and walked out the door.

"All done! Ready to go?" you said cheerful.

"Yup!" Lucifer said, trying to match your cheerful tone, but he was worried. Why had you been crying? Why were you now trying to hide it? Why were you wearing so much make up today? He hadn't seen you wear this much make up since the first few appointments you guys had. He remembered that Charlie once said girls sometimes wear more make up when they were sad because "If you look better, you feel better", so he didn't comment. He just smiled, wrapped an arm around you, and teleported you both back to his place.

You were already more relieved to be back at his place, the stress of the day still held tightly to you, but it was better here. You swung your arms around Lucifer, enveloping him in a hug. Lucifer held you back tightly, softly but firmly. He was so comforting and soft, you wanted to live in that embrace.

He didn't know what was making you so sad that day, but he wanted to do everything to make you feel better. He had your favorite dinner and dessert made, grabbed you your favorite blanket for when you guys would cuddle on the couch and watch tv later, and he was going to find that tv last that you said you used to like to watch sometimes when you were alive, "The Office."

At one point, during desert, Lucifer looked over at you and saw a strand of hair flop down front of your face. He reached over to tuck it behind your ear, but because of the angle, you didn't see his hand until it was almost near your swollen eye. You flinched and practically jumped out of your chair, shouting "No!" and covering you eye with you hand, the other was wide with panic.

Lucifer flinched his hand back, and stayed still. What was that about? You had never reacted like that before.

"Darling, is everything alright? I didn't mean to startle you," he said softly, worry painting his face.

You realize you had misunderstood what he had been trying to do and panicked, 'Shit! Shit, shit, shit!' You couldn't tell what was the greater emotion in that moment, the shame of reacting to Lucifer, or the fact that the emotions from earlier where about to bubble up again. 'Do I try to push it down? Do I run for the bathroom? Shit. There is no hiding it, is there? He is going to find out about it now.'

You start to sit back down, still covering your eye, "I, uhh... I'm sorry... I don't... I didn't mean to yell at you like-"

"(y/n)" Lucifer said firmly, you look at him with your uncovered eye, tears starting to fill up the edge of your vision, "Please. Please tell me what's wrong. Why are you covering your eye? What made you jump so hard?"

You start to breathe heavily, "Are you sure you want to know?" you say with tears in your voice.

"Yes, my darling, I do. More than anything," Lucifer said, standing up slowly to come closer to you.

You look down, breathe, and lower you hand. Now that he was looking right at your eye, he could see how swollen it was under all of the make up.

"Is that... a black eye?" he said panicked. You nodded. He started to put some context clues together.

"Someone did this to you?" he asked, a little more sternness in his voice. You nodded again, the tears were starting to fall. "Someone from the Lounge?"

You nodded, "A client," you whispered.

"Did he do anything else?" he asked, trying to hold back the growing anger in his voice. You nodded. "Can you show me?" You froze, looking down, more tears falling, "Please don't be mad at me, I didn't want you to know, this shouldn't be something you worry about-"

"Darling," he says cutting you off again, "I am not mad at you, I am however mad at the sick fuck that did this to you. And I will worry about you, because I want to. Do you understand me?" You were not used to hearing him talk like this, it was scary, but in a comforting way. His words were growing in anger, but you understood it was not at you, it was for you.

You look up at him to see that his eyes had changed color, basically inverted, black slitted pupils now surrounded by golden irises and deep blood red sclera. They were terrifying and beautiful at the same time. You nodded, finally answering his question, and you started to take off your sweater. Lucifer saw your arms and torso littered with different sizes of bruises and deep bite marks. At the sight of them, horns grew out from his temples and a tail lashed out from his back. Again, he looked scarier, but for some reason, you were not afraid. You actually felt... safe? You had never seen someone so mad for you before.

Lucifer gently and slowly reached out for your arm, trying to make sure not to scare you further. "Is it like this on your legs too?" You nodded. You were about to ask if he needed to see them, when he pulled you into a tight hug. You were confused, but welcomed it. His hugs were always nice but this one felt, even better? All of your bruises and bites started to feel, lighter, and then the pain was gone. Lucifer released from your hug, and you looked down to see all of your marks were gone.

'He could heal too?! Fuck, is there anything he can't do?'

"Better?" he asked. You nodded. "Good, now. I'm gonna need a name and location. Now." he paused, "please."

You hesitated, you weren't supposed to tell anyone who you had been meeting with. But... he had not specifically asked for digression, and he was banned from the Lounge, and it would probably save Larry and the girls some trouble, and... fuck it, it was hell! Who cared!

"What are you going to do to him?" you asked. He smirked with a wicked smile, carefully reached out to softly hold your chin, and with a demonic resonance to his voice, he whispered, "Why darling, I'm going to make him suffer in a way that this realm has not tortured and tormented a soul in EONS, I am going to rip him his own dimension of time and space where he will be able to experience his body being ripped apart, piece by piece, and put back together, over and over again, for the rest of eternity."

You had no idea how to picture that and you didn't care... it was terrifying, but Lucifer's power was fucking HOT.

"Uhh... Jethro Hanson. Big house out in Pentagram city, near the inner city, very bright red, can't miss it," you spit out. He smiles, unfurls his six, big, beautiful wings from his back, gives you a soft kiss on the hand and says, "I'll be right back," before opening a portal above him and flying into it. It closes behind you and leaves you alone, in the dining room.

Your heart was racing, there were too many feelings swirling inside your mind, joy, sadness, rage, fear... lust. God, his full demon form was hot, what the hell? After a few minutes, the adrenaline wore off, and you found yourself on the couch starting to cry again, but this time... it felt GOOD. These tears were cathartic like nothing you had ever felt before, a hard, powerful cry.

After about 15-20 minutes, Lucifer reappeared, the same as he looked when he had left, just wiping his hands on themself after a job well done, as you would after a job well done. Lucifer heard your cries and ran to you, getting in his knees in front of you on the couch and cocooning you in his wings.

"Darling, what's the matter? I'm so sorry, did I scare you?" he said with words full of worry.

You shook your head, smiling and pressing your forehead to his, "No. Not at all. I'm just... I'm good. Really. I'm just not used to... feeling cared about, and... protected..." You choke out, before continuing to sob.

'Shit, shit, ok, what do I do?' he thought to himself. Then he remembered. He retracted his horns and tail, set his eyes back to their normal color, picked you up, laid down on the couch, and positioned you to lay on top of him, your head on his chest, wings wrapped around you. As you laid there, he rubbed your back as you continued to cry. "And as long as I am here, you will never have to know life without that, ever again," he said softly, so softly that you couldn't make it out over the sound of your own sobs.

Slowly, your tears started get get quieter, and your breathing started to slow. As Lucifer laid there with you on his chest, he started to card his fingers through you hair. What a dream you were to him, he had be so cared for by you, and now he was able to give that care back to you. That was honestly all he had wanted, was to have someone to be cared by and for. To have... someone to love.

Love?

Love.

'Oh my god... do I love her?' he thought at he looked down at your soft face. Studying the features of your face as you laid on his chest with this new idea, everything suddenly made sense. The nervousness, the desire for closeness, the way you lit up his world, the way your smile would wash his cares away.

He loved you.

That was about to make everything wayyyy more complicated.

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