#Except that the bats didn't believe him at all.

[nelkcats]

Winter in Spring

Danny was not a spirit of the seasons, he didn't have any idea if those kinds of spirits existed out of movies, what he did know was that for some reason the flowers were behaving rather strangely in one particular dimension right at the beginning of spring. And although he certainly didn't want to affect the place he knew he had to investigate it.

From what it seemed: strange plants that glowed just like those born in the Infinite Realms were appearing in Gotham and coming to life on their own. At first he suspected Undergrowth but the Ancient was offended by the accusation and commented that he was too busy in his haunt to care about a random city. Which turned out to be true.

Then he thought that maybe it was fine: the bright flowers seemed harmless (although they were very very...alive?) and didn't hurt anyone. That was until a red-haired girl seemed to upset them and they started attacking everyone around them; unfortunately, because they were ghost flowers they could dodge attacks very easily and the "heroes" couldn't defend themselves.

So, with no other options Danny traveled to Gotham and well, to put it simply he became a fake winter spirit; what else was he supposed to do? He needed an alibi and to spread ice as quickly as possible. Telling Gothamites that winter was coming early because of him was the least of his problems.

What he didn't expect was that after turning the city into a wasteland of ice and snow (and saving them from the invasion of ghost flowers, you're welcome), some guys in bat suits would start following him around with questions. He also didn't expect one of them to stare at him and ask if he'd be back in winter, he wondered if faking his identity was a good idea.

[radiance1]

Ghosts are dragons.

However.

Danny uses this to his advantage by making his human form look like a meta so that he would be protected by the Meta-human rights act (or wtv its called I can't remember). Which works splendidly actually. He just gave himself the tail, the horns, teeth, eyes and a few scales here and there and wouldn't cha know it works splendidly.

The GIW trying to call him a ghost? Nah, he's just a meta dude. Wes trying to pin him as Phantom? Does Phantom have horns and a tail? No? Yea he thought so.

Then Vlad takes a look at Danny and goes: "Oh shit that's actually a surprisingly good idea." And then just copies him without asking basically. Would people question this? Shhh, no they won't (hands you a slip of money), why would they question anything?

The bats would question it. Obviously. Because of course they would, why wouldn't they, sticking their noses into everything. Why are they investigating? Because they were invited to a Gala held by Vlad Masters and Danny had to attend, both of which they knew didn't have any meta features with a quick background check so they think something fishy is going on there.

Then the GIW raid the place like a bunch of idiots because they think Vlad and Danny are obviously ghosts (they're only half right because Halfa you know lawl) and they need to be taken into the government's custody. Except for the fact that they're doing this in a room full of rich people, with the Wayne Family in attendance, and people who do business with Vlad.

So.

You know.

Vlad is talking so calmly and rationally and acting like this is expected, which leads everyone present to believe this to be such a common occurrence that he can't even be surprised at this anymore. Which leads to even more suspicion.

Where is Danny through all of this? He's not doing much actually since he was outside playing with Cujo, since he only had to be there for a bit and then free to do whatever he wanted after that. Funnily enough, a few GIW agents are also trying to take him and Cujo into custody with none other than Damian Wayne at his side.

Damian was just concerned about Cujo and wanted to make sure nothing was going on there. Didn't really expect this.

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Project R au except Danny is not the clone.

Instead Danny gets Ras Al Ghuls attention after overhearing that the baby in the tube was made from a bunch of "Robins/detectives" and a little of Phantom himself and looks the guy in the eye before using his intangibility to grab the baby-still not breaking eye contact- and saying, "Mine now." before disappearing.

Danny comes home and explains the situation to his sister and parents and they welcome the new baby into the family with open arms. When asked why they took dna from Danny, Jack immediately jumped in with, "Because we're Fentons!" As if that was all the reason needed.

Elsewhere Ras tells the bats about the clonenapping, conveniently leaving out the part about Phantom also being one of the babys dads. The bats go a little crazy trying to find out where thier baby is and why some no name villian (cause thats what they believe he is due to what little media coverage Amity Park has on him) wants with thier baby.

Then they learn about the ghost thing and then the research. At first they didn't believe it because they had dealt with ghosts before and they were nothing like that. But the more they looked the more they realized these weren't the kind of ghosts they were used to...

[dcxdpdabbles]

Phantom's Number 1 Fan Part 3

John Constantine calls a joint Justice League and Justice League Dark meeting.

It's not something he wants to do. He barely works with the LJD, but at least that lot understands his work and knows what to do and where to go.

The JL members always ask questions and forget proper manners when working with the paranormal- John isn't the most well-mannered bloke around, but even he knows to permanently say goodbye to ghosts so that they don't follow him home- and it's like trying to teach an intern while dodging bullets.

He prefers to avoid the whole origination, especially since Bruce's death; everyone has been walking on eggshells, and there is a sense of disorganization drenched in grief that John breaks into hives just thinking about, but this is big.

Bigger than he can handle it on his own or with just the JLD. Even if the whole group gives the bats not-so-stable glances as they filter in.

John notices that one of Batman's brats is missing- the smart one- but he has heard that the kid suffered some kind of psychotic break from his father's death. It's sad, really, mainly because John used to believe that the third Robin was the one with the good head on his shoulders.

What's worse is that the Third Robin up and ran off, having gone off the grid when he refused to accept Batman's death. The boy hadn't said anything besides, "The portraits told me!" after having a miniature breakdown in his home.

It didn't help that around this time, the boy teammates had all dropped like flies except for one. So yes, John knows it wasn't a big surprise that he lost it, but it was still sad to see. Kid is only seventeen.

He hopes they find him soon to give him the help he needs. John would offer a spell to try and find him, but he needs to learn about the kid better, which means his spell can only point in a general direction.

Nightwing looked downright ragged, but losing a father on the battlefield and a younger brother to his grief did a number on anyone.

John hates himself just a little for dragging the grieving family here. He does, but again, this is bigger than all of them. This is a matter of life and death- literally.

"Listen up. We have a bloody level ten on its way to Earth if it's not already here." His words cut through the muttering crowd, shutting everyone up. A level ten makes even the big, lousy Superman sweat. He snaps his fingers, allowing his magic to shift into the image of a King Phantom sitting on his throne- painted in the early 1200s and the picture that can be used to identify him.

The art style would have been almost modern if it wasn't for the unease that the painting could cause due to the glowing green from his majesty's portrait. They say the green was ectoplasm from the king himself- and that alone should warn others to not mess with him.

Everyone Justice League Dark member hissed through their teeth, sitting up straighter and a few even pale. John is once again grateful that they understand just how deep in shit they genuinely are.

"This is the Ghost King. He is not to be confused with a god or king of gods. He's something else entirely because he makes gods nervous. He is on his way here to kill whoever is dumb enough to threaten his pregnant fiancee, and I fear the rest of Earth will be collateral if we don't prepare-"

"That's Danny Phantom," A young voice cuts John off. He is surprised someone would talk over him in a level ten briefing. All eyes turn to Robin- er, the new Robin.

The kid is frowning at the image, his signature scowl already deeper than usual. He's also heard the new Robin was a spoiled boy who was not a team player.

"You know King Phantom?" John asks.

Robin nods. "Placeholder is obsessed with him. Half his room is covered with King Phantom's heroics."

"Do not call him that.," Nightwing hisses a second later. He frowned when Robin ignored him but returned to the room without further comment on the boy's cheek. "Danny Phantom is a low-level search and rescue hero. He pops up around the world but only sometimes interacts with people. Robin- Young Justice Robin- was obsessed with him."

The room gains an awkward weight as no one is willing to bring up the mentally unsound MIA teenager.

It's too bad for them. John has never cared about making anyone comfortable. "You said his room is covered in images of King Phantom?"

From the corner of his eyes, John catches sight of Zatanna's face. She's pale white, with a horrified expression as if though she was standing before the grim itself. Every other member of the Justice League Dark is in a similar state.

"Yes, he has a whole wall of posters and stuff." Nightwing conforms, and shit John knows who Phantom's after now.

The thing is, one just doesn't have pictures of King Phantom. No one knows why, but the Ghost King can not be documented. Not without having some kind of connection to the King.

Throughout history, the only ones who have ever had even one solid picture of the king- John's magic doesn't count cause he can't well hold the thing up forever- usually meant that the King would appear before them at one point.

There is also a myth if one could beat a member of the royal ghost family, then one wish is granted to them. If one can kill a royal ghost member, death can be overturned.

It's not true, obviously, for death is not easily beaten like that, but John knows that as an expert, would a mentally unwell teenager know the same?

It was also known that if the King appeared before you, something terrible would happen. The sighting of King Phantom often came as an omen and usually right before a terrible disaster.

In the last disaster, they lost Batman, and if King Phantom had shown up, where the Third Robin have spotted him? Where the Third Robin have thought the King could return the dead?

Not to mention the rumors!

King Phantom was hunting down a group of humans known as "The Bats." John hadn't put that much stock in that rumor simply because it could have been anyone- hell, when he looked up the bats seven different groups appeared, varying from boy bands to zoologists.

But if he placed the name "The Bats" next to the Third Robin's psychotic break, his obsession with King Phantom, and his intertwined fates...well, shit.

There is a slight chance that the Third Robin's fate could be intertwined with the Ghost King in a positive light, but John has learned to not be optimistic in his line of work.

"I think the Third Robin is gunning after the Ghost King's fiancee and unborn child in a misguided attempt to bring Batman back to life. He may have kicked started a war that humanity can not win," He announces. He hates to say. hates to even suggest it, but the needs of the many outweigh those of the few. "We have to find the Third Robin and attempt to stop him. If we can't reason with him, we must put him down."

Wonder Girl gasps a sob, pressing her hand against her mouth.

John hates himself a little more as she sobs; a few rushes to confront her, but no one is unaffected by the news.

"I'm ordering a hunt for the Third Robin," Wonderwoman speaks up to her steady leadership, returning everyone from their despair. "Every available hero will help. Do not use lethal force unless there is no other choice. We may be able to find him before King Phantom's armies arrive."

John just hopes they are not too late.

Meanwhile, across the plane of existence, unaware of the manhunt for his head, Tim Drake is trying to stare down a Yeti, attempting to put him in silk clothes that are just fabrics held together by strings.

"No."

"But-But- but you have such a flattering figure! You must flaunt it! The Great One will barely be able to contain himself if he sees you in this!"

"No. It looks like something you wear on a honeymoon to seduce your spouse. I'm not walking around in that."

"Well, you don't need to bewitch his majesty. You already have a child on the way." The Yeit mutters, considering the fabric in his claws with a frown. He is Frostbite's royal tailor and has been attempting to dress Tim for over an hour. Everything he's suggested so far looks like it came from those romantic fantasy games.

It's like they want to make him a sexy consort or something.

Tim's teeth grind against each other. He hates how often his role is reminded, how casually the yetis mention that Ra's expects a child from Tim.

He doesn't even know how that child will come to be, and it makes him sick. He's been bidding his time, waiting for his wounds to heal and to find a weakness in the frozen fortress, but so far, he is unsure how he will escape.

And Bruce is still out there, waiting for Tim to get him. He can't waste any more time here.

"How about this cloak?" The Yeti offers, holding up a dark metallic fabric that reminds TIm of his Robin cape. "If we are going for a more conservative look, something that screams power is just the way to make the masses wild!"

Ugh, he really needs to think of a plan soon.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I Never Missed You 2/3 (Bodyguard!Ghost x F!Reader)

Word count: 7.3 k

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Romance, eventual smut, fluff, light angst, banter, pining, flirting, minor injuries, major character death, HFN ending. Lady/Knight dynamic. Unequal pairing trope. Bodyguard AU. Reader is a rich bitch (how else could she afford a PPO?)

Summary: You hire a bodyguard to protect you and hunt down the one who's been sent to take your life. This man was your lawyer's first recommendation, and you never even looked through his file because you had better things to do. But it soon turns out that this man – this Simon Riley – is very talented... Talented in driving you crazy.

A/N: A three part fic based on this request. Smutty smut ahead in this chapter. Brace yourselves for impact.

Part 1

You have to admit that you look dashing tonight. 

And not because you want to turn people's heads at the party… But because you want him to look at you like you're the most forbidden snack he will never have.

It's selfish and petty, and you're just seeking attention. But at least you have the balls to admit it: you want Simon Riley to drool after you. You want this man on his knees. And nothing else has worked except that bra.

So you turn to the world's oldest weapon. A woman's weapon. Seduction.

"I'd suggest you keep a low profile until we're done."

He looks at you through the mirror while you finish your hair. Uses the word we instead of I. It makes your heart ache… And you take even that lecturing comment as a compliment. So he does think you look nice, or at least nice enough to stand out. You read into every look, every little tone of voice he gives you.

"I thought we were supposed to lure him in," you say while you neaten your necklace. Of course you look nice. You have done everything you can to look ravishing tonight: a deep-cut, thigh-revealing dress, cat eye makeup, red lipstick...

"Yeah but not like this."

"I'm not locking myself inside the house because of this," you announce pointedly. "I'm not afraid to live my life." 

You turn and look him up and down, give him a little tilt of the head. "Don't you have anything else to wear?"

He doesn't shrink, doesn't bat an eyelash. Just looks down on you from that ivory tower of masculine prowess and makes you feel like a fool for being so dolled up.

"There's a difference between courage and foolhardiness," he states, not falling for your attempts to make him feel small in your world. You suspect there is so much more to this man, but you don't care to know about the circumstances he grew up in, the situations that gave him that broken nose and lip. You don't want to know about his broken soul.

Or perhaps you do...

"I suppose you know everything about that," you say while looking straight at the uneven scar on his jugular.

"I do."

"Tragic past?"

"You could say that."

You feel even more silly, standing before him in all your glory, pearls in your ears and silver around your neck. You pay this man for his services; he's supposed to protect you. But something in his eyes told you from the start that there lies an abyss inside this man. And you didn't pay for that: a peek inside his heart. But a door is open a creak now, and what's inside is pure darkness.

"Well, whatever it is, I'm sorry you had to deal with that."

Your cultured attempt to dance around his chasm makes those brown pools melt. Finally, he melts. But not to compassion, or mercy, or anything that would make you believe that you two understand each other. 

He looks at you like you're a stranger from another planet. He's intrigued but doesn't quite understand how a creature like yourself has come to be. You're not only a child in his eyes but a coward as well for not daring to open that door to hell.

"What do you think," you hurry to change the subject. "Will I do tonight?"

He’s always so hyper-vigilant, his stare fixed on everything else but you. It feels childish, to be jealous of his attention when all he’s trying to do is protect you. 

