#and getting into fist fights with guys with steel bats

[panakina]

Honestly batman should be holding up Jason as a shining example to his other children because he wears a full head covering helmet.

[azulsluver]

FINALLY ANOTHER YANDERE TF2 BLOG

I’ve checked your blog out and I’m finding out you just recently added tf2 🤭 since requests are open can I get something about the post you did of Scout falling for the teams enemy. Can you write a reaction about realizing they have the hots for them? Spy and Scout pretty please with a cherry on top and thank you 🙏🏻

This one got a lil kick to it

Note that I personally have red and blue tf2 characters have different personalities (bc I made my lil tweaks for blue team as my ocs :3)

tw. yandere, gore (?), description of violence, stalking, implied psychological torture, mind break.

Scout is just that guy. So when you’re face planted into soil or concrete you have already given up on fighting back. It’s harder and less gruesome this time, there isn’t a chance to exchange snarky insults when a bat is smashed into your gut.

You don’t wanna point fingers but you’re so sure the Scout is targeting you. Not even going after your Medic, it’s always straight towards you. There were plenty of times you wanted to confront him about it but that just makes you look silly to pout about.

So when you did have the balls to corner and yell at him to piss off, his winning smile would be the last thing you’d see before being blasted with his scattergun.

You’re beyond furious for not being taken seriously, this feels way more personal than fighting over land, it’s as if you offended him in some way.

Scout definitely takes is personally. Like who even are you? All high and mighty on the enemies team with your cute little weapons. It pisses him off so bad he doesn’t even know why. There’s a deep hated settlement for the Blue team, your other teammates don’t catch his eyes like you did, you want his attention so bad dontcha?

When it’s another day of going out to work you almost wanna stay back. But your team needs you as much as you needed them. So you suck it up and pray that Scout would get tired of you one day. You think of what could go wrong, or how it could get even worse. To the point where you’re forced against the wall with his metal bat strangling your neck, the cold steel crushing your windpipe as Scout eyes you up.

“I felt as this could’ve been way more easier on your part, ya know, take ya out some’r real nice. But you wanna be difficult, huh?”

“I mean, I know you got the hots for me, all the babes do.”

His grip lacks in pressure as he geeks to himself, prideful. Taking large amounts of breaths, your hand finds its weapon and clumsily hit him over the head.

It knocks him off you, you’re wheezing and lightheaded as you stumble on top of him. Your fist repeatedly bashing into his face, all the pent up anger slowly releasing as you come to a stop. Holding onto his dog tag with one hand and the other in his hair.

You can say you fantasized the day Scout would fumble into your hands, where you can put the little shit in his place and show him just exactly why you were hired to be here.

The blood dripping down his nose and mouth was not flattering, but god did it feel good. Scout can only suck in his breaths through busted teeth and nose, hazy eyes staring up at you so adoringly.

Putting an end to it, leaving him back in respawn, Scout shudders as he falls backwards on his ass. His heart racing of feeling alive, dead before, but it felt amazing by your hands. The way you looked at him like he was some scum, angering you might be his new favorite hobby.

However, he had to show you what happens when stunts like those get out of hand, don’t you know only he can do that to you?

Spy didn’t think to find himself in love. Not exactly love, loving someone doesn’t make you repeatedly stab their back more than usual. Lingering, waiting, for you to be alone so he can pounce. It’s ungentlemanly of him, but he doesn’t wanna stop so soon.

Just the smell of cigarettes has you on edge, you know it’s your Spy, damned look-a-like. It leaves you paranoid, like a dog with its tail between its legs.

Anyone can be him. Is your Scout a little too nonchalant? Or did you feel unease at your Engineer not answering you in the dead of night, but it’s Engineer, the poor guy needs sleep. But so do you. You can’t feel comfortable in your own base. Always looking over your shoulder, that Demo has been too touchy with you.

It leaves things complicated, one, Spy isn’t so sure on how to reciprocate his feelings with you. It’s unprofessional to date coworkers, one on the other team to be exact. He won’t deny the terror on your face amuses him, it felt nice to know he left a permanent presence that has you petrified. It’s selfish of him to want and indulge, so he carefully, makes himself known in your life. Understand he’s here to stay.

Some psychological damage is being done, you’ve seen plenty of fucked up shit, but being human can only get you so far. It’s gotten to the point you begged your Medic to give you some sorts of medication to sleep better. A place where Spy wouldn’t be able to get you even if he had your physical body back in reality.

You need sleep. He’s making you lose it. You’re losing it and the bags under your eyes are proof.

War leaves something for everyone, a part of you is within those battle grounds. By his hands, laying dead in his arms as your body disintegrates into nothing. You’ll be back at spawn. Dreading to step foot out back to chaos. Because you can see him waiting for you.

Spy needs you without a doubt, you have shown that you aren’t capable of caring for yourself. A mercenary is strong and stable, you were once, yet he’s stripped away a valuable part of you.

[son1c]

rouge wins the prize of "most trustworthy person sonic has met so far" by default

falling stars fic masterpost

The bat Mobian was deathly silent. The whole room, in fact, had suddenly become a void of noise. The only sounds to be heard were the soft hums of the fluorescent lights, and the bubbles lazily rising in the tank in the middle of the floor.

With an icy glare, the bat Mobian looked at Sonic. His accusation felt like a slap in the face. "What do you know? You're just another one of Eggman's toys." She adjusted the bands on her wrists protectively. Almost like she was daring Sonic to take them from her. "Shadow is gone, sweetheart. You can't steal from the dead."

Sonic shook his head. He felt dizzy from the sudden resurgence of memories--memories that his ruptured code couldn't hold back anymore. In his mind's eye, he saw Shadow, asleep in the pod in the basement. Now, it made sense why his wickedness, Doctor Eggman--blech, no. Let's try that again.

It made sense why Mr. Ivo didn't want him going down there. He would've broken free from the doctor's vice immediately if he'd seen Stripes. And Omega was down there, too. Trapped behind that locked door. Sonic felt himself growing angry just thinking about it.

The Robian said, "You're wrong. He's alive, and I can prove it!"

With her hands balled into fists, the bat spat, "This isn't a very nice trick, Blue. Even for an Eggman robot--it's low."

"I'm not a--" Sonic started to say, but stopped. He looked down at his hands. They were made of steel and screwed together with bolts. His argument held no water. Right now, he was an Eggman robot.

But it didn't matter. Robian or Mobian, Sonic wasn't gonna let this thief walk out of here with Shadow's inhibitor rings. And once he got them back, he was going to break his friend out of the basement, and then they would leave. Whatever information the doctor still had about their pasts wasn't worth being at his mercy.

