#It still gets me sort of teary to read it actually | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

surielstea · 7 months

Text

Caretaker

Pairing: Azriel x reader

Summary: Reader is sick & Az being the best bf ever

Warnings: slight suggestiveness, tooth rotting fluff

A/N: Literally wrote this when I was sick asf and high on cough medicine so I hope this makes sense 😭😭

2.2k words

My body tremors as another weak cough racks through me, my throat pulsing at the feeling. Watery eyes form tears, sliding down the bridge of my nose and dripping onto the plush pillow beneath my head.

I stare out the floor to ceiling window, marveling at the way the sidra morphs starlight into rainbow refractions. I sniffle, one of my nostrils completely closed off and making it a challenge to breathe. It was late. I didn't know the exact time but from the moons position in the sky I could guess it was far past midnight.

My mate hadn't come to bed and I debated clambering out of this all too hot bed to go and find him, wrap my arms around his waist and guide him back to our bed. But I can't expose him to whatever virus plagued me, in turn getting him sick, no matter how badly I missed his touch. It was already a risk to share the same bed, I couldn't push it.

Madja stopped by earlier and gave me a tonic to help ward off the cough but there was nothing she could do beyond that. I took the tonic minutes ago, the effects still settling in, I just hoped the cough would cease long enough for me to be able to fall asleep.

It's been days, my mate was convinced I was getting worse. He surveyed me like usual, but his gaze turned soft and pitiful every time a raucous cough came over me. Shadows kept me company, swirling fluidly against my back in a reassuring manner, the chill touch of them making me cool off from my heated state.

There was a soft knock at the door and I didn't have to look to know who it was. I adjusted under the covers, using my strength to sit up and lean against the headboard, teary eyed but making eye contact with the large winged male in the doorway. "Az." My voice was practically a whimper, a feeble excuse at calling for him.

"My love," He drew a long exhale, my sickness seemingly weighing on him as well.

"You can't be in here." I murmur, wiping my tears and wishing it was his hands instead of mine doing the act.

"I miss you." He offers me a soft smile as he tilts his head against the frame of the door, his silhouette from the hallway light made him look like some sort of angel.

"I don't want to get you sick." I shake my head, holding my arm out as if to shield him away but we both knew I held no power at the moment.

"It wouldn't be so bad," He tries to lighten the mood with a shrug. "I'd be off work, we could quarantine together. We'd read and cuddle and I could actually go within a ten feet radius of you." His words were convincing, and the idea has a smile tugging at my lips. That is until a croak of a cough rattles my body and I remember how irritating this illness is. I wouldn't want him to have this, ten foot radius or not.

"It's hard enough to stay away from you, don't tempt me." I sigh, allowing my bones to sink into the large matress.

"Worth a try." He mirrors my smile. "Do you need anything? Tea or soup?" He asks and I twist my lips to the side as I ponder what he could give me that would ever amount to how badly I want him and him alone. "A good book perhaps?" He arches a perfect brow. It pains me how well he knows me.

"A book would be nice." I hum and he pushes from the doorway, excited to accomplish a new task. His gaze lingers on me before he closes the door and his silent footsteps recede down the hall.

I look back out the window while I wait, fiddling with the mating ring around my fourth finger. My cough seemed to have settled, I'll have to tell my brother to increase Madja's salary for her admirable work — or maybe I'd pay her directly myself. As soon as I'm better I will, whenever that might be. I release a long sigh and allow my eyes to shut for a moment, I must've slept for half the day earlier but that didn't stop the rest from weighing at my heavy lids.

Before I dared slip into a sleep the spymaster opened the door with a multitude of items in his hands. I couldn't help but smile. The night courts intimidating Shadowsinger was at my door, with soup and tea and a book, taking care of me. He had one of the world's deadliest knife's at his thigh and he probably used it to cut open my tea bag.

"Az, I'm gonna cry." I warn. My already watery eyes verging on tears as I think about how much he does for me.

"No don't cry." His brows crease as he sits on his side of our bed, placing a bowl of soup down on my nightstand. "I tried to follow your mom's recipe but it won't be as good." He frowns and there's nothing more I want to do then kiss the pout off his perfect face. "And this is hot, so don't drink it for a few minutes." He places a steaming cup of tea beside the soup. "And this," He holds up a worn paper back book. "I went to Nesta and asked her for the best romance novel she could think of and she gave me this so." He places it on my lap. "Hopefully it's as smutty as you hope." He mutters beneath his breath and I flush hot but blamed it on my fever.

"Thank you." My voice was a rasp, he looked to my eyes. Hazel laced with love and admiration, the emotions reflecting on the golds and greens of his irises.

"Get some rest after eating, you have to get your strength up so I can get my sparring buddy back." He placed a hand on my forehead to check my temperature, something on his expression falls when he doesn't notice any difference from the last time he checked my temperature.

"Is Cassian not good enough anymore?" I scoff.

"He's not you." He huffs and an upside down smile spreads over my expression.

"I know you're sick but I really want to kiss you." He admits and just the idea makes me feel warmer inside. I grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him into me, his upper half hovering over me as I plant my lips onto his. I grin against the sensation, it's only been a few days but gods, how did I forget how perfect it felt to have his mouth against mine?

He pulls back first and I debate chasing him back but he pecks my forehead and I settle for it, leaning back onto my headboard yet again. "I'm going to finish up an assignment then I'll come to bed, okay?" He gets up from the bed and my eyes follow.

"Mhm." I nod tiredly.

"If I find you reading that book when I get back I'm taking it away." He warns and I bite my bottom lip mischievously.

"Goodnight lovely." A shadow tucks a strand of hair behind my ear as I watch him make his way to the door.

"Night Az." I muse in reply, already reaching for my bowl of the nostalgic meal.

—

About an hour later I had finished my entire bowl of soup and cup of tea. Both of them reminding me of my mother humming her favorite songs as she sewed her dresses, of Rhys teaching me how to fly before I could even walk, of Cassian brawling with my brother when he first moved in, and of Azriel's warm embrace.

I was curled into a ball with a mage light over my head, flipping through the pages of the romance novel Nesta lent me. It was a fantasy with just the right amount of erotica, the kind that would make any female flush. There were a few times when I'd have to close the book and take a breather before opening it back up, which meant it was perfection.

The door opened with a creak and I slammed the book shut the way a teenage boy might with a nude magazine. Azriel crinkles his brows at me and I look at him guiltlessly. "Evening handsome." I greet and he blinks at me like I'm crazy.

"Why are you being weird?" He utters, coming further into the room and closing the door behind him. I fold my lips inward to keep myself from laughing or possibly exposing that I was reading absolute filth just moments ago.

"Just reading." I shrug innocently and he narrowed his gaze in on me but seemed to let it go when striding over to the armoire to change. I watched him shamelessly as he stripped off his shirt, golden tan skin inked in swirling black. He shuffles through the drawers, giving me a full show of his muscular back and those large wings. My breath hitched as I stare without caution and a small chuckle sounds from him. He knows I'm watching, and at this point I can't find it in myself to care.

"Are you flexing on purpose?" I ask him as he discards his leathers for a pair of lounge pants.

"I'm not flexing love." He confesses and my stomach does backflips. Cords of muscle rippled from his shoulders down to his bulging arms, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't at least a little turned on. And he was just standing there. He turns to look at my tinged cheeks and it only makes me blush more. The eye contact just might kill me. The nonchalance and causality of it made my stomach churn, as if he wasn't standing there in front of me shirtless.

"You're teasing." I set my book on the nightstand and sink down into my pillows.

"How so?" His question is half a laugh because he knows what he's doing.

"I can't have you right now." I whine like some sort of child, pulling the blankets up and over my head so I don't have to look at his chest that seemed to be sculpted by the gods themselves. The bed sinks and I know he's now beside me. I can't help but gravitate towards him only to stop myself because I know cuddling would get him sick.

His strong arm wraps around my waist and pulls my back to his chest.

"No, Az I don't want to get you sick." I protest, pulling away with the weakest strength since the predicament at hand wasn't all too bad.

"I already told you I don't care if I get sick." He brings me in closer and who was I to deny my mate's embrace?

It was nice to lay beside him, nice to have his warmth radiating onto me. I missed him even if it's only been a few days, even if he still sleeps beside me every night. I missed the physicality of it. Azriel's never been one for touch but sometimes I go through phases where if I don't have my hands constantly on him I'd collapse.

So I allowed myself to lean into his chest, matching my breathing to his and intertwining my hand with his scarred one. "I love you." He hums into my shoulder, placing gentle kisses to the crook of my neck and a soft smile spreads across my lips.

"Would you still love me if—" I begin but he doesn't let me finish,

"Yes." His tone is confident and didn't waver for a beat.

"You don't even know what I was going to say." I pout and I feel him shake his head against me.

"As long as you're still you, I love you." He professes and I flip around to look at his golden eyes that the stars themselves were outmatched against.

"I love you too." My voice is a mere whisper but a wide grin takes over his face, revealing his dimples. His smile was so bright I thought for a moment that sun wouldn't rise in fear of rivaling it. "And I'm totally getting you sick." I threaten but he doesn't seem to mind, especially not when I lean forward a few inches in order to kiss that grin.

"Sleep, love." He coerced and pulls me into his chest, his wing draping over me like a blanket, blocking out any seeping light from the moon outside. "I'll be here in the morning." He muses, smoothing a scarred hand over my hair. He continues to play with the strands until I'm drifting off into that touch, his warmth inviting me to sleep.

Azriel was quick to follow, once he noticed my breathing even out. Shadows settle around us as his lids grow heavy and his weight falls into the bed. With me in his arms it was easier for him to sleep, the comfort of knowing I'm safe while in his hold pushed him further into that sweet relief of rest.

#azriel #sarah j maas #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #x reader #acomaf #fanfic #comfort fic #sickfic #im so lonely #i need him #suriels tea

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paulyenvol6 · 1 month

Text

Caring

A short smutty piece with a little angst in the beginning

Contains: Smut, p in v, fingering

Wordcount: ~2.14k

Harry was annoyed by her, y/n knew that. There had been an emotional distance between them all day long and it made y/n go insane. The two had fought over something stupid the other day and even though they kind of sorted things out and y/n had apologized for her mistake, she saw that Harry still seemed to be a bit angry with her.

When it was about time to get to bed, she had enough of this and looked at her boyfriend, who was reading a book. „Harry?", she shyly asked. „Mhm?" „How are you?" „M'fine." „Okay." She remained silent because she didn't know what to do. He went back to reading his book when y/n started to speak again. „I..." He sighed and kept his eyes fixed on the book. „Harry, can I make you feel good?" He frowned and finally looked at her. „What do y'mean?" „Can I blow you or ride you? Whatever you're up to."

He exhaled loudly and fixed his book again. „Ok, whatever." Y/n was disappointed. She was glad that he didn't reject her but he seemed so cold and indifferent. She actually was very horny and really missed his touch and his body today, she just wanted to feel him. „What do you want me to do?", she asked. „Ride me. But you better do it well. M'not gonna do the work today." She nodded fastly and made her way over to him. Harry made some space for her on his lap by holding his book closer to him but unlike what she expected he didn't put the book down.

He just kept reading and didn't even look at her when she pulled his pants down and began to stroke his cock to make him hard enough to ride him. Then she slid out of her shorts and positioned herself over his cock. She sank onto his cock and since she was already quite wet he could easily slide into her. She panted and felt herself adjust to him. Then she started to move on his lap and ride him.

She didn't ride him very often, of course she had done it before but usually Harry liked to do the work. He loved to thrust into her, if it was from behind, laying on top of her or her sitting on a desk or something. But y/n definitely wasn't a pillow princess, she enjoyed giving pleasure to him by jerking him off or giving oral. In fact they were both very much into oral sex, giving as well as receiving.

While y/n increased the speed of moving up and down his cock, he completely ignored her. He didn't look at her, didn't throw his head back as he usually did, didn't talk dirty to her as he usually did. He was just concentrated on his book, the slightly fastened breathing and of course his hard cock being the only signs that he was turned on. Y/n let out a frustrated moan and tried to move faster, more intense. She tightened her walls to create a even more intense feeling for him but it didn't help. She then tried to move back and forth on his lap but still, no reaction.

Suddenly y/n felt her muscles becoming weak and hurt and she felt sick. Her head was burning, she got dizzy and her eyes got teary. It was from the physical pain but also from the disappointment and desperation she felt from Harry ignoring her. She felt sorry that she hurt him that much and now couldn't even get him off properly.