But now… Now that alert darkness bores straight into you.

"You look good in everything, ma'am."

A breeze of arctic wind goes through your scalp, and a fainting warmth settles in your belly.

You tiptoed your way to the fridge yesterday morning, before official breakfast, in your knickers and an old band merch from your youth - the one you still slept in sometimes because it was far more comfier than your silk pajamas. He walked in fully dressed and mighty while you were sneaking back upstairs with a glass of apple juice. The humiliation was overwhelming, especially when he dared to look you up and down in your state of underdress.

"Goodness… Sorry."

It should’ve been he who was supposed to say those words. But you felt like an intruder in your own house. It was a dangerous slip: to look so homely, with no brush stroke gone through your hair, with no toner on your skin. With no makeup and standing there before him in all your…you.

"No harm done."

He had never looked at you like that, and you swore right then and there that you would only descend those stairs with your full battledress from now on.

"Even in an old t-shirt…?" You ask with a tight voice. Desperate. Longing…

"Especially then."

Simon Riley strips you from your weapons and charades in a second. Your tight, seductive smile slowly falls off your face, and from behind it, a fragile, naked hope arises to gape at him. He clears his throat as if he just offered you an entire bowl full of ice cream when he was supposed to give you only a little scoop.

"I'm gonna go take a shower," he says, calm and adamant, like a statue you would go to see at a gallery.

"I'm afraid we should be going already."

"Takes 5 minutes."

You purse your lips, and he's on his way to the bathroom before you can even give him your nod. The guy is used to military showers, then, and perhaps it's for the better that he puts on at least some effort.

When he comes out, you're sitting in the hallway, and he's only wearing a towel. It's the one you gave him when he arrived, the softest you could find from your closets. You remember how the first odd thought you had upon seeing this man is that he probably isn't used to softness.

And now you see why.

You can see the prominent veins and the sketchy forearm ink, his muscles are magnificent to the point of unholy, he has a delicious, thin layer of fat on top of his belly, and the eyelashes aren't the only breath of hair that's pale on this man… But he looks like he has gone through an inferno.

His back is full of scars, and half of his shoulder looks like it has been dipped into a deep fryer. You catch a hollow dent between his ribs, and there's more, but he walks to his room before you see the rest of it.

The taxi drive to the party is filled with silence as you try to digest what you just saw. You want to call your lawyer and demand him to tell you where the hell did he find this man and who Simon Riley truly is. Who exactly does he work for when he's not taking bodyguard jobs? 

But the first thing you do when you arrive at the large party held in a small palace is to go to the punch bowl and down a glassful in one go.

He's on your heels the whole night, eyes everyone with a hawk stare, and does his job perfectly. He grabs your arm occasionally and whispers in your ear if someone seems suspicious. After one and a half hours, he comes to you and practically demands that you two leave. Normally, you would start an argument, but not tonight.

You kind of want to go back home, too. The people at the party seem tedious, and his scars have reminded you that even if you live in a world where violence is not the norm, it doesn't mean that other worlds don't exist. Otherworlds - where people get shot, stabbed, and blown apart. Whipped and cut and deep-fried. You're in danger, and it took his suffering to see that.

You have been so stupid that you just about wish someone would slap you.

Simon has been so patient with you that you nearly apologize on the ride back home. You want to beg his forgiveness and confess you have been a spoiled little idiot.

But again, that's not an easy thing to do. You turn to look at your forbearing bodyguard, ever silent in the taxi, and turn your voice to silk.

"You really should smile more," you suggest. He doesn't answer, just looks out your window as if there were perils there too. You suddenly realize anyone could shoot through the glass or the door at any given time. With a proper caliber, a bullet could pierce that window and coat his black shirt with the insides of your skull.

No. No. I'm not ducking my head.

There's no one there.

"Have you ever tried?"

You turn to humor and flirt to drive those intrusive thoughts from your head. He doesn't yet know that you're afraid, that you have been afraid this whole time. You should have bought that armored car.

"Am I your most annoying client ever…?" There's a smile on your lips, a little pardon for being so infuriating. His eyes drop there, then lift back up to your eyes with surprising seriousness.

"You're my first client ever."

Well… This was news.

"Oh. Why did you accept this job?"

His stare sails away from you and back to the London night. You stifle the urge to grab his hand, a fistful of his shirt, to draw his attention back to you. Every time he's around, you feel safe; every time he looks at you, everything else ceases to exist. 

You want him so badly you could cry.

"They don't teach you manners at the SAS…?"

"No. They teach us how to kill."

You scoff and turn to look through the window, too. 

"Brute."

"You're entitled to your opinion, ma'am."

When you reach your house, he uses that term again. You're 110 % sure he's only trying to annoy you. 

"Good night, ma'am."

"Stop it," you nearly slam your purse on the table in the hallway.

"What?"

"The ma'am thing…!"

You sound like a wife who's looking for an argument after putting on a charade all evening. When the door to your home closes, volcanoes erupt, and bombs drop, your husband-like bodyguard gets the blunt of your fear and frustration.

But how do you argue with someone who never argues back? He's calm like the Pacific during a stormless season, always, always gets calmer when you're going berserk. He walks to the armchair in your living room like he owns the whole goddamn place and sits down with a sigh. 

And there is a smile playing on his lips.

"What should I call you then?"

You look at him, dumbstruck, on that chair, spreading his legs like there's no tomorrow, arms comfortably on the armrests, and mouth drawn into a genuine, peaceful, thoroughly naughty smile.

"Oh, now you're smiling," you huff. The unbelievable audacity of this man… "Some ideas on what to call me popped into your head?"

"Verily."

"Go on then."

"Nah. You should go to sleep."

"I'm not going until you tell me."

You cross your arms over your chest to underline that ruling. His smile only widens. He looks wickedly delicious in that seat with his legs spread, and the chair doesn't swallow him like it swallows you. Actually, his shoulders are wider than the back panel of this enormous chair.

"Well," he begins, "’princess' came up first."

You try to catch what he just said through the stupor of wanting to climb on that wide lap.

"Truly? How original."

"Or spoiled brat."

You stop breathing for a second, then reel straight toward a spiral of–

"How dare you?"

You notice his eyes dropping to your heaving breasts again. This man is so different from a dinner-offering, cunning man in a suit. He has no pretenses whatsoever. He looks at you with that little smile, eyes burning, legs drifting apart even more, probably his cock stirring from how you are trying to chastise him. If you had pearls around your neck, you would clutch them. Or throw them at him.

"You son of a–"

"Pretty."

His next choice renders you speechless; it cuts through your insult before it even flees your mouth. You gape at him, jaw open, breathing and cheeks burning, pussy throbbing - soaked so thoroughly now that you feel a tiny droplet cascade down your thigh.

"Yeah. That's better," the man says as if he's also blessed with a Superman stare, knowing you're seconds away from drenched. "Better than brat or princess, anyway."

The darkness conceals most of him as he settles inside that massive chair he dwarfs. You are falling, or at least that's what it feels like. A tumble, a slip inside his Styx. But there's no bottom, and the water is warm ink, despite the fact that he's so blanched.

"Pretty…?" You whisper into that water, breathe onto the surface of his depths. The darkness answers immediately.

"Very."

Your swallow is a wet, nervous roll inside your throat when you sink into that river of lust and smoke. 

You take your jewels off first, because you know he doesn't care for them. Money's not his chief interest, even if he's being paid. And fat, at that. But he's not here for riches, he’s not here for the jewels – or that's what you desperately wish.

The necklace and pearls are gone soon, tucked away on the table with your trembling digits, and he's sitting there like a statue.

You have no trouble with this dress: the zipper seems to cascade down on its own as you reach behind your back. He's motionless as you slip out of the straps that keep the dark velvet up. You feel like you're the Styx: but the darkness of the river pools at your feet as you let go of the gown, let go of everything and continue your freefall.

He doesn't move, doesn't give evidence that he's even breathing; he just sits there like a long-forgotten king.

The panic snares you with a drool-wet throat: you salivate not because of him but because of your nerves. 

Are you… harassing him?

Does he want this…?

At least he thinks you're pretty – and you could laugh out loud; your thoughts are vain and petty, even when you're baring yourself before him in more ways than just one. Your breaths are audible distress inside that darkness, and he's still: everything's still.

But he moves when you reach for your bra.

It's just a hand that soars through the darkness, an involuntary reach for support and gathering of composure as his fingers find his jaw. They swipe across imagined stubble before he leans his head on that hand, just an ounce's worth of weight placed on his thumb and pointer as if he's simply in his thoughts. But the hawk stare is fixed on the lace covering your breasts as it falls on the floor too.

You hear his breaths now. Quicker on the inhale, heavy on the exhale. Your thumbs slide under the hem of the last piece of your veil, something you got from the store when you were feeling down. Now the underwear makes you feel better than ever - who would’ve guessed it's the moment you slither it off? Slowly, too: you’re being a tease, hip bones giving a two-second dance for him as he continues to watch you strip before him like the queen of the night.

You breathe in sync now, and your nipples perk up – he hasn't even touched you yet and you're more aroused than ever with a man.

Not a word spoken, and you fear you’re being delusional – if you've just imagined the heat between you two, but then those legs flare a hair's breadth more. His voice is the softest whip as it crackles through the void.

"Yeah... You're pretty. Now what?"

You breathe in gusts now. It's exhilaration, damnation.

"Jesus Christ, Simon."

The chair gives a creak as he rises, like an ancient shadow. Intimidating – intense, always, always, and you've been trying to coat him with soft towels and feed him toast. You wonder if he prefers black tea simply because it tastes more bitter than coffee rounded with milk.

Does he want this? Silly softness and toast and–

You get all your answers as he bends just enough to match your height, just enough to sweep you off your feet. Your hands go around his neck on instinct as he lifts you up from your rich, opulent Styx and into his sea.

You're quiet all the way upstairs – he can't fuck you downstairs, then, has to intrude on your luxury and privacy. You don't mind, especially when the steps give a desperate wail under your combined weight. He lets it sing its music to the night: your ruining already makes so much noise.

He reaches for his gun right after he’s placed you on the mattress. The sound of it is heavy when he sets it on the nightstand that has only seen glasses of water and apple juice and perhaps a few books. 

He undresses with soldierly sharpness, no seduction there. But he doesn't have to seduce you: his stare and heavy-cold demeanor have already done that.

He's so, so different from the others… Looks at you on the bed like you're both a piece of tender sirloin and something akin to garbage. That's an accurate depiction of a princess, perhaps. You know wasps gather around both honey and bloodied meat. 

He looks at you like that because you know nothing. And he's not here to ruin you… he's here to insert himself inside you like you're a foe that needs to be infiltrated, plundered and burned until you understand. 

He's big. Daunting. A brute while you’re the princess, could be the sleeping beauty, the way you stay immobile and try to take in this man's sheer power. You saw him half naked already when he came from the shower, but it's nothing compared to seeing all that taut, scarred flesh up close, soon about to fall upon you like a broken mountain. 

And what's between his legs is wholly proportional to the rest of him. That thing is a menace, and it's not even fully erect - hanging thick between thick thighs, foreskin revealing a fat, sloping tip, and he's veined all over… 

Finally, your mouth goes dry.

His gaze sweeps your beauty, and that cock gives a throb – a good, hard pull that stretches out into the open air, and your eyes go wide. Then he prowls, like the king of the jungle, moving with a fluidity that must be scary to those who meet their end by this big brute’s violence.

You are able to take in air only when his hand falls next to your head. The other claims you by the middle as if to soothe you - but the truth is you're caged in like a tiny, quivering animal.

The hand is heavy as it slopes across your stomach and scales your mound. It doesn't cup or probe, only rests there over your most sacred place, like an enemy surrounding a city. Your thighs part slowly, hoping he would just sweep right in.

"This wasn't in the deal," he rasps as he looks down at you: heavy iron judging a diamond.

"Oh shut up," you breathe, thoroughly thrilled and shy. If you weren't lying down, his intensity would buckle your knees.

"Nor do I take orders from you, ma'am."

"I'm not- Don't call me a-"

His eyes spark as the hand dips down like a deep diver into the blue. You gasp a stunned whiff when he's met with a mortifying amount of slickness. Your arousal sings a pretty song as he draws a finger over your slit, the moist sounds followed by another stuttering sigh. 

"Look at you all wet," he remarks, and you grit your teeth.

“Shut…up…”

"You know why I accepted this job?"

He wrecks you with one thick finger, rough skin lathering you with your own juice like he's trying to make a point here. And he is making a point: it comes across perfectly. The princess is a filthy mess for brutes…

And of course he was given a file on you too. With more than just one photo.

"Yeah," he rasps when you only look back at him with your felled deer helplessness. You could swear that he just heard your thoughts. "I think you know."

"You're–ah– a brute," you whisper, eyes shining. Your thighs part even more, feel yourself leaking over his fingers that stroke you agonizingly slow. You swallow with hunger, the need pangs on your cheeks. Your whole body is throbbing for him.

“Sticks and stones, love.”

He's so infuriating that you could slap him. Claw him, rip him apart. But you nearly laugh instead… It's far better an option to let him claw and rip you apart. He's tearing you apart right now, with those eyes and his hand, exploring you like you're the first course and he's here for the whole dinner. How can he be so calm?

"Could you…" You start, then realize you've never begged for this man.

"Hm? Talk to me," he commands. "Whatever ya want."

You whimper – from bliss or relief, you can't tell. The frantic need to serve is fully fleshed out in his tone. It surprises you. You thought he was here for his own pleasure. 

You try to think through the bliss of his fingers. You've had all kinds of things... All you could ever want, most would say. But that's not entirely true. No man has ever promised to please you however you want.

"Could you go…"

"Go down on you?" He places a thumb, broad and hard, on your clit. Teases it with the slightest pressure and a circle.  "Lick your cunt?"

Fuck…

He has no trouble saying it as it is, and you nod, still helpless.

"Sure. 'N after that I'll fuck you nice and good."

He's never, ever sounded like that before. Dark, and rich, the baritone reaching a level that speaks of hunger – no, need.

A brute, a pussy-drunk brute, the blood in your veins sing as he goes down. Nothing can prepare you for the way with which he manhandles his way between your thighs like they're only a petty distraction in the way. They're forced wide apart with a tight grip that speaks of urgency, but he takes his time to admire the sight bared before him. He’s drinking you in like ambrosia, towering above you while you’re being held open for him to just observe you like you’re a center-spread girl in a filthy magazine. 

"You're fucking pretty down here, did ya know that?"