However, before Sonic could charge at the bat, a badnik appeared at the base of the hole that had been smashed into the wall during their fight. It wasn't the motobug with the star on its head; it was a caterkiller that Sonic had saved from falling into the trash compactor last week. It looked worried.

Then, a buzzy bomber appeared. The same one that Sonic had caught after it flew into a live wire that caused its wings to lock up. And after that, a pair of eye stalks peeked over the ruined wall. They belonged to the crabmeat that somehow always managed to fall over and get stuck on its back. Luckily, Sonic had been there to pick it up and flip it back onto its feet every time that happened.

When Rouge saw what Sonic was looking at, she tensed. She knew this place was crawling with robots. She'd seen them when she'd snuck in. But that was why she'd been sneaky--so she didn't have to fight all of them. And now it looked like she was going to have to deal with a whole motley crew.

"Phoning in friends already?" Rouge asked the Robian. She kept her voice light and casual, despite the danger. "That's hardly fair. But you're gonna have to try a little harder than that to intimidate me!"

Sonic ignored her. He actually took his eyes off her entirely, so he could look down at the caterkiller and crabmeat that were now at his feet. The buzzy bomber joined them, although this badnik chose to perch on his head instead. It buzzed at him insistently.

"Sorry, guys, but you gotta go," Sonic said. He attempted to shoo the badniks out of the room, but they didn't budge. "I'm kinda in the middle of something right now, and it's not safe for--"

While Sonic was distracted, Rouge attempted to stomp on the crab robot. Take out the easy ones first, then worry about the big guy, she figured. But she was unsuccessful. Sonic caught her boot with one hand, and shot her a red hot glare.

"Leave them out of it," he said, his robotic voice crackling. "You want to fight? Fine. Waste your time. Just don't forget who you're up against!"

Sonic's grip on Rouge's boot tightened. Then, he grabbed her leg with his other hand, and spun her around, before letting go. She sailed through the air and crashed into one of the computers lined up against the wall. When she tried to push herself back up, her hand caught on a switch, and flipped it down.

The tank in the middle of the room started boiling like the water inside was being heated by lava. But Rouge ignored it, her eyes focused on the strange blue robot that was still glaring at her from across the room. She'd never seen anything like him before. It was already a rarity for Eggman robots to be able to talk, but to be protective over other bots? That was unheard of.

And he'd mentioned Shadow. But there was no way he was serious. She'd seen it herself, through the windows of the Ark--Shadow had fallen to earth, along with the blue hero. They were both dead.

Right?

"Let's get back on topic, hmm?" the bat said, a little tightly. She didn't want to think about that bad memory anymore. "I'm here for Eggman's secret treasure. Should be behind a big locked door. Ring a bell?"

Sonic frowned. The only locked door he knew about had Shadow behind it.

Rouge saw his expression change and smiled. It wasn't a nice smile, though. It was greedy. "Perfect!" she said. Her wings stretched out behind her. "Thanks for the confirmation. Now, are you going to tell me where it is? Or should I get my hacking gear ready for after our little dance? I'll get that information out of you one way or another!"

The crabmeat snapped its claws in Rouge's direction, and the caterkiller hissed at her. The buzzy bomber trilled threateningly.

Sonic stepped in front of the badniks, so that he was between them and the bat. He glowered at her. "You want what's in that room?" he asked. He might've been willing to take her there before, but not anymore. Not now that she'd threatened the badniks. "You better get used to wanting. Cuz you're outta luck! Those inhibitor rings are the only things that'll be changing hands!"

Rouge's smile faltered. The rings again, huh?

Sonic rocketed forward. He attempted to grab the bat's shoulders, but she was expecting it this time, and caught him by the wrists. Using his own momentum against him, she hurled him into the frothing tank in the middle of the room. He hit the water and sank to the bottom of the tank like a stone, momentarily disoriented.

The three badniks screeched. They charged at Rouge, their various blades and pincers ready to run her through like a shish kebab. Rouge turned to face them, prepared to defend herself.

But they never collided. The Roboticizer, with someone now inside of it, activated. A bright white light filled the room, and Rouge had to cover her eyes with her arm to keep from being blinded. She and the badniks flinched at the horrible noise emanating from the machine, a noise that sounded like rusted brakes, metal on metal.

And then, as quickly as it began, it was over. The water drained from the tank, and Sonic, no longer a Robian, was laying flat on the floor of the machine, shivering.

It was cold. So cold.

Rouge covered her mouth with her hand. She was shocked. No one could've survived falling from space. Not even Sonic the Hedgehog. That was what she'd thought, anyway. Even when Sonic's little fox friend insisted upon the contrary; she stayed realistic. And so the possibility that, this whole time, Sonic was alive and had been captured by Doctor Eggman had never even crossed her mind.

But if he was here, then that could mean Shadow was, too.

Rouge set her jaw. She ignored the black smoke pouring out of the cables hanging from the ceiling and flew into the tank. "Hey there, Big Blue," she said, offering her hand to him. "Long time no see. No hard feelings about our little spat, right?"

Sonic forced himself up onto his elbows. It felt like the world was spinning, but he was tough. Tougher than post de-Roboticization sensory overload. He pried his eyes open. Looked at Rouge. She looked back at him, her own eyes widening a bit.

"You're no good at first impressions, lady," Sonic said, his voice hoarse. Still, he grabbed her hand and pulled himself up onto his feet, using the wall of the tank to keep himself steady. "But if you're done trying to dismantle me, I won't complain."

Curiously, Rouge looked Sonic over. "I think I get it," she said after a second. "You don't remember anything, huh?"

"I remember plenty," Sonic said, a little annoyed. He hoped this exchange wouldn't happen every time he met someone from his past. "Like those rings. You gotta hand 'em over. Stripes needs 'em back, pronto!"

Rouge raised an eyebrow at the nickname. "Stripes?" she repeated.

"Yeah, you know, black hedgehog. Red stripes. The name's pretty on-the-nose, if you ask me." Sonic remembered what Eggman had told him before, that Rouge couldn't be reasoned with. But the doctor had turned out to be a scoundrel, so maybe he was lying about her. "He's in trouble. Without those rings, he'll be in deep water. You gotta give them back!"

Rouge glanced at the badniks on the other side of the glass. They looked like they wanted to kill her.

But only her.

