#Clockwork wonders if he have two sons now

[nelkcats]

The Return of the Speedster

Years had passed since Wally's death. Years since the Young Justice team had split up because of it, none of them could move on, as much as they liked to pretend about it, Nightwing was the one who had taken it the worst.

While the years passed on the hero's dimension, Danny was exploring Clockwork's haunt in the Infinite Realms, something that took him a long time as his mentor was hard to convince; while he was at it he found something strange. Clocky had told him it was the "Speedforce" although the halfa had no idea what that meant. He frowned wanting to explore it but his mentor stopped him every time, telling him it wasn't safe.

Unfortunately that wasn't enough to stop the teenager, who slipped into the crack in time. Danny was quite lucky, as the watch that had merged with him long ago from the "Dark Dan" incident had left him somewhat immune to the effects the site had, not that he knew it.

When he stepped inside, all he saw was an incomprehensible place. Since he wasn't seeing something interesting he was about to leave when he noticed a boy in a weird suit running. He raised an eyebrow in confusion, didn't Clocky tell him the place was off limits?

The boy noticed him too and explained in panic that the place was dangerous and could kill him. To which Danny rolled his eyes.

"I don't think you can kill something dead" he scoffed showing his ghostly tail. The boy didn't take that revelation very well, as he started muttering about being dead and in the afterlife. Danny, seeing that the boy had gotten distracted and stopped running, pulled him out of the place and guided him towards Clockwork's haunt. He had to ask his mentor about the weird kid and the best way was well, kidnap him from the strange place.

Both ghosts watched the speedster (Wally?) continue to mumble about having passed into the afterlife while having an existential crisis on the couch. Danny was tempted to tell him he was alive and everything was a misunderstanding but he had to get information first. And maybe get him back home if it was all a mistake.

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC: I wanna be like most girls ghosts.

or Danny: What should I do to make my mom happy?

or ~Danny deserves a little teenage rebellion as a treat~

Maddie: I just want this damned Phantom to stop pretending to be a hero! All ghosts are pure evil, who is he trying to deceive? Danny: Oh, really? And Danny took it personally.

It’s not Danny’s fault that he’s a good kid and wants to make his parents happy. But why would he have to be a monster to make them happy? Why must they hate him to be happy?

Danny’s obsession was going crazy.

Well, when your own parents call you a monster in the face, it hurts. Why do they always believe that only their opinion is the absolute truth? They have no idea how much worse things would be if at least some of the ghosts really behaved the way Maddie and Jack think they’re supposed to. If he really is evil by nature, is there any point in fighting his own fate? They want to see him as a villain, he will become one. He will. He just needs a little help and practice. And not bring it to the level when Clockwork has to clean up his mess. Poor guy is without a vacation for how long? Couple of millennia?

Johnny 13: Sup. Danny: F*ck off, Johnny, I’m not in the mood. Busy thinking about world domination. Get out of here or I’ll call Kitty. Johnny 13: What’s wrong? You’re usually so grouchy only towards the end of the week. Danny: Nothing. Just parents. Again. They are wonderful but I can’t help but feel sometimes that they, em… Johnny 13: Suck? Danny: Right…Damn. I’m a terrible son. Maybe something is wrong with me. Johnny 13: What? No, no, dude. You’re just growing up. And you’re a little late, usually teenagers go through that stage before they graduate. Well, you’ve probably been busy with other issues, so just missed it. Danny: I wonder whose fault it is. Aren’t there ghosts who enjoyed to ruin my life in the middle of school day?

Johnny 13: Oh, bother. Anyway, you’re entering a beautiful time of emancipation, where you’re going to shape your own view of life and, along the way, to get drunk on cheap alcohol at parties, maybe to go to jail and to become the greatest disappointment to your family..And then you will be ashamed to remember it for about the next ten years. Danny: Well, it looks like I’ve already done two out of three additional things. Great success. Johnny 13: When did you get drunk? Danny: I didn’t. Johnny 13: Oh. Want to fix that? Danny: What? No. What an idiot wants to add a headache to his problems? Johnny 13: Well, your loss, then I’ll go terrorize the bars of Gotham alone and no one can stop me. Let’s see what your boyfriend will say about it. ~~~~~ Danny: Bartender, another shot of Dead Man’s Fingers, please. Red Hood: Babe, haven’t you had enough? Danny: Have you ever felt that no matter how hard you try, no matter how many sacrifices you make, in their eyes you’ll always be nothing more than a monster? Nothing more than a mistake? Oh, Death doesn’t give people like me a break. Red Hood: …I’ll have what he’s having. *gives the bartender a sign to switch the rum shots to a batburger milkshake for them, and starts talking to Danny so that he doesn’t understand Hood's scams*

~~~~~

Johnny 13: Other people’s kids are growing up so fast. It seems like yesterday he didn’t know how to shoot ectoblast, and now.. Kitty: Stop trying to make me feel bad, we’re leaving. Johnny 13: But the boy needs our support, honey boo!

~~~~~

Danny: I'm fine. Really, I am. This isn’t the first time mom’s called me a monster. She often called me that when she was upset with my behavior in my childhood. Huh, it's even funny. Jason: There’s nothing funny about that. Danny: No, you don’t understand. Looking back, I was really a very active child and didn’t know when to stop. Not surprisingly that I often annoyed my parents. They’re very busy people, and Jazz couldn’t always keep an eye on me. And I was often afraid to go to sleep alone because there were shadows in the darkness of my room. Well, I used to think they were. But I pretended everything was okay to not distract parents from work. Jason: Hey, it’s not your fault. You were a child. Obviously, kiddo requires a lot of attention, they must have understood that. You are the second child in the family, right? Danny: Well, Jazz was different. I don’t know. Anyway, I thought if the monsters behind the curtain and under the bed were just like me, well, according to my mom, you know, then they wouldn’t want to hurt me. And since they look after me, they are friends. So I kinda greeted all the suspicious noises and howls. Huh, I was a strange kid. Jason: If you smile at someone in the dark alley right now that someone is more likely to wet themselves or faint. Danny: Rude! I’m not that scary. Admit that I’m adorable. Do it right now. Jason: Stunning, darling. But still carry a gun and a knife, please. My childhood taught me that what's hiding in the dark is worth beating up. Danny: Come on, what should I be afraid of? Death? Anyway, I want to try this shit. Like, the inevitable one. Being a bad boy, you know? Hood *raises eyebrows*. Danny: Oh damn it man, I'm talking about ghostliness. I want to try to be like most of dead ones. I want to unleash my side of the trickster and the villain. But only a little bit. I have to be supervised so that things don't go too far. Would you help me, honey?

~~~~~2 hours later~~~~

~~~~~

Goons used to expect a lot of weirdness from working with the boss.

Sometimes Bruce Wayne would go into their base and yell at the Red Hood like he's one of his kids. Of course Wayne's well-known as 'Gotta adopt them all' but the guy must really suffer from insomnia to count the Red Hood into his brood of chicks several times. Sometimes the boss would fight Robin or Nightwing over differences in morals…or for biscuits. It varied from moment to moment. Sometimes the boss caught the local street children, fed them and taught them to steal correctly. And most of the foundlings stayed with them under their protection.

To make a long story short, Red Hood is not the typical crime lord that some of them had to deal with before. Which is a blessing. Thanks Lord for the health insurance. But still the crime lord. Which means he's still scary, and sometimes deadly.

Anyway, when the boss brought in a guy who looked more civilian than any civilian in the whole Gotham and said he was going to be their intern, they thought it was a joke at first. Despite the fact that Hood was not in the habit of joking while working.