You don't even know what to say - his tone, his observation is base, and still, they're the most beautiful words anyone has ever said to you.

"No…?"

"Well now ya know."

He steals a final glance at you, and the fire in his eyes already makes your legs feel weak. He dives between your parted legs, right into your leaking, glistening folds, and you're suddenly glad that you've done all that yoga… Those shoulders are so broad they force your thighs even further apart as he makes himself home there between your legs. 

A hot mouth presses against you like this man has been starving, even if you've fed him the best delicacies for days. An even, fat stroke is the first thing you feel before your toes curl and your head falls back.

"Goodness, Simon..." You try to keep yourself from stuttering as his mouth opens you like a flower. You should be quiet, for once, and let him do the job. He seems like an expert, even and especially there between your legs. "Do you-ah, always shag your clients?" 

"Told you you're my first," he rasps a husky sigh on your folds. He could ruin you with that voice alone.... He gives you another sweep of his tongue, full and ample, and your fingers curl around the sheets, your hips buck; your ass drives up on instinct, trying to both escape his mouth and rub your pussy against those thin but eager lips. 

"Don't worry," he tells your pussy with a warm chuckle. "This is free of charge."

You sigh, the first laugh of many up into the air. You're supposed to get angry, but you can't. You can't. 

"Have… no words for you."

"Good. It's about time you stopped talking, love."

He grabs your hips to punctuate it that you should indeed shut up. Fingers sink into your flesh like you're a whole goddamn feast - no more fucking toast and teasing. His hands look so huge as they dig into your skin - so different from the hands of men who work in offices or wait for people to serve them. You upvoted those hands to be the best part of this man long ago.

And that bulk of muscle… Some of those men in suits might go to the gym, but they couldn't forge a body like his in a million years: that breathtaking mass built to work and endure harsh conditions. It's not a flex or a sculptured piece of art: it's simply survival - ancient and primal.

He's got darkness, and you got diamonds, but something tells you his depths are infinitely more valuable. You couldn't buy his intensity even if they sold it in the streets. The skull mask was self-made, everything in this man is self-made, and he's sampling what diamonds taste like, and you wonder… Does he think you're cheap, some fake piece of worthless junk? Does he laugh at how easy you are? That under your manners, you're only a spoiled brat and a promiscuous maneater…? Or that he couldn't care less, as long as he can push his cock inside you?

He gives you his best, that's for sure. A working man, with you as his assigned mission, and the feeling of being a spoiled little princess only increases. And how are you supposed to stay still if he's slow and attentive like that? You might be his first client, but you're not his first shag…

His lips seal tightly around your nub, suck it, lap it, sigh on it - he's already breathless from the need to make you moan and cum. A purpose-driven, ravenous man, and when he dips his tongue inside your cunt, your mind finally goes blessedly blank. Your legs shake and stretch, and you can’t prevent your hand from skimming down to grab his hair when he gives you deep, unhurried plunges with his tongue, huffing against you from the mad want to make you feel good. 

You would never have guessed that Simon Riley would get such pleasure from licking a woman.

One hand disappears from around your thigh, and you guess it's one of his fingers that arrives, wide and thick, to tease your entrance. You can feel the smile on your folds as he slips it in, making you nearly jolt on the sheets. Your fingers instantly curl to tug that pale hair, to grab hold of something, and it makes him rumble inside you. 

He doesn’t even wait for you to catch your breath as he adds another finger. Goes shallow at first, then pushes those fingers in to the knuckle. The feeling of being filled - and not being filled enough - is going to drive you crazy any second now.

"Simon…"  

"Yeah?"

“I want you to… want you to…" you hear yourself choking on your beg as he works those fingers in and out of you while his lips are tight around your clit. He knows exactly what you're trying to ask.

And suddenly, it's he who breaks… 

"Right. 'M gonna fuck you now, yeah?"

The spread is gone, and you're being moved - on your belly, and you briefly think whether it's because he can't bear to look into your eyes when he takes you. You don’t even have time to whimper from the loss of his fingers and mouth before heavy thighs force your legs aside. You’re being spread again, crudely, obscenely, like it’s just a procedure that has to be done. He’s both methodical and impatient, and you wonder - has he wanted to rail you like this ever since he saw you? Force you to lie down on your belly while he takes you from behind like a helpless damsel?

His hands come to your hips as if to make sure that you won’t run away from under him. As if you ever wanted to… 

Something far fatter forces its way between your folds and straight onto your opening. He glides over your folds a few times, spreads your wetness all over his tip. Methodical still, but it makes you moan and swallow.

"Jesus…"

The lathering stops, the jutting cock settles right where your depths lie, and he chuckles. "Not quite, love."

Fuck… 

Fuck this man's cheek and audacity. Fuck his size and pride, the way he knows what he's doing all the fucking time. 

“Desperate for it?” 

That stupidly fat cock just resides there, teasing your aching, leaking hole without going in. But it’s like he answers his own question because you feel the thick of him give a notch against your folds. So impatient. Thoroughly needy. It sends you further down the whirpool of desire, a searing white, fathomless deep..

“Yes..”

When he goes in with a leaden grunt, your muscles go into a spasm - he's too big, he hasn't prepared you right, and still, you force yourself to relax.

"Not what you expected?" 

"It's… too much," you admit. He stops, realizing that for once in his life, he might've been an impatient man. Then he crawls forward, and you feel like you're about to be buried under a boulder as his weight bears down on you. Hands sink into the mattress on both sides of you, forcing you further up against him - you're floating, almost, to where you belong.

"Yeah? C'mon… You can take it."

You shudder. It's not even fully in yet?

He speaks too softly for it to be a demand, even when he's hovering on the brink of wanting to simply ram himself into your cunt. It's an encouragement. He’s cheering you on, like a coach. Or a leader... It’s leadership. 

When you don't object, he starts to feed more of himself in. You try to remember how to breathe because you were wrong, you were so, so wrong - it was barely just the tip, and now you're stretched wide and tight. He's endless, and sinking in deeper, deeper….

And you want it so much - all of him- you want to grip him and never let go. One hand comes to sweep over your hip again, it caresses the swell of your ass, and you know he's looking down at how well you can take him after all.

"How are we doin'?"

Your lips are swollen, and your brows are creased tight. It's still not in…? 

You’re fucked. Literally. But you can take him... You must.

You whimper when he slows down almost to a halt.

"Love. Tell me to stop 'n I'll stop."

"Just–gently," you whisper, brittle and shivering from joy.

"Don't worry. I got you."

Slowly, he arrives to the end of him and you. Hips flesh against yours, he’s out of breath before he even starts the thrusts. His length caresses places unfathomable in this position, and his weight is crushing you, even when he's supporting himself. It only feels like the safest place to be. Trapped there between your safe, soft bed and his safe, hard body. 

The first thrust punches the air out of your lungs. It doesn’t hurt, and it’s not uncomfortable; it’s just too much to take. You’ve never been so filled. 

"Fuck…" He swears, somewhere between the third or fourth thrust. "You're…"

"Good…?" You offer him when he doesn't continue. You know he was possibly going to say tight or something crude like that and corrected himself before it spilled. He merely grunts as an answer - a barbarian through and through, you decree. And then the brute speaks…

"The best."

God. You feel like a diamond after all, but you've never been under so much pressure, fearing you might break.

"You-too…" It's a sad little mewl. You sound like a child trying to make friends. Latching a hook on him, no matter how tiny it is. One shake, one ripple from the behemoth, and it will fall loose.

"Don't go lying with that pretty little mouth," he warns.

"I'm not lying."

"Yeah…? Keep squeezing me like that and perhaps I'll believe you."

It's a strange feeling, to meet your mistrust and jealousy on him. He has no pretenses, but he has secrets, camouflage, and flash grenades that blind you from the truth. But even he can't hide it all when he's moving inside you, so close, so terribly close.

You melt into a pool of heat and want, trying to meet him midway by offering your cunt, arching your spine, driving yourself up to give him better access. What was possibly meant as a desperate fuck turns into a sweet, weightless rocking, a rhythm of him and you. The hands on your hip start to gain weight as he holds you still for him, at times even pulls you against his cock.

"C'mon… wanna hear you," he huffs, then slides one hand to your butt and gives it a fond squeeze when you won't instantly make noise. "You're always givin' me that cheek and now you're silent?"

It's a warm question, a thick baritone that settles into your stomach, then shoots downwards and makes you clench. 

"Wh-what do you want me to say?"

"Want you to sing."

Of course the man who never talks won't shut up in bed. But he's not bullying you into submission, nor is he being mean. If anything, he sounds like he's finally on his knees. 

And you don't want to be mean either. Not anymore. But you just can't help yourself from having a little fun now that he's finally desperate and inside you. 

"Make me," you whisper, delivering your cheek with a wicked little smile.

The response is immediate: he dares to land a flat palm on your ass. Like you're a broodmare, a sirloin steak for him to feast on. And it does the job: you almost shriek, or at least that's how it sounds like when a parched little whine pushes through your vocal chords with violence.

"That's better," he barks, pleased with his work.

"You're horrible," you gasp. You're glad he put you face down on a pillow: you can only hope he doesn't see how happy you are in the darkness of his night.

"Yeah? And you're sweet." 

It's said with gravel wrapped in silk. It hits you and ignites, starts a flame inside you without permission.

You want him in ways you shouldn't. You want… more breakfasts, him carrying you up the stairs, taking in the way you tip-toe around the house in an old t-shirt. You want to serve him back rubs and tea and see who he is when he's not being paid. You don't want a lap dog or a guard dog, you simply want... 

Simon.

"I'm– I'm sorry that I've been such a bitch," you whisper. He sinks back on top of you until his nose nuzzles the back of your ear. He leans on his elbows, trying not to break you into too many little pieces, but the feeling of being confined couldn't be more blissful.

"Cock's that good?" He drags the following thrust, sparking your nerves aflame as he hits your core. But it's not brutal; if it is, it's the sweetest wrecking you could ever have imagined. 

"Don't make me take my words back," your lips pull to a smile and a silent, inner laugh. 

"Wouldn't dream of it." 

He's smiling too. Inwardly, perhaps, but you can hear the mirth. His weight on top of you while you're lying under him on your belly, unable to move, unable to do anything other than take the full brunt of his cock as it spreads you open, is pure heaven.

"Want you to cum when I'm inside you," he rasps in your ear, lips brushing the underside of your jaw. "Think you can do that, princess?"

Being told to cum on command is a bit ridiculous, you think. But not when it comes from that Cockney mouth. Not when he asks so nicely. Your cunt pulls, claws at him. 

"... I'll show you princess," you sigh, but it's only a second away from laughter. His fingers dig into your skin, the flush flesh of your ass. It feels possessive… Fond.

"Yeah. Show me. C'mon."

The camouflage gets slightly torn off by a wind of a smile. You can hear it on his lips. Sex should be fun, one of your friends always says. You had never thought about it like that. Bed is not the place for laughter and humor, you had thought. But now you are both on the brink of bursting with it.

"You're a fucking pretty one…" He grunts: a breathless, silent joy. "Know you want this as much as I do. Ain't that right?"

"Yes." 

"That's what I thought. So cum for me. Wanna hear the sounds you make."

You dance on the precipice already, and his voice causes your hand to shoot out to his. You drag that heated palm across your hips and your ribs, curl it next to you as if you were drawing a blanket over youself. It's a lover's caress, and his fingers slip between yours as he wraps around you like the protector that he is. 

Your walls flutter, the thickness inside you makes you swell with every thrust. His hips are relentless as he buries himself into you with blunt force, his flesh clapping against yours and making your cunt clamp down on him. Sweet, sweet, sweet, your blood sings as your lids drift closed. The wave is coming, the final tsunami that will sweep you with it, and you will only succumb with joy.

"Don't-stop," you hear yourself beg through the heavy pants he's grunting on your neck.

"'M not gonna stop," he grunts into your ear, serious now.

"Fuh–Fuck me good and… hard," you're hiccuping through dry tears. It feels like there's a hammer and an anvil placed between your ribs. "I need you hard-"

"Shit…"

You barely grasp that he's about to lose his precious control before the midnight sea takes you under. The world fades into a tight know of blue and white and black, electric, ambient, something soft and hot at the same time. You're choking on your tears, moaning into the pillow like a poor, broken, tortured cat. 

"That's fucking pretty," he swears on your neck as you cum. All humor is gone now, but he's not mocking you. He's just… emotional. The bulk of him rides you through the wave, but the rhythm of his hips becomes erratic. 

"That's it, pretty… I'm gonna…Fuck," he huffs on your skin, a mist of want, and the cockhead rubs something profound inside you and makes you jolt in the middle of your molten euphoria. He grunts, swears, and does it again - bludgeons so deep it forces out a sob, just before he breaks too with a choked, wet swallow and a groan. A trembling colossus, you think, as he thickens and bursts inside you.

You're an aching mess when he comes, his thighs pressing over yours and forcing them far and wide as he buries himself into you to the hilt. He's a behemoth, spasming and crumbling right above you. The broad abs bunch against your back while his hips pin you down and spread you open. The cock pulses inside you, and you are barely able to think how it's a miracle that both his thick flesh and the pool of cum, all of it, just somehow fits there inside you…

A gentle brute until the end, he swallows again, thick and breathless, before giving a few tight rolls of his hips, emptying himself to the last drop. Slowly, you both still inside your bubble of warm, dark blue, something akin to a sea between a tropical storm and a calm sunrise, a drowsy reef shifting with the waves. 

He's broken into a light sweat from the toil when he finally untangles your fingers. Your hips are kept in place with one hand as he slowly pulls out. You feel like you're left emptier than before, even if you feel the cum welling up inside, about to spill over.

Your bodyguard - your late-night fuck - collapses beside you, then reaches to pull you close again. Still back against his chest, still unable to look into your eyes when you're both vulnerable. 

"I'm gonna get you a towel," his fingers tremble as he caresses your arm with the most delicate touch. 

"No–don't, don't go," you whisper, then grab his hand and bring it back over you. You almost squeeze yourself with it. "Please?"

The tension behind your back decreases as he slowly falls back into bed.

"Alright love. I'll stay right here."

It's so peculiar how he reminds you of large water masses. A night sea under a pale moonlight. Not a stormy, roiling one, just a vast depth in an ever-swelling motion.

"I want… I need you to keep me safe," you whisper inside that swelling sea. You never want to come to the surface. You want to learn to breathe underwater. The heavy arm is draped over you; it covers nearly half of your chest as he sighs.

"Then let me do that."

His plea is not humble - nothing in this man is. He's not on one knee, swearing his allegiance and vowing to always protect you. He's not your Lancelot.