She turned her attention back toward Sonic. "Usually I'd ask a pretty hefty price for something like this," she said with a dramatic sigh, "but since you saved the world and all, I'll cut you a deal. Consider it a 'thank you,' from me to you." With one twist of her wrists, she removed the inhibitor rings. But she didn't hand them over to Sonic just yet. "You can have these, on one condition."

Sonic looked from Rouge's face, to the rings, and then back to Rouge. "Better make it count," he said.

Rouge gestured to the badniks with one of her wings. "You keep those bots off my back. All of them. The only thing I want to worry about while I'm here is how much loot I'll walk away with! Not how many nails I'll break fending off Eggman's guard dogs."

"Deal," Sonic said. His opinion on Rouge was still pretty low, but if she was willing to give up Shadow's inhibitor rings without a fight, then maybe she wasn't the absolute worst.

Rouge smirked. "Glad we could work something out!"

The bat handed Sonic the inhibitor rings, and he wasted no time pulling them onto his own wrists. Then, Rouge watched as he jumped out of the tank, and knelt in front of the badniks on the other side of the glass. He said something to them. Flashed them a thumbs up. They all looked at Rouge, still angry, but not outright murderous anymore.

The bat was a little surprised. She’d thought that, now that Sonic wasn’t a Robian anymore, he would go right back to destroying Eggman robots like he used to. That was what she’d meant when she told him to keep them off her back, anyway. But maybe his fall had changed him more than she’d realized. Not that it mattered to her—so long as the badniks left her alone, he was staying true to his end of the bargain.

Sonic motioned for her to come out of the tank. Rouge did so, a little warily. But the badniks stayed where they were, at Sonic’s side. The buzzy bomber was on his head again. It glared at the bat, but all of the anger left its expression when Sonic stood up, and the robot looked down at him, its electronic eyes now big and wide. Like she wasn’t even there.

"We're gonna need to go all the way down to the bottom of this place to get to that door," Sonic told Rouge. "It'll be faster if we skip the lift, but it's a long drop to the basement. Think you can handle it?"

With a hand on her hip, Rouge easily replied, "If the only thing standing in between me and Eggman's treasure is an elevator shaft, he can kiss his riches goodbye!"

It took some convincing, but Sonic was able to get the caterkiller and crabmeat to wait for them at the top of the lift. Originally, he was going to tell the buzzy bomber to wait there too, but then he realized he didn't have rockets inside of his shoes anymore. So, when he and Rouge jumped down into the dark elevator shaft, he did so while holding onto the wasp robot's abdomen.

Once they reached the deepest part of the Brain Bowl, they stepped out of the elevator shaft and onto the basement landing. Sonic let go of the buzzy bomber and looked around. There were three branching hallways to choose from, but luckily, Sonic remembered which one led to the room that was locked behind the blast door. He started toward it immediately, with Rouge trailing not far behind.

When they got there, they were faced with their next problem: the door. The only way to unlock it was with Eggman's handprint. But maybe if he had a running start, he could--

"Hey, kid," Rouge said, derailing Sonic's train of thought. "You still with me? The lock's almost cracked. Make sure you're ready for whatever's inside."

Sonic blinked. He looked over at the keypad, and saw Rouge standing in front of it with a small black device in her hand that she had plugged into the wall. So, her comment about hacking into his systems earlier wasn't a joke, huh? Sonic suppressed a shudder.

Then, the keypad changed from red to green, and the blast door slowly started rising. Sonic turned toward the buzzy bomber floating by his shoulder, and said, "Be right back."

The wasp robot circled his head, buzzing indignantly.

Sonic gave it a lopsided grin. "Hey, that's not true! Who else is gonna watch the door, huh?"

Rouge pocketed her hacking gear and glanced over at Sonic and the buzzy bomber. She frowned, but didn't say anything.

By the time the door had lifted three feet off the ground, Sonic had joined Rouge in front of it. She nodded at him, and they both ducked inside the room. It looked exactly how Sonic remembered it. Same gray interior, same blinking machinery stacked around, some of it tall enough to touch the ceiling. And the green pod, glowing faintly, still holding Shadow inside.

However, before he or Rouge could make any moves toward it, Omega jolted to life. His rage from being locked down here for so long was palpable, practically microwaving the air around him. And when he saw Sonic, the settings were cranked up from defrost to high wattage in a nanosecond. He pointed his blasters at the blue hedgehog and opened fire.

"ELIMINATE ALL EGGMAN ROBOTS."

[robinsdearest]

Play Nice on the Ice

Jason Todd x Reader

Jason Todd had always been a fighter. Through and through, birth to death to rebirth- he never stopped fighting. It was in his blood, his very being, down to the bones that kept him upright. Or the bones that kept him squatting here.

Jason dropped his knee to the ice to catch the hockey puck from flying into the goal. The arena erupted into cheers and applause before quickly quieting down. The other players stopped the play and skated back to their positions. Jason stood, threw the puck to the referee, and finally let a breath loose. His annoyance climbed slowly. It started during the pre-game debrief, yet his bones seemed to weigh heavier with it as the periods carried on. He was restless for action, which made no sense considering ice hockey was considered to be one of the most physically demanding and extensive sports. He guessed he just did not like being the goalie.

It was your idea to get into ice hockey. You read one or two books about hockey romances and basically begged Jason to give it a try. He relented after reading a few chapters of the books himself. You made it easy for him and found a good place to start. This small recreational league created a competitive atmosphere for men of all ages to play: mostly former convicts and drug addicts, or just people from Gotham who needed an outlet or needed to spend community team doing something productive. Hitting other men against a plexiglass screen, skating on blades of steel on an ice rink was surely productive one way or the other. The team Jason joined was no different. At their first meeting, he explained he was simply working through anger issues, a sentiment easily shared amongst his new teammates. The big, bad, bat even agreed with the decision with a fervor Jason could have only described as giddy. An outlet for violence, a redirection of anger, maybe someone could knock some sense into him, good exercise, and a few other points that Bruce had listed while writing a check to cover the whole teams’ expenses under a Wayne Enterprise’s donation. The coach had cried for hours when he brought the check during the next practice. It was a sweet gesture.

Jason propped up his goalie mask and squirted some water into his mouth from the bottle on top of the net. The water was cold compared to the heat from the gear and his sweat, the ice barely cooling him down. He placed the bottle back on the net before surveying the ice rink once again. The audience cheered and screamed, many fans hitting the glass with their fists or palms. Most of his teammates skidded into position while one guy in particular stayed glued to someone from the opposing team. From Jason’s team, the man was tonight’s left defender, a primary enforcer. Jason’s frown deepened.