Harry had been able to hide his pleasure the whole time. He had stopped reading his book the second y/n had started to stroke his cock and it had taken him all his power and selfcontrol not to moan and throw his head back in pleasure. He had fixed his eyes on his book and it had been so hard not to give in and lose himself into the excitement. Her pussy felt so good around him, her tight, warm and wet walls were magical to him. He had to try so hard not to release. There were two reasons for him not to be the first one to come, he didn't want to swallow up his pride and show y/n how much he was turned on and even more importantly, no matter how angry he was with her he still wanted her to be the first one to come.

It was just in general important to him. He knew that in her past relationships she had had some bad experiences with guys that obviously had no idea about the female body and only cared about their pleasure. They'd just thrust into her until they reached their orgasm and didn't care if y/n enjoyed it. They didn't even seem to know that something like a clitoris existed and that there were other ways to pleasure a woman than to slide into her with their dicks. Y/n hadn't even reached an orgasm not given to her by herself before Harry, he was the first man to ever make her come. So it was always important to him that she didn't feel reminded of those bad experiences and he always wanted her to come before he does, even when they weren't on good terms with each other.

Then he suddenly heared her pants getting louder, only that it wasn't from pleasure but from the emotional and physical pain she experienced. Harry didn't realize it immediately, in fact he hadn't even realize her struggles yet. That's why he hoped she was getting closer to reach her climax. But then he started to understand what was going on. He could hear that these weren't pants from experiencing pleasure but from stress and her being upset and also her movements became very uncontrolled and hectic. He immediately took his eyes off the book and when he saw the tears running down her cheeks he put his book on the table and all the anger at her had vanished. He didn't care about their fight anymore, now all he was concerned about was her well – being.

He could see that she was very stressed, so he put his hands on her hips and stopped her movement. „Honey, are you alright?" She sobbed and he could see how weak her body was. Harry had to hold her at her lower back so she didn't collapse. „I'm sorry, Harry, I'm so sorry.", she cried. „No, don't be sorry, hun." „I wanted to make you feel good, but I just can't, m'sorry. My body just can't." Harry took her face in his hands so she had to look at him. „Sweetie, it's okay. Don't stress. Do you want me to take over?" „But I – I wanted to do the work today, Harry." „Shh. It's alright. It's alright, love. Don't worry bout it. M'gonna make you feel so good." He gently caressed her cheek, then held her at her lower back and neck and flipped her over so she laid on her back and he was above her. She was too weak to continue arguing about it so she accepted him taking over.

Harry kissed her gently on her lips and y/n sighed. She had missed it. She had missed his loving touch all day. He took off her and his top and teased her nipples with his tongue. Y/n gasped and grabbed his locks. Then he buried his head in her neck and kissed and sucked on her soft skin. Harry's hands wandered down her body. He gently caressed her belly and then his fingers found her swollen clit. He started to draw circles around it and softly rub her. „Harry.", she panted, arched her back and held him closer to her by wrapping her arms around his back. „Yes, baby. M'right here. M'not gonna stop."

Him comforting her made y/n so happy, she got teary eyes again, only that it was from happiness this time. He increased the speed of stimulating her clit and then suddenly stopped. She moaned and pressed her fingers into his skin. „Please Harry." „You're gonna feel s'good, baby.", he whispered against her lips and then gently tapped his cock against her entrace. She lifted her hips to get closer to him and Harry slowly slid into her. Y/n softly moaned and Harry hummed in satisfaction against her ear. „Oh Baby. You feel s'good around me." He moved in and out of her pussy and after some time slightly increased the speed.

Y/n still had her arms wrapped around him and held him close to her. „Harry. Oh, shit, Harry." He kissed her and moved the hair out of her face. He didn't fuck her wildly, but very soft, slow and gentle. Harry thought that it was what she might needed now. She needed him being loving and soft to her right now. And he wanted her to feel comfortable. His thumb was on her clit all the time and gently rubbed her. It didn't take y/n long until she felt an orgasm growing inside of her. „Harry, m'gonna cum.", she whined. „Yes, please cum f'me, honey. Let go."

And y/n reached her orgasm with a little shriek. „Oh my – Oh Baby, yes." She arched her back and threw her head back. „There you go, baby. Like that, yeah.", he whispered close to her ear. Then, he could feel himself cum too, seeing her reaching her orgasm and letting go in the pleasure was so hot to him and drove him right over the edge. „Ah shit! Oh, sweetie.", he panted and his cum filled her pussy up.

Then, when he had come down from his high he stopped his movement inside of her, pulled out of her and reached down to kiss her. They both were still out of breath and sweat covered their foreheads. „Y/n, m'sorry.", Harry then said and looked down to her. „No, I'm sorry.", she answered and took his face in her hands. „I'm sorry, for yesterday and especially the things that I said during the argument. It wasn't right. And I'm sorry for today. I – I really wanted to make you feel good today and do the work. You know, I wanted to but my body just didn' cooperate. M'sorry, Harry. M'sorry I couldn't do it."

During her talk she got faster and faster. „Shh, hun. It's alright. Y/n, you don't have to apologize. I mean, yes I was kinda angry at you for yesterday but we already sorted that out and I was just too stubborn to get over it and you definitely don't need do apologize for today. I'm sorry for ignoring you. It was so stupid and childish and m'sorry. M'sorry I made you feel little. It was wrong." „It's okay, Harry." „No it's not. It was mean and I was just too proud to give in to it. I held back my pleasure and believe me I stopped reading my book the second you touched me. I was just too proud to show you how good you made me feel. I should've realized how mean and humiliating I was treating you. I should've either say no to you in the first place or be honest with you about my pleasure. I wasn't fair and I wanna apologize." „Of course I forgive you.", she said and petted the hair out of his face. „And I wanna apologize again for yesterday." „It's okay, sweetie. You already apologized yesterday and I was just too stubborn yesterday to really let it go. But I forgive you. I love you, honey. And I swear m'not gonna treat you like that ever again."

They kissed until Harry caressed her waist. „Now, let's get you cleaned. I made a little mess down there." He crawled off her and put his pants on. „You stay exactly where you are, ok? I'll be back in one minute." He left the room and a minute later he came back with a washcloth. They smiled at each other and Harry reached down to clean her cunt. When he was done he gave a little kiss to her clit. He then brought away the washcloth, came back a few seconds later and jumped into the bed. „Thank you, honey. For the aftercare.", y/n whispered and turned on her side to face him. „Oh, the aftercare is not over yet.", Harry laughed and pulled her on top of him. She laughed and played with the hair hanging in his face. „I love you."

#harry styles #one direction #smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #fanfic #fanfiction

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idontplaytrack · 19 days

Note

Could you write some silly sleep deprived Janis? Either X reader or Rejanis, no preferences 🥰

Sleep? Don’t know her

Janis ‘Imi’ike x Regina George

Warnings: fluff, coarse language

Lack of sleep drives Janis to be a little crazy. But not more than it does Regina.

Regina laid in bed under the covers, looking— no, staring up at the ceiling. The house was quiet, so quiet. But of course it was, it was 2:30 in the morning. Yet, the blonde could not settle down and turn in for the night. Not when her girlfriend was still wide awake and busy with god knows what.

“Janis, get in bed!” Regina groaned.

“I’m not tired.” Her voice travels into the room from where she was in the living area.

“What’re you even doing?”

“Nothing.” Janis laughs, but then there was a clatter.

Huffing, Regina got out of bed and flounced outside to check on the brunette. With a hand on her hip, her eyes went wide when she saw the art supplies sprawled out on the floor. “Oh my god, last I checked you were reading a book!”

“Got bored.”

“Bored?” Regina crouched down but slowly sat on the floor with her, “Maybe because it’s time for you to go to bed—”

Janis quirked a brow, “Go to bed? Nice try, when was the last time you saw me asleep?”

Regina bites back a sigh, exhaling harshly through her nose, “Do you think I wouldn’t remember, Jay? It’s been two days. Why are you just doing everything but getting some rest?”

Janis giggled, “Because I’m not tired~”

“You’re crazy, you know that?”

“Of course I do, Regina.” Janis deadpanned, “When your best friend was the first person to call you a crazy lesbian, it sticks.”

Regina’s face fell. How is her mood changing so quickly? She pursed her lips together, internally panicking and unsure of what to say. “Jay, I’m sorry.”

The other girl was then chuckling. Regina shut her eyes for a second, “Janis. You need to get some sleep.”

“No, I don’t. I can’t fall asleep anyhow.” Janis replied, laying on her stomach on the floor as she carried on sketching, her tongue then darted out in concentration. Regina found that endearing, but she was so worried about how tired Janis actually was, she couldn’t think about how cute she was for longer than that split second. “Baby.” Regina finally sighs.

“I’m fine.” Janis said back in a mumble.

“You need to sleep, babe. It’s been too long since you did.” Regina scooted closer, tilting Janis’ chin by a finger. “Janis, please. Leave the work to tomorrow, let’s go get some sleep.”

“No!” Janis resisted, yelling and Regina saw her eyes get teary. Yet, the brunette doesn’t move away, she just stays in that position, letting Regina hold her chin in her hand.

“Janis, put the pencil down.” Regina told her softly. Janis breathed deeply, letting go of the pencil, letting it roll away on the floor. “I’m sorry.” She mumbled.

“Why—”

“What I said, the crazy lesbian remark. That wasn’t necessary.” Janis chewed on her lower lip.

Regina shook her head, “We’re okay. I get it, you’re tired and stressed and feeling all sorts of things. I know you’re having trouble falling asleep, but I don’t know why. Could you…tell me what’s bothering you so I could help?”

“I don’t know.” Janis pouted, “My mind’s always just racing with all sorts of worries, the future, a bunch of what ifs. It’s so bad if I don’t have something to focus on, like art. If I just lay there in bed, in silence, I’m almost never able to fall asleep.”

“Okay.” Regina nodded, “Come on. I got you.” She helped Janis up, then they returned to their bedroom together. “Whatever’s on your mind, let it out. Tell me. Everything.” Regina sat her down, holding onto her hands, “I don’t care what it is, I don’t care if it doesn’t make sense. Get it out, and we’ll go to sleep.”

That’s what happened, Regina successfully got Janis to open up and get those overwhelming thoughts in her mind. Janis went on and on for a few minutes, and all Regina did was listen and hold her. So she felt safe and seen. “It’s a lot, I’m sorry.”

“We all have our own shit, baby. One day at a time.” Regina rubbed her back soothingly, “You help me, I help you— we’re gonna get there one day, hm?”

Janis nodded, head nuzzled against chest as she feels her eyelids finally start to grow heavy. “Close your eyes.” Regina hums, planting a kiss to the crown of her head, I’m right here. Breathe, focus on nothing but the sound of my heartbeat.”

With another nod, Janis says, “Good night, love you.”

“Love you more.”

🏷️Tag list:

@ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @ludoesartandstuff @pda128

💭A/N:

Been sitting in my inbox for awhile and I needed something to focus on than my parents’ yelling so I got this done. Thank you for waiting, I hope you enjoyed <3

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abbysdruidess · 1 year

Text

˜”°•.˜”°• headcanons about you and abby's wedding - modern au •°”˜.•°”˜

wc: 1.1k

warnings: wedding w modern au(obvs), crying, tooth rotting fluff, allusions to sex, no use of y/n

a/n: lmk what you guys think of this one and whether you'd like more of reader and Abby in this universe! don't hesitate to send any requests<33

this is sort of on theme with a previous fic where abby proposes to you, this one can be read as a standalone though:))

❦ after the proposal, you guys hurrying too much to get the wedding off the road and on the rails- you're still extremely proud and giddy to call each other your fianceé, and you've sent about 100 pictures of your wedding ring to everyone.

❦ it isn't until one night where you're having dinner over at jerry's that he brings up the wedding preparations and you're like oh shit, you two kinda need to haul ass and start sending invites.

❦ you decided on a small affair, only your immediate families and close friends over. I imagine that in the insistence of your future brother in law Lev you sent out RSVP invitations that were ocean themed with cute little sharkies on the front that say in a vast ocean of people we found each other(💀). A lot of people found them pretty funny though, and Lev was pretty excited about them.

❦ on par with the beach theme of your engagement, you decided to have the wedding on a beautiful beach resort in the beginning of June-not too hot, not too cold;)-with the ceremony and the reception on the shore.