But in a way, his plea comes far too close to a beg. You feel a sting near your heart. It's electric, pure pain - the sweet kind, though, as you realize he doesn't only want to do his job… He wants to protect you. He has already tried his best to protect you while you run around like nothing is wrong. 

"Simon… I'm sorry."

"I already forgave you," he hums on your skin, evidently glad that you two finally understand each other. It should send you laughing, the thought that you needed his scars and his…treatment to find common ground. And free of charge, no less.

"Do you still wish you were somewhere warmer…?"

He bows his head against the nape of your neck, and the gush of air from his nose is warm and jovial. "No."

It's hours till dawn, but you wish it would never come. The beauty of the night is only now unfolding before you. It feels far more safe than the violent dawn. You wonder how he would react if you moaned his name as you cum. If he would shudder. You wonder what the hell is wrong with you that you didn't already do it...

"Simon…?"

"Mm..?"

"What happens now?"

There's a pause, but he doesn't shift for more comfort. Still, the bullet vests and battle gears are back on; you just sense it.

"We're gonna get some sleep."

"No, I meant… What does this mean for us?"

"What do you think it means?"

Now he shifts, but only to draw you closer. You feel like jello as he pulls your scent deep into his lungs, then exhales the grace on your skin like you're the only tobacco he needs after a good round of sex.

"Don't worry about it, princess," he murmurs on your skin. So delicately that you could claim this man has never even seen the army, never barked and shouted and smoked his throat dry. "We'll talk in the morning."

You settle into his sea, an embrace full of gentle, heavy safety. It's the sweetest oblivion to slip in as you begin a dreamless sleep, soft and snug. But it's not merciful enough to make you forget that you two… 

You never even kissed.

............................................

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[thekitsunesiren]

Dp x Dc Prompt

Danny Fenton is scared of the Wayne family. Most specifically: Bruce Wayne.

Not because he knows that they're the bat family and they could kill him. Not because he's another hero that's secretly living in another heroes terf.

No. Danny was afraid of Bruce Wayne because he didn't want to be adopted.

It started out not too long after her first arrived to Gotham. Someone has mistaken him as one of the Wayne family children, and when he said that he wasn't.

The person apologized before making a sly remark that if he wasn't a Wayne yet, then he will be soon.

That comment was something that creeped him out, but he was sure that it was a one time thing and it wouldn't happen again.

Except, it did. Multiple times.

Various people thought that he was a Wayne; asking for interviews, photos, or even trying to kidnap him. It was happening enough that he was starting to get worried.

Then he met them: The Waynes.

It was entirely on accident that he really didn't want to do it in the first place. How and when they met was definitely something that he would blame Clockwork for.

But he could see why. Bruce Wayne and some of his children looked exactly like each other, Danny couldn't believe that they were adopted.

And that, was what set Danny's alarms of. (For some reason)

He just escaped one crazy fruit loop trying to make him his son, he didn't want to deal with another one who potentially who had more power and was more dangerous.

And who knows if his kids were even adopted?! They could be kidnapped children he made his soldiers or clones of himself to carry on his legacy. Nope. Danny wasn't dealing with any of that!

Fast forward to Danny trying his hardest to avoid every single Wayne family member to to the best of his ability, whether in human or ghost form.

The batfam are just suspicious about this why this random child is avoiding them at all costs, wondering what he could be hiding for him to be doing so.

[aphrogeneias]

in plain sight — one-shot

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x assistant!reader, rockstar!steve harrington x assistant!reader (one-sided)

summary: corroded coffin has a substitute drummer for the last dates of their stadium tour, and he's everything eddie dislikes, but his aggravation towards the drummer turns into something more when he starts getting a little too close to you.

word count: 3k

warnings: smut (+18), secret relationship, jealousy, possessiveness. steve isn't a bad guy but eddie sees him that way. bathroom sex, exhibitionism, finger sucking, fingering, unprotected sex.

author's note: this is based on a request by the lovely @thornsnvultures and i went a little overboard with it <3 oops.

As the house party raged around him, Eddie was not enjoying himself.

Everything was bothering him. The way the railing was digging to his back as he slouched back on it, his beer was getting warmer by the second, the buzz of whatever he'd smoked back inside long gone. He was in a mansion in Bel Air, overlooking the hills, celebrating selling out one of the biggest shows of his career yet, but he felt miserable.

If you were there, you'd tell him he was being dramatic, but that was exactly his problem — you weren't.

It was the last leg of the tour and you'd been beyond busy, busier than usual. Being their tour manager’s assistant, you had to be everywhere with Rick, and Rick had been working nonstop to make sure everything was happening accordingly. You'd been traveling back and forth, working late, helping the supporting bands as well.

Eddie was proud of you, but he missed you like hell.

What was bothering him the most, however, was not your absence, but the presence of someone else. See, Gareth had pulled a stunt that had cost Corroded Coffin their beloved drummer — a stunt that involved a risky jump and a hotel pool, and ended in a broken arm and a mild concussion.

They had to hire a substitute drummer, and Steve Harrington came with good recommendations, and a reputation to match. He'd played with multiple different glam metal bands in the past, and while that wasn't the band’s usual style, they were desperate and on a tight schedule. Steve and his excessive hair routine would have to do.

Except that Eddie couldn't stand the guy and his show-off attitude. It was one thing to demand attention on stage, something he was acquainted with, but he was constantly surrounded by people, talking loudly, making demands and getting on his nerves.

The worst was when you were around, which was — and Eddie had never thought he would even say this — thankfully not much.

Eddie understood, believe him. Being near you was tempting enough, and he knew he wasn't the only man, or woman, who felt this way in your presence. It didn't mean he was okay with it, especially when he couldn't publically stake his claim on you.

You were his, even if nobody knew. If he had his way, the whole world would.

Whenever you were able to be around, Steve was all over you, claiming he needed help adapting. He always needed a favor or two, all of which Eddie doubted were really a necessity. You smiled and obliged, as always. It made Eddie’s blood boil, the way he always seemed to stand a little too close to you, running a hand through his hard and batting his eyelashes at you.

Regrettably, it also made Eddie feel like a hypocrite. Before you were together, that's exactly what he would do to get your attention, and he still does — asking for favors only to have you all to himself, sneaking you into an empty room to spread you out on the nearest surface, to feel you close.

The only difference was that Steve had no right to, whether he knew it or not.

Eddie made his way back inside of the house, grabbing a bottle of whiskey that was left half full on the rail near him. He took a generous sip as he watched the scene developing in front of him. Steve sat in the middle of the couch, surrounded by their guests, a groupie in each arm, and they hung onto his every word.

“Hey, man!” From the other side of the room, the drummer waved him over with a smile, and a cigarette hanging on the side of his lips. “Come sit with us!”

The guitarist waved back, but with no intention of following through. Just then, two people walked in the front door. An older man in a brown coat and a woman on his arm, and right behind them, you. A vision in a fur coat, the one he got you while in Europe, and the knee high boots he loved so much.

Your eyes met through the crowded living room, and he fought the urge to run to you and hold you tight, lift you in his arms and make you yelp as he squeezed you tight. Neither of you moved, though.

There was a slight movement of your head, a discreet nod he knew well. Later.

Another nod. Another swig of the bottle on his hand. Later.

Watching you move around the house, mingling with the guests, making the rounds by Rick’s side was torture.

Sweet, sweet torture. Following your hips with his eyes, swaying as you walked. Watching your lips wrap around the bottle of beer handed to you by another man, the lipstick print left around the neck that he wished was on him.

He was getting tipsy, and probably obvious with his constant staring. Not that he cared, really.

Time passed as he did his own socializing. Fellow musicians, big shot executives, journalists trying to get a piece of him. Always one eye on you.

Distracted with making small talk with the guitarist from another band, he almost missed you passing right beside him, bumping delicately into him, and carefully placing a hand on his arm.

Just a small run of your thumb over his skin had him folding.

Eddie excused himself, following you to the most crowded part of the living room, where everyone was too distracted by the loud music coming from the big loudspeakers near the wall, or too under the influence of something or other to care who's around them.

The light was low, your eyes glowing under the black eyeliner around them, seeing right through him from where you stood, resting your body against the wall.

“Hey.”

The shy smile glistened on your pretty lips. He desperately wanted to kiss it off. Instead, he just answered, “Hey, you.”

He got closer, close enough to brush your body with his, watching your thighs fall open for him to fit between them. His lips laid a soft kiss on your cheek, and you turned slightly to nuzzle his nose with yours.

He was finally able to breathe.

“Are you okay?” Watching him closely, your eyes ran over his features. “What's got you all pouty like this, huh?”

Your hand caught his chin, pinching it between your fingers, squishing his lips together. He held your wrist in a reverent palm, removing your hand and kissing your fingers.

“‘M tired, and I missed you.”

You squinted at him. “That's not all, though. Is it?”

He sighed, long and still a little irritated. “Steve is getting on my fucking nerves.”

“I knew it.” You smiled, triumphant. “Why didn't you tell me earlier?”

“You knew it?”

“Baby, you are too obvious. Everybody knows, even Rick and he's stoned most of the time. Lucky for you, Steve doesn't seem to care, or if he does, he doesn't let on.”

You had an amused look on your face, lips downturned comically as to imitate his own. Eddie couldn't help himself, and leaned in to bite your cheek, playfully growling as he did it. Stop it, you cried out, pushing him off of you.

“I don't care what he thinks. I'm just glad he'll be gone soon.”

“What is it about him that has you all worked up, anyway?”

Your question made him mentally start listing all of the reasons the drummer got him like that. Center of attention, cares too much about his looks, tries to steal his girl. The last reason was the main one, but he wasn't about to tell you that.

Instead, he points to the couch where he's still sitting, soaking up on the attention he's being given. Glowing under the gaze of the adorning crowd around him. “Look at him,” Eddie rolled his eyes, and forgot for a moment how exasperated he was when you giggled, leaning in close, “seriously! We're not that kind of band.”

“Are you saying you're not a band of handsome guys?” You purred, wrapping your arms around his neck, trying to look your sulking boyfriend in the eye.

“That's not what I…” He huffed, eyebrows pinched, full-on pouting. “You think he's handsome?”

“Now it's my turn to say that's not what I meant.”

Eddie pulled you further into the corner, frustrated that he could only hold you like this in public in dark corners, hiding you in plain sight. His hands pulled you impossibly closer by the waist, and turned you so that your back was pressed against the wall.

His lips traveled lazily over the soft skin of your neck, taking in your scent, the taste of sweat and smoke and something uniquely you, biting on the sensitive place where your neck met your shoulder. He wished he could hear the sweet sounds he was pulling from you, but the deep bass coming from the nearby loudspeaker kept them from him.

“Don't want to talk anymore.” Eddie mumbled, kissing up your neck again, leaving wet kisses in his wake. “Want you.”

Pulling on his curls, you made him look at you as you giggled again, and for the first time that night, Eddie forgot what was bothering him in the first place. You leaned in to kiss him, smiling into his lips, “You started it.”

You stay like that for a moment, savoring each other. Stealing a taste or two, each kiss made sweeter by the urge of a borrowed moment. When he was just starting to push you against the wall a little harder, hands grasping your waist with unbridled need, you pulled away.

Eddie tried his best not to show his frustration, lowering his forehead to rest on your shoulder. Lovingly, you ran a hand over his hair, “I need to make the rounds a little more, and then we'll be outta here, ‘kay? We can leave together, we'll figure out a way.”

“I hate this.”

He didn't need to say more. He knew you understood.

“I know.” You whispered, and kissed his temple, making him sigh. “I don't like it either, but you got me for the rest of the night. I promise.”

You had to part ways, again. The promise of later still hung in the air, thick like molasses.

Trying to disguise his growing frustration, Eddie let himself be dragged outside by his friends, who were always trying to find a way to make drinking games more extreme with each passing party.

He stood to the side until he grew bored again, antsy with thoughts of you, knowing you were just in his reach. When he came back inside, he froze right in front of the glass doors.

“What the fuck?”

The aggravated mumble slipped out, along with the last thread of his self-control.

Steve was finally able to corner you. He'd left behind the girls that were all over him earlier to talk to you, standing in the middle of the room. You were smiling politely as he gesticulated, likely telling you a story with the intention to impress you.

Eddie was not impressed, not in the least.

He was already making his way towards you, his feet working faster than his alcohol-addled brain, when he saw Steve reach for you, putting a hand on your arm. It was an innocent touch at first glance, just a run of his thumb over your bicep, but the drummer was getting closer, lowering his gaze.

Your expression was guarded, but you were caught by surprise when Eddie reached you. Eyes widened as you caught his tight, forced smile, already putting one hand on the small of your back.

“Harrington! Steve, buddy. Do you mind if I steal Miss Y/L/N here for a moment?” He said, already pulling you away. He'd be damned if he waited another second. “I need to discuss some last minute details about the next show.”

“C’mon, man! We're in the middle of a party. Work can wait.” Steve argued, trying to get you back.

“Can't argue with a creative genius. Sorry, Steve!” You chimed in, allowing yourself to be led in the direction of the stairs.

Eddie could tell you were trying not to laugh as he guided up the stairs and through the hall, filled with people too high to notice the two of you, and another couple practically fucking against the wall next to one of the bedrooms. He pulled you in the first bathroom, but not before taking the bandana off his pocket and tying it around the golden door handle.

Busy. Please, do not disturb.

As soon as the door was locked, he pressed you against it, needing to feel your body against his. “What was that, Eddie?”

His hand went to the back of your neck, eyes blazing, set on your face. “I can't fucking stand it when he thinks he can get close to you.” Lips lower to touch the sensitive skin of your neck, delivering rough kisses, raising goosebumps all over your body. “Put his hand on you. You're mine.”

Between a heavy sigh, you whine. “He doesn't know, baby.”

“I don't care.” He was doing too much at once, but it's not enough. His hands were everywhere — on your waist, down to your hips, under the swell of your breasts, wandering over the soft fabric of your dress. His mouth abused your neck and collarbones, leaving his mark behind with tongue and teeth. “I’ll tell him. Let’im know you're taken.”

“Yeah? Gonna tell him I'm all yours?” Eddie lifts his head to meet your gaze, and he's faced with the little smirk growing on your lips. “Tell him you own me?”

He knew you were teasing him, but he was not in the mood for that. “Goddamn right, I do.”

You're given a bruising kiss, then. Full of meaning. It says mine, mine, mine. Your mouths moved frantically, your lips sucking on his tongue, his teeth sinking on your bottom lip. Pushing and pulling and taking.