Due to the small nature of the league, players were encouraged to try all the positions: center, left and right wing, left and right defense, and goalie. Goalie was apparently the easiest to learn for newbies, but Jason’s favorite turned out to be either of the defensive positions. Body checking in hockey gear was the same, if not more fun than doing it to a Joker henchman in his tactical Red Hood gear. He could get away with most of his hits, as the referees gave a bit of wiggle room to play and didn’t penalize too often. And Jason argued that all of his hits were legal. You were always the first one to tell him otherwise. He had a few cheap shots. He liked to use his weight and size against some of the smaller men; it was easy to throw a few punches or check an opposing player with his massive body. The coach had basically salivated at the mere sight of Jason walking through the arena doors at the small recreational league orientation. You would be visibly angry, but Jason always liked to watch you squirm as you relayed the plays back to him. A glint in your eyes when talking about his strength. Some nights after a game got hot enough to melt away an entire rink of ice if Jason got you talking about it long enough. He’d have to find those romance authors and thank them for the additional ideas.

At the thought of you, he checked on your seat. You were standing up, soda can in one hand while the other beat against the glass. Tim was seated beside you, an indifferent look plastered on his smug little face. You always found a seat next to his team’s bench. The brainiac was your second favorite bird, so Jason tolerated him a little more often. He was a welcome companion for tonight’s game. You went to every single game. Your relationship with Jason budded years ago; the Red Hood collapsing on your fire escape kick-started the friendship that turned into something much more. Friendly punches and awkward conversations that blossomed into soft touching and lingering hands. Jason was grateful for you in many ways. You liked to watch him destress while playing. After the first few games, the two of you had discussed in depth how it truly was a good outlet of frustrations. All you asked from him during his hockey endeavors was that he try his best to keep all his teeth. You liked his smile, and the pearly whites were essential for his looks. Among other non-mentionables.

His previous fighting had landed him in this position tonight. A goalie wasn’t allowed to fight, and his team had been fined well enough to last a lifetime- no thanks to Jason and his cheap shots. Thank goodness Bruce had a few lifetimes worth of money.

Earlier at the debrief, the coach shoved the goalie gear into Jason’s hands. That’s where his annoyance started to bubble. “You get to play nice tonight. For once.” Coach had said.

Jason slammed his hockey stick against the ice impatiently. The left defender was still trash talking the opposing player. The defender was on parole for laundering money, a non-violent sort of guy.

Jason’s hockey career started a little over six months ago, and as it turned out, he was naturally built for this sport. His stature, his quick-thinking, and his training as Robin did wonders for a contact sport like this. Who would have thought that punching a few villains at night would equate to a premier international sport sensation. Jason’s Red Hood duties had been pushed to a minimum during that time, too. He spent more hours practicing on the ice than he did hunting down lowlifes from Gotham’s underbelly. Nightwing took over his jurisdiction, focusing heavily on the docks. Jason was able to provide Dick with a few pieces of information he had heard from his fellow teammates when he learned something worth mentioning.

There’s a commotion and a few whistles burst through the air. Roars erupted again from the audience. Across the rink, the left defender threw down his gloves to shove the opposing team member’s face into the ice. There were shouts and a few other fights broke out as the referees tried their hardest to break up the seven or eight men now at each other’s throats. With each swing, more and more fans stood from their seats to enjoy the chaos. Jason would have been content watching the mayhem from his corner of the world at the goal. Would have been. He would have been until his eyes caught an opposing jersey making its way to his team’s bench.

The guy was tall but lanky; a right wing from this Metropolis team that had no business going to Gotham’s bench. He looked to be older, but most of these guys were. Jason’s blood boiled at what the lanky kid did next. He slid next to the bench to you. At the angle from across the box, he had direct access to speak to you. Even from the distance, Jason could tell that the guy was attempting to flirt with you. You were too kind a soul- you were only nodding your head with a fake smile that the creep thought was genuine. Jason would have to teach Tim about scaring other men away from you in the future.

Jason slammed his hockey stick to the ground, banging it again and again demanding attention. The only one he grabbed was yours. In any other scenario, that would have been sufficient. Not now. Not when a stranger is taking advantage of the fighting chaos to flirt with a fan. A fan that was solely Jason’s. His person. His. Something greater than jealousy rumbled in his veins, propelling the man into action. He had been itching for a fight. It sucked that he was placed as a goalie instead of the left defense like he wanted.

Your eyes tracked Jason the entire time he skated across the ice. One of the referees attempted to grab Jason before another fight could break out, but he easily pushed the ref aside. The roar in his ears drowned out the echoes from the crowd around you.

“Hey!” He screamed. The guy ignored him. Creep had the audacity to reach for you to grab your attention. Jason was always a fighter. A lover too, but a fighter through and through. And now his time had come.

Jason skidded to a halt next to the lowlife, kicking up shaved ice into his face. The man spun on his skates to glare directly at him. Finally, Jason got his attention. He felt on fire: fueled and heated on his steel blades despite the frost beneath them. The man scowled at Jason, rolled his eyes, and held a hand up as if to placate the goalie. Jason didn’t give him time to explain. He threw a punch so quickly that even the Demon Brat would have been proud.  

Tim shot from his seat with whoops and hollers. “Kick his ass, Jason!” Tim screamed. You squawked in response. “No, no more ass kicking! Quit it! Goalies don’t fight, you idiot!” “This one does!” Tim yelled again, hitting the glass and punching the air with his fists.

Jason’s punches were met with some thrown by the other player. He could have played dirty, but Jason kept it clean and didn’t throw his entire weight behind each one. Until, that is, the player finally got a good hit right square on Jason’s chin that knocked his head back. His vision blurred for what felt like seconds too long. When his sight returned, so did a vengeance. Jason didn’t hold back his weight when he laid out the guy in two swift hooks. By this time, the entire arena was on their feet. The Gotham team was pulling Jason back by his jersey, now stained red with blood that belonged to multiple people. Jason’s screams matched and overlapped with players and fans. The Metropolis team pulled back their own player and retreated to their bench. The referees were speaking animatedly with both coaches. A team wide fight in a recreational league was unprecedented, and Jason was sure Bruce would be called about this. Perhaps another check would be written.  Consequences be damned. That was fun.

Jason was thrown unceremoniously on to the bench along with a water bottle and a towel. As he attempted to wash some of the blood out of his mouth, he caught you staring with that mischievous glint in your eyes. Despite how you felt about him fighting, your features were still lit with a smile as you watched him. Jason loved the feeling. Probably loved the feeling of your eyes on him more than he loved fighting. He definitely loved fighting for you. Jason mirrored your smile as he wiped the sweat, ice, and blood off his face. Your smile had dropped, a scowl slowly forming as the adoration transformed into something a little less happy. He frowned and went to lick his teeth in annoyance. His own smile dropped as his tongue ran along his teeth. Dammit. One of his front teeth was missing.