The teenager was too well-mannered and sweet to come from Crime Alley. Phil thought the guy was gonna run when he saw the first murder, Jessica didn’t think the domestic boy wouldn’t chicken out at the sight of a fight. But arguing with a boss’s orders in their profession is like asking for a bullet in the head, so these conversations were taking place outside of their boss's sight. God, how can they teach him anything? What do you take from a boy who’s only good to do the coffee run? Fenton will fall if they’ll give him something heavier than 10 pounds. And then boss will yell at them because he treats the new guy like a princess on a pea. Well, at least that’s what they thought until the boss decided to give the new guy his own assignments:

~~~~~

Red Hood: So, what have you learned during your internship, my young Padawan? Danny: Well, it looks like I’m gonna suck at being a criminal mastermind. I think I may have to find myself some other profession. Red Hood: Come on, you just need a little more practice. Danny: Thank you but I don’t think that’s fit my obsession that good. Don't misunderstand me, I wanna be like most ghosts. But I was wrong to go to hit that goal only base on human stereotypes about my nature. Red Hood: What a pity. The newbies just learned not to flinch when you walk in. But, to be honest, I'm not gonna miss the adrenaline-boosting roller coaster of you at work. Danny: Oh, and I guess to hold on to the concept of humanity was really stupid too. I clearly no longer fit in and I’m finally ready to accept that. So, hopefully, if you get into trouble, you can rely on my ghostliness and call for help. I am the spirit of many talents and of my word. I can haunt your enemies or walk through the walls of Arkham Asylum. Whatever you need, I’ll be here. Red Hood: I’ll bear that in mind.

[jordyn14]

Hey

Can you please write a Joe x wife reader where Joe and reader have been trying to get pregnant for a while and then reader finds out their pregnant and tells Joe in a cute way and he can’t contain his happiness

Pairing: Joe Burrow x fem first person

Words: 1600

Notes: since it’s my bday week and I’m having so much fun writing, I’m trying to get out fics a little faster this week! :)) thanks for the Request. <3

My eyes filled with tears as soon as I flipped over the pregnancy test and saw those two blue lines on the ClearBlue test. For 7 whole months Joe and I have been trying to get pregnant. We started after our wedding, hoping to see those two blue lines within two weeks, but two weeks turned into a month, and one into seven. Every single time we flipped over that test and saw one line and not two, we tried our best to stay positive, but it was hard. There were so many tears and I felt like we should just give up. I didn’t know how many more times I could take Joe’s same speech over and over again about how no matter how long it took, we would have our little family one day.

But now I was pregnant. I didn’t have to look into Joe’s eyes and tell him we weren’t pregnant for the millionth time. I didn’t have to stare into Joe’s blue eyes while he tried to hold back tears of sadness and watch as the hope was slowly draining from him.

As I looked up at myself in the mirror, tears rolled down my face and onto the counter under me. I was going to be a mom. It felt surreal to look at my stomach and realize that there was a little growing baby inside. I put my shaking hand over my mouth and I couldn’t stop looking at those 2 blue lines and at myself in the mirror. I couldn’t believe it. I felt like I was on top of the world and thinking about telling Joe in just a couple of hours when he came home from practice overjoyed me. “I’m pregnant.” I told myself, not able to contain my excitement.

For the next two hours, time seemed to be going so slow. Every time I looked at my phone and expected a half an hour to pass, only ten minutes passed. I was restless. I wanted to tell Joe so badly. I wanted to see the look on his face when he realized he was going to be a dad in just nine months. Not only were we going to be parents together, but I would get to raise a child with the most amazing man ever who isn’t just easy on the eyes, but is an incredibly person inside and out.

When I finally got the text from Joe saying he was on his way home, I practically sprinted upstairs and to my nightstand drawer where I kept a little mini Joe Burrow jersey and laid that down on the bed with the test on it. From the moment we started trying to get pregnant, I knew that I wanted to surprise him with his little jersey for our little son or daughter to wear when they’re born.

I sat on the bed and tried to pick through my different emotions. I was nervous, anxious, happy, worried, but mostly excited. Excited to be a mom. Excited to start our little family. From the moment I fell in love with Joe, I knew I wanted to create a family with him and now that was becoming a reality. Before we knew it, we’d have a little mini Burrow running around the house acting like a fool, and I couldn’t wait. Hey, maybe I was even carrying twins.

Before I knew it, I heard the front door swing open and just like clockwork, Joe said, “I’m home.” As soon as he said this, I couldn’t hold back the tears and started to cry some more. I just couldn’t contain the excitement. “Jordyn?” Joe called out, sounding a little worried, wondering why I wasn’t running over to give him a hug and ask him how his day was like usual. I wiped off a tear and sniffled back the tears a little bit. “Up here.” I answered him and stood up to meet him by the door. As I walked to the door frame, I could hear Joes footsteps getting closer and closer. My heart beat so incredibly fast in my chest and I couldn’t stop smiling.

As soon as Joe came into view and saw me crying, he dropped the bag that he was holding immediately. “hey, hey, are you okay?” He asked me and wrapped my in his arms. One hand was placed around my waist, pulling me closer to him, and the other was placed on the back of my head. With a smile, I wrapped my arms around his neck, running my fingers through his hair he decided to grow out for the season. “Everything is more than okay, Joey.” I said. Once I said this, Joe pulled back to look me in the eyes and once he did, I noticed the slightly confused look on his face.

Leaning forwards, I placed a small kiss on joes lips and then let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding in. “Go look on the bed.” I said. Joe looked past me and at the bed and noticed something laying on it, but I could tell he was still confused. Dropping my arms from around Joes neck, he slowly let go of me as well and walked closer to the bed. I followed after him, waiting for him to realize that he was going to be a dad.

A small gasp left Joe’s lips as the realization that I was pregnant set in. I couldn’t help but smile as he reached down and grabbed the pregnancy test. After a few seconds, I walked to the side of him and watched as he ran his fingers over the mini jersey while holding the pregnancy test in his other hand. As I studied Joe’s face, I started to get nervous. There was almost no emotion or expression on his face. What if he changed his mind about kids? What if he didn’t want me to be pregnant right now.

Before I started to freak myself out more, Joe looked over at me with those gorgeous, tear filled blue eyes. “Oh wow.” Joe said simply as his bottom lip began to quiver slightly. I sucked in a breath at his reaction and started to cry more myself. Joe put his hand on his chest and took a step back, taking everything in. He kept looking at me, then the pregnancy test, me, then the pregnancy test. “I’m going to be a dad?” Joe asked me excitedly. “You’re going to be a dad.” I said, wiping off a tear that streamed down my cheek. The both of us started crying more as he closed the distance between us and wrapped his arms around me. Without me expecting it, he picked me up off of the ground gently and spun around in a circle, a little excited laugh leaving his mouth. I giggled while up in the air before he placed me back down on the ground.

Once down on the ground, we both held each other so incredibly tightly, so overwhelmed with the news. I buried my head in Joe’s chest and I could tell he was crying quietly. Unlike every other time we flipped the test over, they were happy and relieved tears. After so long of trying and feeling like nothing would work, he was finally going to be a dad. “I can’t believe this,” Joe said and pulled his head back, revealing his red eyes and nose, “our little baby’s in here right now.” He said, letting out a deep breath while looking down at my stomach.

It was hard for me to talk because of the tears. I opened my mouth to say something, but I knew if I tried to talk I would cry harder. With a smile, Joe took his hands off of me for a second and swiped his thumbs under my eyes to catch the tears before holding my face gently in his hands. He nodded with a small smile, letting me know he understood what I wanted to say. Letting go of Joe, I did the same thing and swiped under his eyes, getting a laugh out of both of us before gently grabbing his wrists, the both of us just gazing into each other’s eyes. I took a deep breath and let it out with a small laugh.

“We’re gonna be parent’s, Joey. Can you believe it?” I asked him. Joe just shook his head and looked back at the pregnancy test. “No. No, not really.” He chuckled and sniffled a little. “At least we know why you were sick this morning before I left for practice.” Joe said. “I totally thought it was those crab legs, they looked a little bit odd.” I giggled. Joe laughed and nodded. “They did look a bit funky didn’t they?” As we looked into each others eyes, Joe looked at me like I was the most beautiful, fragile, perfect women on the entire planet before closing the distance and placing a kiss on my lips. When we pulled away, we rested our foreheads together while making eye contact. “I love you…and our baby,” Joe said and looked down at my stomach, “more than anything in the entire universe.” Joe said. “Even SpongeBob?” I joked with him. “Yes, even SpongeBob.” Joe laughed and nodded. “Well in that case, I love you…and this baby,” I said and glanced down at my stomach like Joe did, “more than anything in the entire universe as well Joseph Lee Burrow.” I said.

[theglamorousferal]

The Cryptid of Smallville

I am posting the first couple chapters of the fic that I am currently working on juuuust in case AO3 goes down again. In the next couple days I’ll start posting some of my wips that I don’t think I’ll finish. If any of them inspire people to write more then I’ll be happy. 

I had the thought a while ago about what if Danny was raised alongside Clark Kent and the hijinks that would result in Danny being near the liminal space that is cornfields. These are basically a series of connected one-shots because I am not that great at trying to do a real plot lol

Without further ado, here’s the first chapter of the Cryptid of Smallville! (Small edit: here’s the link to AO3 the first two chapters are there)

______________________________________________________________ The night sky was clear and open above the cornfields as a gentle breeze caused the plants to stir. It was a calm night on the Kent family farm. A streak of neon green broke across the sky and landed in the middle of the fields, purple tinged smoke wafting from the crash site. A boy of about six rolled over in his sleep, glowing green eyes glancing at the stars above framed by smoke. The gentle breeze is still blowing, returning the night to calm.

*****

Danny was gonna put Clockwork in soup time whenever he got back into the Zone. 

He was laying there, staring at the clouds in the sky, surrounded by corn, and only about three and a half feet tall, wondering where in the Realms he was. Clockwork had said something about sending him off somewhere with people who could handle a child with powers growing up before tossing him through a portal by the ankle. He had ended up in low orbit and was lulled to sleep by staring at the stars he is so fond of.

Crawling out of the hole he was in, he examined the surrounding area and just found a bunch of burnt and slightly smoldering corn and kicked up dirt. The gentle breeze brought the smell of bacon to his nose and he floated to look just above the tall plants around him. He spots a house in the distance and starts heading there, making sure to walk the last few yards just in case this isn’t where CW intended him to go. He finds himself stumbling from the field just to make eye contact with a man pulling on his work boots for the day on the porch steps, the man freezes. 

“Hey Martha?” The man yells into the house.

“Yes Jon?” a voice muffled from the door yells back.

“Do we have a spare room done up?” the man, Jon, asks, not taking his eyes off Danny.

“Why? Are you expecting someone and forgot to tell me?” the voice sounds like it’s getting closer to the door.

“No honey, I think we may have a repeat situation of Clark though.” He briefly glances from Danny up to the last bits of smoke wafting from the field. A quiet “What?” comes from the house. He gentles his voice, full attention on Danny. “Hey son, did you have a bit of an accidental landing in the corn? Is your head okay? Are your parents around?”

Danny stays still for a moment thinking about what’s going on. The man seems to at least suspect that he crash landed on his property and mentioned something about something like this happening before. Have these people dealt with a random child appearing at their house before? Specifically one that crashed from the sky? He has many questions, but he should probably answer Jon first. 

“Yeah, I got sent away until I was better, my head doesn’t hurt at all and my parents are not exactly from around here, and don’t know where I am.” He pauses thinking about it. “Does the children-crashing-onto-your-farm-thing happen a lot to you?”

Jon chuckled as he finished tying his boots up and walked down the stairs just as the door opens and a woman in an apron is standing there looking surprised to see an unknown child standing in her yard. The man crouches down in front of Danny, giving him a once-over. 

“You’d be surprised, now what’s your name son?.”

“It’s Danny Fenton, what’s yours?”

“Jon Kent, my wife over there is Martha. Now you look like you could use a good meal and a washup, how’s that sound?” Jon grins at Danny and musses up his hair before standing and offering a hand to walk into the house. He smiles over at Martha who blinks and then gives Danny a warm smile, standing aside to let them enter the house.

“Good thing I made some extra breakfast then, let’s get some food in you young man, you’re as skinny as a post!” She smiles and heads towards the kitchen. “Be sure to wash up your hands first hun, can’t eat with dirty hands! And Jon! What have I told you about your muck boots being in the house! I’m sure Danny can find his way and wash his own hands; second door on the right hun; and git outta my house with those things on, I’ll have more coffee ready for you once you feed the animals!” Jon pouted and trudged his way out of the house.

Danny smiled a little to himself as he looked for the door Martha was talking about, noting the wallpaper and decor that looked like every midwest farmer’s house he’d seen in any piece of media ever. After washing his hands he made his way to where he could hear soft humming and dishes being washed. He saw a plate of pancakes and bacon on the table next to a glass of orange juice, a glass of milk, and a container of syrup and headed to the spot.

“Thank you Mrs. Kent.” he said from his seat and she smiled back at him, going back to the dishes. Danny realized he’d probably have to start explaining what he could to them soon, but decided to focus on the breakfast in front of him. The breakfast that wasn’t alive and currently trying to kill him. He nearly cried.

“So Danny,” Martha began as she wiped her hands off with a dish rag. “Do you remember how it is you got here?” She joined him at the table with a cup of coffee after setting a mug, a spoon and the sugar bowl next to the machine for her husband when he came in.

“I do, it’s a really weird story though, I’m not sure you’ll believe me.” He was hesitant, he still wasn’t sure these were the people that Clockwork meant to send him to. Though they’ve taken the whole crash-landed-child-thing pretty well… Screw it, he’ll see if he can wait until Jon comes back and explain to both of them. “Can we wait for Mr. Kent too? I don’t really want to say it twice.” 

She smiled at him, taking a sip of her coffee and then nodded. “That’s fine hun, he shouldn’t be more than a couple minutes unless the rooster decided to pick a fight again.” she chuckled to herself, looking out of the window while drinking her coffee. She sees the faint trail of smoke rising in the sky outside and her eyebrows pinch in worry. “You didn’t happen to see anythin’ burning when you got up, did you?” 

Danny glances out the window and sees the smoke. “Oh no, there was just a little bit still smoldering in the hole, but there wasn’t anything actively burning. I can show you both when I finish explaining what I can.” The slapping of a screen door startles him and Jon walks in, heading straight for the coffee maker and making himself a cup, then joining them at the table.

“So Danny-boy, what can you tell us?” Jon gives his full attention to Danny. 

Danny shifts in his seat, looking every part the six year old he appeared to be, uncertain at the attention of two adults. “Well, it’s a long story and kinda out there? I’m not sure how much you’ll believe?” He looks uncertain at the pair across from him who share a look. Martha reaches across the table to take Danny’s hand.

“Honey, you wouldn’t believe the stuff we’re used to, I’m sure it’s fine.”

Danny only hesitated a moment longer and then sighed looking far older than his apparent six years. “So to start off with, wherever this is, I’m not from around here. I’m assuming since you both speak English that this is still Earth, but maybe not MY Earth, I’m still a bit confused on the whole ‘multiverse’ thing, but either way, I got sent here until some stuff got sorted out and so I’ll be here until it does.” He was rambling, he knew, but he’s kind of anxious about stuff. “I kinda got put in my childhood body and now I have to get back to my actual age and my Guardian said something about time here running differently than in my dimension before he just chucked me through a portal. He did say he was sending me to people who could handle my weirdness as I age, so I’m assuming you are them and maybe have some experience with kids with freaky weird stuff happening to them?”

The Kents once more shared a look, this one a little longer than the last, then turned back to Danny. “Oh son, I think you’ll fit in just fine. So, how long can we expect you for? I can tell you’re probably a lot older than six judging by how you talk?”

Danny blinked at him, trying to process the fact that they didn’t seem phased and rather seemed like they believed him. “Uh, I was sixteen, so I guess a decade? I’m sorry to impose on you for a while, really I can figure out stuff on my own, I don’t want to be a bother.”

Jon chuckled “Oh trust me son, it wouldn’t be an issue, I’m sure Clark would love a younger brother, or at the very least a friend who understands him. We have plenty of room here, and though we’d probably ask you for help with chores, we’d be glad to have you for however long you need.”

Danny blinks again at them. They weren’t serious, right? They just seem fine taking in a random child and having him live with them for however long. And who was this Clark? What did he mean by younger brother?