One of the hands that were on your waist traveled up to your chin, pulling your mouth away from his, and replacing it with two of his fingers, which you take willingly, spreading your pretty lips open for him. “Suck,” he ordered.

Without breaking eye contact, you sucked on his fingers, making a show out of it, narrowing your cheeks and lavishing them with your eager tongue, making him throb in his tight jeans. His other hand lifted your dress up to your waist, and lowered your panties to rest down the curve of your ass, just enough for him to feel you with his now spit slick fingers.

He found you soaked. “You like this, don't ya? You like it when I tell you you're mine, baby?”

It was hard for you to answer with those thick fingers filling your dripping cunt, up to his ringed knuckles. You clenched around him and tried to grind yourself on him, wanting more. “I like being yours.”

“My girl.” He purred into your cheek, kissing you again. Taking no time warming you up, because he knew you could take him, he moved his fingers with precision, relishing in the wet sounds that you made just for him while you worked on his belt and zipper, pulling his jeans down.

Eddie made quick work of the rest, asking you to jump when he grabbed your ass and lifted you up to wrap your legs around his narrow hips. He didn't waste a second longer, pushing his cock inside you, letting out a long exhale as he bottomed out.

“Move, Eds, please.” You tried to push him impossibly closer, boots digging into his lower back. “I need you.”

“I'm here, baby. I've got you.”

He let all he was feeling out in his thrusts. His frustrations, the longing he felt being separated from you, his need to possess you. To make you his, even though you already were. He slammed your body into the door behind you, shaking it with the way he was drilling his cock into your needy pussy, sucking him in.

As he did that, he thought about how the entire corridor must be hearing you. The noise the door was making, your perfect, loud moans over the music that was already lowered downstairs. He reveled in it, grasping and grunting while he pounded you into next week.

“That's it, honey. Let them hear.” He ran his mouth, already feeling that familiar pull on his heavy balls, slapping your ass with each stroke. You weren't that far behind him how you were creaming all over him, dripping down his thighs, digging your nails on his back. “Scream for me. Let them know who's fucking you this good.”

“Eddie!” It took another grind of his hips against your swollen clit to push you over the edge, gripping tight as you came. He buried his head on your neck as he chased his own high, delivering a brutal pace that was surely to leave you bruised the next day.

Neither of you cared. They were just another reminder of who you belonged to.

Your boyfriend almost crushed you to the surface of the door when he came, holding you tight to him as he caught his breath. You clung to each other — Eddie kissing every spot of you he could find, and you with your hand buried in his wild hair, running your fingers over his scalp.

When everything went still, he breathed you in, taking in your scent, feeling your pulse under your heated skin. Finally in his arms, wrapped all around him.

“I wasn't going to let him do anything, you know that, don't you?” You murmured. “I only want you.”

“I know, baby.” He smiles softly, meeting your eyes. “I'm the one who needed a reminder.”

“I think we reminded the whole house.”

You were telling that more to yourself than to him, and he knew how shy you were. “Here's what we're gonna do,” he reassured you, “you're gonna leave first, I'll follow you outside, and we can have my apartment all to ourselves all night. How does that sound?” He finished his proposal with a kiss to your forehead.

“Sounds perfect.”

[withlovemark]

to be loved - steve harrington

warning: mentions of steve's wounds, little angst! but it's a happy ending i promise

pairing: steve x reader

words: 2.3k+

summary: steve finally allows himself to believe in love again

an: i posted this a couple of days ago? and just now realized it got deleted. not really sure what happened there. anyways, found this in my drafts a week ago? (i have no concept of time). i didn't want to leave it rotting there so i wrote a quick ending and here you go. hope its okay!

-

three light taps, a knock that echoed throughout the boy’s dimly lit room, a sound enough to startle him after the events that have taken place in the past few days. not a single other person was in this house, a normality that he has accepted. steve’s parents were never around and he had no other relatives that would even care if he was still alive. his friends were a bunch of high schoolers, except for robin and…you.

he knows he’s messed it up with you. he can see it with the way you avoid his glances, the way you would choose to sit in the furthest chair away from him, the way you would get quiet when he was around and the way you stopped yourself from reaching out for him. the familiarity of your touch is no longer accessible, becoming only a memory. he can’t blame you though, your last words to him still replaying in his mind, loud and clear.

“i don't think i can do this anymore steve, i can't keep coming to your house, sleeping in your clothes, doing things that friends aren’t supposed to be doing, just for you to still be thinking about her.” 

he’s about to roll over onto his bed. to sleep the remnants of the past away. to keep ignoring everything like he always does and get ready for a new day, pretending he was healed. that he was okay. he was not. 

nowadays, it’s easier to slap a smile on his face instead of talking about his feelings. the last time he let himself truly feel something, he got his heart ripped out of his chest and trampled upon like it meant nothing, like it was a rock you could use to skip stones, one that you could let go of and not care enough whether it comes back to shore or get lost in the deepest parts of the lake. 

another knock makes its way to his ears. he thinks he’s imagining it until another one comes. grabbing the bat he hid between his nightstand, he slowly made his way to his bedroom door, feeling absolutely drained. the pain on his stomach, from the demobats that got a taste, still stinging, a pain that travels throughout his body with every miniscule movement. slowly, he carefully unlocks his door, ready to swing, until his brown eyes meet your wide, shocked ones. letting out the breath he didn’t even know he was holding, he slowly lowers his bat. 

“hi,” you whisper, “i uh, got in using the spare key,” a sheepish smile on your lips, holding up the silver key that was hidden in the dead plant placed on his front door. the key he told you about so you could sneak into his house at any given moment. the key that led to love marks all over his body, painting pink and purple constellations. the key you haven’t used since that night you decided to end whatever it was there to end. 

“you agreed to no feelings, that we would just be friends with benefits and that's it, you know that's all it could be,” steve has his face resting on his palm, his once perfectly styled hair going in different directions. like this - bare chest, lips still red from yours, neck stained beautifully by the artwork you left behind, he looked like he belonged in an art gallery. 

“i-i know, but i-i couldn’t help it…it’s just so easy to fall in love with you,” a confession that leaves the boy paralyzed, doe, teary eyes staring up at his brown ones — almost pleading.

“stop. you don’t know what you’re saying.” he’s angry. mad that those words could slip past your lips so easily. mad that even though you’re looking at him like he somehow brought the moon to you, he still can’t find it in himself to believe it. 

“steve-,” you try to reach out for his hand but he pulls away before you could even feel him. all you want is to pull him into your arms, to remind him that he is worth loving but you see the battle in his eyes, the war that’s taking place in his mind and you know he has his kingdom closed, walls up, ready to strike and defend himself at any second. there is no room for you in his castle, you see that now. 

“i-im sorry,” your voice was gentle, afraid he’ll completely lock the gate on you. the last thing you wanted was to fight, you’re defenseless when it comes to him. 

“let’s just pretend that none of this happened and we can go back to being friends, nothing changes and for the sake of us and the others, no questions asked,” his words were met with silence that cuts through like a sword against your neck. 

you felt detached from reality, feeling like you were watching this conversation happen instead of being a part of it. you had no control when you slowly got off his bed and quietly switched back into your clothes, his words transferring a sort of numbness to your whole being. 

he watched as you removed his t-shirt from your body and tossed it into his laundry bag, slipping back into your own clothes, making him think that his old t-shirt looked way better on you. yet all he did was watch. watched as you gave him one last forced smile and walked out of his room. the sound of the front door opening and closing traveling throughout the house. 

the days that followed after were stolen glances, opposite directions, uncomfortable silences, tiptoes, lingering feelings, longing stares, tension. neither one budged nor made the effort to even act like friends, going along with the others like they were fools when in reality, there can be no one more foolish than the pair. 

“hi?” he greets you just as quietly, head tilted, confused, like a puppy who was hearing a new sound for the first time. he sees you glance at his bandaged stomach, eyes traveling up to his bruised neck and notices the way you want to reach out to him but just like all the other times before, you stop yourself. 

“i-uh i brought you some food, and a first aid kit,” your voice still a mere whisper, he nods, guards down, stepping aside as you walk into the room you’ve been in countless times before. 

you placed the bag on his vanity, taking out it’s contents one by one and like before, he sat upon his bed and watched — a bowl that seemed to contain his favorite chicken noodle soup coming into view, it’s aroma hitting his nostrils, a clear tupperware filled with your famous homemade chocolate cookies, one that smells like home, the ones the kids would fight over with, resulting to an extra batch made just for him since he never won. 

he suddenly realizes how hungry he was, not really having the motivation nor the appetite to keep his stomach full. his body responds by lightly growling, a sound he hoped you didn’t hear.

“you should eat,” you break the silence, looking at him through his vanity mirror, “gonna need all your strength back to make sure you can always play hero,” you send him a small smile, he softly chuckles at your words, eyes falling to his sheets which suddenly became interesting, when was the last time he changed his sheets anyway. 

“i also brought you new bandages so you can change that every couple of hours, make sure it doesn’t get infected, with all these monsters around, that’d be the lamest way to go, y’know?,” you joked, trying to lighten the air. he stares at your back, contemplating. regardless of the fact that you were always an arm length away, he missed you.

he wants to be selfish. he wants to be taken care of, to be loved. 

and for the first time in a while, his mind is silent, focusing only on the fact that you are there.

making his way over to you, he wraps his arms around your waist, hands falling on top of each other, sitting tightly on your stomach, his head hiding on the crook of your neck, light puffs of air falling from his lips causing goosebumps to rise all over your body. he feels you stiffen, holding your breath, before relaxing back into his chest, hand gently hovering over his. you stay that way for a while, a minute or two, before you turn around, still in his embrace. slowly your hands make their way to his neck, fingers dancing lightly around his red, bright scar and ever so gently, landing around his cheek, eyes on yours, “are you okay?”

with those three words, the gates open and with it came a river of tears. he shakes his head no and this time, he lets you pull him into your arms as he found solace in your warmth, your perfume that smelled like the sweetest of flowers, making him feel like the sun was on his back as he laid his head on your chest. your fingers immediately run through his silky hair and he feels like a huge weight has just been lifted off his shoulders. 

“thank you for being here,” his voice hoarse from the quiet cries that slipped past his lips, he pulled away, admiring the way the moonlight from his window reflected itself into your eyes, brushing back the strand of hair that dangled in front of them. 

“i-i thought i was gonna lose you,” words that broke the boy’s heart. he can’t even imagine what he would have done if the roles were reversed. “i-i was so scared,” you continue, trying to hold back the tears that were begging to fall. 

“hey,” rough palms making it’s way to your cheeks, softly caressing you, golden eyes shining, “you will never lose me.”

“haven’t i already?,” you cry out. you hated the way you danced around him like he was a stranger. hated the fact that you couldn’t allow yourself to find comfort in him, afraid you would cross the line that the boy remarkably drew out and completely lose access to him. 

“no,” he lightly shakes his head, “ no….hey, look at me,” his finger under your chin, gently pleading for your eyes to find his. “i’m right here, i’m not going anywhere, i’m sorry i’ve been running, i was just…scared,” he admits. 

“scared of what?,” you urge him on, waiting for the answer to the problem you’ve been trying to solve. his hands find their way around yours as he looks down, composing his thoughts. 

“i was scared you would finally realize there will always be someone better, that you’d leave and i’d be all alone again,” he spills his truths. and you can’t fathom how blind you’ve been to not see it. the reason behind nancy appearing in his thoughts. 

“i’m not her, you know?” you say quietly. he nods, “i-i know,” he says guiltily. 

“and i don’t want better, steve…i just want you,” you confess into the night, steve feels all the air rush into his lungs, almost like he was learning how to breathe for the first time. he searches your eyes for any signs of doubt but only saw his own reflection in them. 

“do you want me?” you barely heard your own voice, afraid of the answer. he scoffs, “god, is that even a question?,” you look at him, confusion etched onto the creases of your eyebrows and steve almost wished the bats got him instead of realizing that he has left you doubting his feelings for you.

“of course i want you,” his brown eyes staring deeply into yours, “i can’t get you out of my head, all this time all i wanted was to be near you, to hold your hand, god, y/n i’m in love with you and i prayed, god i prayed to a guy i barely believed in that we would both make it out there alive because i-i can’t imagine my life without you and-,” he’s breathless, telling you everything he has wanted for weeks. word after word stumbling out of his lips as your smile grew with every syllable, until you couldn’t take it anymore. 

you pulled the boy towards you and like magnets, you connected, quickly placing your lips against his before your eyes drowned in your favorite color, the smile forming on his lips evident “i said it before but i’m in love with you too.” 

his eyes soften, finally allowing himself to believe those words, soft lips meets yours once again, battling, making up for all the lost time, hands automatically finding its way up his brown curls like they were meant to always be there, his, around your waist, pulling you as close to him as possible, fearing that if he let you go, you’ll disappear as if it was a dream.

but as you make that little sound, the one that drives him crazy, butterflies erupting in his stomach, he knows that this is better than any dream he could ever imagine. you were here with him. you were in love with him. 

your hands slowly starts making its way down to his body, but before the situation could escalate, he can’t help but break the kiss off, the pain from his wounds still evident, he lets out a sharp moan, “ow,” snapping you back to reality.

“oh my god, i'm so sorry,” you apologize, inspecting his bandages. 

“don’t be,” he reassures you, a light kiss placed upon your lips, “you’re worth it,” he teased, causing your giggles to harmonize, his forehead leaning against yours, a content sigh slipping off his lips. two eyes crinkling, sharing light smiles. 

“as much as i would love to stare into your eyes forever” you break the dream-like state, “i worked really hard on that chicken noodle soup and it would be a shame for it to go to waste,” you laugh and he holds on to the moment as long as possible. 

“now, we wouldn’t want that, plus we have forever to lovingly gaze in each other’s eyes,” he winks, sending you into a fit of laughter. he kisses you one more time before grabbing your favorite t-shirt, his t-shirt, in his drawer and handing it to you.  

an: i really don't post in this acc unless i have something to post lmao. also, currently in my bridgerton phase so don't mind the profile pic, or do mind it? feel free to let me know your favorite bridgerton :)

[yangfleurs]

midnight mistakes. (part 2)

pt. 1

you knocked on the door in front of you, shivering and soaked to the bone from the pouring rain outside. there was no answer, and you weren't surprised considering it was already past midnight at this point. you knocked again, louder this time, hoping someone would get up to check. you waited patiently, staying in view of the peephole of the door to make sure they could see you. the door locks began to jingle suddenly, making you jump slightly.