[forestshadow-wolf]

MP officers don't like to be embarrassed

Soap learned this...

Look it's not his fault, really. The guy was talking a load of shit, and soap's just supposed to what? Sit around while the guy is actively making someone's life miserable because he's a bigot? He thinks not.

Admittedly knocking the officer out, and locking him in his own car... wasn't the smartest. But it's not like he couldn't get out easily, the locks are inside the car, it's basically no big deal. Plus he got off scot free.

... until he didn't

While that mp officer was too embarrassed to take legal action, he was embarrassed enough to round up a few buddies and a metal bat, and meet him around the back of the local pub. That was... uhh... fun(?)

Look, he can and did hold his own, but they got the jump on him, and had a significant advantage. so it's not his fault for taking a few nasty hits

So needless to say he didn't exactly walk away unscathed... nor did he walk away, exactly.

He was out with a few friends, and left for a quick smoke. suffice to say he wasn't prepared for the harsh shove into the wall, nor the brutal kick to the crown jewels that had him keeling over. dirty bastards.

he could hear the someone talking to him, presumably whoever he'd beat up and locked in the car — something Collins, he didn't really remember — unfortunately he was too busy hacking up a lung, from the pain.

he manages to gather himself enough to claw his way up to a knee, breathing through the pain, and deliver a (hopefully) hefty fist to whoever's gut was directly in front of him. the following groan and wheeze had a strained smile gracing his fact.

though, apparently the rest of the guys weren't too happy about that, because next thing he knew he was narrowly avoiding a kick to the ribs from what he knew was probably steel-toed boots.

there wasn't really time for pain then, or there was, just- he was a bit busy trying not to get beaten to a pulp. there was a satisfying crack as his fist landed in someone's nose, but the returning blow to his cheek had him stumbling back. he stepped out of the way of another cheap shot, and suddenly there was a bat flying at his head. it whooshed past his face as he leaned away from it.

he grabbed another flying fist and yanked to meet jaw with knuckles, and the guy was down. not a moment after a kick to the back of the knee, and the temple, had him on the ground. letting momentum take control, he met the ground and rolled a half turn to the left, successfully avoiding a face full of knee.

he was quick to scramble back to his feet, and send a flying fist into someone's eye socket. it landed heavy, and had him panting, but he didn't let up, shoving the guy around to put him in a headlock. he panted as he squeezed, cutting off air supply, and feeling the guy struggle less and less.

whatever happened next was a blur as simultaneously, the guy in his grasp fell limp, and blinding white hot pain exploded in his knee, and patches of darkness starburst in his vision. he released his grip and fell on top of the now unconscious guy that was in his grip. whipping around he grabbed at an ankle and pulled with all his strength, crawling up the last guy's body, to pummel his fists into his face until they came back bloody.

he sat back on his knees panting, as the fight slowly drained away, and the adrenaline with it. the pain began flooding back in as the adrenaline left, consequently making his knee scream at him, with all the weight on it.

with a strained sound of pain, he hauled himself up with the wall. his face throbbed, and his ribs ached, his crotch needed ice (badly), and his knee felt like it was caught in an ever-tightening vice.

He left the four unconscious guys behind as he managed to limp/hobble his way back to his buddies. man, all he wanted was a smoke, not to get beaten up by four guys.

he refused the worried suggestions from his buddies, to take him to a hospital. all he wanted was to just sleep this all off, and he'd probably be fine in the morning.

they managed to drag him almost all the way back to the barracks, before his knee buckled and sent him crashing down to the ground for the sixth time, just outside the barracks room. at which point he decided they were close enough, and waved them off.

next thing he knew there was a doctor, and about half the barracks surrounding him. ugh fuck, fine fine. doctor's already here, might as well get checked out.

Concussion, slight internal bleeding, broken ribs, a few broken knuckles, torn meniscus, and a shit ton of bruising. most of it wasn't to bad, and didn't take too long to heal. but the knee took months and month of PT even after surgery, to finally be in working order again.

[will-you-pick-me]

(happy 2 provide interaction by sending asks :) i dont do it often enough but im rlly intrigued and it is. 3:39 am and we r both awake lol) Ulrich begrudgingly getting a little shelf for display would actually save me because I dont really snuggle my lil guys (i toss and turn and get WAY too warm if they are in my tiny twin sized bed with me) so like <3 <3 thank u king ur saving us both oohh, if they had to pick something to fight with, be it physical or intangible, what would they pick?

3:42 here as I recieved this lmao, so we must be in similar timezones! Don't worry though, I did have a little nap and just woke up a little bit before midnight. I'm also eating right now too, so nobody yell!

We stan our emotionally constipated king tbh <3 But he still needs laxatives injected directly into his heart istg---

Mikey fights pretty regularly, actually, due to him really putting the "crimes" part in "be gay do crimes", and his "little helper" that's been referenced before in a blurb is a steel bat with nails driven into it. He can still handle a gun pretty competently if he needs to, though, but he just prefers the more visceral feeling of wielding the bat.

Ulrich, despite working out, prefers to not get into fights himself - why bother when he can pay someone else to do it for him? But, on the off chance that a fight is imminent and he doesn't have the time to call a lackey to come handle it for him, then, well - you know what they say, the pen is mightier than the sword. And he'll make good on that, jabbing it's sharp metal end into necks and eyes and anything else he can reach, gouging deep tears until either backup arrives or his enemy decides it's not actually worth it.

Zach doesn't like fighting. They hate being reminded of how squishy and delicate you humans are, how finite mortality is. But to protect you... They'll fight, if they have to. Burn them from the inside out with divine fire, as they hold you close and shield your eyes so you don't go blind. They'll apologize profusely, horrified that you had to witness that in any way shape or form, and they're taking you back to their place immediately to bundle you in blankets and brew you some tea, putting you first even though there's a deep discomfort crawling in their bones at what they just did.

Jessica, despite the traditional femininity she's thrown herself into, didn't disavow everything she grew up with, being raised as a boy. She still has a respectable gun cabinet, a few pistols and a couple rifles and shotguns locked up with their safety's on and fully unloaded - she's responsible. But this means that if she's killing someone with those, she's thought it through first, and still decided it was worth it.