“Clark?” he asked hesitantly.

“Oh right, our son, you’ll meet him when he gets home from school, I’m sure you’ll get along just fine! Now Danny, let me show you to a room and we can get you settled, we’ll probably have to head on over to the thrift shop to get you something to wear besides these charred and muddy pj’s, but we should have something from Clark that’s too small that’ll fit you for now.” Martha took his hand and led him upstairs to where he’d be in apparently his new home.

*****

Clark had had a pretty boring day at school. The classes were boring. He had to hold back in gym class again and when studying the skeletal system in biology, he started studying the teacher’s bones instead of the display skeleton or the worksheet. He was really looking forward to getting home and maybe going for a fly around the fields where no one could see him or maybe catching the latest episode of Rescue Rangers. 

He could spot his house in the distance and after looking around to make sure no one would see him, he sped down the driveway as fast as he could, knocking up a lot of dirt in the process. He really liked going fast, whether running or flying. He just loved the wind in his hair. 

“Ma, Pa, I’m home.” he kicked his sneakers off and rushed upstairs into his room to drop off his bag. He listened around for heartbeats and realized that Pa was out on the tractor and Ma was out with the chickens. He froze as he heard a much closer sound though. It was very slow and faint, but he could hear another heartbeat in the house. Even more, he could hear someone muttering to themselves in the guest room and the flipping of pages.

Clark slowly made his way down the hall towards the sound and peaked in the room with his x-ray vision. There, sitting on the ceiling, was a child about half his age reading a ratty old book about space. Clark stood in the doorway, now able to see him in regular vision and just stared at him. He took a moment until he decided to just join him up there and sat across from him.

“So who are you?” Clark asked while the kid was still focused on his book. He didn’t even look up from the book.

“Name’s Danny.” The kid paused for a second before he looked up and stared at Clark. Danny looked from Clark to the ceiling, to the floor, and then back to Clark. “Oh, so that’s why they said I’d fit right in here. I guess we are pretty similar! I’m guessing you’re Clark then?” The child beamed at him, putting out his hand to shake. Clark took it gently, not wanting to hurt the kid. Then the kid gripped his hand tight and Clark realized that they have more in common than he thought and gripped his hand tighter in response.

“So where are you from?” Clark asked, very curious as to how this kid who could fly and had his strength, but also had almost no heartbeat ended up at his house. Danny rubbed the back of his neck.

“Well, I’m not from this Earth and I kinda got put here to recover for a long while and my Guardian decided your parents are the best equipped to handle a kid growing up with powers, so he sent me here. I’m guessing because of you?” 

“Yeah, mine started manifesting around your age. What powers do you have? How long do you plan to be here? Where are you from? You said this wasn’t your Earth, I’m guessing you’re from a different dimension then? That’s so cool!” Clark, ever curious, shot off many questions rapid fire and Danny laughed while answering them all as best he could.

Part 2

[royaltealee]

Deathly silent

ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴍᴀᴊᴏʀ ꜱᴘᴏɪʟᴇʀꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴀʀʟᴏ'ꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴏᴍᴇᴏ'ꜱ ʙᴀᴄᴋꜱᴛᴏʀʏꜱ. ᴅᴏ ʙᴇ ᴡᴀʀɴᴇᴅ!

Carlo x Puppet!reader

⚠️ Trigger warning's⚠️

Descriptions of a plague sickness, death, sad sad times and blood.

Part 1/2

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

The ticking clockwork echoes in the stillness of Gepettos workshop. Automated gears singing a ticking tune, keeping its pace, never faltering.

Little Carlo plays with a small ball jointed doll, black hair almost covering his face while resuming on posing the doll how he wanted.

A small smile painted his lips, cobalt blue iris keeping its figure as he sets the doll standing.

Taking a note pad, he gently lines every detail of it, soon, it takes shape.

Hair, eyes, clothes, everything in his imagination, coming to life in a single sketch of how he wanted to shape this plain doll.

Showing his father his sketchpad, the puppet maker quickly got to work.

Moulding the exact proportions his son drew, Carlo watching every second of his father's work.

Once the puppet was finished, it was the same size as the boy, Ergo rushed through its wiring, newly obtained and springing to life.

Carlo talked with it, watching as it clung to every word he spoke.

Geppetto's son now has a friend.

And Geppetto can peacefully get back to work.

_____________

He never expected this to happen.

The puppet that kept Carlo company, listened and stayed by his side...

Started to grow.

Not just physically, but mentally. It's mind shaped ideas, concepts, and jokes. Carlo laughed at every single one of them.

At first, he had only made the doll-like puppet to just be a toy for his son to keep him busy while he worked...

It was an interesting sight indeed.

Its hair grew longer... And it even explained that it could... Quite possibly a dream.

It was no longer an IT anymore.

But it was doing no harm... So the Puppet maker paid no mind.

___________

As both of them grew, Carlo grew more distant towards his father. You stayed by his side, talking with the boy from day in, to day out.

It was never a boring day for the two, even as Carlo started going to school... You would wait for him.

Till one day, he brought over another boy. Around the same age, blond hair cut into a short bob. From what you could tell, he was from the same boarding school as Carlo, from the matching uniform.

Carlo introduced you first, calling your name.

"This is Romeo, Romeo, this is my friend,"

"A puppet?"

"Yeah- please don't call me that... My name is fine."

You corrected quickly, a smile gentle on your face as you reach out a hand, the wiring of gears still being heard with every move.

Romeo carefully, and hesitantly took your hand.

Eyes widening only a tad, looking at Carlo, then snapped back to you dumbly.

"Your hands are soft. And warm."

That caught something in your gears, laughing a bit when the boy blushed in embarrassment as Carlo too started to laugh at the absurdity.

"They've always been warm and soft!" Carlo laughed.

"I didn't know! Automations are usually cold and hard! Like metal!"

Romeo clapped back, straightening up and grossing his arms, grumbling in his defense.

This started the friendship between the three of you. The hardships that would happen between Carlo and his father would slip into silence, a somber sad silence whenever Carlo would ask for a bit of his father's time... Only to be told later.

Lies that the boy hated.

And you could only watch, the sinking feeling only growing worse as the years went by.

_____________

"Go to school? With you?"

You asked, as if the very idea was a grueling puzzle. How could a puppet like yourself need school?

"Why not? Have you ever wondered what you could learn?"

Carlo asked, insistent on the idea. His graduation was next year... And he wanted to share that with you.

And he had hope his own father would be there, he'd have to! It's his own son's graduation for God's sake!

You thought for a moment, you've always stayed in the vicinity of the workshop, not a rhyme or reason other than to be close to the only person who could fix a couple of loose bolts if something were amiss.

But it was only Krat city, surely it's safe enough for any Puppet, right?

What could hurt?

____________

You were given odd looks down Krat city hall, you looked nothing like the usual puppets that Geppetto has created, fresh gears turning and auto generated voice lines from newer puppets, little to no life in their eyes.

The spare uniform that you had borrowed from Carlo fit nicely on you, considering that your proportions almost matched the smiling boy beside you, none the wiser with the questioning looks of others.

Making it, the both of you entered, you immediately saw a familiar head of blond hair, sitting next to two empty seats.

Carlo takes your hand and takes you towards the boy.

Romeo, was suffice to say, shocked to see you, in school, in a uniform no less.

"Is this even allowed?"

He whispered, glancing at the raven haired boy, who gave a cheeky smirk.

"I may have pulled a ...few strings." Carlo smiled, sitting down and looking uncharacteristically poised.

"What does THAT mean??" Romeo asked, accusatory suspicion heavy in his voice.

Watching you sit down next to Carlo, fidgeting, like you were nervous.

And he couldn't blame you, the eyes that trailed your figure were more curious and confused.

Some had to do a double take when they entered class.

You could hear the talk, surrounding your table, the clicking of your fingers stopped when a teacher had finally entered the room.

A broad smile graced his face as he took a seat when everyone went quiet.

Class would start with you questioning why you're here.

And it would end with you wanting to learn more.

________

When you were "asleep", your body

was usually stiff as a board.

Standing in your designated area while your body shuts down. But lately, you haven't been able to get comfortable.

Why would a puppet like yourself need to get comfortable?

It caused you to shift, to the point of settling on sitting down on a chair.

It was acceptable. For now.

But you kept on waking up with clear pictures in your mind, horrid pictures of burning buildings... An unfinished film hidden in your wiring that had made no sense... You had thought initially that these were human dreams.

But they just kept coming back, more excruciatingly detailed than the last...

It didn't help that they only had gotten worse when Carlo had to stay at the school due to his father not being able to take care of the poor boy...

Yet, he still held hope that he would be there for his son, on his special day.

Even when news about a suspicious murder that happened just weeks ago.. something in your gears telling you to do... The most absurd things.

Like grabbing something... Blunt, and hitting someone over the head.

Morbid thoughts that wanted to break your working wires and rework them into something less...

Human.

You then felt a gentle shake, your eyes slotting open to find the Geppetto boy, clad in his uniform, but what was amiss

Was the usual framed smile that he wore every time he was with you.

Your brows knitted, he looked tired, eyes puffy, red from either crying or lack of sleep.

Or both.

He had come home in the early morning to see you.

"Why are you back this early? You'll get in trouble for leaving your dorm room."

You saw his face sour, not expecting to be scolded.

But felt his frame lax when you pulled him into a hug.

"It's good to see you, Carlo."

"Me too,"

Your name passed his lips lightly, letting go of the hug after a while, warming your body in a way that caused you to melt.

But getting a better look at him, you saw scrapes and cuts littering his cheeks and arms. Suddenly alarmed, you rest your fingers against a gash against the top of his head.

"Carlo, What on earth happened?"

The boy quickly took your fingers in his palm and held it to his chest.

"I'm okay, me and Romeo were just training. Romeo got me good... But I knocked him down too!"

The boys obsession to be a Stalker nearly made you question if they were insane, few bolts loose perhaps?

But it was unfruitful when they hadn't changed their minds on their 18th birthdays. So much has happened, and so little time has gone by.

Carlo had become a young man so quickly that you almost felt left out.

You too, should be in the same age range as the two boys, but something blocked you from truly being grown.

And you knew.

And it hurt so much.

__________

Today was the day, you wore something quiet fitting for a day like this.

A year had passed by extremely quickly, it shocked you.

Walking down to the workshop, you knocked.

A muffled "yes?" Answered. Promptly causing you to enter.

"Mr. Geppetto? It's me. Do you know what today is?"

The man had paused, bringing his glasses up to check the calendar next to the many boxes of puppet parts that were left to be used later.

"Ah. I don't think I do? Please, enlighten me."

"It's your son's graduation from the academy."

The puppet maker winced at the tone you held.

Turning to the clock that hung from the ceiling.

"I... I simply do not have time..."

He finally answered. Lowering his eyes from your burning ones.

"Carlo... Carlo has been looking forward to this...! You can't just NOT go!"

"I need to get this done.. perhaps if I finish quickly, I'll be able to go..."

You stepped forward, fists locking hard against your sides.

"You've said that all your life! Carlo needs this!"

"Watch your tone..."

"HE'S YOUR SON!-"

"QUIET, THAT'S AN ORDER PUPPET."

You felt your jaw automatically lock.

Body stiffening against the restraints... He's... Never given an order to you before.

It felt uncomfortable, unnatural.

But your body stayed planted to the ground, as Geppetto walked towards you, gripped your shoulders and looked you at eye level.

And gave you orders.

"You will go in my place. Be there for him, congratulate him, and tell him that I love him, and that I am proud."

Orders that you must follow.

__________

You sat in the rows of seats, waiting for Carlo's name to be said, congratulating him for his hard work.

Romeo's name was called, looking over, he sees you waving, excitedly waving with a big smile.

You waved as well, yelling congratulations to the blond boy.

Looking behind him, was the familiar fluff of black hair, and icy blues that peaked at the crowd.

He looked around expectantly, smiling first when he locked eyes with you, and feeling his face flush when you screamed a congratulations to him.

But, felt his face fall when seeing the empty seat next to you.

Reserved for the only man he wanted to be there.

You instantly saw how his face formed a small frown, eyes cast down into sadness.

It grinded your gears, almost painfully so. Right where your stomach and heart should've been.

It should've been his father here.

Not you.

__________

After the ceremony, you, Carlo and Romeo stayed past leaving hours.

Sitting down in front of the school, both boys still in their ceremony gowns, caps thrown somewhere in the hall.

Both were in conversation while you just stared point blank at the busy street.

It wasn't until you felt a hand that had been placed on your back

Turning slightly, to see both boys staring at your brooding.

It felt... Consoling.

"I'm sorry that your father didn't come... I tried to convince him, but... It didn't work out."

You sighed, if only you had tried hard enough, broken free from those commands... Maybe, possibly, he could have been here.

Carlo's fingers twitched against your back.

"Don't."

You looked up quickly, seeing Carlo's face shift with anger. Bubbling in his gut was something you've never seen before.

"I wouldn't care if he'd died right here and now. So don't think it was your fault for his damn actions."

Looking back at Romeo, he dug into his shirt, feeling around till he held out a necklace.

Pulling it from his neck, he handed it to the boy next to him.

"Here, Romeo. To break my bonds to him, and to solidify our friendship and my admiration to you, till the very end."

Romeo gently took the relic in his hands, gripping it to his chest and nodding, a look of finality showing past his face.

Carlo finally looked at you, pulling out something from his pocket, it was a ring. Imbued with Ergo, the blue material shaped to look like a cut diamond.

A look of shock graced your face, holding the precious item in your palm.

"I made this... To show how much I care for you. You've been by my side when my father hasn't. And I want you by my side forever more. You were never just a puppet to me,"

He had slipped on the ring for you, watching as the band glided against your ring finger.

Having him hold your hand tightly against his, warm and secure.

"You are my everything."

That made you shortcircuit-

Unable to completely say the words, Romeo just laughed hysterically at the look of your face.

Causing you to leap up and bonk the blond on the head with a closed fist.

"Ow!!! That hurt! You're made of metal!"

Yeah.. you could get used to this.

_________

"I want to see them..!"

Carlo cried, throat dry and burning.

His fingers were completely solid against the hard shell that had encased half of his body already.

His skin turned almost deathly pale from loss of blood circulation and blue blood.

He couldn't move, but that didn't stop him from using his strength on the last bit of voice he still had left.

He called out to both you and Romeo, daily.

Geppetto couldn't see his son like this... In pain both physically and mentally.

When the puppet frenzy had started, you had disappeared.

Out in the dead of night, possibly killing humans, or already dead by the many makes shift weapons that the people of Krat had made themselves.

Carlo, having contracted the petrification disease.

"You can't see them right now son..."

"Why can't I?! They're my.. my.."

Carlo felt something bubble from his lips, spitting out a slurry of blue blood.

Coughing harshly against the tightness against his chest.

The crystals forming around his face surely didn't help either.

Cold, cold was another horrid feeling he felt.

Is this what you felt on a daily basis without the warmth of his hands?

It was unbearable.

"Carlo... Please get some rest."

His father pleated, using a rag to wipe his son's mouth from the putred stuff.

Carlo became deathly quiet, aside from his rugged breathing, he had kept his eyes up and buggy.

Hoping, pleading that you'd come back.

Just like you've always had.

__________

Blood dripped from the crevice of your hands, even getting between the grooves of your ring.

You had only one thing in your mind.

Kill

Kill

KILL

Anything that moves, breaths, or twitches, kill it.

But you never remembered finding yourself scaling an entire mansion and breaking open a window that felt so familiar to you.

Your body janked to one side of the room to the next, stumbling blindly, trying to search for anything that you could grasp on.

Your body stopped completely when you heard a groan.

A very tired groan coming from the other side of the room.

Slowly but steady, you reached your hands out, ready to break whatever neck you could feel...

You suddenly felt warm.

"You... You came back.."

You heard your name, come from the weak lips of someone you were close with.

His frighteningly cold hands reached to hold your broken face.

"You... Came back..."

He repeated.

"C̴̀͐ͅǎ̴̯̀͠r̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠l̶̬̞͎̖͉̹̝͕̝͖̣̉͆ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅ?"

Your voice wasn't the same anymore, voice box crackled with broken wires and flood of oil and Ergo. But he still smiled against his cracked and bloody lips. Reminisce of the Puppet language hard in your voice.

Your fingers were still itching, getting closer to his neck, really wanting to put him out of this painful reality, you fought instead to scoop him up against your arms.

Holding the dying boy you had grown to love.

He felt so heavy against you.. and he only grew heavier when he laid his head against your hard shoulder.