❦ of course, you couldn't leave out the bachelorette party! You and Abby travel to Vegas with your respective friend groups for a weekend of clubbing and partying in general. And lets be fr, someone from either of two groups ends up getting lost and you have to recover him Hangover style. Thank God you didn't arrange for it the day before the wedding.

❦ the days before the upcoming event are mostly a blur, both of you making last minute arrangements about the food, the flowers, the music. Your gown with the final adjustments is delivered and you have to hide it in a fridge box in the basement so Abby won't take a peek.

❦ "But baaabe, I just wanna see what it looks like! You know this stuff about bad luck isn't actually legit." "I know, but it will be more exciting to see the final look at the wedding. I promise you."

❦ finally the big day is here! And let me just say, as a very emotionally constipated person, you'd probably be a little teary eyed all day long. When you put on your gown and look at yourself in the mirror and realise that holy shit, I'm about to marry the love of my life, my Abigail, she wants to spend the rest of her life with me. And this just hits you all at once and a few tears run down your chin.

❦ if you have any wedding traditions from your culture that you'd like to honour, Abby would be 100% down for it. It makes her feel closer to you, and part of the new family she's going to be in. She also really likes listening to its origins and what it's supposed to represent. In my country, we do this thing where the wedding squad writes all their names down in the couples' shoes and by the end of the night whoever's name is the most smudged is the one who's going to get married first. Let's be real, if they did this, it'd probably Manny whose name had almost disappeared and he'd freak the fuck out.

❦ once you're ready to walk down the aisle, and you glance at Abby you let out a small ᵍᵃˢᵖ at the sight, with Abby dressed to the nines and a glowing expression on her beautiful face. Her mouth also formed a little O at the sight of you, ready to become her wife, looking so so happy and a slightly teary eyed.

❦ during the actual ceremony, you two keep stealing glances at each other, smiling kinda goofily like :]. You two are goobers fr.

❦ for the vows, I think the game establishes that Abby is a big bookworm, so she chooses something perhaps from Emily Bronte or Jane Austen. Of course this isn't the entirety of what she wrote, she just finds it more accurate to express her love for you through someone's else perfectly adept words.

❦ once the reception kicks in, you're carefully wiping tears from your eyes so you don't smudge your makeup, and take some photos with the wedding party on the beach. You're accepting everyone's congratulations for your newlywed status, and settling down to prepare for your first dance.

❦ you had decided on dancing to Por Una Gabeza, and had actually rehearsed the slow tango a couple times so your movements are synchronised. By the end of the dance, you're in each other's arms, cheek to cheek simply enjoying the moment.

❦ by the time you've finished you meal, the party is in full swing, and you join in for a few dances until you decide on a cake break and allow Yara to be Abby's dancing partner. By the way, your wedding cake? Exquisite, chocolate ice cream with strawberry.

❦ I also imagine you guys doing the whole tossing the bouquet thing and -surprise surprise!-it ends up on Manny's lap on accident. He almost leaves.

❦ by the night, you're both clinging to each other, ready to resume your lives as Mrs and Mrs, and also ready to break into the bridal bed. Seriously, you can feel Abby's fingers feeling up your thigh and she's been whispering the things she wants to do to you all night. By 2 in the morning you're home, very much exhausted by the preparations and the emotional high, but also very ready to let Abby peak what's under your bridal gown.

❦ for wedding gifts to each other? She hands you two tickets for some exotic island you guys always talked about going, and make it your honeymoon. You get her an antique vinyl record player, because she had always been going about getting something to listen music to while cooking. Needless to say you both love each other's gifts:D

❦ a week or so after the ceremony you receive the photographs, and Abby makes it her duty to hand them on every corner of the house. Seriously, at some point, you could see a photo of you two in your field of vision pretty much about everywhere.

❦ her favourite one remains in her desk, one where you two are about to leave, sweaty and drunk, the camera capturing your musky faces as you sit on her lap clinging for dear life. It's so sweet and endearing, and it reminds her why she married you in the first place.

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson x you #abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby x fem!reader #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson headcanons #abby anderson fic

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ellesthots · 25 days

Text

Fateful Beginnings

XXIX. “uncanny valley”

parts: previous / next

plot: you and Bruce dance around the horrors of the weekend, desperate to make things right—or, at least, better.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, angst, mental health issues, descriptions of violence, descriptions of injury, grief, anxiety

words: 6.1k

prev. chapter summary (XXVIII): You go to Wayne Tower on Saturday night to talk to Alfred about ways to get Bruce help. Alfred is hopeless. Bruce intercepts, bitter at your intrusiveness, and storms off. You call Dr. Crane, who tells you to refrain from following him for fear of escalating the argument. On your walk home, you run into a panicked, horrified Bruce in an abandoned alley near his house. He does not recognize you, and after calling Alfred for him to be picked up, Bruce begs Alfred not to tell his parents about him being out so late. After a brief heartfelt (and teary) conversation with Alfred, where he expressed thanks and reassured you were not making things worse (as you thought, and still think), you went home. The next day, Bruce has no recollection of the night before, brought up to speed by Alfred. At Alfred’s urging, Bruce visits your apartment on Sunday, begging you to see his side. The argument becomes heated, and, convinced by Dr. Crane’s horrifying prognosis for Bruce and his own erratic, dangerous behavior, you do a last hail-mary to get him help: you lie about being the person who saw Bruce jump, expressing how terrified you were at thinking you’d watched him die. This immediately triggers Bruce to his childhood, and he does a hard reset on his denial, horrified he’s repeating the cycle, reassuring you he will accept help.

Outside of receiving some calls, you hadn't checked your phone since Thursday night. Texts, socials, it had all been abandoned trying to remove the noose snaking Bruce's neck. After the phone call with Alfred you were able to relax into bed and pull out your phone—immediately smacked by a bazillion texts from Mar, a few from your parents, and some mentions on Scypher. You clicked on Mar's texts first.

Thursday, 11:50pm: OMGGG just now seeing thissss i got so lit tonight. sorry!! idk if i can make it to help you move. def can't drive in the morning tho!!! ttys!!!

Friday, 1:20am: ok lolz i went to a second club 2nite and yahhh i don't think i can make it 2morrowww

Friday, 12:30pm: if ur still in town i could help, i just got a massive headache hahaha have you left yet

Friday, 1:22pm: ur prob on the road byeee

Friday, 1:30pm: wait ur still in Gotham??

Today, 12:58pm: BITCH!!!!!!!!!!!! you didn't tell me you did the interview with him!! like actually!!!!!!! okayyyy too famous to respond to me I see? i'll make sure to visit to get your autograph lol.

Today, 2:15pm: bro i got so many more friend requests already today???? some are Bruce Wayne fan accounts. wtf!!!??? this is like blowing up

Today, 6:15pm: MISSED CALL FROM MAR.

Today, 6:16pm: MISSED CALL FROM MAR.

Today, 6:18pm: LOOK !!!!

She'd attached a Buzzfeed article titled: Bruce Wayne's First Interview Came Out Today, and Our Jaws (and Clothes) are on the Floor

You couldn't read any further though, seeing as you had a handful of texts from your parents to sort through.

Friday, 1:45pm: Hey hunny! Your mother and I are home from the second shot. She told me to text you 'I am fine'. We will call you this evening after I finish up the deck.

Friday, 6:37pm: MISSED CALL FROM DAD.

Friday, 6:40pm: Deck done. When you visit next I'll show you. Walter likes it. Love you

Today, 3:13pm: MISSED CALL FROM MOM.

Today, 3:20pm: Hi kiddo. Wow! Congratulations on the article! Debbie showed it to us when she visited earlier. I thought you said you were done with that guy. Love you sweety!

You responded to your dad about your mom, and your mom about the article. You refused to comment on her mention of Bruce, wanting to purge your mind as much as you were able to after the weekend you'd had. You resigned to calling her first thing in the morning, miserable over forgetting about her second shot. After responding to Mar to update her on staying (and to express faux excitement about the article's release), you stayed up a few more minutes to see if your parents might still be awake and responsive. Sleep.

You woke up late that day, around two in the afternoon; the only reason you hadn't slept even longer was a phone call from Dr. Vry startling you awake. "Y/N! Have you seen your article? I can't believe it. Over a hundred applications just TODAY to the journalism program!"

You fought your way through the conversation, the gears in your head finally harnessing enough energy to start worrying again. The call ended quickly, as she 'had a lot of applications to get through', and you called your mom without a second glance at your phone notifications.

"Hey sweetie. I saw your text last night, but I couldn't respond. Walter was finally curled up in my lap, you know how sensitive he is." She sounded fine, neither ecstatic nor miserable. Her energy picked up when she started talking about your article. "Your dad was looking into that Wayne guy, and ran across that article of yours. He didn't know it was you that wrote it until Debbie brought it over!"

You'd padded out to your kitchen to make some toast with the butt of the bread. "Since when is dad researching things about Gotham?"

"He's been very intrigued ever since graduation. He—"

Your dad sounded off in the background. "Hun? Hey! I saw that article of yours! His first interview ever. That's a big family, you know. The Waynes. It's a big deal sweetie!"

He continued without leaving space for you to change the topic. "You know about his parents, right? God, poor kid. Seems to have recovered from it well enough."

You stifled a laugh at him delivering the most famous lore of Gotham city like it was breaking news. "Yeah, I know about his parents."

"You know, I knew I sensed something between you two. When's he coming to visit?" You heard a meow in the background, and you could only imagine your dad was munching on some sandwich he desperately wanted.

"Dad,"

"People don't give their first interviews to just anyone. Must've really impressed him."

"He's never coming over, dad."

"You don't have to be embarrassed honey. He seems like a stand-up guy! Next visit, bring him."

"It sounds like you want to meet him." You rubbed your temples, having temporarily abandoned your peanut butter spreading. You didn't know if you were right, but you could've sworn you heard him shaking his head. Walter meowed again. He definitely had some sort of food in his hand.

"What kind of dad would I be if I weren't excited to meet my daughter's boyfriend?"

The juxtaposition of the past few days to his chipper, nonchalant demeanor was stark, reducing you to a teary mess. No, you wanted to snap at him. I actually visited him in a psych ward. Had to stop his future from becoming a funeral.

"Hey, whoa now..." Your mom spoke in a hushed, frustrated tone in the background. "I'm sorry sweetie. I get it. I won't talk about him anymore."

You continued to cry, unable to get any words out. It was like you were finally able to feel the weight of what had been placed on you, feel the piercing stab of the fear it instilled. Your sobs were so pathetic and deep that your mom kept asking if you could breathe. It took much longer than you were comfortable with to even begin steadying, and when you did you knew it wouldn't last. You told them you had to get back to work, and that you'd see them in two weeks.

Vanity Fair. Vogue. People. Cosmopolitan. Us Weekly. Elle. Glamour. Seventeen. Marie Claire. Your eyes had fuzzed over as anxiety nestled into your gut. So this had been... this had been huge. 600 followers had turned into 13,000, and that was just on Scypher. Instagram had 300, now 6,500. So many mentions, so many comments, you started to panic even more. You tossed the phone across the bed and wrapped your arms around your body, rocking slowly back and forth, squeezing your arms so hard they began to ache. Flashbacks to Saturday night pulsed between your eardrums, projected on the back wall of your mind. You'd never seen someone so out of their element before. The image of him in the fetal position on the ground. The screaming. The nearly incomprehensible rattle in his voice. The stitches that bulged, the skin sloughed off his fingers. The blood. The sweat. The panic. Dread. Fear. Hysteria.

Your hands shook just the same as they fought to text Alfred. Your fingers garbled the message, but you couldn't handle another second without knowing if he was alive or dead. What if he'd taken the whole fucking bottle? What if he was on the floor of his bedroom, the last dregs of his functioning body procuring foamy spit out of his mouth for him to choke on? What if he flung himself off another building? His house was so fucking tall. So empty. So huge. So many places he wouldn't be seen, he wouldn't be found, so many places someone could hide if they needed, or wanted. What if he was strung up by his neck on a ceiling bar?

You shrieked in pain as waves of fear ravaged you. If it were real water you'd be swept under, and you wouldn't even fight it. The water would take away all your troubles, your worries, your fears. But he couldn't know that. They couldn't know what this was doing to you.

You set the phone down.

If he knew, he'd feel guilty. He couldn't feel guilty. Guilt would hurt him more. Guilt could push him over the edge.

Instead, you dialed Dr. Crane. He answered on the second ring, always so quick. "Y/N. I was about to call you. Before we get into it, why did you call?"