Jack is an animal - sometimes more so than he is human. In the heat of the moment, his teeth and his claws are all that he needs, easily ripping out a jugular with either. Premeditated, though, he'll hunt and herd his target into traps in the woods, causing them fear and torment before he eventually rips into them.

Narrator isn't the biggest fan of fighting, either, but unlike Zach, he'll have no post-adrenaline-rush guilt over protecting you. Ultimately, you're the most important thing in his existence, and if you weren't here, then it wouldn't be an existence worth living. That being said, he'll beat someone down with his bare fists and nothing else if he has to, but he's also capable of getting creative with it - the leg of a chair can be a club, a small table a shield, a cup can be shattered into shards that stab and cut. When it's you, he's willing to do whatever it takes.

[razieltwelve]

Pale Reflection (Final Rose AU)

Summer had fought the White Fang before. She was more than familiar with their particular brand of brutal cunning. The White Fang here were different. They weren’t nearly as well trained, and they were closer to a rabble than the highly organised, deadly organisation she’d faced in the past.

Yet she couldn’t help but notice that the Ruby and Yang in this world just weren’t as, well, good at fighting as her own daughters. Oh, she could see similarities in the way they fought, but there were big differences too. Both of them fought in a much more straightforward manner than she was used to. Yang, in particular, was much more of a straight-line, linear fighter than Summer thought was wise. Against a skilled opponent who could anticipate her moves, she’d be in a lot of trouble.

But why would that be the case?

Of course. It was all about the people who were missing in their lives.

Ruby had told her. It had been just her, Yang, and their father. Qrow would drop in from time to time, but he was hardly a fixture in their lives either. She wasn’t there to train them, and their father had been something of a wreck for a while too. Nor was Raven there.

Summer’s lips curled as she simply batted aside another White Fang member. Raven was a far more brutal and ruthless fighter than either her or Taiyang. The Yang from her world had benefited from that experience. Raven had made sure that Ruby and Yang knew when to be flashy and when to fight with ruthless, minimalistic efficiency.

There was also the lack of sparring partners. The Ruby and Yang from this world hadn’t had all that many people to spar against. The Ruby and Yang from her world were not just prodigies... they had grown up sparring against other prodigies over and over again.

Summer knew firsthand how important it was to have rivals, people she could measure herself against and struggle to overcome. Admittedly, she’d never actually gotten stronger than Lightning, but having people like Averia, Claire, Diana, Jahne, and Neo around had forced Ruby and Yang to push themselves harder and harder just to keep up.

Steel sharpens steel, and all that.

Well, once this was done with, Summer would have to start rectifying a few issues she saw in Ruby and Yang’s form. She wasn’t sure how much she could get done, but there were definitely a few things she’d seen so far that shouldn’t be too hard to fix.

As they moved forward on the train with Ruby and Yang’s teammates behind them and a puzzled Professor Oobleck in tow, they were stopped by a familiar figure.

"Neo.” Summer stared at the girl. Noting the reaction from both Neo and Team RWBY she frowned. “She’s not on your side?”

“No,” Yang growled. “She’s not.” She clenched her fists. “You guys go on ahead. I’ll deal with her -”

“No.” Summer’s Aura stirred. “You three go on ahead. I’ll catch up to you.” If this Neo was anywhere near as good as the Neo from her world, then this version of Yang didn’t stand a chance. The Neo she was familiar with fought like a mirage, anticipating her opponent’s moves, making them miss, and striking back with ruthless precision. Her Yang could handle that, having grown up sparring Averia, but this version of Yang? No. That wasn’t a fight that would end well.

As the rest of Team RWBY ran past, Neo gave her an amused smile.

Summer smiled back... and ended the fight a split-second later.

As her Aura settled, Summer reached out to catch the unconscious girl. Crossing the distance between them in an instant and striking with enough power to simply shatter her Aura was a technique she’d borrowed from Vanille. It was a variation of Vanille’s ‘one punch’ technique that coupled the original with an ultra-high-speed movement technique to make closing the gap easier.

It wasn’t exactly the most subtle attack, but Summer had found it worked very well on people who hadn’t seen it before. It was also just a great way to begin a fight since Summer had learned how to halt the technique halfway to transition into something else once the opponent realised that simply retreating was the best option against it.

She took a moment to slap some Aura-suppressing restraints and more conventional restraints on Neo before proceeding further forward. She caught up to Professor Oobleck and the girls to find that they’d commandeered control of the train and had brought it to a stop.

“We should bring this back to where we found it,” the professor said. “If my prediction is correct, they were planning to use it to stage an attack on Vale. We need to return it to Mountain Glenn and disable it to prevent any further attacks while we wait for reinforcements.” His gaze shifted to Summer. “And we also need to address a few other matters.”

“I did say we would talk,” Summer replied, nodding at Yang and Ruby. “We -” She turned as a portal formed. “Raven.”

Under normal circumstances, Summer would have been heartened by the arrival of Raven Branwen. Raven had always been kind of a jerk, but as Taiyang had once put it, she was their jerk. This Raven, from what Summer had learned from Ruby, was probably a great deal worse than a jerk.

Beside her, Yang took a step forward as Raven appeared, but Summer threw out one arm to stop her. Yang was too upset to notice, or perhaps she hadn’t developed the skill, but this Raven’s Aura was fluctuating like a storm. That was a sign of immense emotional turmoil.

“Who are you?” Raven growled, levelling her sword at Summer.

“Don’t ignore me?” Yang thundered. She would have charged if Ruby hadn’t grabbed her.

“I’m not talking to you,” Raven replied. “I’m talking to her.” Her sword trembled ever so slightly. “How dare you take on her appearance.”

“I’m not taking on anyone’s appearance.” Summer allowed her Aura to surge as silver light spilled from her eyes. “I am Summer Rose.”

Whatever Raven had been about to say was drowned out by an absolutely colossal surge of Aura, a surge so big that none of the girls had any problems feeling it despite clearly being untrained in high-level Aura-sensing techniques. Summer smiled. She recognised that Aura.

X     X     X

“Want the good news or the bad news?” Vanille asked. She was wearing power armour whilst a small fleet of sensor drones orbited around the area.

Lightning, who was the only other person there, scowled. “Bad news first.”

“Well, Summer has definitely been sucked into another world.” Vanille pointed. “I’m picking up traces that definitely correspond to theories predict should occur when travelling from one dimension to another.”

“And the good news?” Lightning replied.

“I think we can reach her.” Vanille brought up a number of displays. “You’re going to need Saviour active, though.”

Lightning activated her Semblance. “I see.”