Feeling a long your hand with his, crystal-like fingers staining with the blood against your caked ones.

Feeling the band against your finger.

"You.. are my... everything."

He went deathly silent.

••••••••••••°°°°••••••••••••

This is my first time sharing my writings with Tumbler, hope ya like it ✨

[lwh-writing]

Oops, Wrong Death Deity

Vaguely inspired by @/evilminji's recent DP x Marvel posts:

So, Thanos has his comic iteration's motivations and thus gathers the Infinity Stones to try and win over Death. He's just got his hands on the last stone and adds it to the Infinity Gauntlet. Right before he wipes half the universe from existence, he summons his (hopefully soon-to-be) lover so that they may witness his grand courting act in all it's glory.

There's the sound of a portal opening, a flash of ecto-green, and....

Thanos, expecting Pariah Dark, only to be met with who he assumes to be Pariah's son and is now on the back foot trying to make a good step-dad impression: Child, where is your father? I wish for him to bear witness as I rewrite the universe in his honor.

*Danny, running on less than two hours of sleep, summoned to an alternate dimension, and stuck in one of his more Eldrich forms, slowly taking in a purple amalgamation of Vlad and Freakshow.*

*The Vlad/Freakshow fusion is wielding what appears to be a knock-off Reality Gauntlet that Danny apparently didn't destroy enough last time.*

*On the knock-off gauntlet is the fancy time emerald that Clockwork is always bitching about, claiming the Observants 'confiscated it' and then promptly lost it in fuck knows which dimension.*

*And in true Vlad/Freakshow fashion, the purple fruitloop wants to fuck one of Danny's parents and is ready and willing to destroy everything in his path to do so*

Danny, cracking his knuckles (or Eldrich equivalent): One, fuck you. Two, how many times do I have to tell people like you that my parents are happily married? And three, I hope you like chocolate because I'm about to break you like a KitKat. Square up, bitch.

Thanos, confused and wondering when Pariah got married, and to whom: Excuse me, what?

Danny: *creates a folding chair out of ectoplasm and goes hog wild*

[ilylovelyz]

sunday morning

pair : levi x fem!reader

warning(s): major aot spoliers, pregnancy, children, timeskip!levi, just lots of love, reader is insecure abt her postpartum body, a little suggestive, mentions of church, reader and levi have a bit of an age gap (just like 3/4 years), reader is taller than levi by like 4/5 inches

note : i am just having baby fever T.T

the breeze feels good today.

it's a bright sunday morning. he never really liked sunday. he never understood the meaning of a "sunday morning." y'know, the ones where you go to church, go out to breakfast with your family, or just simply relax and sleep into the afternoon.

no, he never got that. instead, he had his sumday full of paperwork, training, or heavy cleaning. it's not like it was unexpected. he was a high-ranked soldier in the survey corps. he didn't expect anything from an already high-risk, practically 24/7 job.

so now, he feels... off. theres no paperwork to fill out. no training he needs to do. he can clean, but theres not much to clean anymore.

you could say he feels relieved. the titans are gone. everyone could finally relax without having the fear of their walls being blasted through. even better, he can relax with his wife, y/n.

he's still new to his "lifestyle." he's not used to this thing "relaxation." the windows are open, linen curtains flowing with the soft breeze. it's a good june day, neither too hot nor cold.

he's sweeping the already clean floors, wondering on what to do for the next few hours. he desperately wants to "relax" but he just doesn't know how. he sighs in distress, wiping the back of his palm on his forehead.

like clockwork, he hears the cry of a baby. his baby. setting aside the broom to stand on the nearest wall, he walks towards the nursery, painted in soft colors. he stands in the doorway for a few seconds, soaking in the lovely sight in front of him.

the baby was already soothed by his wife, who was already coddling and cooing at it with such love and adoration. "my, you have such cute fingers~" you whisper, fondling the baby's plushie fingers with your own.

"it's so bright," he thinks. today just seems so... perfect. he is still expecting something to terribly go wrong, somehow, someday. he inhales the scene in front of him, trying to burn the image into his memory forever.

you two have been together for many years, dating back to around the time when eren had finally sealed the holes in the walls. you and levi had been through a lot, and you've both seen a lot together. that in turn only made the bond between the two of you stronger and closer.

you remember the day he promised to marry you - when he was almost fatally wounded by the beast titan and had a moment of clarity did he decide that he wanted to be with you for the rest of his life. so, following the extermination of the titans, the two of you happily married.

it's astonishing how much time has passed since then, even though it's barely been a year. in that year, even despite your age (mid 30s), you fell pregnant following a few months of the wedding. you were absolutely joyful at the news. levi was too. although he didn't immediately lift you into his arms like every other "normal" guy would, his mind was racing a million thoughts per second.

on the outside, they were all sorta displeased at his lack of emotion. on the inside however, he thought his heart was going to explode due to how it felt so heavy with love, yearning, and relief. god, it was his dream to live a happy life, and now he finally has it (at the expense of his eye, fingers, and almost his entire ability to walk). he couldn't be any happier.

stepping out of his mind, he takes a few limpy steps towards you. you notice, turning around and giving him that loving smile of yours. "pretty day 'nnit?" you say. it wasn't much of a question. he replied with a soft hum, not taking his eyes off his firstborn, his son. it's crazy how much time has passed in a blink of an eye.

he remembers just as clear as day when you first told him you were carrying his child, and now his child is just a few measly weeks old. "lev, would you say he looks a lil' like you?" you tease. the baby was awake, little arms flailing and wiggling, reaching for nothing in particular.

he paid a little more attention to the baby. he was surprised at the sudden realization the resemblance the baby already has to him. black hair, little round blueish-gray eyes.. a stink face. "he's ugly like you." you tease. "how wonderful."

"yeah, luckily he'll grow up with great features." he resorts, a light smirk growing across his features. "if he grows up at all.." you giggle. he's a bit peeved that the baby looks like him, rather wishing he looked like his dashing mother instead. "i would rather he's like you though. i don't want him to be mistaken as a short asshole," he admits. "i mean, the brat isn't even half a year old and he already gives me looks."

you giggle at his comments. "i don't think he should be like me," you reply, getting up slowly and placing the now-sleepy baby into his bassinet. "i don't want him to look all nasty like me." you say, addressing your postpartum body.

even during your pregnancy, levi had noticed that you became obsessive with how your body had looked. he noticed the way you had negatively looked at yourself, and it just made him so angry at you. you looked absolutely lovely to him. "there's nothing wrong with your body, anyone who says so is an uneducated idiot with no common sense." he replied, bringing his hands to wrap around your waist.

"you're just saying that because you're biased." you sigh. "no, i'm saying that because it's true. i think you're the most beautiful woman i've ever seen, and you still are," he whispers, placing a chaste kiss onto your cheek. why would it be fair to judge you based on appearance? you love him even though he's missing like 3 fingers, face and body scared up. hell, he can barely walk anymore.

his hands squeeze at the plush skin there teasingly, earning a surprised and flustered reply of dismay from you. you tried to break away from his grasp, only for him to wrap his arms around you even tighter. bringing one hand down to grab your ass, he attaches his lips to your neck. "i love you." he whispers.

you sigh in relief as a reply. you hope you didn't wake the baby when he unexpectedly hoisted you up into his arms, carrying you into the shared bedroom you have with him.

it is a good sunday.

[dairy-farmer]

Based off that ask about multiverse shenanigans, I can't help but wonder: what IF Tim got pregnant during those encounters?

I can see either Tim popping out babies like clockwork with no idea which version of Bruce/Dick/Kon/Jason/Clark/whoever is the father

OR, for a more BruTim focus:

I can easily see Tim getting knocked up after a gangbang consisting of multiple Bruce's. He comes out of it pregnant and his Bruce tries to stay professional, tries to be the adult, the parent in this situation (bc Tim is still so small, his 14th birthday still a few months away and he already has a little bump that's just making him bigger and more ungainly ~~and more beautiful~~ as time goes by) and be concerned for Tim in a practical /familial/ way, but he can't help it. Tim is getting rounded and heavier bc he's full of a baby. Not just anyone's baby, but BRUCE'S baby. And sure, he wasn't the one to fuck the baby into Tim's sweet little pussy, but the DNA tests won't be able to differentiate that. As far as most anyone knows, Bruce will be this baby's father (they keep that on the down low tho, ofc, bc they don't want to face actual legal trouble) on a purely biological level

He tries so hard not to give in to his lust for Tim, but it's harder and harder with each passing day, watching Tim fill out, his tits fatten up and his curves become more pronounced, his body softening from pregnancy and motherhood. He caves when Tim is practically begging to be fucked, so horny from the pregnancy and the months he spent getting fucked by multiverse travelers (they shut that doorway down pretty quick so Tim hasn't been gangbanged in way too long). So Bruce agrees, but only bc he's helping his pregnant son, not wanting to stress him out

It's a one and done deal. Or so Bruce tries to convince himself. But then they're fucking once a week, twice a week, once a day, once in the morning and again at night. It becomes a habit, an addiction, a routine. Tim loves it and Bruce does too, tho he tries to deny it

By the end of the pregnancy, when Bruce fucks Tim into labor, Bruce has finally come to the realization that he can't quit this, can't quit Tim and his sweet, tight, baby making pussy. So he doesn't. Two months postpartum, Bruce is holding Tim down in bed, pussy up in the air and his face pressed into the mattress to muffle his cries of pleasure as Bruce fucks him deeply

"you're such a little slut, Tim" Bruce says, voice seemingly unaffected from the fucking as he pounds into Tim with a wet slap on every thrust. "It won't be long before you're pregnant again, getting big and heavy with a baby. But who knows who you'll have slept with by then? You got lucky with your first baby, OUR baby. It will be so humiliating, so shameful when people see how often you open your legs for anyone and pop out whatever babies result from it" Tim cums hard on his cock and Bruce holds back on cumming for now, wanting to fuck another orgasm out of Tim

"it only makes sense that I be the one to knock you up again. And again, and again, and again. Bc even tho you'll still be a whore, a little baby making machine, at least all of your kids will have the same two parents" with that he finally cums deep inside of Tim, and yes, they do end up pregnant again

Tim doesn't stay Robin for long, no no, he's never between pregnancies long enough to get cleared for training by his doctor let alone going on actual patrol. But Tim and Bruce find that they like it that way, Tim perpetually pregnant with more and more of Bruce's babies, filling the Manor with little footsteps and giggling voices

And if Bruce opens the multiverse portal during Tim's pregnancies so he can be properly satisfied like the little slut he is? Well, so long as Bruce is the one to knock Tim up, he doesn't mind much at all

😍😍😍😍😍😍 bruce trying to take care of tim and all his needs!!!!! the way that he ultimatly gives into his desires because being greeted by the sight of tim pregnant with his baby just slowly eroded away at his resolve. bruce also has to deal with the knowledge that tim is absolutely attracted to him. that he was willing to fuck multiple versions of bruce whose morality were much grayer than his so that they would give into their desires to fuck tim. even when they're all gone tim's desire doesn't waver the slightest bit and so bruce is tortured by the sound of tim fucking himself on a toy (and where did he get that??? did one of the bruces give it to him) while whining for bruce. tim grows rounder with his baby and bruce can no longer halt the mutual attraction he feels for tim who wants so badly to be fucked because being full of bruce's baby have made him sooo horny 🥺🥺🥺🥺!!!

just tim being so unashamed in his attraction and bruce ultimately letting the floodgates open and finally fucking tim.

[ghostly-penumbra]

Father and Sons

Ao3 FFN

Summary: Clockwork is Danny's loving, adoptive grandpa. Time is the Endless' neglectful father. They are one and the same.

Chapter One: First Meeting

- - -

Dream of the Endless stepped into his father's realm and found himself alone. Neither Dream of the Cats nor Hope Beautiful Lost Nebula had come with him. This wouldn't affect him, he would carry on.

He walked down the sprawling garden and stumbled then upon a young boy wearing his father's sygil in a purple cloak, not unlike one his father might use when seen by humans.

The boy stopped dead in his tracks when he saw him, the tilted watering can still spilling its content with no end in sight.

"Uh… hello?" He asked tentatively, the can still tipped. "May I help y—?"

"Who are you?" Dream asked bluntly, straightforward, looking at this child whose identity and dreams were blurred to him, being from a different time period than him, and his father's realm not being a Soft Place nor Dream's jurisdiction.

"Oh! That's- I'm… not supposed to just give my name to strangers." He trailed off, and finally straightened the watering can. "I'll… go get my grandpa." He turned and flew away, giving the perplexed Lord Shaper one last look before vanishing from sight.

"Dream." His father's voice had him turn around and there he was, shifting in shape through ages.

A toddler, a child, an old man, a younger man, if time could truly be described as a man, but always, invariably, with a jagged scar going across his eye.

Next to him stood the boy, looking between father and son with green eyes full of human curiosity, but ultimately leaning towards Dream's father with ease.

"What do you want?" His father asked as his beard vanished to give way to a toddler's impassive face. "You only come here if you want something."

"Can't a son see his father with no motive other than to wish him well?" He asked instead of answering.

This was unscripted. As it often did with his father, being in his presence was to step in loops and whorls of someone else's design, leaving Dream wrong-footed, regardless of where he stepped.

But for that same reason a strange child trailing after his father and referring to him as 'his grandpa' would not deter him from what he had come here for.

It did make him wonder, though…

"Of course you can," Father Time was saying, "but you never do. If any of you or your siblings visit is because you need my help."

"Siblings?! How many children do you have?" The boy almost shouted in what he seemed to believe was a whisper.

Dream turned his gaze upon him, the intense cosmos in his eyes having him shrink, abashedly, behind his father's figure once again.

Dream's father closed his eyes for one second – or a dozen. Or a year, or seventy, or a century – and then opened them again and turned his head towards his companion. "Seven." Was all he said.

"Damn!"

And against anything Dream would have thought, his father smiled, small but genuine. Fond.

"As you well know, I am older than dust."

They were making their way through the garden, where some plants grew and flourished or perished or even returned to seeds as Time approached them, and his father picked two apples, one of which he handed to the boy – who was now floating after Father Time –, and the other he offered to Dream.

"I'm not hungry."

"You will be."

Dream disregarded his father's remark and ignored the proffered fruit, even as the boy happily bit into his own.

"I wasn't travelling alone." Dream said. "Why am I the only one here?"

"You were planning on bringing your friends, uninvited, to my domain, son?" His father asked, his youthful face at odds with the rotting fruit in his hands.

"Not friends, no. A cat, who is also me. And a girl."

His father held a hand to his forehead and sighed, before looking back up at Dream whilst he handed the fresh apple to… his grandson.

"What do you want, Dream?"

"Help me, father. Help me."

- - -

[Chapter Two]

[santaverse]

[ LOCATION ] : THE DIMENSION OF AUTHORITY; MIAMI, FLORIDA, DECEMBER 24TH 10:32 PM

Well this came a lot faster than expected, didn't it? The night of Christmas Eve was here! Despite this year's abrupt change in scenery, the Santa Clauses were all prepped and ready to deliver presents! In the front lawn of Nick St. Nicholas' mansion were swarms of sleighs (and one lone stagecoach for Reason), each belonging to many different Santas.

As the final adjustments were being made, the man of the hour himself; Mr. St. Nicholas himself exited the doors of his Mansion. Unlike himself though, Mr. St. Nicholas was donned in a typical Santa Claus attire; complete with a red suit, his blonde hair having turned into luscious gray hair, a long beard (the latter being fake), and a big smile on his face. The other Santas could hardly recognize him!

" Ho, Ho, HO!!~ "

" Attaboy, Mr. Nicholas! "

Nick St. Nick took his compliments in stride, merely nodding to the others as he passed them on the way to his sleigh. Jasper stood beside St. Nick's sleigh, awaiting his arrival- but, it was who was standing next to Jasper that caused the royal Santa to come to a stop.

" ...Father? You came? "

King Nicholas XX merely chuckled at his son's question.

" Hohoho, of course! You think I would miss seeing my own successor's debut? You look... " He sniffled. " Marvelous, my boy. "

Nick St. Nick pulled his lips inwards and lightly bit down on them- an effort to block any tears from coming out. He lowered his head, then raised it with a beaming smile.

" Thanks, Dad. "

The two Santas shared a genuine look of pride between each other, not uttering another word after their praises were given. They were basking in the moment- both of them.

Jasper, having stood by and watched the two's interaction, silently pulled out a handkerchief from his suit pocket and dabbed his eyes. Afterward, he cleared his throat.

" Ahem, not to interrupt, but we simply must get going, sir. "

" R-Right you are Jasper, " Nick St. Nick replied. " Do look after the place while I'm gone, father. "

King Nicholas XX nodded in response.

" Will do, son. The two of you have a safe flight! "