Anxiety lurched up into your chest, eager to overwhelm and incapacitate. "Get into what?"

Dr. Crane laughed, a discordant sound that chilled you. "To thank you. Whatever you did, it was successful. This is strictly confidential, but he is accepting treatment."

So he's alive? "I wanted to talk to you about that." You swallowed hard, yanking at a loose thread in your comforter. "I uh, he wasn't going to get help until I, until I lied."

"About what?" Dr. Crane's composure was always strictly maintained, and this time was no different. He never gave away his feelings. "I had to tell him I was the witness. I said I saw him jump."

"Oh."

That was quite possibly the worst thing he could've said.

"Well, that changes things."

"What things?"

"For one, that's a secret you must keep. Glad you clued me in." You heard a rustling of papers, a hushing of his tone. "Usually that would be unacceptable, but if we're both being honest," His candor was unsettling. "I have yet to see someone as deeply in denial as him accept treatment. I went to sleep fully anticipating waking to news of his passing." His tone was suddenly lighter, almost singsongy. "I can't say I'm disappointed in you."

You had no concept of how to respond to that. Guilt ulcerated your stomach and strangled your chest, but at least Bruce was breathing. After a silence that was too long, long enough you were surprised he hadn't yet hung up, you spoke. "Are we, are you, sure?" Words were having trouble finding you. "About the lying? I didn't see it, and what if the real witness,”

"There is nothing to be concerned about regarding the witness. Mr. Wayne has begun treatment, and will soon be stable. Incredible work."

"I—"

"You saved Bruce Wayne’s life, Y/N. It's only a shame it's a badge you can’t share." You could hear the smile in his tone, but you weren't happy. The reassurance you’d been seeking was far from assuring, leaving you situated in an uncanny valley of suspicion. How could he be so joyful? Why wasn't he drilling you about going to such lengths? Had it… had it really been that fucking hopeless? Anger boiled in you at the prospect of Dr. Crane knowingly sending you on a suicide mission. Before you burnt the bridge, you thanked him for the update and hung up. It took everything in you not to throw the phone against the wall.

The shower was scalding. You barely felt it. He must have thought he wouldn't make it. He seemed so fucking resolved to Bruce's death. Fully anticipating waking up to news of his passing? But there was 'nothing he could do'? Not a word of tangible advice besides 'don't go after him'. If I listened to him, who knows who would have found him out there! Would he have attempted again? You also wrestled with the uncomfortable reality that Dr. Crane had been correct; you had played a vital role in him accepting treatment. Had Dr. Crane psychoanalyzed you, deemed you the sort of person to lie if needed? Someone he could push to do things outside of personal liability? A sort of reverse hitman?

As you toweled off, your anxious mind continued its rumination. So he took meds. But did he take just one? Alfred will watch him, right? Hold onto his meds, only give him them as needed? Is he employing a system, making sure he checks under Bruce's tongue, locks the bathrooms, listens for retching, making sure the medication is accurately and genuinely consumed, as prescribed? You needed a break, but you couldn't find one. Sitting on the edge of your bed you knew you wouldn't be able to rest until you knew he was alive right now. And the next day. And the next day. And the next. A boulder jammed down your shoulders knowing you wouldn't be satisfied unless he personally slept on your couch so you could monitor him like a newborn. His attempt and general discontent were affecting you far more than you'd initially internalized.

Bruce sat in Alfred's study by the fireplace, staring out the window towards the grounds. Over breakfast with Alfred he took the first dose of the medication, and only a few hours later he swore he could feel the effects. He'd done some quick googling on olanzapine, and it appeared he was having a placebo effect. At minimum he'd feel effects in a few days, more likely after a week or two. He had to stop researching after that, too freaked out about having to be on antipsychotics, too much still in disbelief about how he'd done something so drastic yet had no memory of it. Alfred convinced him to stay 'home' from Batman for the rest of the week, which was an unusually easy feat considering how he hadn't taken a voluntary night off since beginning the project years ago. It broke him how upset you'd been, and he knew he wouldn't be able to see Alfred cry again. That was unbearable.

He didn't have much to do; he quickly realized he had been living only for the night. There really wasn't anything to do in the tower; no games (outside of a dusty chess board in Alfred's study), one old television (also in Alfred's study, off to an adjacent corner), no gym (he overextended himself enough as Batman), and the house was generally kempt from Dory's attentive cleaning in a house that didn't need more than dusting anyway.

Alfred told him to skip the meeting this week; Bruce initially hadn’t cared much either way, but realized that wasn't an option after misery frayed his nerves with just half a day of sitting around. In order to go in public, he needed to not be scarred and scabbed to hell; he wanted to walk the grounds, but worried about doing it in the daytime in the state he was in. Your article’s release had also prompted a patch of reporters to hang around his house, increasing his surveillance. Give an inch, they’ll take a mile. He and Alfred briefly discussed the contingency plan they kept at the ready: staged police photos of a nasty car crash on the edge of the grounds, but he couldn't share them yet—he wanted to leave you as much time as possible to soak up the success of the interview. You deserved that much, you deserved more after what he'd put you through. At least once an hour he thought about calling you, and he very nearly did a few times. He worried about you. Were you safe? Did you need anything?

On some level, he theorized focusing so much on you was a coping mechanism to escape his failing mental capacity. The more he focused on you, the less real estate his panic had. Last night had been miserable. He'd stayed awake staring at the ceiling, his mind swirling with shock and fear. He’d wondered if this is what his mom had endured, but he didn’t have the mental fortitude yet to go digging through Arkham Asylum records. He didn’t know if he ever would again, so he simply sat. Watched the clouds move along the skyline. Watched the shrubs sway in the backyard. Followed the occasional crow floating past the windows.

As soon as darkness fell he couldn't contain himself any longer. The nagging feeling of someone he traumatized being alone in it was too much. He grabbed a hoodie and walked to the elevator, sure he could make a free escape through the old subway route. His hand hesitated before pressing the button. What if you didn't want him to visit? What if it was too stressful? He couldn't keep coming over unannounced, it was weird. Not normal. Alfred had heard the metal rustling and walked into the kitchen. His brow furrowed. "I thought you were taking a break from him?"

"I am." He stared at the ground, lost in thought. "Would you call her?"

"Miss Y/N?" Alfred's voice was soft, concerned. "Sure, why?"

Bruce had conveniently kept to himself that you'd been the one to watch him jump. That you were the witness, that you'd called 911. "I want to give her an update."

Alfred pulled out his phone and Bruce walked closer, bridging the gap between them. "Ask if I could talk to her." He didn't blink until you picked up, hiding a wince at how you'd done so before the end of the first ring. You were scared. Desperate.

"Miss Y/N, I hope this isn't a bad time." Alfred paused with the phone to his ear, his expression faltering before he let out a small chuckle. It was hollow. "No, he's alright. He wanted to see if he could speak to you now."

He handed the phone to Bruce, who quickly scurried up the stairs and into his room. He only put the phone to his ear once the door was closed behind him. "Y/N?"

"Bruce." It was so nice to hear your voice when it wasn't panicked. You sounded a bit tired, breathy, but miles better than yesterday. A sigh of relief heaved out of him, to which you had a reflexive response. "Are you okay?" Your voice rose, both in volume and octave.

"Yes. Are you okay?"

"I really don't think it matters,"

He bit back a part of him that wanted to say you were the only thing that mattered. He'd broken you. "Are you?"

You sighed. "Yes. Did you uh,"

"I got the meds."

"Good. Did you take them? Or, one, or, whatever the dose,"

"Yeah." He could hear how clouded your mind was, and it was excruciating being so limited to the phone. He remembered the first week after the murder. His mind had been a hazy minefield, everything running on autopilot. The tears, his limbs, his voice, nothing had been a conscious decision for weeks. Sure, he hadn't died, but you'd thought he had. If… his parents had survived, he figured he would've been in a similar state regardless. He wanted to help you, but he didn't know how.

"How long does it take the medication to work?"

"A few days. Maybe a few weeks." After his parents died, everyone brought him food. Random strangers had brought flowers, and food, and even stuffed toys for him to cuddle with. He'd only kept one, a stuffed dinosaur, now tucked into the back of his linen closet. Alfred checked on him constantly. No longer did he have to do his chores; Dory and Alfred picked up the slack. No longer did he have to deal with hearing his mom demand he eat his veggies and sides before getting another helping of soup, he only had soup. And juice, and soda, and warm blankets fresh out of the dryer. He remembered the warmth. Of the blanket, the soup. Those, paired with the scraggly dino in his arms, were the only things that made a decimal of impact on his devastation. "Do you need anything?"

"No. Do you?"

"Do you want anything?"

"I'm good. What about you?"

He didn't believe it. You were trying to spare him, just like you had by making yourself anonymous. Would it be wrong of him to come over? This late in the evening... probably. But he remembered the nights were the worst part. Alone in the empty darkness. Less cars, less lights, even the reruns on tv were stale at that time. It left no room for distraction. And honestly, he worried if he didn't distract you from your pain, he'd be gridlocked by his.

"Can I stop by?"

Onion, celery, carrots, butter, flour, curry powder, chicken broth, an apple, rice, chicken breast, thyme, and heavy cream. He didn't know how to make much, and Alfred didn't keep much variety around, but you hadn't balked at mulligatawny the first night you'd stayed here, and it was one of the few things he knew how to make without a recipe. It was also one of the few things the old man always kept fresh and stocked, especially now that Bruce was in recovery mode. Most importantly, it was warm. It was only nine, he could get this done before ten, and be gone before midnight. Just in time for you to get tired and go to sleep, without hours spent tossing and turning alone in bed. It was the least he could do for you.

He'd never felt more ridiculous than he did when he opened your door. The backpack was heavy and a reminder that he hadn't asked if he could cook, but assumed he would waltz into your kitchen and work some magic. You invited him in and he went straight to the island, setting down his pack and taking out the supplies. Your face scrunched with confusion. "What are you doing?"

He kept taking out food while he thought of how to phrase it. It was like his mind was slowed down, your apartment a pool of tv static. "I wanted to cook." Pause. "For you." Another pause, and he took out the apple. "It's warm." Fuck, could he have explained it any worse?

He paused and you watched him slowly move to meet your eyes. "Can I?" His hand was hovering above one of the drawers, ready to get to work. "Sure." You didn't understand why he couldn't cook at his house, but you couldn’t complain; still coming down from the nauseating blend of relief and guilt that gnawed at you when you finally saw him in the flesh. Like being attacked by a wave on a hot day; soothing, but bitterly cold at the same time.

You had reassembled the chairs today, and the table. You'd anticipated calling Mar later tonight if she weren’t already at a club, offering to order some takeout and have a movie night. When thinking up a distraction, you certainly hadn't anticipated Chef Bruce appearing with fixings for a mystery meal. Did billionaires even know how to cook? Did billionaire Bruce Wayne ever have to fend for himself in the kitchen? A brief image of him staring confusedly at a box of cereal made your mouth twitch into a grin.

Good. Your humor was still there, thank god. With his back turned to you, facing the burner, you could finally, finally, finally, finally unclench your jaw and drop your shoulders. He was here. It was weird, and uncomfortable, but undeniable. He was here, not hanging from a rafter or god knows where doing god knows what in the city. He was putting butter in a pan, and grabbing a wooden spoon. He was alive.

But... this was still out of character, which raised an orange flag. You waited for him to reach an impasse before speaking, tapping his fingers on the countertop while he watched the rice cook. An apple sat cubed to the left, the chicken sizzling on the back burner. "How are you? Really?"

Bruce needed to toe the line. Too honest and it would shift the focus to him, further distressing you; too dishonest and you'd dismiss it before he finished speaking. His body didn't just ache, it screamed at him. Every step, even every time he spoke, felt like torture. He'd teared up at multiple points between the lobby and your unit. His spirit was entirely crushed, shattered into irredeemable smithereens. He hung his head and let all the air out of his lungs, letting his weight fall into his wrists as he leaned over the stove. "Not great."

It should've pained you to hear that, instead it felt like wind in your sails. He was being honest. You could work with that. Honesty didn't need to be interrogated or sleuthed upon. "How can I help?"

He wanted to say you've done enough and don't want your pity, but it felt too real. You didn't need that tonight, not so close to the event. "Taste the soup and tell me if it needs anything." He prayed you wouldn’t keep asking.

"How would I know?"

"I want it to suit your taste."