“Yep.” Vanille pointed. “The portal isn’t completely gone. It’s incredibly tiny. We’re talking about something the size of a grape, and it’s continuing to evaporate as we speak. But since it’s here, we can do something.” Knowing that Lightning’s perceptual speed and analysis speed were supremely beyond human with Saviour active, Vanille just sent a data burst at her, a complex collection of data, mathematical models, and the like.

“That will work.” Lightning nodded, voice flat. Saviour’s power reached out and stabilised the tiny, dwindling portal. Instead of being invisible, it was now surrounded by a corona of white light.

“Yep. Finding Summer would have been extremely difficult but still possible without the portal. With the portal we can run a trace to find which dimension she’s in. More importantly, you can use Saviour to enlarge the portal.”

“I can go through it,” Lightning said. “And stabilise and enlarge it on that end.” She paused. “And it will have to be me.”

“Technically, you, Fang, Averia, or Diana could go through. But the rest of us? Until that thing is bigger and stable, anything or anyone who isn’t getting escort by one of you is going to be put through a dimensional blender.”

“Summer should be fine,” Lightning said. “Based on the rate at which the portal was evaporating, it should have been much larger and more stable when she disappeared.”

“Yep.” Vanille sighed. “Let’s get the others involved. You can go through the portal, and I'll send some of my drones and equipment with you to build a portal device on the other side while I build one here. In the meantime, if Averia sticks around on this side, we should have no problems keeping it open even if you have to leave the portal on your side for a while.”

X     X     X

Despite the overwhelming urge that Lightning had to simply rush off and find Summer, she forced herself to remain calm and stay near the portal. This other world was definitely different from her own. Saviour’s enhanced senses told her that the city nearby, which corresponded to Mountain Glenn, was a ruin. She could also detected Summer’s Aura signature - which was strong and holding steady - along with several familiar but slightly different signatures that corresponded to Ruby, Yang, Weiss, Blake, Neo, Professor Oobleck, and Raven. They were all headed toward her location.

Behind her, the portal was an opalescent circle roughly five yards in diameter. Going through it had been... interesting. Any normal person would have been killed by the experience. Surviving it required a certain level of ‘dimensional bullshit’ as people liked to call it. However, it was noticeably more stable now that she’d enlarged it, and the drones she’d brought through with her were already hard at work.

In a few hours, they should have a usable portal. It wouldn’t be enough to send people through, that would take days at the least, but it should be enough to allow for the passage of additional drones and materials with Averia and her stabilising things. That would allow Lightning to properly fortify this side of the portal since this world seemed a lot more unruly than the one she’d left.

As Summer and the others got closer, Lightning allowed her senses to drift further. This world was overrun with Grimm. It was in a far worse state than her own. Even after they got Summer back, this wasn’t something they could just walk away from. They’d have to see what they could do to lend a hand.

X     X     X

Author’s Notes

The fact that the portal was still open (albeit tiny) when Lightning and Vanille got there makes things far easier on their end. It’s now simply a matter of sending Lightning through it and enlarging and stabilising the portal since they don’t have to try to find which specific dimension Summer is stuck in.

[alolowrites]

Gymtleman

Summary: Nothing irks you more than a random guy ruining your workout session. Luckily, Bakugou sets him straight.

Author’s Note: Helloooooooooo! Yes, it is me popping in with a new fic after almost two months of NOTHING (the dabi story was pissing me off, so i had ignore it ripppp). So this story was born from a video on saw on TikTok where a guy urged men at the gym to be more respectful toward women during their workouts. While I never encounter any harassment at the gym, there are others who have >:( 

Inspiration for the title came from a comment section on TikTok. Thought it was pretty clever. Please enjoy ^_^

Warnings: Slight harassment; maybe a few curse words but this is Bakugou so...

Word Count: 884

Gloves? Check. 

Water bottle? Check. 

Wireless headphones? Check. 

You close the gym locker and hit the main floor, determined to get in a good workout tonight. As you walk toward the treadmill, your eyes glance around the place. It’s not as packed as the dreaded peak hours where one must fight to the death for the coveted treadmills or weight benches. You value your life and avoid that bloc like the plague. 

Besides, there’s no fuss nor drama during the night sessions. Only a calm vibe that radiates throughout the gym floor thanks to the chilled regulars, or the “night crew,” as you like to call the group. A few stragglers may pop in once in a while, but you would know the familiar faces even while blindfolded. Especially when one has those menacing red eyes that burn through the cloth faster than a sprinter on the treadmill. 

Those same eyes briefly land on you as Bakugou chugs down his water bottle while striding past you. He acknowledges you with a curt nod and slight grunt—nothing more than that. Yet, this silent greeting always makes your palms sweaty and your heart race before stepping foot on any machine at this gym. You swallow your nerves to return the gesture. 

Despite months of crossing the same paths, you know very little about Bakugou. Sure, you know his usual routine or his preferred machines, but you never heard him speak before. His voice is one big mystery that you are curious to unravel. Unfortunately, Bakugou keeps to himself just like everyone else in the “night crew” since personal space is highly respected—a bright side that’s both a blessing and a curse. 

You sigh wistfully, hopping on the treadmill to start your workout. A random man slides on the machine on your left, catching you off guard. He smiles, and you nod stiffly. Right off the bat you know he’s not a regular; his face isn’t familiar, and he’s too close to you. That’s strike one; it irks you, but you act like the bigger person and just ignore him with your music. 

The ten minutes fly by in seconds. You wipe down the treadmill, ignoring the man’s wandering gaze on you. Just walk away, you tell yourself as you head over to the dumbbells. Your heart skips a beat when you spot Bakugou standing nearby, his ripped biceps pushing through the pain from his grueling set. He grits his teeth and casts a quick glance at you from the mirror’s reflection—Bakugou lets you stay.

Either he’s in a good mood, or lady luck is working her magic; you smile and take this as a win for tonight. 

The giddiness wipes off your face when you see the random man again. He lingers around the area like a shark eying its prey, except he lacks any sense of subtlety. You roll your eyes when the guy sneaks a peek at you: that’s strike two. Obviously, he doesn’t understand the whole “no fuss, no drama” vibe, but you do and focus on lifting your dumbbells. 

Eventually, you forget the weirdo as the music blasts through your headphones. You are in the zone, watching as your arms move slowly and in control. Beads of sweat roll down your face to cool down the firestorm soaring along your skin. You push through one more rep before releasing an exhausted but satisfied sigh. 

You bend over for a quick stretch when—

“Damn, that’s a nice piece of ass.” 

You shot up, appalled. “Excuse you?!”

“Think you can bend over a little lower for me, sweetcheeks?”