With the King's blessings, Nick St. Nick leapt into his sleigh alongside Jasper, his head elf. Almost like clockwork, many different portals to different worlds began to open on the massive lawn. Mr. St. Nick marveled at the portals, gasping at what little glimpses he could catch of the different worlds.

Aside from him, Classic grinned. The wonder of a Santa Claus' first year together always brought a smile to his face.

" Well, Mr. Nicholas? " Classic asked. " We're in your world, why don't you give the honors? "

Mr. St. Nick looked at his reigns, nodded, tightened his grip on them, then with a flick of his wrists he shouted.

" On Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! On Cupid! On, Donder and Blitzen! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all! YEEHAW!! "

With St. Nick's call, not only his sleigh, but ALL other Santa sleighs began to float and take off! As the Santas rushed for their portals, they (mostly) all began to shout,

" Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good-night! "

[sailorsenshishitposter]

Trish x Reader

You had recently been going out with a friend of a mutual friend. Her name was Trish and you found out that she lived a lavish lifestyle that she sustained while working as a dominatrix. You had no issues with that and only wondered why she chose to date someone as lame as you. Tonight was special because she was going to introduce you to her infant son. You always wanted to have a family so you were ecstatic and couldn't wait to meet the young boy.

"All right, we're here. I'll be back in a minute." she said as she winked. You were waiting outside of the local day care while sitting inside her luxury car. You weren't sure how you got so lucky but you only hoped it would stay like this. You saw you girlfriend return only to be greeted with a strange man.

"Hey babe, this is my son I told you about. He's two days old but he has a bit of a growth problem so he looks a lot older than he really is. The doctors aren't sure why he's going through puberty so young but I love him just as he is. His name is Vergil but he particularly likes it when you call him V." She introduced you and you stared dumbfounded while she ruffled his hair and placed her son in the booster seat (you swore she must be a witch because there was no way you could get a lanky drifter into a children's car seat.

"How was daycare sweetheart?" The man's face grew uncomfortable and his eyes shifted downward. "Did you make any new friends?" He cringed in disgust. "I don't need friends momma, I have Shadow, Griffon and Nightmare." For someone that was supposedly a baby he could speak remarkably well for his age. "Honey, it's fine to have imaginary friends but you should try to make real ones too." Her son got defensive. "THEY ARE REAL MOMMA, I SAW THEM!"

"Alright..., is there anything you would like for dinner?" V crossed his arms. "Fried chicken." She drove the three of you to her home which happened to be a large mansion. You weren't sure if this or seeing her son was more shocking. Trish ordered takeout and you grabbed some crayons and watched V draw. "This is Griffon, he's a birdie. That's Shadow, she's a kitty cat and that's Nightmare. I don't know what he is but he visits me in my dreams and I wake up screaming every night." You were mortified. "Why don't we go watch a movie instead?"

The boy quickly popped in ones if his favorites, mumbling something about it being a classic. A Clockwork Orange. You had never seen this movie but you were desperate to get away from those drawings. Only a few minutes into the movie and you had shut it off. Your face was pale. "Does your mother really let you watch such things...?" V proudly lifted his head. "Of course! Mommy says I'm very mature for my age." Before you could protest Trish had finally came by with the food.

You were now in the dining hall. You noticed that V had taken his napkin and had fastened it to his neck in an attempt to make a bib perhaps? Maybe an ascot? Either way it was ridiculous. You were talking with Trish when you heard glass shatter. "V what did I tell you?" You know noticed that the boy had replaced his knife with a large sword. "I'm sorry momma. I was just trying to make smaller bites." Trish sighed. "Its alright little one. You know the rules though, no using Force Edge at the table." She went to the kitchen and returned with a samurai sword. "Use this. It will be much easier on your wrists."

You were now helping with the dishes while V ran outside to play. You went to join him only to stumble once you realized the boy was trying to hit you with a wooden sword. "V, what did I tell you about playing with our guests!" He started to stomp his foot. "I CRAVE VIOLENCE MOTHER!" You took a few steps back only to bump into Trish. "I'm so sorry about this. He tends to be cranky when he hasn't had his nap."

Trish picked up her son and said "I think it's time for bed huh?" V gave no protest and went limp in her arms. "Good boy. You need to save your strength. How about I read to you?" He nodded. You were now in the upstairs bedroom. V had just finished brushing his teeth and putting his pajamas on. His mother helped apply lotion for his badly cracked, dry skin and then tucked him under the covers. It was now time to read. You expected a simple children's story or fairy tail such as sleeping beauty or the very hungry catapillar but to your horror she pulled out a large tome. The compete works of William Blake. This wasn't going to end anytime soon would it?

Several hours later and Trish began to nudge you awake. To be fair you always thought poetry was boring. She drove you back home and kissed you on the cheek. "I had a wonderful time. And I think my son is really enjoying your company. I'll see you soon." Trish drove off. You immediately took your phone out and changed your number and just to be safe, moved several countries away. You knew it was to good to be true.

[wellthebardsdead]

Clockwork Heart Pt3

Part 2 here

———

Ancano: *Been at the collage for a few weeks checking off task after task for his dominion duties, so far coming up short on anything of interest to report back but generally not complaining about the easy job, though he would be a lot happier sleeping in an actual room instead of the broom closet. Now quietly making his way to the arcanum to interrogate interview Urag as he had the other professors, only to be caught off guard as he sees the handsome young elf who’d ‘greeted’ him when he’d first arrived to winterhold, the famed little prince of the collage, Wyrm*

Wyrm: *floor length silver hair tied back in a messy ponytail, held up by a screw driver as he looks for the book he needs, very obviously just emerged from his room given his loose trousers, shirt and overall unkempt appearance*

Snobby student: *side eyes him as she walks by and up to the counter to check out a book* Hmph. They really do just let anybody study magic these days, who does he think he is walking around the library with no shoes on and dressed like a vagrant?

Urag: *looks up from his notes and takes the book from her* He’s my son. And you’re now barred from borrowing books from my library. Now get lost.

Snobby student: *looking like she just got kicked in the teeth* I-I… s-sorry… *walks out quickly, bursting into tears as she passes by Ancano*

Ancano: *watches them go before continuing to look at Wyrm with growing intrigue, finding him a fascinating enigma among the rest of the collage, seemingly an outcast amongst likeminded people and looking unique amongst the most unique*

Wyrm: *growing visibly frustrated as he can’t recall the name of the book he’s looking for, too many thoughts going on in his head all at once, too many ideas, memories and more bouncing around at once like an overloaded lexicon* Ughh! *grabs his head in a fit of frustration, only for his very soul to seemingly, and very visibly seperate from his physical body, like he’d somehow split his mind into two* that’s better… *looks to his soul half* it had a brown spine?

Wyrms Soul: *voice sounding like his, but different, older, more mature and ethereal* And a silver cover. I believe it was notes on dwemer animunculi.

Wyrm: I know but which volume! *sighs* I’ll keep looking over here you look in the returns.

Wyrms Soul: *nods and walks off, arms behind their back in a much more sophisticated posture compared to its young and aloof host*

Ancano: *eyes nearly popping out of his head at what he just witnessed, knowing if literally nobody even in the most magically endowed circles back in the isles, capable of doing that*

Wyrms Soul: *suddenly returns to Wyrm holding the book* I found it.

Wyrm: ughhh of course it was volume 3! I was looking for volume 2! *takes it and absorbs his soul half back into himself before opening up the book and flicking through it, finding the chapter he wants by spotting the finger prints he’d accidentally left on the pages* …oh gods I’m stupid I put it together backwards.

Ancano: *suddenly steps in front of him to get his attention, now well and truely intrigued by the younger mer* My hello again. I was wondering when I’d see your face about the collage~

Wyrm: *looks up from his book, his Pearl eye glinting as he does so and his red dunmer one showing visible distain as he scowls at him* I don’t like you thalmor. So don’t even bother attempting to talk to me. Leave me alone. *huffs and closes the book storming off to his room, only to stop and hurry back out to take the snack his father offered him as he passed by* thank you papa…

Urag: Please just remember to wash your hands before you open a book son. Please.

Wyrm: *mouth already occupied with the snack, reading his book as he walks back to his room* mhmph!

Ancano: *watching him leave, a little surprised by how forward he was with his distain for him but if anything, even more interested in him now* hm… *walks up to the counter slowly* Urag correct? I have to interview you as part of my duties but, that boy of yours-

Urag: Wyrm is my son. I adopted him. No I didn’t name him he chose it himself. And you’d be smart to keep your hands to yourself when concerning him.

Ancano: *was about to make a snide remark to his tone but now trying to wrap his head around the name Wyrm* why would anybody want to be named Worm?…

*a few days later*

Wyrm: *looking at the parts Enthir has available for him* is this all? Half of it’s unusable unless I put it through a forge but there isn’t one for miles and you know my papa won’t let me go to the mine to use theirs.

Enthir: I’m sorry Pearl but that’s all my contacts could get me this time. Something about narrowly avoiding decapitation by a centurion or something.

Wyrm: *Sighs* well I guess I can take the gears… I might be able to bend them back into shape… are you sure you haven’t got anything better?

Enthir: hm, well I do have these* *pulls out a beautiful pair of dwemer gauntlets*

Wyrm: *eyes sparkling staring at the gloves, so unique in design and far different from the usual make he’d seen in his research, and the very sight of them filling him with an almost violent urge to snatch them from the bosmer by any means* You had these and you were just hiding them from me?! They’re beautiful!

Enthir: and theyre not cheap either prince. I didn’t bother showing you because I know you won’t be able to pay me for them… unless.

Wyrm: …unless?…

Enthir: Im always open to trades, how about you give me your eye and I’ll give you these?

Wyrm: m-my eye? *covers his Pearl eye* n-no- papa made this for me, it’s enchanted so I can see I can’t trade it.

Enthir: Oh well that’s a shame. Unless you want to trade me his copy of Shalidors writings-

Wyrm: y-you want me to steal from my father?!

Enthir: not steal just borrow without telling him.

Wyrm: *looking at the gauntlets again, the pull within him driving him to almost consider doing either of his options, but his common sense winning over* no, no they’re not worth it… *sighs and hands him the entirety of his allowance and just takes the scrap pieces, walking off looking disheartened*

Ancano: *watching from the shadows the entire time, quietly steps into the room as Enthir starts putting the gloves away again* Oh Enthir was it? Those wouldn’t happen to be for sale would they?

*that evening, nearing midnight*

Wyrm: *in his bedroom, trying to bend the gears he bought back into shape, only for the joint on his scrapped together prosthetic arm to give out making it fall slack* I- Oh- You good for noth-ARGHHHH!!! *pulls off his arm throwing it across the room and dropping to the floor by his desk* wh-why can’t anything ever go right for me?…

Urag: *enters hearing his son on the verge of a meltdown* Pup?… *spots him on the floor and his arm now broken in two pieces across the room* oh Wyrm… it’s okay we can fix it. *picks it up*

Wyrm: n-no I can’t! I can’t because I don’t have the right parts! I’m sick of always having to fix it! *starts crying and pulling on his hair in frustration* I’m sick of having to always make do! I’m sick of Enthir charging me so much for junk! And I’m sick of that stupid thalmor a-asshole pestering m- *hiccups*

Urag: and here come the hiccups. *sighs setting the arm down on the desk and helping the small elf to his feet, pulling him into a warm hug* Deep breaths now son. Let’s calm down now before we continue talking, okay? *gently guides him to sit on the bed before sitting beside him, pulling the screwdriver from his sons hair and fixing the arm back together for him before putting it back onto the younger mer*

Wyrm: *sniffles and hiccups trying to calm down but now both tired and unusually frustrated compared to his normally soft and bubbly nature* I’m tired of always feeling like I’m without something… if it’s not parts for my arm it’s parts for other projects, or it’s context from this- *pulls his book out from beneath his pillow* stupid thing! *throws it to the floor* Every time I think I’ve figured it out I turn it this way and that and the notes change again!! And then I feel like I’m back to where I started… I can’t even bend a gear back into place never find the ones I seem to be missing…

Urag: *sighs feeling like he’s let his son down in some way* I don’t pretend to know what’s going on through your remarkable mind, Wyrm… *grunts getting up and shuffling to the book, picking it up with gentle care, always amazed at how resilient it seems to be, just like his son* Or how your mind works in general… *opens it up to see hundreds of scribings, some pages even moving if he looks at them long enough* But I’m not a mind reader either pup… *frowns sadly as he closes the book* I didn’t know you were this upset… *sighs* I know you’re a grown mer, and you can make your own decisions in life now… I’ve no right to keep you here if you don’t want to be here… but it hurts me knowing of all the dangers outside these walls. I know you want to get the parts you need yourself… but if you can’t even bend a gear, what hope do you have of fighting off a dwemer construct?…

Wyrm: *sniffles and looks down drying his eyes as his hand regains movement* I know papa…

Urag: *sits beside him again and hands him the book again* so until I can be sure you’re ready to go out on your own into the world… just tell me exactly what you need okay?… and I’ll do better to find it for you… *sighs looking over at the desk and all the things he’d made with just scrap* It was wrong of me to assume that anything would just do. I never understood any of your schematics or constructs, I didn’t put much thought into it beyond that… but now I see I’ve effected you beyond just inconveniencing a hobby. *gently interlocks his fingers with his mechanical ones as they click and shift* I’ve effected your quality of life too without even realising it…

Wyrm: *looks down at his fathers old hand in his mechanical one* you haven’t papa… *shakes his head sadly*

Urag: *pulls him into a hug being mindful not to jab him in the forehead with his tusks as he rests his head against his* I have son… Write me a list of what you need to make a new arm okay?… We’ll make it together.

Wyrm: … *sniffles and hugs onto him hiding his face into his robes crying again* thank you papa…

———

“You’re right to think you’re only at the beginning still… your story has yet to even start…”

Wyrm: that… voice again…

“Over here… follow the beating of the drum…”

Wyrm: *blinks open his eyes as if to look in the direction of the voice, only to see the dimly lit interior of his bedroom staring back at him, the sun not yet risen, the world seemingly still beyond the ever lasting blizzard beyond the walls of the collage* … *sighs and slides out of bed deciding some light reading might help*

*shuffle*

Wyrm: *ears pricking up hearing someone in the Arcanum, knowing his fathers routine well enough to know it’s not him* … *quietly slides on his slippers and pulls on some simple mage robes before popping his Pearl eye back in and grabbing a decorative dwemer strut for a weapon as he peers out into the arcanum… only to see the pretty gauntlets Enthir had showed him, now sitting on the counter* … *sets the strut down and slowly walks over, eyes fixated on them, a part of himself reaching for them, needing them* … *looks around curiously one more time before placing his hands on them*

Ancano: *suddenly appears right In front of him, dropping invisibility as he grabs the dunmers hand frightening the life out of him* Got you! *covers Wyrms mouth with his other hand silencing his scream* We. Are going to have a little talk.

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Found Family is Sometimes Half Dead Royalty

by Boris404 Found family found in an alley. Danny just wants to be human again and live a little Billy just wants some food and a place to sleep that isn't a subway tunnel Two powerful beings learning and relearning connections and how to talk about their feelings Constantine just wants to know why the hell the Ghost King is here Words: 262, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Series: Part 1 of Found Royal Family Fandoms: Shazam! | Captain Marvel (Comics), Danny Phantom, Justice League - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Danny Fenton, Billy Batson, Bruce Wayne, Barry Allen, Diana (Wonder Woman), Arthur Curry (DCU), Hal Jordan (Green Lantern), John Constantine, Zatanna Zatara, Danielle "Dani" Phantom, Vlad Masters, Cujo (Danny Phantom), Clockwork (Danny Phantom), Batfamily Members (DCU) Relationships: Billy Batson & Justice League, Billy Batson & Danny Fenton, Danny Fenton & Justice League (DCU), Danny Fenton & Justice League Dark Members, Clockwork & Danny Fenton, Danny Fenton & Danielle "Dani" Phantom Additional Tags: Female Danny Fenton, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Misunderstandings, Found Family, Space Core Danny, Ghost King Danny, Dead Fentons, Fenton's B+ Parenting (past tense), Crack, eldritch Danny, Feral Billy Batson, Relearning how to human, immortal danny, Aged-Up Character(s), Danny is the one aged-up, Clockwork is a Little Shit, Feral Dani, Sorta OP Danny, Vlad Masters Redemption, he's working on it, Mother-Son Relationship, Adopted, Royalty, infinite realms, Billy bites, Danny doesn't see what wrong, everyone else does, Tired Danny Fenton, Retired Danny Fenton, Healing, Both Billy and Danny have problems, Parent issues really hitting hard right now, first fic idk what im doing, No beta we die like Danny in the portal, Genderbending via https://ift.tt/TEVBclk

[mimithings97]

The Jeons: Chapter 1

Summary: Meet Lyle. Lyle once liked to watch the sunset over the Seine, but now his prized possessions are his peloton bike and the cryptic crossword in his local paper.

Anne is his wife. Anne wants the best for her children, but the constant lying is putting a strain on the family dynamic. And nothing makes Anne's skin crawl like bad blood.