"y/n? why are you here? I thought chan went home to you?" hyunjin asked as he opened the door, putting down the bat in his hand, "the other aren't home so I---oh my god, you must be freezing!" he gasped suddenly, ushering you into the dorm. he rushed you into chan's room and let you borrow some of the things chan left in his closet. you changed quickly into a hoodie and shorts, before coming out and meeting hyunjin in the living room.

after tossing your wet clothes in the dryer and bringing you a hot tea, hyunjin finally came to sit down next to you on the sofa.

"okay, now tell me why you're at the dorms without your boyfriend at 1 am?" he quirked an eyebrow at you.

"he kicked me out." you mumbled, sipping your tea and sinking in to the couch to sulk.

"what? are we talking about the same chan?" he looked at you, confused at your words.

"you know how he's been working on some tracks for the last few weeks?" hyunjin nodded, "well, he left them open and accidentally deleted them while borrowing his laptop, so he kicked me out." your eyes began to water again, making you sniffle.

hyunjin scoffed, "that is no excuse to kick someone out! especially so late at night, what was he thinking?" he sighed, rubbing your back comfortingly.

"and..." your voice wavered, "I told him that if he was really kicking me out, I-I couldn't guarantee I would come back." you wiped your face---once again wet, but this time, with tears.

"and that asshole didn't follow you out? I can't believe him. do you want me to talk to him?" he asked, hugging you as you wept.

"no no, it's okay. I-I just felt so stupid and belittled, hyune. I didn't even grab anything and ran straight out. you were the first person I thought to go to." you sniffled.

"I'm glad you came here, y/n, you know you're always welcome. you poor thing," he frowned, " why don't you go and try to get some rest now? you've had a long day." he suggested, leading you gently to chan's room to sleep.

"thank you, hyune, really." you two hugged before parting ways.

you settled down in the comfort of chan's dorm bed. as soon as your head hit the pillow, it engulfed you in the strong scent of his shampoo. you breathed in the familiar scent and sighed. you normally had a difficult time falling asleep, but not tonight. you were desperate to escape your heartbreak, and after an endless number of tears had soaked into the pillow underneath you, you had succumbed to sleep.

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

chan knew he should've followed you out of the apartment. he knew he shouldn't have let his anger and frustration get the best of him, especially because there was no way he could get any real work done when all he could think about was where you could've possibly gone so late at night in a city where you barely knew anyone except for him. his heart ached at how callous he was towards you, but his stubbornness kept him glued in front of his desk.

chan had been trying to get some work done for the past hour, hoping he could finesse some of the half-finished versions of his tracks he had managed to salvage into something decent before the deadline, but they were still way too short and lacking any real depth. he groaned in frustration, leaning back against his chair and letting his headphones slide down his head. he sighed, swallowing some of his pride, and grabbed his phone. he would just call you and make sure you were someplace safe, that's all.

but when chan heard the familiar sound of your ringtone coming from the living room, his heart sank right through him and his resolve flew right out of the window. the panic set in quickly, making him rush to his feet and slowly walk into the living room, as if walking slowly would make the reality become any less real. there, on the counter next to the front door, sat your phone, keys, and wallet. chan felt like the breath had been knocked out of him, his chest tightening to the point where it was hard for him to breath. he took a few deep breaths, trying to gain back his rationale, before running through the list of people you could've gone to.

lee know, felix, seungmin, and jeongin were definitely already asleep by the time you had headed out, and he knew you weren't the type to bother an entire dorm of sleeping people. changbin and jisung were spending the night in the studio, so it couldn't be them. that left only hyunjin. chan dialed his phone number and held his breath as it rang and rang, eventually going to voicemail. he called back multiple times, the panic making him frantic and irrational once again. after about the twelfth call, hyunjin finally picked up.

"what?" hyunjin asked shortly, making sure the irritation in his voice was clear.

"hyunjin, is y/n at the dorms by any chance?" he asked, trying to steady his shaking voice.

"shouldn't you know where your girlfriend is, hyung?" he spat.

"listen, I really fucked up, okay? I need to know if she's there and safe. so please answer me, hyunjin, I am begging you---is she there?" he asked once again, his anxiety increasing as he anticipated hyunjin's answer.

there was a brief pause on the line, hyunjin's hesitation making chan's stomach turn. hyunjin sighed heavily.

"she's fine. sleeping, finally. the only reason I'm still up is because all I could hear for the past hour is the poor thing's sniffling and crying."

"can I talk to her? she left her phone at home and I--" he gulped, holding his own tears, of both heartache and relief, back so he could keep talking steadily, "I just need to hear that she's really there and okay."

"I'll ask, but if she says no, I'm not going to push. " hyunjin said curtly.

chan heard some rustling over the phone, followed by a knock and hyunjin asking if you'd like to talk to chan. his chest tightened as he heard the faintest tone of your voice. hyunjin cleared his throat before talking to chan again.

"she's not budging. but..." he paused, "I definitely won't be sleeping any time soon. "

"I'm on my way. thank you so much, hyunjin." chan said quickly, stirring to his feet and making a beeline for the front door.

"I'm still angry at you, though. if y/n wants you gone, you have to leave. no buts, got it?"

chan agreed before hanging up and opening the door out of the apartment complex. he looked around and noticed the wet ground. it hadn't rained earlier when he came home. the guilt he felt only worsened at the thought of you running in the cold rain without so much as a jacket to protect you. he was going to have to do a lot more than simply apologize---he had to make it up to you.

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

you stirred awake at the sound of the door slowly creaking open. you sat up and looked over with squinted eyes.

"hyune?" you croaked horribly, the crying you had done becoming obvious.

"y/n." the voice, his voice, breathed out. he cautiously walked towards you.

"w-what? why are you here?" you yelled, panicking at chan's sudden presence. you shot up in the bed and pulled the duvet flush against your chest.

"I came to apologize." he said nervously, sitting at the edge of his bed and looking over at you.

"I don't want to hear it. get out." you spat angrily.

"you have every right to be angry at me. but could you just hear me out? please, baby? I promise I'll leave right after if that's what you really want, y/n." he pleaded, trying desperately to meet your eyes.

you looked to the side, refusing to look at him. you took a deep breath to control your emotions before answering him. "go on."

"okay," he took a deep breath, "y/n, I am so incredibly sorry. I completely overreacted and put my work before you like a selfish idiot. I shouldn't have gotten so angry over a mistake, and I blew the situation way out of proportion," he held his head low, fidgeting with his hands before looking up at your waiting eyes, "and I could spend the rest of my life apologizing, and I know that that still wouldn't be enough. but truly, y/n, I really am sorry." he gulped, looking up at the ceiling to stop himself from crying in front of you.

"no," you looked at him, angry tears welling in your eyes, "no, you don't get to swoop in and apologize as if this was any other stupid fight we've had!" the hurt in your voice was palpable and so raw.

chan felt truly helpless. not only was the guilt of letting you leave eating away at him, but now he had to face the fact that all of the pain and heartache you were going through was entirely his fault. "I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry, baby, I am so so sorry. I never meant to hurt you." his voice cracked. there was no use in trying to hold back his emotions now as his tears ran freely down his cheeks.

"chan, you don't get it," you paused to wipe your face, "I know your work is important. I get it, I do. but you didn't just kick me out. you didn't just let me leave. when you chose not to follow me out, you chose to fucking break up with me instead," you cried out, your throat raw, "you abandoned me." you whimpered, feeling completely broken.

"no---no, y/n, that's not---" chan struggled to find the right words to say to you, finally realizing the full gravity of the situation.

you abruptly crawled out of bed and stood there, looking away from chan. "you made your choice. now go." you whispered.

but as you tried walking towards the door, he grabbed your wrist firmly. he stood up with you, grabbing the other wrist and holding you in front of him. you felt his intense gaze above you, and you didn't dare to look up. you knew that as soon as you saw chan's flushed, heartbroken face, your resolve would completely disintegrate. you couldn't find it in you to move out of his grip either, though, too exhausted to keep fighting. his hands slowly slid from your wrists down to your hands. he gently caressed them with his thumbs before cautiously placing his hands around your waist. you felt him slowly slide down to the ground and onto his knees, his arms following him down to your legs.

"I figured I'd be able to see your face better from down here," he looked up at you, chuckling a little as he sniffled. his light demeanor changed quickly, though, as he became overcome with emotion once again, "I know I sound like a broken record but, fuck, I--" he blinked away fresh tears, "I can't apologize enough. I am so sorry, baby. not following after you was the worst mistake of my life. in my frustration, I didn't even realize I let the only thing worth caring about in my life walk out of it. I know I don't deserve to be forgiven, but I'm going to be selfish and ask for it, anyway. because I can't lose you. I love you way too much to let that happen. you know that, right? please, baby, tell me you know that?" he pleaded with you.

you finally sunk down to chan's level and sat in front of him, finally giving in, "of course I know that, chan," you sighed, "I love you, too." you said quietly.

"w-where do we go from here?" he asked you nervously, "I'll do whatever you want, my love."

"I don't want to break up."

"I don't want that, either." he breathed out a sigh of relief.

"I want this, all of this, to be over so badly. but if you ever, and I mean ever, do anything like that again, we will break up for good. I am so serious, chan, I will not forgive you a second time." you said solemnly.

"I wouldn't dream of it, my love," he smiled at you fondly, "am I forgiven then?" he asked you slyly.

"I guess so." you replied coyly.

"come here," he pulled you into his lap. you leaned against his chest, feeling much lighter after making up with chan. he pushed the hair away from your face.

"you know I am actually sorry about fucking up your tracks. I won't touch your laptop again, I promise." you mumbled.

"it's all in the past, baby, really. I'll figure it out," he hummed, "and besides, you're not even going to want to borrow my laptop soon."

you looked at him curiously, quirking an eyebrow at his strange remark.

"I got you a new laptop!" he beamed, "it won't be here until the end of the week, but I figured it was about time you threw that piece of junk you call a laptop away." he chuckled.

"oh my god! you didn't have to do that chan," you smiled at him with surprise, "thank you." you mumbled sweetly.

"it's the least I could do," he kissed the top of your head before picking you up abruptly, "now come on, we have some lost time to make up for." he peppered kisses across your face, making you giggle.

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

(a little bonus!)

the next morning, you and chan were awoken by loud chatter and laughter outside of the room. you both trudged out of bed one after another and made yourselves look decent before joining the others in the dining room.

you felt someone glaring at the two of you from one side of the room. "next time you guys decide to fight, do it at your own place. seriously, who yells that loud at 3 in the morning?" hyunjin groaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and yawning dramatically. chan apologized with a light laugh, ruffling hyunjin's hair as he put his head down against the dining table. you both sat down with him around the table together.

"oh, you guys are awake?" jisung asked, drying his head with a towel as he stepped out of the bathroom and joined all of you at the table, "we heard what happened last night. hyung, you know should've called us---" as if on cue, changbin came out of his room and stormed into the dining room.

"yah!" he yelled, "what the hell were you thinking not calling us after you lost our tracks?" changbin yelled.

please, changbin, I just spent the entire night regretting and begging for forgiveness, please leave me alone." chan whined.

changbin ignored him completely and turned to you, "y/n, guess what? the idiot you call your boyfriend didn't bother to call the people he literally produces every track with when he lost all of his work. you know, if he did actually think to call me or jisung, he would've known," he turned towards chan this time, "that he sent us those tracks to review and save on our laptops and he fought with you over absolutely nothing." he huffed.

your head whipped over to look at your boyfriend whose face was lit up with realization as he remembered doing everything changbin was saying.

"I suggest you take the intruder bat we keep under the couch and beat his ass." jisung mumbled next to you through a mouthful of food.

"jisung!" chan scolded.

"or I'll do it. it's for a good cause." he shrugged, "your call, y/n."

"thanks ji, but I'm good," you smiled, "if he's gonna get his ass kicked, it should be me doing it. sleep with one eye open, christopher." you glared at him.

"not the government name." hyunjin gasped.

"I'm sorry again?" chan said meekly, scratching the back of his neck. you smacked his arms a couple times, making him fake whine and eventually chuckle. he smothered you in an inescapable hug, holding you closely and kissing the top of your head.

"gag."

"shut up or you're next jisung."

[solarmorrigan]

Hello there! I’m not entirely sure if you’re still doing the whole angsty-ish prompt thing, but if you are could please consider doing, “Shit, are you bleeding!?”, with steddie and Steve being the one bleeding?

Maybe Steve never actually took care of his bat wounds and they reopened or smth??

If not then that’s totally fine! Feel free to ignore :)

THIS IS VERY LATE, I'M SORRY. I know you sent this request months ago, and believe it or not, I didn't forget about it! It haunted me. (Not really, but I did keep it in mind, and I finally managed to get a little thing out for it! I hope this is a little like what you had in mind?)

[CW: blood, mentions of injury]

-

They’ve done it.

They’ve actually fucking done it.

They pulled off the whole stupid plan, no one is dead (except for Vecna), they’re right-side up, the gate has resealed itself – it’s over.

They won.

And now, there’s just one thing left to do.

Nothing official, really, just something Eddie had promised himself he would do if he actually managed to survive (odds hadn’t seemed to be in his favor at the time, so he hadn’t expected to have to follow through, but he’d also promised himself there would be no more running away). In a way, he’d promised Steve, too, so he thinks he’d better deliver.

(At least, he hopes that’s what he’d communicated to Steve; he hopes that’s what that meaningful look and that significant nod that passed between them had meant and that he’s not about to get his ass kicked after surviving the siege of a bat tornado in a mirror version of his trailer in a fucked up alternate dimension.)

Eddie gives Dustin one last affectionate pat on the back, skirts around where Robin is babbling something enthusiastically at Nancy, who looks a little too shellshocked to do much more than listen with an almost disbelieving smile, and makes it over to where Steve is standing by the front door. He’s got his back to the group, hunched over a little as he fiddles with something beneath his unzipped jacket, but he perks up the moment he hears Eddie’s voice.

“Steve,” Eddie calls, more quietly than the last time, but with no less gravity, and just like last time, Steve turns back, his gaze falling heavily on Eddie.

Before he can talk himself out of it, and horribly aware that this isn’t really the best time or place (but then again, if not here, then where? If not now, when?), Eddie steps closer, steps right into Steve’s space, cups one hand to his ash-smudged cheek, and leans in to kiss him.

He barely even has a moment to wonder if he’s made a monumental mistake before Steve is kissing him back, tilting his head and pressing closer and moving his lips against Eddie’s like this is all he’s ever wanted to do. If the rest of the trailer has fallen conspicuously silent, Eddie doesn’t notice.

The kiss doesn’t last long (not as long as Eddie would like), but that’s alright; it feels like there will probably be more.