"I don't know what it's supposed to taste like." You were hyperaware he hadn't answered you, not in the way you wanted. Maybe it was too close for comfort right now. Maybe all you needed to do was focus on him being here, and ask questions later.

"Pepper, curry flavor. Creamy." He stirred something fragrant on the stovetop.

"What's the apple doing?"

"It's necessary." It felt good talking about something else with you. Something normal. Not Batman, not his legacy, not the attempt. Still, all of it clouded and constricted the conversation, a constant tension you both wittingly ignored. "Smooths the spice."

I barely tasted it that night. Too scary being trapped in the house of one of the most powerful men in the world. You watched as he stirred, chopped, and fluffed. You were brought back home with your parents, watching them make dinner while you sat at the dining table and talked at them. He glanced around and looked at the can of heavy cream. In an instant you were up and grabbing a can opener, desperate to do your part. He instructed you to pour it into the pan, and for a half second he was just another guy; an acquaintance, someone passing through; someone regular, unassuming.

After a few more minutes of sitting around, you grabbed some bowls and spoons. After a quick taste he required you take ("Need to know if I missed something"), he ladled the bowls full, and you both walked slowly, carefully over to the table to set down the steaming soup. Bruce dug in without waiting, while you blowed on a single spoonful until every bit of steam hesitated to rise from it.

He watched you apprehensively. Your eyes widened a bit, and he could see your jaw moving like you were savoring it. "How is it?" It tasted fairly similar to how Alfred made it, which was fairly similar to how his mom had made it. At the very least he hadn't royally fucked up. Who knows, maybe olanzapine changes tastebuds.

You nodded, blowing on another bite. "Mulling it over."

God, that was so droll... it tugged a whispering grin to his lips, his bite slipping back into the bowl at the gentle movement of his dry chuckle.

He was laughing. Not really. Kind of. Weird, but yay! "I've never tasted anything like it. It's good."

"Don't have to placate me."

"It's peppery. Curry. Creamy."

He rolled his eyes and tossed another spoonful into his mouth. "Creative. What's the apple for?"

The tension never left, though you both did your best to selfishly soothe it through dry humor. The most either of you did was grin, breathe a little extra air through your nose. When he wasn't looking your eyes wandered to his purple and green bruises, and the complementary crusting scabs along his neck and hands. You wondered if he was suicidal right now, but wasn't saying anything. When you weren't looking, he studied your body language, hoping it would betray you. Were you scared right now? Did you think this was the weirdest thing ever, like he did? Did you think this was creepy? Was it creepy? Was it helping? Was he helping you?

You both finished and walked your bowls to the sink. He started rinsing them and reached for the dish soap, and you let him for a little. After he pat dry the first bowl, you couldn't sit with this worry on your chest any longer. The food had been warm and energizing, the mood made less intimidating with the joking, and all of it together held your hand as you broached the topic. It made you sick how concerned he was about your wellbeing; yes, he scared you, images of his frenzied, panicked face waking you up in the dead of night, but you hadn't watched him nearly die like he thought. His worry felt like rain on a hundred degree day: unsettling and unwelcome. You inhaled fully, hoping enough oxygen would get to some brave neurons and force the words past your teeth. They caught in your chest and by then he'd finished the second bowl; anxiety palpated your heart, bullying it into silence. You overrode it. "Bruce."

At once he abandoned the silverware and turned toward you. His analytical gaze peppered your face and the fingers that annihilated your cuticles. The stench of something burning singed your nostrils, your eyes tracking the source to the hem of his sweatshirt draped over the hot stove, smoking as small flames burnt through the cotton. Perhaps waiting to be seen, it erupted into a blazing ball of flame. You yelped and jumped toward the sink, grabbing the adjustable faucet and spraying him down. The flames went out, he turned off the burner, and you looked around for some magazines or papers to fan away the tendrils of smoke wafting toward the fire alarm.

"Sorry. I wasn't thinking."

You glanced back and saw Bruce sopping wet, his hair having gotten in the mix too, draped over his eyes; the singed, ripped edges of his shirt that he clutched between his hands. You bit your lip to reign in your laugh. He started hurrying the shirt off his back, and gently shook it out to see if it had juice left in it. That was the kicker, sending you bolting toward your bedroom. You couldn't be laughing at him all the time. Get it together! He's hurting! But the laughs escaped your tight-lipped prison, and soon his shadow was in the doorway. As quickly as you'd laughed, you began to cry. You dropped to your knees at the whiplash; what once was dead, was now making soup in your apartment. Dancing around it wasn't helping, it was exacerbating the pain. He didn't hesitate to walk over, his long legs getting him across the room in only a few strides.

He didn't think you were crying about the fire. He stood helplessly beside you, unable to make a decision on what to do next. Guilt bloomed angry, self-flagellating thoughts, wishing he hadn't ran with his ego and coddled his denial. He placed a light touch to your shoulder and you jumped up. "I'm fine." He didn't say anything, only sat and watched as you struggled to reign in your barrage of tears. Your fingers threatened to go numb, and you attempted to shake the tingles away. "My body just needs to cry and then, then I'm done." You turned away from him and pressed your clammy palms to your cheeks, trying to physically shove the tears back into hiding.

After what seemed like an extended period of sniffling tears, you looked back at him. He was sat on the edge of your bed, his sweatshirt draped over his forearm. You could see more of the deeper wounds on his arms now, which was a viscerally surreal feeling. It was impossible not to be aware of his reputation; it preceded him at every turn, he was correct about that. Something entirely new though was seeing the fallibility so transparently.

Before graduation—and honestly, before seeing him breaking down in the alley—you had practically thought he was immortal. You wouldn't have done such ridiculous, dangerous bullshit as walking through an active crime scene at night if you hadn't internalized his heroism. Until this moment you hadn't realized how much you'd relied on that story; the subconscious reassurance that the Batman provided to Gotham's citizens. The mythical creature unfazed by bullets, incapacitating anyone in its wake. Batman's neutralizing force was so accepted it went unquestioned; now you knew it was because no one truly knew him. You and Alfred were the only people who had. Suddenly, the world felt a lot more intimidating. If you were any less shaken up, you might've laughed at the unmasking of Santa; but even children mourned the loss of magic, and here you were muzzling yourself.

"Can I help?"

You needed to nip this in the bud. It was going to come out however it was going to come out, and you needed to be okay with that. "I, appreciate the effort." It wasn't coming out so easily. Be nice. Be nice. Be nice. "But I want this to stop." I didn't watch you. "You don't want my pity, and I don't want yours." Too harsh, scale back. "The only thing I need is for you to be safe. Alive."

You sounded so much like Alfred that Bruce bit back a snarky retort. Not the time nor the place. Your bed creaked as he stood up. He hated how your words sat in his chest, but there wasn't exactly anything he could do about it. "Okay."

No argument, no fighting. Like you requested something he already vowed to do. He walked past you into the kitchen, and you followed on his heel. You had never been so close to him alone, and never from behind. His back was broad, making his already impressive height even more menacing. Veins bulged under his skin. Swore a tendon twitched in his forearm every time he stepped on his left foot. If he had turned for the door you might have yelped, but he just finished the dishes in silence while you lingered, then sat on the couch. If someone walked in right now, and was one of the few humans who didn't know about Bruce Wayne, they might think this looked normal. It couldn't feel more foreign.

You didn't wait half a second after the sink turned off to fill the space. From your perch on the end of the couch, across the room. "Will you be safe once you leave?"

Like a knife scraping under his fingernails. So scared he wouldn't be alive the next morning. Skittish. "Yes." He wasn't looking back at you, wishing he hadn't already put down the dish towel so he'd have something to wring. "I promise."

What good's a promise if he's six feet under? Your life had become so singular so quickly, and you were anxious for it to get back to its usual painful mediocrity. "Really?"

Ugh. He turned to face you and followed your eyes searching the carpet. He sighed away his animosity, knowing the rage seeping into his chest was directed at himself; it was nothing greater than embellished fear. He knew this, was well acquainted with it. Maybe he did need to go back to therapy. He leaned his hip against the counter and winced, jamming straight into a blackened, split bruise. He grabbed his hoodie from where it was slung across the edge of the counter, grimacing at the effort only when his face was obscured. “Really.” Within seconds he was at the door, his hand on the handle. He noticed your eyes flash in his periphery, and his entire body constricted at the sight. He forced himself to meet your eyes. It was strenuous. He figured he needed to warn you. "Alfred and I have emergency plans for times like these. Whatever you read in the news, it's a cover-up." He popped open the door, hesitating on the departure. The air was thick with emotional exhaust. "I'll see you on Thursday?"

You nodded, relieved he was being more covert with his concern. Sugaring the medicine. "See you on Thursday."

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princess-tulip-writes · 1 year

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Heyaa! I was reading your azriel x bimbo reader stuff and I was wondering if you could do the same sort of thing but with Cassie? I just feel like he’d thrive with a dumb little mate who cares more about her lipgloss than knowing how to read 😩😩I can just imagine Cassian trying to calm reader down after throwing a temper tantrum because of a bad hair day or running out of her fav perfume😂😂 btw I love your writing! It gives me life, whenever I’m sad I’ll come and read your fics and it immediately cheers me up ily! 💞💞

i think i'm going to make an actually imagine out of this one! i hope that's okay :)

it was the most monday of all mondays; you woke up late without a kiss goodbye from cassian, the overnight curlers in your hair didn't work correctly, there wasn't enough tea left for your morning cup and your lash glue refused to dry. it was already two in the afternoon, yet you were still hunched over your vanity trying to get ready for the day with frustrated tears leaking down your cheeks, leaving a black mascara streak in it's wake– which only made you cry harder.

by two thirty, you were a hysterical puddle on your bedroom floor, hoping your mate would arrive home soon to take care of you and fix everything like he always had.

a hiccuped sob fell past your lips as you analyzed a strand of the flat curls, discouraged that the hair you had planned the night before didn't work out, and your heart dropped at the reality.

"i wanted to look pretty today." you whined to yourself.

teary eyed, you looked up at the messy vanity, taking in the scattered makeup that covered surface and sighed deeply at the sight. the last thing you wanted to do right now was clean, let alone in front of a mirror to be reminded of your crappy appearance.

so instead, you stayed put, curled up in a little ball as you cried until your mate came home.

a gust of wind breezed against your back, the bare skin raising goosebumps as you shiver softly.

it had been hours now since you got up or did anything other than cry and hug yourself tightly, seeking the comfort from something other than the empty house. but now, you could feel it, could feel him close by and your bond sung happily inside of your chest.

heavy footsteps sounded from downstairs, and you knew the sound all too well.

"i'm home, sweetheart."

you sniffled as you stood on wobbling legs, anxious to just run into his huge arms and cry to him to fix everything.

"where are you, pretty girl?"

the sound of loud steps echoed through the halls as cassian made his way upstairs, guessing that if you didn't greet him at the door, you were busy doing something else in the bedroom– most likely touching up your makeup or hair.

"in–" hiccup. "here."

he frowned at the fragile state of your voice and his wings hung ever so slightly behind him as he formulated a plan to solve whatever it was that you needed, no matter how difficult.

you stayed put standing at the edge of the bed shyly as your tears continued falling freely down your flushed face as he neared the room, his heavy feet quickly stomping into the hallway.

within moments, cassian's broad figure appeared in the doorway, sweaty from training with a soft furrow in his brow as he took in your shaking body.

"princess, what's wrong?" he asked gently.

he stepped into the room without hesitation and immediately made his way to you. the second his rough hands caressed your wet cheeks as he attempted to direct your eye contact to his own, you couldn't help it and you threw yourself into his chest, letting it all out for him as his arms wrapped around you tightly and rested his chin on your head in comfort.

"it's okay, baby." he soothed, stroking the top of your head gently as he spoke into your hair. "i'll fix it, don't worry. everything'll be okay."

"b-b-but, my ha-ir is ruined."

cassian fought back a chuckle at your lack of faith that he could once again, fix your hair. it seemed that no matter how many times he had doctored up failed attempts, you always assumed they couldn't be helped. how adorable, he thought.

"oh, it's not that bad." he said. "just needs a little help perking up, is all. i could fix it in no time."

you sniffled as your sobs slowed down at his reassurance, and you glanced at his face momentarily.

"r-really?" you asked, and it took everything in the male not to kiss your raw cheeks until you shooed him off. "you really think it's not that ba-d?"

he smiled and nodded before taking a strand between his fingers, stroking the soft bunch with his thumb softly.