Noah is the youngest. Noah likes to think he's simple but he's by far the most complex. The main character syndrome really pop's off with him (albeit subconsciously), and Noah's starting to wonder why Ruby Day smells so nice.

Y/N just wants a break. Her family are dysfunctional and her hometown is starting to resemble the Simpson's Movie, but Y/N can't work out what's keeping her here. The house next door that oozes sex and bad influence has got her name on it though.

Warnings: So far none, unless you've never watched The Godfather. Then: Deceased animal corpses, mutilation, rare steaks, mentions of drug use and inherently British plot points. This will later include: sex, graphic and gory descriptions, drug use and even more goodness (unknown).

Members: Jungkook/Reader, as well as other family dynamics

Word count: 7k

P.S. Hi. Me again. This kind of functions as a prologue, but if I write that on the heading then no one would ever read this. It's less of a work of fan-fiction and more just a scribble of abstaining vampires, bad family dynamics and a deeply confused, but horny, reader. I won't promise anymore chapters as to not disappoint and this is different from anything I've written before, but enjoy all the same. Love, Mimi x

Part 1 - Lyle and the baby spork

Lyle hated summer. No. Specifically Lyle hated the sun. Heat and humidity were two factors he was well equipped to deal with and, frankly, he swore that excessively sweating through his peloton sessions was making him lose more weight than in the winter. He’d never minded the heat when he and Anne had lived in Barcelona and he didn’t mind it now as the heatwave struck its seventh day and the local newspaper displayed in bold headline lettering that the ‘HOSEPIPE BAN FOR THE EAST’ was in full swing. The heat, whilst sometimes bothersome, was not Lyle’s issue. 

“Mum, it’s not that bad”

“I’m not saying it’s bad, honey, but if you want any help with anything then me and dad are here.” 

“I’m not a charity case, mum, I’m just shit at maths.”

“But you’ve got to pass somehow, Noah. I mean-” she huffs, “Lyle, any help here.”

Lyle squints up from his bowl of cinnamon baked oats (with extra protein powder) and strains against his sun-induced headache. Both Anne and Noah look at him for answers, as though negotiating these types of discussions has ever been his strong point. 

“Just listen to your mum, Noah.” Is what he settles for. Both his wife and son sigh, and his copped out answer has done little to stop their bickering as Noah heads for the front of the house. Lyle looks back at his baked oats, contemplating the grainy, dry mouthful that he’s got balancing on his baby spork. Well, that’s what happens when you forget your adult chores like putting the dishwasher on, you only get left with the kiddy stuff. His own daughter had said that to him. The sun had only just gotten over the horizon then. Everything was much easier to deal with unlike now. 

Lyle checks his watch. 8:35am. 

“Y/N!” Anna shouts from the front door. 

Like clockwork, his daughter comes down the stairs, his son mutters something about her having bad breath and not brushing her teeth, and the front door shuts for the 18th successive time without a goodbye from his wife. 

Part 2 - Anna and the Godfather Part I

Anna knew nothing about horses. Sure, she’d dabbled in the old Grand Nation gambling from year to year, but she wouldn’t be able to tell you a stallion from a… stallionette? What she does know, however, is that this one is a dead horse. Or was, at least, since the only remnant to be left on Jerry McCallum’s field is his horse's head. It sits limply amongst the yellow toned grass, (not the kind for grazing) and, for some reason, Anna thinks about the fact this poor horse might not have got a good last meal considering the drought. 

“And when did you say you found it?” 

“J-Just this morning, maybe around, I don’t know, nine-thirty.” Poor Jerry is stumbling through his words, still a little tear stricken, and you try to sooth him with a sympathetic look, but you doubt he can see much past his shock right now. 

A fucking horse head. 

Last night had been hot again, and equally, today was a scorcher. The blood in the surrounding grass is mostly dry but the head looks fresh enough that this wasn’t yesterday’s work. 

Anna feels a slight spark of concern in her stomach. Clad head to toe in black, she wonders if it’s the heat that is making her anxious. Lyle used to tell her she looked hot when she was sweaty - all red cheeked like you’re freshly fucked. She’s hot but certainly not red cheeked considering the circumstances. And certainly not freshly fucked she thinks, as well.

“Listen, Jerry, we’re taking this very seriously. I’ve got another couple officers on the way just to come and ask a few more routine questions, but what I’m gonna need from you is to give us a bit of space to do our job. This is a crime scene, so we’re gonna have to work on it a bit.” Edmunds asks if that’s okay with him and Jerry just nods. 

Anna briefly wonders if she should call Lyle. Half a horse corpse is something a little extraordinary, and not quite routine procedure all things considered. Because who the hell would want horse meat. Anna accidentally laughs aloud when she mentally answers Asda.

Part 3 - Noah and an extraordinary back-of-head

With maths out of the way already, Noah felt like there was a little extra wiggle room to play dead today. Chemistry hadn't put a dent in proceedings and PE wasn’t going to be an issue considering his overused medical note. 

The only thing that breathes a little extra life into Noah today is the sandwich in front of him. Leftover BBQ pork and coleslaw. His mum might nag but she’s got the whole packed lunch thing down to a science. 

It’s somewhat peaceful in his little corner. Most of the students are out basking in the sun. The year 10s and 11s are having a football tournament at the back of the field. It’s already seen two players grate their knees on the dusty terrain - grass turned to concrete considering the lack of rainfall. There’s some girls having a water fight by the big chestnut tree. And behind him, Noah can hear the drama kids dramatically arguing through their rehearsal. He thinks they’re dumb considering they literally have 6 allocated hours a week to rehearse but chose to live night and day by their scripts instead. 

Maybe he should take up a hobby, Noah briefly wonders. But as the saying goes, you should never wonder about personal hobbies when Ruby Day walks across your path and lets you watch the back of her head fade across the field. And once again, Noah has it reconfirmed that it’s the most extraordinary back-of-a-head he gets to look at. 

Noah is well versed in the back of Ruby Day’s head. Unlike maths, he is interested enough to study it well since she lets him sit behind her in both Geography and History. Sometimes it changes. Sometimes Ruby likes to tie her hair back with a scrunchie (she tends to rotate between three different coloured velvet ones, but red is her favorite), often she’ll wear it down her back, showing off its natural wave. But his favorite, and the piece de resistance of all Ruby Day hairstyles, is her Tortoiseshell Clip. Admittedly it’s all hidden away when it’s up, but that’s not what Noah is getting at. No, on Ruby’s Clip days, Noah has the perfect view of it… the swish, the raking of her hands through her scalp, the way her nails split apart certain strands and the way she delicately twists her hair before carefully and finally, fixing it in The Clip. Now don’t get it wrong, Noah is aware he is a 16 year old who loves porn just as much as the next adolescent boy, but never, ever, would he chose surfing the web for a 55 minute video of milf spreads her legs for stepson over those sweet 10 seconds he gets of Ruby Day’s back-of-head.

Touch grass, pervert, Noah thinks. And once again, the most interesting thing going on in Noah’s life is a meat sandwich. 

Part 4 - You and unsolicited pics

Mr Scotts a pedo

It’s engraved into the plastic of the desk. Never to be wiped off or erased, and certainly not to be replaced considering this school couldn't even budget working hand dryers into their finances. Instead, the legacy of Mr Scott lives on. Beyond this simple table vandalism as well, because Mr Scott was, in fact, a pedophile. Poor Jessica Harris. 

You find the etched words between your textbook and laptop, and far more eye-catching than working conditions in 19th century Siberia, however you do contend that a little ice cold tundra wind wouldn’t go amiss right now. 

“So, did Jack come over last night in the end?”

“Ha.” You laugh, “Wouldn’t touch him with a ten foot pole.” 

Pip looks at you with an eyebrow raised. 

“But you said-”

“Yehh, I know what I said.” You pause, “A momentary lapse in judgment it seems.”

“I mean you’ve already touched him so it-”

“Pip, trust me, the reminder is enough of a deterrent.” Jack is tall, facially average, and has the vocabulary of a thirteen year old Call of Duty player. He severely over uses Lynx Africa and the only reason you know this is you were unfortunate (but stupid) enough to wind up having his hand up your top on Abby Crofts trampoline. “He’s not gonna have the privilege again because I shall never speak nor see him.”

“Pff,” Pip scoffs into the chewed end of her pen, “good luck with that. Matt’s party’s on Friday and you get super horny when you drink.” 

“Hence messaging him yesterday.” You close your book, frustrated with the Russian exile system but more frustrated with your past self. Your past self was a hideous, treacherous version of who you are today and you’re adamant her only function is sabotage. 

Yesterday was a Sunday. And for whatever reason Sunday seemed to be the only day in which harmony and familial attachment showed its face within your household. Dinner is served as a collective, red wine gets drunk by the bottle, a board game or two get played, and you’re sure it’s the only day of the week your parents have sex. Gross. It’s a trivial little tradition, but without it you’re sure your family's tether would’ve snapped by now and you’d be one of those kids who participated in two christmas’ instead of one. Yesterday, then, was one of those days. And lucky Jack Springer got to be on the receiving end of a slightly misspelled drunken sext. 

You shuld come ober some time. 

You’d asked Pip if she thought it was a good idea before sending it, to which she’d said no, but alas, your past self was a saboteur.

“He just sent me a picture of his dick in reply anyways, so I’ve seen enough of him. Promise.”

“Jesus, he’s shameless.”

From above your eyeline you spot three figures halfway into the doorframe. Mrs Treby leads the charge and you almost forgot how pregnant she is. Her blouse swallows her whole and it’s a hideous enough shade of yellow that your eyes shift to the other two. An older lady and her son, presumably.

“Oh, that’s the guy I was talking about that’s starting here. Abby said he’s moved in on your road, and was gonna ask you about him.” 

You don’t recognise his face but he feels familiar. The lighting where he stands is a little botched but you can make out his features well enough. He’s Asian, you notice initially, which is rather striking considering your town demographic was whiter than bad cocaine (that shit gets riddled with talcum powder). And he’s confident. You think it’s in his stanced but then, his sight draws on yours, and you know it’s in his eyes. It’s a little annoying. It makes your eyes water. And for the first time in this class, your Russian history textbook gets all your attention. 

“Meh, he seems normal.”

Part 5 - You, smoke spots and corner shops

Rayleigh doesn’t have much to offer considering it’s largely shadowed by Southend-on-sea. There’s the occasional tasteful BnB for couples who want to reinvigorate their relationships with a staycation, and the pubs are pretty decent too, but mostly it’s a filler town. Those ones that you’ll never have heard of but everyone seems to call quaint. (Ray-leigh. You always thought it sounded like that baby from Twilight). The bus home, then, isn’t much for window leaning. Noah takes that role and remains awfully quiet, clad in his uniform and face still oily because of the sunscreen mum was adamant on plastering him with. My foundation has spf30 in it, mum. Luckily you get to remain oil free. 

The kids who walk home from school are all gathered by The Cornershop. It’s slightly biblical how every student from Rayleigh High flocks to this central spot - and it’s not even central - some beacon of sugary goods and post lesson sausage rolls. You went on the crusade to The Cornershop once, on a day with a little drizzle and wanting to prove yourself ‘like one of the other girls’ to your new ‘boyfriend’ Callum. One packet of jaffa cakes later and you’d decided that everyone's afternoon ritual wasn’t worth the hype and neither was Callum. 

I don’t think we should be together anymore. We’ll NEVER work. 

Poor Callum. He never stood a chance.

Once the bus takes the left hand folk away from the entrance to the A20, everything becomes a bit more serene. Bricks turn to branches and cackling school children turn to gaggling geese from the roadside river. If you head under a bridge further up, there’s an almost untouched spot where the river is merely knees deep, perfectly still and harbors some of the most relaxed smoking air you’ve found. 

The trees around here were the home to your old dog walking route (and also poor Doolie’s resting place), your homemade rope swing, the old children’s park that got closed down after an unsolved murder and then your house. 

Your life. Encapsulated into one single bus journey. You tend not to dwell in the dullness of that statement but find joy in that everything you treasure can be met with just a single bus ticket. Apart from Pip’s house - she lives in Southend. 

“Do you think mum’s cheating on dad?” Noah’s head is fixed to the window but the glass steams with his speech. 

“What the fuck, Noah. I- no, of course not.” But for a brief second you contemplated it. And you have over the recent month or so. The sliver of doubt that, because children ultimately know nothing about their parents, all sorts could go on in a marriage. 

“I don’t know.” He goes silent for a minute. Then continues, “I just think, he doesn’t look at her a certain way. She still seems happy, but not with him, never really in his company.” 

“So what if he’s cheated on mum instead?” You hypothesize.

“No. Not that. He wouldn’t do that.”

You scoff. Every man cheats, it's just a case of if he gets caught. Pip’s mum had said that. But you think Noah’s right - that doesn’t seem like something your dad would have the willpower to do.

“I just wonder if he’s driven mum to look elsewhere. You know. He’s always home but never really there and a woman- or a wife, I guess, will want more than that. She deserves to be dotted over and pampered and made special-.”

“Woah woah woah, Romeo, starting to sound like an excerpt from Shakespeare in Love there.”

He blushes a little, and tilts his head down, “I don’t know.”

You look at him for a minute. And you can tell he’s nervously cowering away from your glare. “You got a girlfriend or something I don’t know about.”

“Shh- shut i-”

“Skids’ got a girlfriend! Fuck off.” You look to your right to find four boys all facing each other, two clambered on the chairs to face backwards and the other two looking over towards you. All four, skinny. All four, around Noah’s age. “No girl would touch him.”

“Nor would a guy.”

“He’s probably a gayboy anyway.” They all laugh at the ginger one with freckles. Scrawny. You could snap him in two. 

“What did you just say about my brother?” It’s the ginger twig you ask. He doesn’t seem too fazed but isn’t inclined to make any more comments.

“Y/N, please don’t!” Noah whispers, and you turn to find his gaze a pleading one. He’s stricken with embarrassment, enough so he’s trembling a little and you find it hurts your stomach. A deep gut pain.

“That’s bullying, Noah.” You don’t whisper it, but you also don’t entertain the continued jeering behind you. He’s gonna cry. Ha, we’re bullies apparently. “How can y-”

“Please just stop.” 

“No, I-”

“Y/N, please,” he bargains. He then turns away after one last slightly tearful look. His shoulders rise and fall with a single gulf of air, and then he’s turning, reaching across you, and pressing the STOP button on the bus. 

Ding.

Part 6 - Noah and the case of the skidmark

Noah isn’t one to live in the past or contemplate past events. He began theorizing years ago that people who live to regret past mistakes can become withdrawn, unforgiving of themselves and others, and ultimately become a little ghostly. Noah tends to live by life in its most simple form - what he can see, hear, smell, feel and taste. He finds joy in the multitude of tree types around his house, listening to Solomon Burke sing Cry to Me on a vintage record player, the smell of roast beef, how Ruby Day’s hair feels in his dreams and the taste of lemon sherbets. Noah tries to live in the physical, not the emotional. He feels like a zombie sometimes because of it, but at least he doesn’t end up crying about people and society like his mum and sister do. 

Noah is simple like that. But right now, what he’s feeling is entirely too complex. Noah is recollecting. 

“Oh my god, Noah left a skidder!” 

Noah had always hated swimming lessons. His arms weren’t long enough to do him any good and the salty water irritated his skin no end. All the boys got really over excited about seeing the girls in their swimming costumes but Noah just worried that people got to see him in his. 

It was after Tuesday's swim session that Noah truly understood his hatred for swimming lessons. 

“Ewwww.”

“That’s so gross.”

“Bet he doesn’t wipe his bum.”

Noah was still in the showers when this took place. Everyone always dashed to use the hot water before it ran out, and all the boys wanted to be the first ones at the back of the bus also. So Noah was last again. 

When he got into the changing rooms, all the boys looked at him. Some laughed, some ran away, one clogged their nose and wretched at the sight of him. Noah had always been invisible. Sometimes he wished people would take notice of him, maybe chat and laugh with him once in a while, but then, Noah was sure invisibility was the best superpower. 

“Go wipe the toilet, skidder.” Sebastian had said. In the middle of the changing rooms was a single cubicle. There was no urinal, but a small box with a bowl and a flush in the middle. It had rust around the edges and no lock on the door, and once Noah was pushed through the frame of the cubicle, there, trailing down the white porcelain, was a brown skidmark. 

He hadn’t done it of course. Noah was too nervous to go into cubicle toilets apart from at home anyways. But the boys behind him, chanting his new nickname, had made him feel five shades of guilty. He went to wipe it away. 

“Not with that, skidder. Use these considering you probably poo in them anyway.” Sebastian was a sadistic child.

And with his gresh, folded underwear, Noah knelt down and wiped the toilet clean. 

He’d be lying if he said that moment didn’t nauseate him. That it was about the only story he couldn’t stomach and wished was completely erased from his memory. Unfortunately that day had meant Noah’s invisibility cloak was torn from him and the next 7 years were nothing but a torturous cycle of nicknames and one-way verbal encounters. 