“Wanted to do that earlier,” Eddie murmurs as they pull apart. “But I didn’t want you to think it was some kind of last-ditch wish fulfillment because I thought I was going to die. Figured now would be better.”

“Now is good,” Steve says softly; his eyes are a little hazy, a little unfocused (and damn, had Eddie done that?), but they find Eddie’s without trouble. "Now is great."

And then it’s Steve’s hands on Eddie’s face, curled carefully at the edges of his jaw, drawing him in for another kiss. It’s only the feeling of something wet sliding across Eddie’s skin that distracts him and makes him pull back. Steve’s hands fall away, and Eddie reaches up to swipe over his jaw and looks down at his hand.

His heart thumps when he sees red.

“Am I–?” He reaches up again, rubbing his fingers across his skin again, but he feels no pain, finds no injury. “Are you–?” Eddie looks now at Steve’s hand, heart jumping again when he sees more of the same smeared across Steve’s fingers. “Shit, are you bleeding?”

Steve frowns, reaching up with his clean hand to try to swipe the mess away with his thumb. “Sorry,” he mumbles, but he sounds distant now, a little breathless in a way that Eddie can’t blame on any kiss.

Eddie reaches out and spreads his hands under Steve’s jacket, pushing it open to get a good look at him, and finds the damning dark spots spreading across the fabric of the t-shirt underneath.

“Shit,” Eddie hisses. “Shit, shit, Steve–”

“Might’ve pulled something,” Steve murmurs, “fighting Vecna.”

“You think?” Eddie is aware that he’s getting a bit shrill, but he thinks that he really can’t be blamed. “Wheeler!”

Nancy is there in an instant, and Robin is at Steve’s side just as he starts to wobble. She gets an arm around his back and he hisses, reminding them all that the bat bites on his sides aren’t the only wounds he’d sustained.

And then Nancy is barking instructions, and Robin is talking, quiet and rapid-fire at Steve as they sit him down on the couch, and Dustin is demanding to know what’s wrong (and if Eddie thought he’d been getting shrill–), and Eddie only manages to get him out of the vicinity by telling him to go call an ambulance.

“He’s gonna be fine, Henderson, but we need help,” Eddie says firmly, giving him a shove in the direction of the phone. “We’ve got him, he’ll be fine.”

And Eddie hopes to God, to Satan, to who-the-fuck-ever it is he’s supposed to be praying to at this point, that he isn’t lying to the kid.

He’s just gotten Steve – he can’t lose him now.

[ladyredmoon13]

DCXDP PROMPT

Your Father's Son

Isn't it unfortunate how no matter how hard you try to stop something, all you really do is prolong the enviable?

Danny stopped Dan from killing all his friends and family. He took the lesson Clockwork was trying to teach him to heart and believed that the worst had passed. True there were other problems. Other crises that he gave his attention to.

But even still the event at the Nasty Burger would always linger as a reminder of how truly grateful he was to have each and every one of them in his life.

So it came as a shock to him when the Nasty Burger blew up into smithereens right in front of him for the second time in his life. This time however was different.

He stood less than a block away from the blast. Nocked back, his head hit something hard and then everything was nothing but white noise as everything went black for him.

---------

This event could officially go down as the worst way Bruce found out he had a child.

He was enjoying a quiet Sunday afternoon with his family when he got a call. It was social services and what they had to say both shocked and saddened him to his very soul.

After the call ended he felt numb. He wasn’t sure how to feel at that time. So many emotions wreaked havoc in his mind that he didn’t know what to do with himself.

That was till Dick knocked on his door asking about the call. He knew then that he had to tell his kids. No matter what he did next he had to inform them of the situation.

So he sat them down, all of them listening with various degrees of surprise as he told them he had another son. They don't get a chance to comment though as Bruce continued speaking. The explanation getting worse and worse with each word spoken.

His son, Danny; he told them. Had been the only survivor of a horrific accident where he had witnessed all his family die. As if witnessing the event wasn't bad enough. He was now in a comma.

A comma he had been in for over a month! A MONTH! They had the information needed to contact him and they chose over a MONTH AFTER the event to notify him.

That wasn’t even the end of it. The only reason they called him at all was to get his consent to pull the plug on Danny. They wanted Bruce to pull a child he didn't even know he had off of life support.

The Bat Family were shocked. They were pissed. Most importantly, they wanted to see him. To save him if they could. Help wherever they can for him. Even if it ment giving him an organ.

(Tim- I might not have a pancreas anymore but I'll gladly give him a kidney if I can.)

Bruce just smiled at them. Telling them through unshed tears to pack a bag. They were going to see him. And they were going to help him. They'll be damned if they let another brother/son die that’s a promise!

-----------

So here is what I can see happening. They get to Amity Park and see Danny hooked up to all those monitors and immediately wondered in their sadness, just how could this happen?

They all go into detective mode and begin investigating. With the exception of one of them that decided to start a watch. That way if Danny woke up then he'll have someone there for him.

So the Bats begin investigating but hit walls at almost every turn. It was as if someone powerful and high up was trying to bury the incident. Make it as if it never happened in the first place.

During all this Danny finally wakes up. He remembers what happened instantly and as doctors try to calm him down the person left behind to stay with him calls everyone. They're relieved and make it back to the hospital.

Only Danny has disappeared. They don't know where he went or how. The doctors are confused and the Bat they left with him was only gone long enough to make the call and grab a coffee/snack.

The entire hospital is looking for Danny but Bruce has a feeling that they won't find him.

Meanwhile, Danny was staggering his way through alleyways trying to get back to Fenton Works. He knows his family and friends are dead. There was no denying what he saw.

But that wasn't the only thing he saw. There was no way he could of mistaken the stark white vans that had been parked just outside the NB just moments before the blast.

Somehow, in some way, the GIW was responsible for their deaths. And he was going to provide it. Mom and Dad, Jazz, Sam, and Tucker will have justice. He just needs to get back home a grab a few things first.

[danikamariewrites]

The Happiest Day

Bat boys x reader

A/n: I can't believe @polyacotarweek is almost over. I know I'm late for celebration but I wanted to make sure I got out what I wnated to say. I wrote this one because I've never really liked my birthday but in the last few years I've started to enjoy celebrating. I didn't have anyone I liked celebrating with (minus my immediate fam) until college. When people really love you and want to celebrate with you that's what makes the day special in my opinion.

Warnings: none

Another year another century started for you. Today marks your 400th year and Cauldron did you not want to celebrate. Not that you didn’t like your birthday. Quite the opposite actually. You love having a day where you get to do all the things you love. But when it’s just you. 

At some point in your youth your family started celebrating multiple birthdays together. The day no longer felt special. When you were old enough you started doing your own thing. 

Having a calm afternoon to yourself, treating yourself to nice things just felt right. Of course that semi-stopped when you met your mates. Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel always made you feel special and your birthday was no exception. 

Stretching and rolling around the soft sheets you reach out for your mates only to be met with their cold pillows. Your fingers brushed over a note against Rhys’s spot. Your name was written in his elegant handwriting on the outside. Opening the parchment it read, Happy Birthday darling! We’re sorry we aren’t there to kiss you and hold you on our favorite day but you will see why later. We love you very much y/n. Enjoy breakfast in bed. 

Putting the note down on the bedside table a tray appeared. A small vase with Evening Primrose sat in the corner. Chocolate croissants, fruit, toast, and bacon were laid out on beautiful blue and white plates. 

You decided to enjoy breakfast, choosing not to dwell on the giant party your mates are putting together for you.

—

Mor knew exactly where to find her cousin this morning. Entering the grand ballroom of the House of Wind Mor weaved between fae carrying large flower arrangements and party decor. She shook her head, blonde waves bouncing around her shoulders. 

Rifling through the stack of papers in her hand she picks out the one Rhys needs to sign. Looking around the room Mor spots Rhys in the middle with the party planner. He was pointing animatedly as Cass and Az lifted the heavy stuff for the decorators. Mor cleared her throat once she was behind her cousin making him slightly jump. 

Once he faced her, Mor gave Rhys a shit eating grin. “Excuse us, I just need the High Lord a moment.” The party planner gave a bow of her head, scurrying off to go perfect something else. “Cousin,” Rhys sighed, “what can I do for you, I am very busy.” Mor hands him the papers and a pen for his signature. As Rhys read through them Mor looked around the ballroom, truly taking in the lengths the males will go to celebrate you. 

Mor’s brows furrowed as she thought back to your last wine night. If she recalled correctly you hated celebrating your birthday with a huge party. “Here,” Rhys shoved the papers back into her arms. Rhys began to walk to the banquet table and Mor followed. “Does y/n like these parties? All seems a bit, ya know…much.” 

Rhys stops dead in his tracks slowly turning to face his cousin again. “Of course she likes the parties. Why would you ask that?” Mor’s eyes go wide along with that stupid smile she’s still wearing. “Oh, you have no clue do you.” 

Cass and Az have now joined the conversation. Confused looks pull at their features which are bringing Mor so much joy. The males look at each other, having a silent conversation. “Mother above you three are thick in the head.” Cassian waves his hands urging Mor to tell them. To stop teasing them with this secret information she’s holding over their heads. 

“She doesn’t like big parties. Have you ever wondered where she goes during the day on her birthday? Why has she only asked for a party with the family?” Their faces drop as the realization hits them like a ton of bricks. “Excuse me,” Rhys murmurs, quickly turning on his heel to tell the party planner to stop everything. Mor let out a triumphant hum, leaving the other two glued to the floor.  

—

On your way to the kitchen you found the house oddly quiet. Usually you could hear the hustle and bustle from the ballroom. People hurrying through the kitchen and foyer, cooking and setting up decorations for the party Rhys insists on throwing you every year. But nothing. Odd for eleven in the morning.

Normally you take the day to yourself to mentally prepare for the large party in the evening. You never liked big events or being the center of attention. It was never fun to be used by your people as a reason to climb a social ladder or gorg themselves on food and alcohol Rhys provided. 

Not that you would ever tell your mates this but you have shed a few tears after putting on your gown. Eventually you pull yourself together. Putting on a smile to look ready to celebrate.   

Shyly poking your head in the kitchen you find it empty. Your brow furrows as you place the breakfast tray in the sink. “Rhys,” you reach out to him in your mind. “Yes, darling.” His voice a purr in your head. “Where is everyone?” “We’re waiting for you in the living room.” You could hear the smile in his voice. You smirked, something told you your mates are up to something. 

You found them in various states of excited and nervous. Cassian was pacing while Rhys and Azriel sit in large arm chairs conversing quietly. Clearing your throat the three perk up, smiles plastered on their lips. Cassian made it to you first, pulling you into a bone crushing hug, “Happy birthday, sweet pea.” He pulls away from you to kiss all over your face leaving you giggling. 

Azriel pulled you to his chest next then into a searing kiss. “Happy birthday, princess. How was your breakfast?” “Delicious.” 

Rhys held your hands, resting his forehead against yours, leaving a soft kiss on your lips. “You look like you want to ask something, darling.” You exhale a little. Not wanting to seem greedy but you needed to know. “No, I was just expecting the house to seem…busier.”

Rhys hummed, “Yes, you have Mor to thank for that.” Your cheeks turn red from the shame of your friend speaking up for you. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Azriel asked softly. Letting out a sigh you look down to avoid eye contact. “You seemed so happy having the party and I didn’t want to upset you.” After a few long moments of silence you feel Cassian’s hands gently grip your chin, tilting your head to look at them. Frowns replacing their smiles. 

“You could never upset us y/n.” Smiling at them you feel happy tears prick at the corners of your eyes. Your mates pull you into a group hug, sending pulses of love down the bond. Letting go Cass ruffles your hair. "No more tears today." He says.

"We have the whole day planned," Rhys starts, "we're going to go to all your favorite shops and then have a nice relaxing night in. Az will cook dinner and we can do whatever you want." Your face lights up at the thought of having your mates with you, doing your favorite things on your day is all you've wanted.

[brucewaynehater101]

What do you think would happen if after the end of the Brucequest, Tim didn't forgive the Justice League for not helping him.

Like maybe he forgave the BatFamily instantly, because to him not forgiving them wasn't even an option, but it was still an horrible year for him and he kinda wanted to vent at someone, so he basically said to the JL that since he didn't get any help from all of them at the worst time of his life, they shouldn't expect any help from him unless it's a world ending crisis.

He's not a main JL member so he wasn't expecting anything to change, he just wanted to get angry at someone, since he's not angry at all with his family, but at the very least before the end of the day he would get Young justice completely on his side

I've seen a few fics (can't remember them rn) that show YJ pulling their support of the JL after Tim's whole debacle with them. I heavily support this decision and believe it should have been the move they pulled. Part of YJ's founding and operation relied on the fact the the kids were not being supported by the adult superheroes. They found each other and, sometimes, only had each other to rely on.

After the JL demonstrated that they are unfit to take care of the younger generation by their mass lack of support to what they perceived was a grieving teen on the verge of a mental breakdown? Fuck 'em. YJ is better off without them. They were hands off anyways.

A cool aspect of this would be YJ's refusal to the JL showing the adults how the younger generation supported the JL. They ran all sorts of missions, helped with tech support, and generally did background maintenance (in a literal and more general sense) for the JL. It wouldn't necessarily devastate JL, but it would leave them unbalanced and scrambling for a bit.

It would be hella cool to see YJ and others in his generation deciding to be the buffer between the JL and heroes even younger than them (aka Damian's generation). They would offer the support and aid that YJ typically went without.

I do think that YJ would support Tim's decision, Cassie being a major proponent of it. If, theoretically, they others didn't pull their support to the JL, they would at least give the older heroes a cold shoulder and harsher attitude.

The difference between the batfam and the JL is the level of responsibility and relationships they have with Tim. The JL is a group of heroes that are supposed to do good. Tim probably would hold a harsher grudge against them because of this (what if they treated others they were supposed to save in the same way). The Bats are extremely dysfunctional, but I imagine they would try to make amends (except Bruce, but I also hate him, so...). Tim would forgive them because he loves them, he understands the circumstances they were under, and they tried to apologize.

Anyways, Tim should be able to save "fuck you" to the JL for the BruceQuest.

[ashwhowrites]

Eddie Munson x cheerleader! Reader (enemies to lovers) they say that they hate each other, but they sleep together after every party they go to, after some time, they realize they have feelings for each other and they decide to confess and they realize they've been dumb all this time

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting <3

I can't lie....I fucking love how this turned out and love the ending 🫶🏻 I hope you guys feel the same.