"nah, you could actually just wear it like this to dinner and no one would be able to tell; not even mor." he was lying of course, the second in command would definitely be able to notice, but you didn't have to be aware of that.

you sniffled once more before slightly lifting your head off of his chest in hope. the new position caused you to get a clear look at his face and the string connecting your souls pulsed at the sight of him. a faint smile grazed his lips at the shared feeling down the bond as he finally gazed into your teary eyes.

"you-you promise?"

cassian chuckled softly, the rumble of his chest vibrating against your cheek, although the feeling felt safe to you– like home.

"i promise, my princess." he said before placing a soft kiss to your crown. "always."

#cassian 🌷#cassian fluff #cassian x reader #cassian x reader fluff #acotar fluff #acotar x reader #the bat boys 🦇

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irondad-defensesquad · 2 months

Text

“Hey, Mr. Stark.”

Tony has actually been waiting at the door this whole time. He smiles and approaches Peter.

… And Tony hugs him.

“Hey, kiddo.”

Not that it’s that much of a surprise, honestly. Tony has hugged Peter before, albeit quickly. It’s never taken more than ten seconds.

Peter sighs. “Please don’t tell me Happy told you about me bombing my quiz.”

Tony rubs his back in response instead.

Peter rejects it and releases himself from the hug. He throws his backpack to the floor and sits on the couch in defeat.

“I don’t even know how I bombed it,” the boy vents. “I actually studied hard and- and read the book, which wasn’t that hard to read, and somehow I got the worst grade in my class.”

“English quiz?”

“Yeah. I didn’t freeze at the time and my mind didn’t go blank. I didn’t think I’d ace it, but I thought I would go well. I have no idea how I screwed up this badly.”

“Did you talk to your teacher?”

“No, ‘cause he only handed our quizzes at the end of class. I also didn’t want anyone to find out about my grade. I know Flash would mock me in front of everyone.”

Tony frowns at the mention of the bully. He sits on the couch next to Peter.

“Try talking to your teacher in his next class,” the former suggests.

“I will, it’s just… I’m so mad. A-And I’m not even mad at him. Why else would I get such a bad grade?”

“Peter…”

The teen sniffs, hiding his teary eyes. “I don’t understand, I’m trying hard to manage my school time and Spider-Man, how did I mess up like this?”

Tony sighs, opening an arm. “Come here.”

Peter then lies against him and sobs, letting his mentor hug him.

“W-Why aren’t you… mad at me, too?” Peter wonders.

It hurts Tony to hear how much he expected him to be angry.

“Why would I be?” Tony questions.

“‘Cause you care about school?”

“I care about you more. Not your grades.”

Peter looks so surprised…

“I know how it’s like to try your hardest and then you get negative feedback,” Tony tells him. “You feel like a huge screw-up. You can’t understand why or how you failed. But that doesn’t mean you’re a failure.”

The boy gazes at him, as though he’s surprised to hear that Tony Stark must have felt like a failure. Or probably still feels that way. Even if Peter and Tony have gotten closer, and Peter knows a lot more about his hero, he definitely idolizes Tony and that knowledge might fly past his head sometimes.

“It definitely sucks, kid. You have the right to be sad about it. Just try not to beat yourself too much, okay?” Tony reminds him. “I know you’re doing great. That bad grade won’t erase your efforts.”

Peter, as if coming to understand it, snuggles against Tony. He still cries but he is breathing in and out slowly, calming down.

Tony just holds him for as long as he needs.

It sort of reminds the man of when his bad grades tormented him as a kid.

Howard never cared about his good grades. But when he had bad ones, it convinced Howard that Tony was a fraud.

Several times back then, Tony considered giving up entirely.

Jarvis, however, took all the crumbled pieces of paper and thrown away projects and encouraged Tony to keep trying.

Then Rhodey was his partner in MIT, also pushing Tony to keep working, because he’s the most determined person Rhodey has known.

Of course, Tony knows he’s not made of iron. Sometimes he’ll be defeated. Sometimes his best might not be enough. He takes some time to get back up.

So he respects his time until he strikes back again.

Peter just needs this.

Like Tony once needed and might still need.

When he sees how calm Peter is now, even if he must be feeling pain, Tony pulls away a little to smile at him.

“I’m proud of you, Peter.”

The teen doesn’t know how to react at first. Then he smiles back and looks away in nervousness.

“You want some ice cream?” Tony suggests. “Just bought more today.”

Peter smirks. “Okay.”

As he eats the ice cream, the sadness prevails in Peter’s eyes. He appreciates and enjoys the gesture, though.

In the lab, Peter is staring at a piece of paper.

He puts it back in his backpack and tries to do the other homework he needs to finish.

“Hey, if you need any help, just let me know,” Tony says.

“Okay.”

“Just do what you can right now, alright? If you can’t do all of it, that’s perfectly fine.”

“Oh, this is easy, actually. But thanks, Mr. Stark,” Peter grins at him and returns to his homework.

Tony watches him for a while, and his smile widens.

He really is proud of Peter. So proud.

#lotus speaks #irondad #fics #my fics #drabble #(a bit long but still a drabble i think)

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grimescum · 1 month

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shuro headcanons instead of going back to sleep

i think shuro would stim in kind of harmful ways, like picking out hair or hitting himself (not gently but not hard either) over the head. not common bc im sure maizuru would tell him to cut that shit out but

less harmful ways of stimming would be playing with his hair (of course), bouncing his leg, tapping, subtle stuff like that. he would not be caught dead doing something that'd attract any sort of attention to him

still cries a shitload but he's learned to cover it up, crying quietly when no one's around to see. he gets especially teary-eyed when he's frustrated (and he is very easily frustrated)

if he wasn't raised the way he was i think he'd be into art. maybe not particularly good at it, but i think he'd find painting relaxing if nothing else. mostly still life

he's a fall guy. he loves autumn. trust me he told me himself

in spite of me kinda wishing otherwise i dont think he'd be particularly active. his sword essentially carries him. combined with his piss poor eating habits he'd probably pass out cold if you tried to race him

if he voiced every single thought in his head then he'd be locked up for conspiracy tbh. he polices his thoughts a LOT but ofc that doesn't stop the occasional "im going to blow up everyone in this building" type thought from popping up

in a modern universe laios would absolutely annoy him about anime in spite of him not being an anime fan. hed be like what do u mean u dont like anime???!?!?!?!?!

if he WAS though then i can totally see him enjoying anime liek mob psycho or aggretsuko. stuff with a relatable main character

he lieks tight, dark spaces to chill in :o3 maybe read a book or two. i dont think he'd be crazy about them but i do think he'd enjoy the imagination aspect

i think he'd get paranoid after watching horror movies

spaces out a lot

if he was raised without enforcing gender roles onto him he would def have some kind of comfort item he'd lug around as a kid. maybe a plushie or a blanket. he'd keep it hidden as he grew older (like, past his teens).. imagine him getting all sentimental over it..

was scared of the dark for a lot longer than most kids

he doesn't like candy

he would be a little bit of a music guy. like, moderately so. he sticks to a few genres and doesn't really branch out. it'd be funny to say that he'd be into sm shit like death metal but realistically i'm thinking jazz, acoustic, piano, relaxing stuff liek that . maybe modern enka? gotta look into the genres hed like a bit more

actually now that i think about it i think he'd hate death metal. imo hed be especially sensitive to loud sound so if u played that or smt like speedcore he'd explode into dust and fly away

#flea talks #cc: shuro #toshiro nakamoto #yawns

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whattraintracks · 2 months

Text

Grudge Match – vibrating I am so excited for this episode

“collect Michelangelo” idk why but this word choice is sending me

ouch this tension between all of them (Raph getting in Leo's face about his attitude; Mikey avoiding training) is hitting really close to home

portals once again proving to be bad news for turtles

gosh I will never get over how Raph will flip a switch from yelling at a brother to defending him in an instant

Kluh’s like a rematch? nah I just want him dead

actually, Kluh and Ammag make an interesting parallel to Karai and Shredder

Don: Man, it stinks to be you :D

Raph: This is the best day of my life!

guys pleeeeeeeease

Splinter’s pizza with pepperoni and karma, I cannot

his statue!! every time I think about the three generations of Hamato in the pavilion of past champions I get a little teary-eyed

oh, shoot! I did not expect to actually cry about Leo and the Daimyo’s Son!

just just just Leo facing an enemy who tried to kill him specifically and hurt his family multiple times

but instead of dismissing or hating this kid, he is for the first time in a while dorky, unsure, kind Leo again

excuse you, how am I supposed to emotionally recover from this?? 😭😭😭

I sense some foul play in this joint

“we still talking about me here?” astute as always Michelangelo

Mikey's persistent ‘get me out of here!’ is really showcasing how for him the championship was less about being the best and more about wanting attention from his family

which I totally understand

Raph is straight-up stimming he is so excited about Mikey’s fight

you Can Not tell me Ue hasn’t been following Leo around like a duckling

you know I would read the heck out of a fic about Leo and his emotional support child

barbarians! what's a barbarian? non-romans, said the romans, being invaded by non-romans.

okay, yeah, Don and Raph's glee and Mikey's panic make more sense given they fully expect Mikey won’t get too hurt because of the safety spells but Mikey forgot about them

it's unfortunate that uh those spells no longer exist

no!! leave Ue alone!

ooh forgot how good the Battle Nexus music theme is

look at my boy go!!!!

sure enough, they're all immediately freaked when those safety spells didn’t take effect

love how expressive Raph’s body language is, he is all in

fascinated by the three father-son duos at odds with each other here (Ammag and Kluh v Splinter and Mikey v Daimyo and Ue)

HOLY CRAP HE’S SO COOL

HE’S HOLDING ONE NUNCHUCK WITH HIS FOOT!!!!!!!!!!

have I mentioned lately how much I love Mikey and Splinter's match in Big Brawl? because it feels relevant to bring it up now

Splinter passing on their legacy means so much to me and I really love how the Battle Nexus sort of became a Splinter and Mikey thing

and it's really cool to see how the Battle Nexus drives home some of Splinter’s lessons for Mikey

point is Mikey’s “my father taught me better than that” is a perfect way to end the rematch and the various father-son conflicts

those are some flamboyant, glowy costumes and weapons you boys've got on

“I’m gonna have to move out.” Raph's just like me fr. I'm pretty sure I said that exact statement to my mother growing up (probably about doing chores but that’s neither here nor there)

as easy as it would be to take Don and Raph’s whining the wrong way it really was just played for laughs and I'm surprisingly okay with that

I'm still gonna read a bunch of hurt/comfort fics about this but yeah

#s4 e6 grudge match #just realised i can take low quality screenshots #i should not be allowed this power #it totally snuck up on me but mikey is tied with raph for my fav 03 turtle #has been for a while now #just thought y'all should know #tmnt 2003 #tmnt #all aboard the live blog #whattrainofthought

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silent-raven13 · 1 year

Text

You guys!

Pav rushes to his friends with crazy news: Oh my Brahman, did you guys saw Peter Parker?

Gwen looks at Miles and Hobie: Peter B. Parker from Earth 616B

Pav: No, um.. Peter Parker umm he likes to call himself, Petie from Earth 2010

Miles: Ohhh, hmm. Yeah, I saw him bringing a cute baby girl. -Hobie slouching on his partner while listening-

Gwen nodded: Ohh that one. You know when you say Peter Parker... it's kinda hard to know which one when -they are surrounded by a lot of varieties of Peter Parker-

Pav: Right! My bad! Should've been clearer- Anyway, turns out that Peter's kid actually came from Peter.

His fiends: ....

Gwen: Pav, it takes-

Pav: No, I mean- Petie is from the Omegaverse! He's an Omega! That''s his baby! -Gwen's and Miles' eyes widen-

Hobie arched his eyebrows: What? What the bloody hell is an Omega? And what universe is that?

Miles stammering: Well- you see- it's when...

Gwen place a hand on Miles' back: I got this. I'm sort of a pro on this stuff. -she went over to lean against Hobie being casual- Ya see, the Omegaverse is... -she told him everything-

Hobie: WHAT IN THE HELL? You joking, aren't you Gwendy? -his eyes widen in shock.-

Miles shook his head: Nope, it's true. I didn't think it was a real universe...

Gwen: I mean, we're here. Anything is possible!

Pav nodded: Right, I reacted the same thing when Gwen told me!

Hobie looks at Miles: How did you know this?

Miles pressed his lips being shy: Well... you know I love my anime and shows... and Me and Ganke likes to make comics. Sometimes I read fan fiction and... omega verse is a popular genre.