Deep in the forest behind his house, though, Noah felt a little more protected. His breathing had just about evened out after running from the bus stop to here. His trainers had scuffed from the protruding tree roots and he’d dragged his backpack along the ground most of the way, But now Noah was unwatched, admiring the greenery and he could faintly hear the river trickling a couple hundred meters away. 

On his 7th birthday, his dad brought him out here. About a five minutes walk away from the gate at the back of their garden, right on the edge of the riverbank was a blue and yellow bench, perched upon a shaded, muddy surface and right next to a rope. Attached to the rope was a metal bar. For the next two years, Noah didn’t mind being the center of attention whenever he’d grip the metal with two hands, pull himself three or four steps backwards and hear his family cheer when he went soaring through the air before the splash. 

The bench is a little sad now, but he sits on it anyways. There’s a spot on the edge which is speckled with paint and it's where his fingers pick at now, chipping away at the brownish material which was once a canary yellow. 

It wasn’t that Noah grew out of his rope swing. That was part of it. But mostly the rope swing turned over in possession to the walkers, families and school children who ‘discovered’ it once the riverbank path was forged. From his house, Noah would be able to hear squealing and music when teenagers threw parties there. Or he’d look from his window and see children with wet hair, towels and big smiles on their way up to the road, parents in tow. But now, the path lies derelict and the rope swing out of commission. Following the unsolved murder of a student years back, no one seems to come this way anymore.

It’s just for Noah now. 

Beyond the river and in the overgrown field, he spots a figure. People don’t frequent this area, so Noah briefly wonders if it’s a scarecrow he’s never noticed or perhaps a large animal. As it moves towards a spot several hundred yards down the river though, Noah makes the figure out. A man, shirtless and hunched, carries a deer on his back. The animal must be a female, because it’s not too large and there’s no antlers that Noah can see but he wonders how heavy that dead weight must be. The man, now wading through the river, makes it out like lightwork. He throws the deer up the bank on the other side before hoisting himself out and picking the corpse back up in a bridal hold. Before entering the treeline, the man turns, faces Noah and nods his head. 

Whilst Noah shivers at a sudden brisk wind, he can’t help but think about one thing he observed just then. 

Where was the man's gun. 

Part 7 - Anne and Anne’s one, underwire bra

In between, the Yellow Tail Shiraz and Sainsbury’s Taste the Difference merlot is a gap. It’s one bottle wide and about eight bottles deep. Anne sighs. The day has been particularly long (it is the summer solstice) and particularly draining. A little pick me up would’ve done her nicely, but it turns out, for whatever reason, the drought is making people panic buy red wine of all things - and Georges Duboeuf Fleurie always gets terrible reviews for its floral aroma anyways.

Anne looks down at her basket. It’s awfully empty now that the designated section for her bottle is barren. She heads for the fruit and veg aisle, deciding that grilled peppers will go nicely with the steaks and potatoes. She picks them up quickly and leaves quicker once she gets a waft of the garlic further up the aisle - vile stuff. 

On her journey to the self checkout, Anne detours through the own-brand clothing, looking for a white blouse mostly, but never impartial to something more colorful - most things match her pale complexion and dark hair anyways. She notices a particularly nice underwear set, however. It steals her attention away from the workwear. The bra is baby blue, with a navy lace trim and scalloped underwiring. Anne looks down at her chest and then back up at the bra. Her breast would look nice sitting in those cups, dare she say attractive. She runs the thong through her fingers and it’s a little coarse, pretty impractical for underneath her trousers. Anne laughs at herself and retracts her hand. If she ever wore something like that again, it wouldn’t be for going under trousers. All she budgets for now are high waisted, Bridget-Jones knickers and sports bras. Anne decides she’s going to throw out that one underwire bra she still has in her bottom drawer and heads for the checkout. 

At home it’s peaceful. Anne checked on Y/N once she’d set the shopping away, to find her on the phone to Philippa, nattering about some kind of trampoline incident. The office door was closed, too, when she looked, and Anne had released a breath of relief at realizing she could go another few hours without making marital small talk with Lyle. 

She focuses on peeling potatoes now. Good. That’s easy enough. Mundane, routine tasks were all Anne planned around these days. It kept balance in her life and lessened her anxiety about things that were out of her control. She goes to unpacking the steaks, peeling back the vacuumed plastic before placing four sirloins onto a chopping board. She licks the residue off her fingers and looks down at each piece. They make her think about the horse head. Earlier she’d mostly worked logistics between the on scene officers and the crime team that came in from Grays Central Station, but in the back of Anne’s mind was the head itself. The vertebrae were snapped in two and muscle and ligaments were torn apart. A pure act of force. She looks at the steaks a final time before heading upstairs. 

In the home office, Anne’s husband is standing above several sheets of paper strewn haphazardly across the carpet. He peers above his glasses when she closes the door behind her. 

“Oh, you’re home.” He says with monotony. 

“Got home about an hour ago.” 

Lyle looks at his watch as though it’ll save him from looking like a bad husband who forgot his wife’s finishing time. He grimicases when faced with 6:48pm.

“Christ, sorry. Day ran away from me.” Anne can see through his damage control. Part of her wants to berate how he’s using his office as a place to distance himself as much as he can from the family, but she knows now is not the right time. She knows there’ll probably never be a right time.

She settles for a sigh. “I need to talk to you.” 

Lyle pushes his glasses further up his nose. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

“Okay.” Does he think I’m going to ask for a divorse? An intrusive thought she has often. 

“At work today, we got a call in from Jerry McCallum. The guy who owns the stable’s up near Breach Farm.” 

Lyle nods in understanding.

“He found one of his horse's heads this morning. No body, just the head.”

“And what was the wound like?” His tone lilts between concern and indifference.

“More of a tear than anything, but it was forceful.”

Lyle squints and puts his hands in his pockets. “It’s probably nothing, Anne.” 

“It’s looking awfully not like nothing. The body has completely vanished. And who leaves the head behind anyways, it could be a sign or warning of some sort, Lyle,” he huffs, “Lyle, this could be serious.”

“I’m not saying don’t worry about it, I just think we keep our nose out of this.”

Anne’s frustrated now. “And how do I do that, huh? I have to stick my nose directly into this kind of thing - it’s my fucking job.”

“Language.”

She’s angry now. “Oh, jesus.” In an attempt to get some grip on the conversation, Anne pauses. “Lyle, it could be a body next. A person. And I’m not equipped to deal with that. I’ll have to call the VPU.”

“No. No VPU.”

“What d-”

“Listen, I’ll call Owen and see what’s been happening in the area. We look into this quietly before making any assumptions.” 

“And the kids?” Anne asks.

“What about the kids?”

“Do we tell them that it could be dangerous out at the moment. No going out after dark?”

Lyle contemplates for a second. “No. Like I said, just let me talk to Owen. You know what happens when Y/N hears this kind of stuff, she goes all… journalist and stuff.” 

“We’ll be lying, Lyle. Again.”

“No.” For the first time Anne’s husband looks her truely  in the eye. “We’re just not telling them the truth.”

Again.

Part 8 - Lyle and 1980s Paris

In 1982, Lyle traveled to Paris for the first time ever. One of his old university mates had his flat up for a short term lease and Lyle was in between jobs - so, it made sense. What Lyle learnt in Paris is that English people are ignorant. Well, one of the many things, but that was the first. Whilst everyone around him spoke perfect conversational English, Lyle could not speak French, and many, if not all, could use this against him. 

So Lyle was ignorant. Well, moreso oblivious, when the French girl across from him at Otto’s dinner party - the same girl he’d been fawning over and cursing he couldn’t speak to - was actually English. She held her wine glass with a sturdy hand and she had a cropped haircut that showed off her sultry blue brown eyes. She handled herself like a Frenchwoman, he thought. Whatever that meant. And whilst he’d been throwing around his cockney accent and inappropriate jokes, Lyle was oblivious that the woman across from him was completely in the loop.

He’d had sex with her that night after he drank enough wine to have the courage to say the three french words he spoke to her. She laughed and told him all about her upbringing in Carlisle and how she was in Paris studying art history. They bonded over that. Art history and both art and history separately. They talked, he’d blush and they’d kissed and she’d make him blush again. She was rather crude actually. 

He spent every day with her for the next 6 weeks before his new job in London. They drank, partied and had sex. Lyle introduced her to his way of life, and at the end of their time together, he knew she was coming to London with him. 

Lyle tried not to think about those days. They were self indulgent and dangerous. He looked across the dinner table at her now, and then looked down at his steak. And he tried not to think about how the steak made him far more happy than she did these days. 

“The family next door is all moved in now. I heard the boy’s your age, Y/N.” 

Silence.

“Noah’s getting bullied.”

“You bitch, you swore you wouldn’t tell.”

“Don’t call your sister a bitch, you know I hate that word.”

Lyle often finds his life passing like this. He’ll let his mind travel to different moments in his past life, often the most defining ones before someone around him starts speaking. They’ll remind him that this isn’t the past, he’s here, now - married, with children, working a 9 to 5 and it tends to make him feel hollow from the inside out. Even this medium rare steak can’t fill that void within. 

Noah’s getting bullied.

Statements like this don’t alarm Lyle. They should. Of course they should. He’s a father well aware of his families increasing dysfunctionality but it’s like he’s living without air and everyone’s asking him to just take a fucking breath and keep on walking. It feels hard. Draining. He often wonders if every father feels this way - completely helpless to their surroundings and as though they can do no right - but then Lyle tries to remind himself he’s no ordinary father. 

“Mum, that little ginger rat from Noah’s class was saying vulgar things, and it was clearly bullying.”

“Why don’t you liste-”

“Noah.” Anne levels. As she always does. Is this the same show I watched yesterday? That’s what Lyle thinks. That maybe his life is some pre-recorded video of a boring, argumentative family that he gets sat down to watch every breakfast and dinner. “Honey, you don’t have to be embarrassed if something’s happened, but me and your dad need to know if anyone’s giving you trouble.”

“Mummmm.” Noah groans. 

“Lyle.” Anne prompts. And once again Lyle’s cast front and center in his regularly scheduled programme.

“Yeh, mate, we’re here for you. We know it’s a hard time so don’t hesitate to talk to us.” Lyle thinks he’s genuine. 

He notices Noah cover his eyes and play with the potato on his fork. 

The next five minutes go a little like this. Anne asks if the steak is too dry, Y/N says it’s perfect. Noah hasn’t touched that potato on his fork and Lyle can’t seem to understand why his eyes have been on the front door for the last 130 seconds. He’s counted. As though waiting for something to happen. It’s dark out. The automated porch light has stayed off, but Lyle’s sure the bulb blew a couple of weeks ago anyway. For the first time in weeks, there’s a little bit of a gust outside that whistles in through the living room fireplace. Lyle doesn’t like the blood red colour of the inside of his front door anymore. Because he can’t stop looking at it. 

“I saw some man carrying a great big dead deer earlier.”

Lyle faces his son, but the door screams in his ear from afar. Look at me.

“What the hell, that’s so gross, who still hunts and eats deer.” Y/N says, outraged.

Anne is looking at Lyle. He can feel it out of the corner of his eye, but the door is blood red and screaming. 

“No, he didn’t hunt it for food I don’t think. It looked like he kind of did it for fun.”

“Noah, now I’m sure…” Anne is sputtering out some excuses. She has done for several years now as crazy events have slowly become coincidences, have become regularities. Lyle thinks back to the conversation he and his wife had earlier, then looks at the blood red front door. He needs to call Owen. 

Taste me.

“Where did you see this, Noah?” Lyle’s voice speaks for him. Because as he looks out to the blood red front door he now sees several figures between the tinted glass. They bleed into the darkness around them as Noah answers:

Just behind the house.

Lyle has the sudden urge to itch his insides. To pull his brain out with a pair of tweezers. Anne is fidgeting with his sleeve, but Lyle is waiting. From beyond the blood red door, someone’s screaming. 

And then the doorbell goes. 

Anne rises to answer, Noah forgets about his potato and Y/N mutters about Tories and deer hunting. Lyle figure’s out in the ten seconds between the sound of his doorbell and Anne turning the latch that the screaming is inside his head. It’s his voice. Take me. 

From beyond the blood red door, three people stand. 

They’re all in danger but Lyle can’t seem to move. 

“Oh, hello. You must be the new neighbors, I’m Anne.”

She used to call herself Annabelle in those six weeks before they moved to London. She was pink cheeked with blood and mortality coursing through her. Lyle thinks Anne has grown more and more naive through the decades because when the three figures speak, Anne says yes. 

They had said. 

“Hello, Anne. We’re the Jeon’s, may we come inside?”

And everyone knows, vampires never come in without an invite. 

[tropes-and-tales-archives]

Ace in the Hole, Chapter Three

Word Count:  3282

TW:  Minor injury (burn); talk of transactional sex; the faintest beginning of oral, m!receiving.  18+ only to be safe.

AN:  Part of an unfinished series.  The series masterlist here.

Weeks passed.  

The night of his little backroom dealings yielded considerable business, and Nevada found himself busier than he’d been in years.  He hired extra men to run his seedier errands, went to meetings, set up side gigs that helped him expand his network and territory.  He had no time for anything else:  his meals were hurried affairs, he only caught a few hours of sleep a night, and when he needed relief, Valerie was on hand to take care of that.  She was another thing that night yielded – a steady hookup who came when he called.

Busy as he was, he almost forgot about you and your shitty little restaurant.  A more magnanimous man might cut you lose.  Forgive the debt and tell you to go in peace.  Nevada Ramirez, however, rarely let anything go.  Like a toddler with a pile of toys, he wasn’t willing to part with a single one, even if he wasn’t playing with it at the moment.

Like clockwork, once a week, he came up with some boring fucking thing for you to do.  He still got a kick out of your polite little act, how you said “please” and “have a good day” and “thank you” when you dropped off his cigars or his dinner.  

He was so busy, he wasn’t even bothered when his man that he planted in your restaurant, Javier, informed him that your good-for-nothing, piece-of-shit brother had finally turned up.

*****

Sean turned up exactly like he always did, just like a stray cat.  He was skinny and stinking, with a fading bruise on his cheekbone.  Eva ushered him through the dining room, away from the paying patrons, and she presented him to you like the world’s worst gift.

“Hey,” he said.  

That’s all he fucking said.  “Hey.”  No apology for disappearing, no apology for gambling away your family’s legacy.  Well, Sean never apologized for anything.  But he didn’t offer an explanation either.

If he never apologized, you never demanded one.  You had been slotted into certain roles as children – you, as the daughter, destined to always fix things without any thanks, just like your mother.  Sean, as the son, destined to always fuck things up without any consequences, just like your father.  

So you fed your brother.  You slid a bowl of stew across the counter to him, told Eva to go get him a Harp.  Crossed your arms and watched him shovel the food down his throat.

He disgusted you, if you were being honest, and that feeling of revulsion always spurred you to the confessional.  You were only a nominal Catholic, and you let a lot of sins stay between just you and god without any intervention from a priest, but the simmering hatred you had for your brother felt unnatural.  He was family.  He was practically the only family you had left, now that your dad was sick and had one foot in the grave already.  

You had promised your mother that you’d look after your brother.  You tried to never break a promise.

When he was done eating, he shoved the bowl away from him and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.  Then he had the unmitigated gall to ask for money.

Maybe you were a bad person after all.  “No,” you replied, terse.  He scowled at you and said he was going to go see your dad, and then he wanted to discuss the restaurant later.  You only nodded, and you wondered if you should call your new, third partner to join the upcoming business meeting.

*****

Nevada was already in a terrible fucking mood.

First, he and Valerie had fought.  It was a knock-down, drag-out fight, completely out of nowhere.  Nevada had thoughtthey were just having fun and fucking around, but Valerie’s casual attitude dissipated overnight.  Suddenly she turned into a hellcat – demanding to know where he was at all hours.  Demanding more of his time.  More than that, she demanded his money:  she pouted when he didn’t bring her a gift, she pouted when he couldn’t get her into the hottest Manhattan club.  Like he gave two shits about the lower half of the island.  The last thing he wanted was to pay a cover charge just to stand shoulder to shoulder with a bunch of pretentious fucking blanquitos.

As for his time, Nevada had none to spare for Valerie.  He was swamped with work.  He had a million irons in the fire, and they all required his attention.

He had just finished a meeting in Harlem with some of his distributors.  Nevada had traded in his Escalade for the meeting, preferring to take his custom Masarati.  His distributors were unabashed gearheads, and meetings went smoother when he could ease into business talk after car talk.  

The problem was that his custom Masarati was a piece of shit.  Flashy, sleek-lined…but a piece of shit.  Halfway back to the Heights, it overheated and stalled out.  When he popped the hood, the plumes of steam made him jump back.  Then he leaned in to check the damage (a cracked radiator), and his arm brushed against the overheated engine, burning him.