The line between love and hate

There was a thin line between love and hate. Y/N and Eddie both stood on the side of hate when it came to each other. At least, they liked to believe that.

Y/N was a cheerleader. Perfect in every sense of the word. Preppy and cheerful. Bows in her hair and a bright smile on her face. Popularity that filled her head and got her the things she wanted. She was beautiful and she knew that. She didn't struggle to have guys falling to her feet b

Eddie was a troublemaker. He enjoyed pranks and making teachers wish they picked a different job. He had a close group of friends but didn't venture out to make new relationships. He enjoyed cigarettes, weed, and liquor. He had a sense of bad boy charm that had girls falling his every step.

Two of the schools most wanted bashed together into one heated and hated situation.

Y/N hated Eddie more than she hated anything in her life. She hated his curly hair, she hated the way she tugged on it when he ate her out. She hated his brown eyes, the way they got so dark when he pushed himself inside of her. She hated his lips and how soft they felt against her skin. She hated that she never felt his lips against hers and she hated that she cared.

Eddie hated Y/N with every part of his body.... except one part. He hated that everyone worshiped her. He hated that all the guys wanted her. He hated her long legs and how they felt wrapped around his body. He hated her perfect nails and the way they dug into his back. He said her smart mouth and the way she gagged around him. He hated how amazing her cunt felt and how her voice said his name. He hated her.

And they made it obvious. Everyone in town knew Y/N and Eddie could not stand each other. Many could see the sexual tension binding the two together. Girls were jealous of her for the way Eddie's eyes watched her. Boys were jealous of him for the way Y/N's scent lingered on him.

"So we meet again." Eddie teased, his lips on Y/N's neck as his hands pushed down her skirt.

"Shut up." She moaned, her hands in his hair, clenching around him as he pushed himself inside of her. Her back against the door, Eddie's strong hands holding her up as he fucked into her.

The party was alive on the other side, their friends searching everywhere. A knowing look in their eyes when Y/N came into view, marks on her neck and lipstick smeared. Eddie is behind with messy hair and lipstick on his collar. They didn't bother to hide anything.

Everyone knew but some guys didn't care. Some guys still went after her just to give it a shot. Eddie didn't bother with other girls. He had some sort of connection to Y/N and he didn't find it anywhere else. He hated that.

~~~

Eddie felt his blood boil when he saw her talking with a guy. The music was too loud, he couldn't hear their conversation. But Eddie felt like it was a slap to his face. His hickies still covered her neck as she batted her eyelashes towards the guy. He couldn't tell if it was an act to make him jealous, or if she truly wasn't interested in Eddie at all.

Wait, why did he care? Why did he feel jealous? Why did his stomach hurt watching her lips press against someone else's, lips that he never had the chance to kiss?

Eddie wasn't sure why, but he marched over to them. He yanked the guy off of her, barely seeing his face as Eddie landed a punch straight across his cheek.

"EDDIE!" Y/N gasped, she went to kneel but Eddie grabbed her arm. His angry grip was tight on her skin as he marched outside.

"LET GO OF ME!" She yelled, throwing off his grip. Eddie paced angrily in front of her. She could hear his heavy breathing and practically steam coming out of his ears.

"What is your problem?" Y/N snapped

"MY PROBLEM?" Eddie screamed, but he tried to tone down his anger when she jumped.

"I mean FUCK!" he gripped his hair. He wasn't sure what to say. He wasn't even sure why he was so mad.

"Are you jealous?" Y/N asked, she wasn't sure why he'd react the way if he did unless he was jealous.

"I don't know!" Eddie spazzed, his hands waving in the hair. "I think so? But I don't know why! I never really thought about my feelings for you, but something about you kissing a guy! When we don't even kiss, it just feels like a kick to my gut." Eddie explained. He was open and vulnerable. All he wished was that she took care of him the way he needed and didn't leave him stranded.

"Do you like me, Eddie? Or do you hate that I'm not owned by you?" She asked, she hoped he liked her. Underneath all that hate, piles and piles of hate it all hid the true feelings she had for him.

"Both? I've never picked apart my feelings. Hating you was just easier since you hated me. I don't want you to be with anyone else. I don't want anyone else touching you or making you laugh. I want to be the only one." He explained, throwing himself down on the curb. Y/N nodded and moved to sit next to him.

"I don't hate you, Munson. I like you and I knew I shouldn't because we are so opposite that I figured it would never work. But I can't tell you how jealous I feel hearing girls talk about you." She confessed, it felt good to say it to him. No more hiding behind the line.

"Then why didn't you ever push for something more?" He asked.

"I'm a cheerleader, Eddie, I figured you liked the sex but would never feel anything real for me. You hate the crowd I'm with. I figured you'd hate being with me."

"We never truly hated each other, did we?" Eddie chuckled, shaking his head at their stupidity.

"I don't think so." She giggled, she moved closer and leaned her head on his shoulder.

"If you wanted to kiss me, you could have the whole time." She whispered.

Eddie didn't say anything and she thought she said the wrong thing. But then his head turned, and his finger picked up her chin.

His eyes stared into hers as he nervously licked his lips. She felt her body take a sharp intake of air as she waited. Her hands clenched together as he slowly leaned in.

The way he took over the kiss had her head spin. He was strong and in control. His arm wrapped around her body to move her closer. His warm lips moved perfectly against hers. Her body felt fuzzy.

Eddie never knew kissing someone could feel so good. It felt like the last step they needed to make to confirm their feelings. He dreamed of kissing her and it was better than he ever thought it would be. Her lips were soft and warm. He could spend all night kissing her.

There was a thin line between love and hate. Y/N and Eddie both stood on the side of love when it came to each other.

Tags!

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[creedslove]

No outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

A/N: anon, my beautiful bestie, you are a genius!!! I love you and your idea! This is incredible ❤️

• when you and Joel started dating, you felt as if you'd won the lottery, literally, because you couldn't believe a man like him would settle with you

• you were a beautiful woman with a lot of qualities but Joel was just... Something else

• he was so handsome and sexy, you didn't remember seeing a man, a real life man being that hot, with the exception of celebrities of course, but Joel was real, and he was yours

• not to mention his other great qualities, such as a hardworking man, a great father, a protective person... He was everything you'd ever dreamed of, and you still were starstruck and simply couldn't believe how lucky you got

• there was also the age gap, which meant Joel was older than you, but unlike popular assumption, it didn't bother either of you, it was fine if he was older, you even liked it, as it was kinda hot to you, and Joel didn't mind the fact you were younger, he loved you for who you were, so your age or your looks were irrelevant

• and even if the age gap didn't actually bother you, it still made you feel insecure; especially because you were always anxious and scared that some day Joel would find a woman closer to him in age, a woman who would actually share the same interests and steal him from you

• most days you could actually hide it, pretend that feeling wasn't haunting you whenever you found yourself and Joel around beautiful, mature women, but there was something about Tess that made you lose your shit

• she liked Joel, you knew it, and you were pretty sure something happened between them at some point, but what seemed to have been just an important affair to him, was definitely more intense to her; that was the only explanation why she still made everything at her power to flirt with and seduce him

• you hated her, you hated how she simply pretended you didn't exist in order to come and talk to Joel batting her eyes at him and displaying wide smiles, or how she laughed too hard at his jokes, because let's face it, Joel isn't that funny, or she always touched his arms for no reason

• and she was also closer to him in age, and even if you were petty and you didn't deny it and to you Tess was an ugly cunt, you'd heard some people saying she was a beautiful woman and that made you very insecure

• because not only was she more suitable to him in that matter, but she was also very similar to Joel, they liked horses, they were tough, and she drank like a man, which made you afraid one day Joel could simply get tired of playing dating with you and go after her

• it all happened when you and Joel decided to go out to eat for no reason, it was a regular wednesday evening, but he felt like spending some time with you, and perhaps taking you out for a steak and some pasta was a good way to show you he'd missed you during the day, which you quickly said yes

• you were so happy and excited to go out with him, Joel looked so handsome with his hair slicked back and his flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows, you would let him take you right there and then on that table for anyone to see if he wanted to, but before you both continue your date night, you saw a female hand on his shoulder

"oh my god, Joel, hi!"

• Tess said with such enthusiasm it could only have been fake; she grinned at him and completely ignored your presence, Joel felt embarrassed at her exaggerated reaction and cleared his throat, you didn't say anything and simply got up, going to the restroom and tried controlling your anger and jealousy

• when you came back, Tess was nowhere to be seen, but you couldn't stop yourself from thinking about her, you hated how she looked at Joel, how she desired him in front of everyone and didn't even bother hiding it, you hated how other women did the same, staring and glancing down at your man, to the point it made you so upset you felt empty for a while

• so the rest of dinner was awkward, as you were pretty much on autopilot, barely replying to Joel's questions and words and only focusing on your food and nothing else; you didn't know why it made you feel like that, but it did and it was so odd as if you were trying to push him away

• Joel knew something was up, you were pretty much ignoring him and pretending he wasn't at the table with you, and that hurt and annoyed him, however, he knew he couldn't get any information from you, so he waited until dinner was over

• then, you both went back to his place, you were still silent for most of the time and monosyllabic towards him, even when he placed his hand on your knee and went up a little much to your thigh, you didn't react very much

• once you both got inside, he didn't wait before gripping your waist and pressing you against the wall, seeing you couldn't resist him, as you kissed him back, claiming him as yours as your hands began unbuttoning his shirt, wanting to undress him once for all

• until he held your hands in place and made you stop: he wasn't going to do anything if you didn't tell him what the heck was going on and you knew he meant business, so you sighed and looked down, feeling embarrassed and ashamed of your feelings, but you decided to open up

• you told him about your insecurities, about how you thought he wasn't going to take you seriously because you were sure some day he'd find a better woman for himself, how you feared losing him, and how you hated Tess and the way she behaved towards him all the time

• and Joel's eyes went so soft, the way he was caught off guard by your confession but immediately understood what was up with you and he felt relieved to know you were just insecure, relieved to see the problem wasn't him, that it wasn't because you didn't love him anymore or because you didn't want to be with him, but rather because you were afraid of losing him

• and at that, he knew he had to do something and come forward and tell you his feelings and let you know how he felt

"that's madness, honey... I love you and I'd never want another woman, you are mine, I ain't never giving you up, one day you'll be my wife, mark my words"

• he whispered against your lips, reassuring you of his feelings, nothing could come between you, not after you both came clean about your feelings, seeing you loved each other 💕

____

[nat-ter]

ok. hear me out. batman and superman having petty rivalry. not bcus they actually hate each other but bcus there's a little misunderstanding going on between them.

the first time they met, superman wanted to impress the other hero (bcus yayy a new friend!) so he might have tried a bit too hard to look impressive to batman by putting on a more confident front than he generally feels.

batman has heard of the new hero in town (or the next one over wtv) and ofc there's this superhuman being who literally shoots laser out of his eyes not to mention the flying thing so in the most batman way possible, he's immediately cautious. and then comes this obnoxious alien to batman's own turf introducing himself as if he expects bruce to bow down to his feet and sing his praises just bcus he can, what, breathe ice? never! so begins the hostility. which took superman by surprise bcus here he comes, looking for partnership, maybe even friendship, but instead getting rude and obnoxious short replies in return.

first time superman is questioned his thoughts on the dark knight, he's honestly taken aback bcus since he hasn't had any contact with the other hero in the public's eye he didn't think ppl would ask him questions about gotham's bat. so, a bit flustered clark kent, in a very un-superman-like way, blurts out, "oh, that. i heard he's human." immediately after which he has to leave the scene bcus there was a tsunami somewhere. and so he unwittingly sets out the verbal war.

next time batman is questioned about his thoughts on superman, instead of leaving without any comment like he usually did, this time he stays and boy does he have something to say. or not, according to his words. but he did say smth and that highly contradicts his own words. "i have nothing to say about a twat in a primary colour who doesn't even know where undergarments go." and so officially begins the war.

clark hates batman bcus he thinks the man is a xenophobe (except he has seen batman interacting with other superbeings just fine and some of them may be meta but still it stings that he's the only one being treated with such hostility). bruce hates superman bcus he thinks the alien is looking down on him for being human with its shortcomings and hey this is a touchy subject for him okay back off. but neither of them actually never make any contact apart from trashing each other to the press whenever they can.

at first it was only pointed remarks that portrayed their distrust for each other like:

"at the end of the day what is batman but a furry with anger issues finding an outlet in the dark?"

"next time, maybe superman should use his ego to topple one of metropolis' finest buildings instead of himself. surely that will get the job done quicker."

but the longer it goes on, the more the two heroes enjoy themselves. and eventually the remarks grows more petty and childish and nothing like what two grown men who fight crimes should even say about each other.

"batman is probably hideous, maybe that's why he wears a mask that only shows the more attractive part of his face."

"who is to say there isn't ugly tentacle-like creatures hiding behind that pristine, god-like face."

unfortunately the longer the war wages, the more it sounds like the two of them are merely flirting in a backhanded way. which drives alfred and martha up the walls. alfred swears that he will leave the manor and maybe become a vegabond if he has to witness master bruce making a fool out of himself by pulling the proverbial ponytail in the playground any longer. martha is mad that her son has supposedly forget all the manners she had painstakingly grilled into him (she demands that clark immediately make peace with the bat but clark is so busy he doesn't even have time to visit his own ma lately and no it's not bcus he's afraid of the disappointed face™ nope. never).

it went from:

"i hardly think batman believes he's above the law, no, rather he believes that he is the law." (which is simply wrong, in bruce's opinion. no, he likes to think that he's operating outside of the law while perfectly abiding to it. alfred finds it dubious but it isn't like bruce will listen to him anyway)

and,

"just because superman can fly, he thinks he's above us. i hardly think any god would run at the sight of a green rock." (which is also wrong, in clark's opinion. he has never run from a fight even when kryptonite is present. lois can seconded it even though she wishes he does run as fast as he can)

to:

"maybe batman should smile more, that'll make him much more attra— i mean, approachable. which, i understand, will dispel the whole dark and broody and bat-themed performance he's got going on, of course, but im just saying, you know, the guy's got a pretty nice chin and—" ("clark!" hissed lois who's hiding among the people superman has just rescued from a burning building, only for superman's ears and shutting the man right up)

and,

"people only trust superman because he's so stupidly handsome." ("wow, B, didn't expect batman to come out like that," sarcastically comments nightwing in batman's comm. batman growls)

it's driving everyone insane. alfred is ready to take a very long, a very well earned vacation, lois wants his best friend to get laid, martha is working up a rant and the two heroes can't seem to figure out their stance on the idea of one another.