Gwen laughs: I read it too! You know when you want to male pregnancy in the story. it's the best ways to write it in.

Hobie saw Miles being bashful: That's insane? A man getting pregnant? So this Peter pushes out a kid?

Pav nodded: Turns out his MJ is an Alpha! So, she actually had some sort of penis and sticks it into Petie, right? -he turns to Gwen because that part still confuses him-

Gwen: Depending on their world Omegaverse. Some female Alpha's clit grows into a penis when it's heat season and stick it into an Omega and boom! Pregnancy!

Hobie: That's-that's... -he was too in shock-

Miles: The ones I read never mention women being Alphas mostly Betas.

Gwen: You know fangirls always write for the men. -she sighs- I'm curious too. Should we ask Petie?

Pav: I don't think so. He's pretty sensitive. He had to go to Miguel to inform some sort of harassment report, because one Spiderman touched his swollen chest.

Miles: That's so messed up. I should go check on him. I'm sure he must feel very upset. Come, Hobie. -Hobie can't complain nor judge-

Petie aka Peter Parker from Earth 2010 in Miguel's office having to sit on a chair while feeding his pup.

Petie: Thanks again, Miguel. I- um... appreciate it.

Miguel busy on the platform: It's fine, Parker. I will informed the Spiderman that harassed you. You can request absent if you want.

Petie: No, I'm okay. Just trying to get use to being Spiderman after nine months plus the three months of taking care of my pup. -he coos at his little girl who busy drinking his milk-

Miguel saw the omega being a bit nervous coming to their headquarters seeing how many Spiderpeople judge him. He only brought the omega onto their cause because he's such a good spiderman. Shame, how people are quick to judge. As Spiderfolks they should know better.

Normally, Miguel would walk around the Omega trying to make him feel safe, or at least calm down. The large Spiderman had a special spray that contains an Alpha scent that helps relax Petie.

Petie slight chuckle: I didn't expect people to give me looks when i hold May. I thought it would be normal... -his voice sad and weak-

Miguel place a hand on the Spiderman's shoulder: No es tu culpa. You are doing what is normal in your world. You have a beautiful pup. -his red eyes looking at the little baby-

Petie smiles widely: Thank you, Miggy. -teary eye- means a lot.

Miguel: Puedes quedarte aquí todo lo que quieras! You can stay here all you want.

Little May mumbles being finished with her meal. Petie smiles: Thanks, looks like she's done.

Then the main front door slightly open with Gwen's head peaking in: Um... Mr. O'Hara? Can we come in?

Miguel looks up: What is it, Stacy?

Miles peaks in: Um... we heard what happen to Petie. We want to check if he's okay!

Pav peaks in as well: We brought lunch for him!

Hobie sticks his head too while carrying Miles: And water!

Miles: Aye! Hobie put me down! -his boyfriend ignores him-

Petie smiles: It's fine, Miguel.

Miguel: Very well. Okay, come on in. -since when his place is for hang outs? Then again, he didn't think this place was a safe space-

The young Spiderheroes happily walk in, well Hobie carries Miles. They saw Petie, Peter Parker; who has sandy brunette hair color, and green eyes. He's face more fuller than the Peter, they knew, and much more softer, but that's what happens when you're an Omega.

Pav: We wanted to check if you were okay! I saw the Spiderman was making jokes when you walked away. Kinda messed up. I wish I was there early...

Gwen handed Petie the take out box: We got you burgers and fries...

Petie: Thanks, kiddos. I'm glad there's some good Spiderfolks around here. It's been hard since Omegas are always being treated differently. I mean, Alpha Peter parker from Earth 2010B get all the praise.

Pav: There's an Alpha Peter? -his mouth dropped in shock-

Miguel grunts: There's many of them on and about in these headquarters. They come in different times to avoid using their pheromones on each other.

Petie laughs: And that you don't fight with him. Alpha Peter tends to challenge Mig a lot of the time.

Hobie grins: I like the sound of that.

Miles playfully slap his partner: Hobie!

Hobie: What? It's good for someone to challenge leadership.

Miguel: Alpha Peter is chaotic and ruthless. Having him as a leader would be a great mistake, Brown! -his voice serious and annoyed-

Miles: If he's as bad... then Alpha Miguel might be worst, huh?

Miguel: I dunno. I never bothered to look for him for the same reason. he's out there somewhere. -like hell he would bring that one into their headquarters-

Petie: It's not good having so many Alphas around. -He cover his chest with special Omega shirt for breastfeeding- Time to burp May. -His daughter had a Amber wavy hair color than Mayday.-

Pav gasps: Looks at her little booties! Oh my gosh! Those toes are so tiny! Ahh -He giggles at the baby's size- She's so cute!

May whines trying to sleep but her dad softly pats her back as she let out a small burp: There. There, pup. I got you. -he saw Miles- Aren't you an Omega?

Miles looks around then pointed at himself: Me?

Petie: Your not?

Miles: Wait, why me?

Gwen and Pav softly giggling. Miguel arched his eyebrows being nosy in the conversation instead of working.

Miles: No, I'm not. Why?

Petie: I thought he was your Alpha... I've seen you two and Hobie, right? -Hobie nodded at his name- Is always protecting you. It's very Alpha... and you always smell sweet, too. I figure you were an Omega.

Miles' mouth dropped: Is it cause I were my mango Shea Butter!

Gwen laughs: See told ya, you would be an Omega!

Hobie: Me an Alpha. huh? -he likes that idea- I can get you pregnant!

Miles' face felt so warm: You can't be serious!

Hobie: Come on, luv. Me and you with a litter!

Petie laughs: See Alpha material.

Pav laughs: I can totally picture that!

Miguel: Aye, no pregnancy talk. It's bad enough we had three Peter Parkers already impregnating their MJs at sixteen! Coño wear a damn condom!

Gwen: Hey, we are 18 years old, Miguel! -she puff her chest out being offended- If Miles want kids now... let him!

Miles scoffs: Excuse me! I didn't say anything. Hobie, put me down! -his boyfriend carrying him-

Hobie: No, never letting my Omega go! -his new petname-

Petie only laughs: Sorry, Miles. I thought it you two were part of the Omegaverse.

Miguel shook his head: These fucking kids. -he went over to help Petie with May. So the omega can eat his lunch in peace. Miguel holds the pup being careful- Hey, you guys keep it down. May needs to sleep!

Pav: And you're being an Alpha too, huh!

Miguel grunts as he gently rubs the small pup's back: Shh, she's sleeping.

Gwen giggles: Miguel is always to the rescue with kids. Hey, Miles maybe you can have him babysit yours.

Miles pouts: Not funny. -Hobie kisses his cheek.-

Hobie: My Omega! -kisses-

(Part 2)

#punkflower #flowerpunk #miles morales #hobie brown #spiderman #spider verse #across the spider verse

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duckadee · 3 months

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it’s been a while, but i have returned! i had a good time finding songs for this prompt (memories/nostalgia), and maybe i got a little teary/sappy when i was compiling the playlists and writing my thoughts down. i guess their story just does that to me, haha. the power of friendship got to me! honestly, this theme and the one after it were the most impactful for me. now, onto the list!

Somewhere Only We Know by Keane

My Old Friend by Sam Amidon

7 Years by Lukas Graham

Turn the Lights Back On by Billy Joel

This Town by Niall Horan

Least Complicated by Indigo Girls

Four Strong Winds by Neil You g

here’s the playlist, and my thoughts are under the cut!

Four Strong Winds

I didn’t really have any specific lyrics from this song, but I wanted to talk about it anyway. To me, this song is about holding onto hope that a relationship can survive and evolve into something new even though it seems over. Similar to how Ian and Anthony’s relationship had to dissolve so that it could change and come back better.

My Old Friend

Honestly, these lines made me think of so many things. Ian keeping the pictures of him and Anthony up, Anthony getting teary eyed over realizing that his childhood best friend was still there, the fact that they’ve known each other since 6th grade… Additionally, I like the last line here: ‘We’ll meet again, my old friend’. It’s sort of like a seed being planted, that eventually grows into them reuniting years later.

Turn the Lights Back On

I’ve actually had this song in my back pocket for a bit; I heard it when I came out and thought, ‘That sounds like an ianthony song, I should do something with it,’ and then I forgot about it. Until now!

This part ties back into the prompt for the first day (resentment). It represents how the resentment has changed over time into guilt, and then into acceptance, and finally into forgiveness and love. ALSO, it got me thinking about how Ian and Anthony never really stopped caring about each other, even with other emotions clouding their view for a little bit. I’ll have to look for it, but it reminds me of an ianthony post that said something like, “love doesn’t die, but it can rot”. I’ve been thinking about that ever since I read it months ago.

#ianthony #my way back to you

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like-a-bantha · 1 year

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Alright and Always Getting Better

Summary: What are you gonna do when the war's over? Sorry, too heavy?

Pairing: The Bad Batch & GN Reader (Platonic, no use of y/n, reader's appearance never described)

Rating: T

Warnings: Language, not beta-read

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: Heeeey... Sorry I was MIA for a bit. Quit my job, got a new job, sorted some shit out. Kinda sorta back now. More to come, anyway. Hope you enjoy, I had a lot of fun with this one.

AO3 | Masterlist

I’ve been thinking a lot about the future lately. Not the tomorrow or next week or month type of future either. Long term. Hasn’t really happened since I was a kid, simpler times before war found my planet and divided it in two, turned us against each other. Back when everything was still good, when the worst fate that could befall me and my comrades was a scraped knee. When it would rain I’d sit by the window, always the one in the kitchen where the transparisteel was especially thin, listening to the silence between raindrops and imagining adventures I’d have one day with my friends, somewhere beyond the dark clouds on some distant planet. We never ended up having those adventures, of course.

Every now and then when it rains I like to sit with the silence and imaginary memories from a more hopeful time. Once, not long after being assigned to the 99, I was hiding back on the Marauder after a mission while the others gathered under a canopy outside, taking advantage of the fresh air. Echo found me spaced out in the co-pilot's seat, I didn’t even notice he sat down next to me until he asked what I was thinking about and I gave a summarized report. He seemed sympathetic. I didn’t really know much about his past at the time – anyone’s past, really, it was strictly business those first couple of weeks – but I knew he was an ARC trooper, I knew he knew where my mind was, and he knew I knew he knew it’s not a great place for a mind to be.

“There’s a word for that feeling, actually,” His voice was so calm, both of us stared out the viewport at the raindrops slowly sliding down, picking up others along their way. “in Mando’a.”

Echo paused, waiting for me to ask. Eyes still trained straight ahead, long past the point of looking out the window, now zoned out with my gaze pointed in the general direction of ahead. “What is it?”

“Aay’han.”

“Aay’han.” I parrot him. He made a quiet sort of hum in affirmation. I mouth the word to myself again. “What does it mean?”

He was quiet for a minute, the kind of quiet where you can tell the words are there but you’re not sure if they’ll quantify the weight of what you mean. After a moment he said, “Loving something and knowing it’ll never come back.” My attention turned to him then and his to me, misty eyes meeting misty eyes. “Somewhere between nostalgia and mourning.”

Perhaps it was the force of my sharp inhale that made the first tear fall from my eye, running down my cheek like a raindrop on the viewport. The teardrop, however, is much different from the raindrop when you think about it: the teardrop is lonely, no others in its path will join in on its way down; the teardrop makes this journey alone. I turned my gaze back to the viewport. “Good word for it.” I saw him nod from the hazy corner of my teary eye so I nodded, too. “Aay’han.” And then we sat in silence for a long while. A comfortable silence that was only broken when Wrecker barrelled onto the ship shouting about a ‘fresher emergency. We both laughed through our tears as the giant clone called for us to clear out. I wiped my eyes and turned to Echo, still laughing, “It’s fully open, there is no one in the ‘fresher.”

Echo’s laughter slowed a bit in realization, hastily wiping his eyes as he stood from the pilot's seat. “I think he means the ship.”

My own laughter subsided when it finally dawned on me, I quickly followed Echo down the ramp and under the canopy where we promptly laughed ourselves to tears once more.

These days I mostly think about this future, not the future I thought of as a kid. This future is not nearly as fun to imagine. I’ve only had the mental fortitude to think about a future where we win the war. Now when I think about the future I can only picture it with these guys. I tried thinking about a future away from the Batch and it just seems so boring, so lonely; I’ve filed it away with the future where we don’t win, I don’t like either of those futures very much. I love the quiet, I do, but I don’t think I was meant for a whole life of it. Maybe they aren’t either. I haven’t really asked them, when I do it comes out wrong and I don’t bother clarifying.