His men picked him up in the stalwart Escalade.  They dropped him off at the club, and Nevada was a snarling monster from the pain.  And he walked right into you.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he snapped, his voice rough with pain.  He already knew the answer:  he had called you to bring him lunch from your restaurant.  

He didn’t wait for your reply, and you were stammering like a fucking idiot anyway as your eyes took in his face and then his scalded arm.  He charged past you to make his way to the small kitchen in the back, and his men followed him like fussy mother hens.

“You gotta get ice on that,” one told him, and Nevada almost missed your reply as you followed them into the kitchen.

“No,” you said, a little breathless.  “Ice makes it worse.”  You jogged ahead of them and stood in front of the industrial ice machine.  You shrugged a little apologetically at all three of them.  “Chefs get burned all the time.  I know how to treat it.”

Nevada gritted his teeth, then dismissed his men with a curt nod.  “Fine,” he told you once they left.  “Fucking treat it then.”

If you were cowed and afraid of Nevada usually, you didn’t seem to be now.  You were at home in kitchens, and apparently comfortable with basic first aid, and you gestured for Nevada to sit on a stool.  He did, and he watched you:  you took the first aid kit off of the wall by the door, you grabbed a clean towel and soaked it in cool water.

“Here,” you murmured.  You didn’t even hesitate to touch him.  You reached out and unbuttoned his shirt sleeve, then rolled it up gingerly.  You even winced in sympathy when he winced.  You pulled the burned fabric away from his arm and inspected the injury.

“It looks worse than it really is,” you said.  You pressed the cool towel to his arm, and Nevada shifted from watching your hands to watching your face.  Up close to you and in the industrial lighting of the kitchen, he could really study you.  Your mouth was as lush and kissable as ever, that wasn’t new.  Your eyes were interesting – he had only noticed the woebegone way you looked when he insulted you in the past, but up close, he could see that they were unique.  Green when you glanced up at him directly.  Hazel through your thick eyelashes as you looked down at what you were doing.  Like there were different versions of you, maybe.

“Ice damages the tissue,” you told him conversationally.  “So you have to use cool water.”

“That so?”  His voice was still rough – his arm still fucking hurt – but your hands were gentle, and it was affecting him.

“Yes.  Also, you shouldn’t pop any blisters.  The blister is your body’s way of protecting the wound.  If you pop it, it could get infected.”

Nevada made a noncommittal sort of noise in the back of his throat, and he watched you through heavy eyelids as you removed the cool towel and patted the burn dry carefully.  Watched as you opened the first aid kid and found a tube of antibiotic cream.  Watched as you put a thin layer down on the burn, wincing in sympathy again.  Watched as you placed a large bandage on his arm and taped it down securely.

It was the stupidest fucking thing, but Nevada almost felt cared for.  Which was stupid – women never fucking cared for him.  They fucked him, they took his money, but they never cared.  But as you tended to his stupid fucking burn, he allowed himself to pretend you gave a shit about him.  Despite the pain, he felt soothed, and he felt a curious calm creep over him.  He heaved a giant sigh, and you smiled at him to hear it.

“All done,” you said, and you patted him on the shoulder.  “I’ll bill your insurance.”  You turned to reassemble the first aid kit, and Nevada snapped.  He reached out, lightning-quick, and grabbed your wrist.

“What the fuck does that mean?” he snarled.  Your smile fell immediately, and you tried to pull away from him.

“It’s…it’s a joke,” you protested.  “I was only kidding – “

“You think putting a fucking Band-Aid on me gets you out of your debt to me?”  He tugged you closer to him, and those eyes were wide in surprise.  Or fear.

“N-no!”  You tried again to pull away; he twisted your wrist until you were right on the edge of your own pain.  “I don’t think that at all!”

Fucking women, Nevada thought.  Only good for one thing, only ever wanted one thing.  It was all a ruse, like it always was:  Valerie pretending to care just to angle for gifts, you pretending to be concerned just to weasel out of your debt.  He shoved aside that spare moment of calm you had granted him.  He embraced his temper, which was all too familiar.

He pulled you even closer, close enough for you to bump against his bandaged arm.  Close enough that if either of you learned forward an inch, you’d be kissing.  He didn’t kiss you, however.  He just squeezed your wrist harder, and he felt sick to his stomach when you whimpered in pain, but he was powerless to stop his own raging mood.

“We aren’t friends, putita,” he hissed in your face.  “I fucking own you like I own that fucking shithole restaurant of yours.  Don’t you forget it.”

There were tears in your eyes, but you blinked them away and stared at him before you replied, through a clenched jaw, that you wouldn’t forget it.  He held you to him a beat longer, then released you.  

If you were scared, you tried to hide it:  you walked out of his kitchen in even strides, with your head held high and without a backwards look.  He was the one left feeling like shit, and Nevada felt something he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Shame.

-----

He let it lie for a week, and then a second week.  He didn’t even bother to call you for your usual little jobs, though he worried that you may be worried.  Those little jobs were your weekly payments to him on the interest for what you owed him.

The third week, Nevada finally decided to visit you.  He wasn’t going to apologize, because he never fucking said ‘sorry.’  But he had to reset expectations with you.  He had taken it too far, reacted too poorly that day in his kitchen.  You probably were just joking around, and he had been like a lion with a sore paw.  

He went to the Roundstone on a Wednesday night, right before last call.  The bar was packed, and every table was filled with drinkers too.  Nevada strolled in, cased the place, but didn’t see you.  You weren’t in your usual spot behind the bar, mixing drinks and pouring beers, buzzing around like a little bee.

The one waitress saw him, and she jerked her head towards the back.  He owned the place, or half of it, so he strode through the crowd and went into the back of house.  The kitchen was empty, so he went into the tiny office.  You were sitting at the desk, your head down as you sorted through a pile of papers, and you didn’t look up.

“What do you want?” you asked, and you sounded exhausted.  When he didn’t answer, you looked up and jumped a little.  Like you were expecting someone else.  According to Javier, that someone else was probably your dipshit brother.  According to his man, Sean turned up for food, booze, or cash and then disappeared without lifting a finger to help with the place.  

“Mr. Ramirez,” you amended.  So you were back to that.  Nevada came in, shut the door, and sat across from you.  He looked you over pointedly:  you had shed your chef’s coat, and you were in nothing but a tank top underneath.  He couldn’t see your lower half (you were probably in your usual comfortable jeans), but the view he had was good enough.  He could see your toned arms, and more importantly, the swell of your tits.  They were better than he had imagined.

“How are you, abejita?”  In the past, when he called you by your nickname, you’d blush faintly and smile, but now you didn’t.  You only looked at him levelly before you answered.

“I only have half,” you said.  

“Huh?”

“It’s been two weeks.  You haven’t given me any jobs.  Therefore, I owe you two grand.”  You spelled it out for him patiently.  “I only have one grand.”

“No, I – “

“No,” you cut him off.  You leaned down and reached into the bottom drawer of your desk (granting him a brief view of your cleavage, which was enough for his cock to stir in interest), and you pulled out an envelope that you handed him.  “A deal’s a deal.”

“But – “

“I could explain why I don’t have the full amount,” you replied, cutting him off again.  “But you didn’t come here for excuses, right?  Because you aren’t my friend.  You own me.”

Nevada thumbed through the thin sheaf of cash and studied you.  You looked tired, and he did wonder why you didn’t have the full amount.  It was probably your brother, he realized.  

“No need to relive that unpleasantness, abejita,” he replied smoothly.  

You huffed out an irritated breath and leaned back in your chair.  “So explain how this works.  I paid half, I owe you half.  I’ll never be able to make it up, and a new week is starting.  I’m digging a hole I’ll never get out of.”

Nevada smirked at you.  “I told you before.”  

You narrowed your eyes a fraction.  “Explain it again.  Tell me in very specific terms what I need to do to get out of this debt from the past week.”

You didn’t wait for him to answer.  Instead, you leaned forward on the desk so that your breasts were pressed alluringly against your folded arms.  “What is one grand of work for you?”

Again, you didn’t wait for his reply.  You stood up and walked around the desk to stand over him, and Nevada wondered if you were bluffing again like last time.  He couldn’t get a read on you right now; the shy woman who ducked her head around him seemed to be gone.  Maybe she was just an act, but he doubted it – this no-nonsense version of you was more likely the act.  He looked you over, and he felt a sting of shame when he saw your wrist and the healing bruise he had put on the delicate skin there.

“If I knelt in front of you now and went down on you, would that settle my debt?” you asked.

Nevada’s cock definitely twitched in interest at that, but his tongue felt like it was glued to the roof of his mouth.  All his smarmy fucking words left him.  You sighed and did just what you said – you knelt in front of him, put your hands on his knees and parted his thighs.  When you reached for the fly of his jeans, he put his hands over yours to stop you.

“Stop,” he croaked.  “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Why else would you turn up here at closing?” you snapped as you rocked back on your heels.  “You made it perfectly clear that you call the shots here.  I owe you, right?”

Of course Nevada had turned up for sex.  He was like a tom-cat, slinking around any place for a proverbial warm bed, but he hadn’t expected to get it from you.  He had wanted to clear the air, apologize without saying the words, go back to the flirting tension he had been stoking with you.  He wanted you to fuck him because you wanted him – needed him – not because you had to.  He wanted his women to beg him for it.

“You don’t really want to,” he replied.  

You gave a bitter snort of laughter.  “Trujillo, when the fuck do I ever get what I want?”  You said it so wearily that he looked at you.  Really studied you.  Extrapolated what your life might be like based on the little bit he knew and what Javier told him.  You were like so many other women he knew in the Heights, wives and girlfriends and mothers and yes, sisters too, who were constantly scrambling after the sad-sack men in their lives who would do everyone a favor if they just died.

“What do you want then, abejita?”

You sighed and shrugged.  “Doesn’t matter.”

You both stayed like that for a long, awkward moment:  him stilling your hands, you kneeling in front of him.  Fuck, he wanted to release you and let you unzip him.  His cock was straining against the confines of his jeans just from the thought of that mouth of yours on him.  As much as he wanted to, he knew it wouldn’t be real.  It would just be a business transaction, and the King of the Heights never paid for sex.

The balance was off between you, so Nevada pushed you gently away and stood up.  Then he helped you stand too, and he noted the distress on your face.  That debt was obviously weighing on you, and while he didn’t give a fuck if you were upset, the memory of your gentle hand on his arm pricked at his conscience.

“I got a job for you,” he said.  “Saturday night.”  You nodded and he continued.

“Like last time.  Try to look nice.”

“Okay.”

“None of those fucking awful shirts you wear.  And no fucking Members Only jackets.”

The corner of your mouth twitched, but you only repeated, “okay.”

He looked you over critically, enough to bring a blush to your face and make you duck your head again.  Fucking finally.  Nevada hated business-you.  He much preferred the real you.  The shy, uncertain woman was a target worth aiming for.  He wanted to see if he could coax you out of your shell, knock some of the shine off of you to see what you were like a little dirtied up.

“Maybe I’ll send someone to help you before,” he smirked.  “Just to make sure you’re presentable.”

That did pull a smile from you.  It was small and fleeting, but it was there.

[thexflyingxpotato]

Wednesday, September 10

(4:16am)

2022

Today is day two of trying my best to text him dry af. The past weekend made me realize how fed up I am of accepting the bare minimum and expecting a certain level of respect and interest and being left with nothing but disappointment.

He says he cares, but his actions clearly show me otherwise. Some days he’s super good and treats me right, and then like clockwork he seems to revert back to his old self. 🙄

————

When I feel like messaging something cuz I found it exciting, or interesting, or cool or funny or weird… I have to stop myself and just keep scrolling or lock my screen and just NOT send anything. When I wanna share what cute thing his son did today, I have to hold my tongue and say nothing.

Why?

Cuz if he cared about the little things he’d bother to ask. If he cared about my inner world or even had any interest in connecting with me on a deeper level at all he’d actually OPEN my messages and react to them. — but he doesn’t… So what’s the point of wasting my time and energy for?

————

This weekend he broke my trust and opened up my abandonment wound pretty wide.

After 4 years of working hard to stay vulnerable and open…. I decided to put my walls back up again and harden my heart. Which sucks cuz I’m tired of having to constantly feel like I need to protect myself and my emotions. ;\ It’s even harder to want to care and work on things, but being too tired to keep trying cuz nothing seems to be changing… especially cuz I’m literally in the middle of moving in with him again. T ^ T More than half of my things are out in storage or at his place. Part of me is scared cuz the point of me moving back in was to get away from my abusive parents— So I don’t have to always be on alert and physically and mentally drained all the time. Now I’m realizing that I may be hyper vigilant at my parents, but I’m not depressed. I haven’t even moved in all the way yet and yeah, I’m able to physically relax and have better sleep… but I’m going back and forth between being resentful, numb, and depressed when I’m with him.

————

Normally he doesn’t pay attention to anything I show him and just stays watching whatever he’s watching on his phone. But i noticed last week I was trying to delete videos and picture attachments to make space on my phone. And for the first time ever, he paid attention to all the videos I was showing him. Mainly cuz they were cute videos I took of our son while growing up.

I wonder if me not sharing anything (voluntarily) about the cute little moments in our daily life at home… will get him to start appreciating our presence? Cuz the way he looked while watching the videos… was this look of “aww cute” but also, “I missed all this cuz we don’t live together and cuz I’m always at work”.

I told him yesterday that his son had a fever… asked him to bring his medicine (cuz I packed it and left it at his place -.-) and he said “I hope he gets better soon” but didn’t ask once how his son was doing or if his son felt better at all the next day. — Which is upsetting cuz I just really get a feeling he takes us both for granted. As he says he misses us, but when we’re actually around, he doesn’t worry or care to meet our needs. Or even bother to pay any time or attention to me or his son. His shows and movies and playing games on his phone are more important than we are. He’ll literally spend the whole day ignoring us and watching movies and then when asked to pay attention to us, he’ll get grumpy and say his head hurts and wants to go to sleep. >:(

————

Idk how I’m gonna handle all this… feeling like we don’t matter to him, while trying my best to make my son happy, and pretending I’m okay when I’m not cuz I don’t want my son to always see me crying or us arguing. It’s either things get better and he realizes he’s been a complete asshole to me for years, or it’ll stay the same and I just keep my head down and move in and do my best to do my own thing till I can launch my business, make some cash, and maybe move out on my own. Get what I need, hold my tongue to get by without drama or fighting, and go.

…I’m just— idk. It baffles me that he’s missing out on so much… our son won’t always be this little and cute forever. He’s already trying to talk and has food preferences. He has likes and dislikes. He has big emotions and opinions. Pretty soon he’ll be talking and able to do his own chores around the house, and then next thing you know he’ll never be home. I don’t get how he can see how cute and little our son is and not care about the fact that he’s missing out on sharing experiences and memories with him.

————

I’m saddened by the fact he’s actually okay with not making memories with us. Or the fact that he’s not ever excited to see or hear from us. Like he’s constantly just trying to get away from the very family he created. I’m really hurt by the way he talks to me like he’s always angry or like I’m this constant annoying thing in his life. How he makes me feel unimportant and disrespected in the tone he chooses to talk to me in. How he is constantly on his phone but won’t ever open any of the cool or important or funny videos I send him. I resent him for choosing to be in a relationship with me, but he also constantly chooses to do everything to make me feel like a single mom when I’m not.

I’m afraid to go from one (emotionally abusive parents) household to another (emotionally abusive/neglectful partner) household. I’m scared that I’m not getting away from anything at all. I’m afraid that I have fucked up and just ended up putting my son in the same dysfunctional household dynamic as I myself grew up in… Having both parents but one is emotionally immature and weaponizes incompetence, forcing the mom to pick up dad’s slack… leaving mom too busy to give the child the time, energy, and attention they deserve. — I’m afraid I’m doomed to repeat my own childhood… and involuntarily pushing my son to eventually hate me for never being able to spend time with him (cuz I’m too busy being both mom AND dad.) I know he’s busy trying to secure a home of our own, and to collect cars (a thing of ours), and have a bunch of other expensive hobbies… but whats the use of having everything you ever wanted (material wise) if your relationship with your own family is non-existent and empty????

I’d rather live in a studio and have a loving family that spends a lot of quality time together and makes a lot of good memories, than have a big house and fancy cars but have a shitty family bond.