Like last week when we were having lunch, I think I asked something like, “What are you guys doing after this?”

To which a very confused Hunter replied, “Prepping for tomorrow’s mission? Remember?”

I just nodded.

We got back from that mission last night. It was raining when we landed. I slept like shit, woke up at three and couldn’t get back to sleep. I wandered over to the couch by the window but I could barely hear the patter of the rain through the thick transparisteel window so I decided to join the Marauder in the hangar. I came in through the people entrance but sat down by the ship entrance looking over the crashing waves of the ocean below, the only thing separating me from the deafening rainfall was the droning hum of the glowing blue shield. I didn’t put my chrono on before leaving, but by the gentle glow gradually growing behind the storm clouds I’d say it was around 0500 when Tech made his way into the hangar. He’s an early riser. And a night owl. Not a great combination. All this to say I wasn’t exactly surprised when I heard him call my name, just barely audible over the sound of the pouring rain.

“Hey,” I called as I rose to my feet to meet him by the ship, “Maintenance or repairs?”

He’s staring at his datapad scrolling through files rapidly and I can’t help but wonder how he reads so damn fast. “Maintenance for now. Though, I haven’t run the diagnostics scan on the hyperdrive yet, so that is subject to change.”

A laugh escaped me, briefly pulling his attention from the datapad with just the hint of a smile. “Can I help?” I’ve always liked helping Tech work on the Marauder. I’m definitely not an expert but I like asking questions and Tech likes answering them. Symbiotic.

“Certainly.” And, naturally, we got to work. I got the easy job of checking wiring while Tech calibrated some complicated mechanism under the control panel. An acceleration compensator thing, I think? Anyway, I know my limits. His detailed explanation sort of helped, but I only caught about half of it and we both gave up after about 15 minutes. “You were up early.”

“Oh, yeah,” I paused, I wasn’t expecting concern about my sleep schedule from Tech of all people. I mean, the guy sleeps about three hours a night. Four, tops. “Just woke up, couldn’t fall back asleep.”

“May I ask why you chose to come here?”

“What, to the hangar?”

“Yes, where else?” Fair point. I abandon the wires for a moment, pondering Tech’s question.

“Dunno,” I hum, glancing over to where he lay, cramped beneath the control panel, “I like the rain. It helps me think about stuff.”

Without missing a beat, Tech poses the question of the hour, “What did you need to think about this morning?” And now the wires are the furthest thing from my mind while I process that loaded question. “You do not have to answer that, forgive my curiosity.”

“No, no, it’s cool, just thinking.”

“Is the rain no longer helpful?”

I gotta give it to him, that was good. “Guess not,” I laugh. Tech makes one final adjustment to the acceleration compensator and pulls himself out of the little crawl space while I slide down the adjacent wall, sitting with my knees pulled to my chest. “I’ve been thinking about after a lot.”

“After?” I hum, which doesn’t really clear things up, come to think of it. “After what?”

“The war.” I say it flat out and instantly regret it, expecting him to jump in with some pragmatic explanation as to why putting too much thought into the future is futile. He doesn’t. No, he’s got that look he gets when he’s stuck in a thought loop and misses the solution that seems so obvious in hindsight. “Sorry, I know it’s stupid, I just- I dunno, am I just supposed to go home? I don’t think I have one of those anymore, really. And this sense of purpose I’ve got now, is that just gonna go away once it’s all over, force-willing I see the end of it? Right now is a lot, yeah, but up next is forever, and that’s been scaring the shit out of me lately.” We both fall into this tentative silence for a few moments. Long moments, where we’re physically together, but mentally we are parsecs away looking for answers. I was the one to break the silence, trying to avoid that mental loop, but all I had was, “Sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” his brows are furrowed, still clearly deep in thought, but he can multitask, “To be completely honest, I have not put any thought into our future beyond the war until now.”

“Also sorry because it’s probably a lot more complicated for you than it is for me and that is a hell of a bomb to drop at,” I glance at the center of the control panel, “0547.” Time out, our?

“Indeed. However, it is certainly something that must be thought about at some point.” I nod, I can always count on Tech to think about the practicality of it all. “I have surmised several possible outcomes, if you’ll allow me to share one.”

“Yeah, I only like the good ones, though,” I am allowed to be impractical with Tech, we balance each other out that way.

“In that case, I have surmised one possible outcome.” With wide eyes and mouth agape, I whip my head up, tearing my focus from a scuff mark on the durasteel floor I’d been staring at to meet his gaze and find him smiling proudly at his joke, yet again. “In the positive outcome, I presume clones will be effectively discharged from the military as the GAR would no longer require our service. And, seeing as your planet,” He pauses for just a second, and if I were to look really close I could probably see the high-speed scrolling of the datapad in his head as he finds a more gentle phrasing than is our enemy in this war, before he settles on a simple, “no longer suits you, we will have to find a new planet in which we can reside.”

Oh. Our. I feel my eyes just beginning to well so I sniffle a little first, then clear my throat before I can finally say, with a steady voice, “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be nice,” I clear my throat once more, “got any ideas yet? Planet-wise?”

“That,” He brings an inquisitive hand to his chin, deep in thought, “is a good question.” That does the trick, coaxing smiles from both of us even in the face of uncertainty and the vastness of possibilities both wonderful and terrible.

“Brainstorm while we run diagnostics?”

“Indeed,” Tech stands first, offering me a hand that I graciously accept, “you, however, still have wiring to check.”

“Ah, they seem fine to me,” I tease, already returning to the panel I’d abandoned with an exaggerated, dramatic huff of mock annoyance. “What about someplace warm?”

“I will search my records,” He says, already removing the datapad from his belt and scrolling rapidly, “How warm were you thinking?”

Our next assignment was given that afternoon. Some too-hot desert in the middle of nowhere on a planet that I’d never even heard of, and definitely not my idea of someplace warm. The heat was oppressive, the air dry. Absolutely zero chance of rain. My temperature regulator wasn’t cutting it, Tech said we can only run the most basic life-support on the Marauder lest we risk the Separatist base tracing our power levels, and, again, no karking rain. At this point I don’t even need it for introspection, it’s just too damn hot. We landed early in the morning, long before the afternoon heat would wash over the barren desert like a suffocating blanket. And it was suffocating, at least enough to slow me and Wrecker down as we stomped through miles of sand. The others are further ahead, clearly not as affected by the heat as us.

“How are they just, like, fine?” I huffed through my helmet’s speakers.

“I dunno, but I’m dyin’,” Wrecker’s speech slurred from exhaustion. I pass him my canteen and he pulls his helmet up to rest atop his head, visibly disappointed at the lack of relief given by removing it. I can’t talk, I had the exact same reaction only seconds later, peeling the helmet from my sweat-soaked head only for my eyes and lungs to be assaulted by the sun and sand.

“Just once, can’t we get a mission on some tropical beach planet?” I say after taking a sip of water, now warm despite the canteen’s insulation, “It doesn’t even need to be a tropical beach, really. Breathable air, a little warm, sunny – but I think I’d prefer a bit overcast if possible. Oh, and lots of trees would be nice,” the thought comes to me verbally and with an involuntarily dreamy sigh, “for shade.”

“I miss shade.” Wrecker lets out a sigh of his own. We fall into a silence, both of us daydreaming of being – just anywhere that isn’t here.

“Where would you go?” The ambiguity of my question hit me as the words fell from my mouth. I correct myself before he even has a chance to think about it, “After all this is over, where do you wanna be?”

His weary eyes widen a bit as the question registers and I can see the gears turning. “I wanna go to one of those fancy restaurants back on Coruscant. Bet they have some pretty good food.”

Despite my exhaustion, a smile I didn’t think I had in me at the moment appears at the thought of it. Me and the guys dressed in our Benduday best, dining at a certified Cygnus Star Restaurant, drinking Chandrilan Squigs. “Yeah?”

“Yeah! And then maybe we can go find even better food on other planets, too!” Wrecker lets out a sleepy laugh. It’s much less exuberant than normal – like it wanted to be a belly laugh, it just didn’t have the energy to send it that far – but a classic Wrecker laugh nonetheless.

We spent the rest of that treacherous walk discussing where we would get our big celebratory meal one day. Hopefully soon, though, spend two and a half hours straight talking about food and tell me you wouldn’t be starving, not ten minutes in. A nice meal and decent weather and the best company. What more could I ask for.

It slipped out with Hunter. I really didn’t even think about it. We were re-organizing the supplies on the way back to Kamino, the ship was quiet, we were both over-tired and unable to sleep. We were just shooting the shit to pass the time, then I went and said, “What do you think you’ll do after the war?”

“Where’d that come from?” Hunter’s brows furrowed, not in anger but in genuine confused surprise. I just shrug. He takes a breath, churning the question for a moment, “I try not to think about it.”

“Try not to?” I tilt my head to the side inquisitively. He sighs, but that smile of his is hard to hide. “C’mon.”

His laugh is nearly silent, barely more just a shake in his shoulders before they sag in defeat. “I’d like to keep the squad together. Not sure what we’d do, but I think we’d figure it out.”

“You guys can do anything, I think.” A light chuckle escapes me as I imagine the Sergeant and his squadmates running a farmstand or managing some fancy restaurant near the top-side of Coruscant.

“Well,” Hunter sighs and when he turns to face me, I’m met with a look I haven’t seen in ages. A smile that can warm a home through a freezing winter, eyes soft and familial. It was long before joining the GAR that I’d last seen a smile so kind, and for just a moment, I swear I saw my family in his eyes. “You’ll have to help us narrow it down, then. If you’d like.”

“Yeah,” I lean over just enough to bump my shoulder into his arm with a wide smile, “I’d like.”

I asked Crosshair last. I knew I wouldn’t get a straight answer, but I still wanted to include him in my questioning. We were sitting opposite each other at our messy table back on Kamino. He was cleaning his rifle, a task I just love trying to interrupt but always to no avail, while I was tossing around some spherical tool or part or whatever Tech had left laying around. Finders keepers. “Hey, what are you gonna do when the war’s over?”

“No.” He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t look up from his task. Laser focus.

“Okay, so first you’re going to make it official and marry your gun, yeah, but what next?” He’s completely unamused. I suck my teeth. “I know you’ve thought about it, Crosshair, you gotta tell me. Like if you’re a cop. It’s illegal if you don’t tell me, I think. If you don’t, you’ll-”

“Only if you’ll shut up after.” His movement stops but his gaze remains fixed on the rifle.

“Deal.” I lean forward, bored jitters now stilled in anticipation, I put the ball thing on the table and put my hands in my lap. Active listening.

“I’d serve the Republic.”

My eyes narrow, I wait for him to say more, explain his answer in some way. He’s still just staring at the disassembled gun on the table. “Nope, I don’t buy that. Deal’s off. Hey, did you know there’s a planet with this weird vegetable that’s, like, incomprehensibly sweet? And it doesn’t- it can’t grow anywhere else in the galaxy. I asked Tech about it and he was like-”

“Stop." I did it. I finally interrupted his cleaning routine. “I don’t care. As long as we’re still helping the Republic, helping people, I don’t care.” My wild grin softens at the use of we. Maybe it’s a me we, which would be nice, but a him and his brothers we is just as sweet. Crosshair, of course, instantly sees my shift in expression. “Don’t.” My smile remains soft in the face of his annoyance, and I think he’s just seen the question I don’t dare ask aloud. “You’re there, too.” His face is almost too flat, like there’s a smile hiding there somewhere, only it’s not that great at hiding. My smile grows, somehow, and my eyes crinkle and my nose scrunches and my boot taps against his armored shin under the table. “I said don’t.”

“I’m not!” I put my hands up, pleading innocent. I’m just happy, is all – giggly, even, “I literally said nothing.” His focus returns to the gun but he’s yet to get back to work. “We’re best friends,” there’s a giddy little tune to it. The shout of my name, I was later told, was heard as far as the ‘fresher around the corner at the end of the hallway.

A/N: I'll be back soon, I swear. Title is from Coals by Modern Baseball. Hope you liked it, thanks for reading <3 Comments and shares make my brain go brrrrr :)

#the bad batch x reader #the bad batch & reader #the bad batch #hunter tbb #wrecker tbb #echo tbb #tech tbb #crosshair tbb #star wars x reader

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