The random man finally stands next to you and shamelessly rakes his eyes all over your body like a piece of meat. You growl—that’s strike three. 

“What?! No!” You grip the dumbbells with an iron fist, fully prepared to whack the sleazy grin off his disgusting face. “Get away from me!” 

“Oh, don’t be like that—” 

“Oi, you fucking deaf or something?!” 

You nearly drop the dumbbells, snapping your head over your shoulders with astonished eyes. Bakugou spoke. His voice is sharper than the stainless steel barbells and heavier than the iron olympic plates scattered across the room. He stalks closer like a ferocious lion, his red eyes glancing at you momentarily before glaring at the bastard. 

He sweats bullets. “H-Hey, man, I-I—”

“Shut the hell up, idiot,” Bakugou snarls, thrusting his finger hard against the guy’s chest. “Quit harassing them and get the fuck outta here before I shove this dumbbell up your own damn sweetcheeks.”

The guy stumbles over a random kettlebell before rushing out the door without looking back.

Bakugou rolls his eyes and peeks over his shoulder. He locks his gaze at you, catching you off guard; you blink and quickly compose yourself, giving him a slight nod. 

“Thanks for having my back there. Really appreciate it.” 

“Tch, that damn perv was annoying,” Bakugou scoffs. “Bastard should learn some fucking manners.” 

“And some human decency,” you snort, placing one hand on your hip. “Too bad he won’t be coming back, though. You shoving that dumbbell up his ass would’ve been a sight.” 

Bakugou flashes an amused grin, sauntering toward the racks to continue his set. You smile when he returns and stands at a respectful distance. 

Guess chivalry isn’t dead after all.

As always, thanks for reading :D! 

Don’t know when I’ll drop another story though slkdjlfrlfek

[absolutepokemontrash]

MC’s Half Demon and They Look Awfully Familiar Lessons 13-15

Series Masterlist

Y’all know what’s coming up next, time for some *~buildup~*. So I’ve decided to forgo my usual bullet point system for the next two parts in the series so it’ll just be a full fic chapter style thing. Anyway, enjoy the prelude to the angst!

MC was comfortable.

They were sprawled out on the floor of Lucifer’s study, folding and crinkling old bits of paperwork that their father had damned to the shredder. Bean attempted to swat at the loose paper, only to flop onto his back. MC giggled and scratched behind his ears, the kitten batted at their hand in response.

Lucifer was doing paperwork, though he was getting quite distracted by the antics of his child and the cat.

Finishing up their paper snowflakes, MC unfolded them and hummed to themselves. The snowflakes turned out much better than that line of paper people that they had accidentally decapitated earlier.

“Tadaaaa!” MC chirped, holding up the paper snowflakes.

Lucifer looked at them, then chuckled and shook his head. “MC, I know it’s winter up in the human world, but it’s not down here. Why are you making snow themed decorations?”

“There’s no sun in the Devildom, it’s always a little cold out.” MC replied. “So it’s gotten me in a snowflake-y mood.”

Lucifer smiled slightly as he adjusted the paper orchids on his desk. MC had attributed their skill in paper crafts to their plethora of Mother and Father’s Day gifts they had given to their other parent over the years.

“What are you working on now?” He asked as he continued to absentmindedly work through the mountain of paperwork.

“I need to make something for Beel.” MC sighed. “I made him a pizza slice craft… but he ate it.”

“Perhaps this time you should make him a Fangol ball.”

“Yeah… that might be best.”

MC had offered to help out their father with anything involving the exchange program, any questions or improvements to be made, any issues that needed to be solved, and things that could be done to make future students more comfortable. Things were going well, but not every bit of work Lucifer was doing involved the exchange program, which left MC to play with the cat and the loose paper.

“Do you need help with anything, father?” MC asked, rolling onto their back and holding Bean above them.

“Not yet, MC.” Lucifer replied. “Most of your work here is done anyway.”

“Hmph, that sucks.” MC pouted. “I like helping you.”

They caught the ghost of a smile on Lucifer��s face after they said that.

“It’s nice that someone in this house does.”

They continued to play with the cat, Bean ended up getting his claws stuck in the carpet, MC had to help him out, Bean returned the favour by attacking MC’s poor defenseless hand.

“MC?”

“Yes?” MC looked up from their battle with Bean.

“What was your life like in the human world? I assume it wasn’t common knowledge that you’re half demon.”

MC giggled a bit. “Kind of boring, it’s much more exciting down here. Back in the human world I couldn’t exactly practice my magic without needing to explain to the insurance guy that the reason the windows are broken is because I wanted to move the remote closer to me without getting up.”

“Hm.” Lucifer smirked. “Laziness gets you nowhere.”

“I know. But at least now I can move things without breaking anything I don’t want broken.” MC smiled as they used their magic to move their father’s coffee mug a few inches to the left. Lucifer raised an eyebrow.

MC felt their hair get ruffled and their glasses moved slightly off their nose. “What about you, father? What was life like without me?”

“Well, it wasn’t boring.” Lucifer replied. “Just ever so slightly less chaotic.”

Bean lost interest in the game and rushed out of the room to yowl angrily at one of the vases in the library or hallway. According to Lucifer, those artifacts came with the house and were insanely cursed. Bean appeared to be offended that he wasn’t allowed to knock the objects off of the table.

MC took a quick breath and steeled themselves to ask a question they had asked a dozen times before. “What about the time before that? Like when you were in the Celestial Realm?”

Lucifer stiffened in his seat. “Why do you want to know about that?”

“No one really talks about it, and I want to know.” MC frowned, but did their best to shrug as casually as they could. “I also want to know about Lilith, no one ever talks about her.”

“Just wanting to know isn’t a terribly good reason for digging up the past.”

MC bristled at his dismissive tone, every time they had asked about that time he had avoided answering. They ground their teeth as they responded. “Well, this is my family too, I deserve to be a part of it.”

“What does knowing about the Celestial Realm have anything to do with being a part of the family?”

“Because I’m the only one who doesn’t have any memories of it!” MC finally snapped. “Even Satan has some of your memories and I have nothing! I’m being left out and it’s not fair!”

Lucifer looked up from his paperwork and glared at MC. “Watch your tone.”

They looked away and muttered something under their breath.

“Speak clearly, MC, I don’t have time for mumbling.” Lucifer said, his patience rapidly draining.

“I said you sure keep a lot of secrets!” MC growled, getting to their feet and crossing their arms. “You won’t tell me why the Grimoire is downstairs, you won’t tell me anything about the Celestial Realm or the Celestial War, you won’t tell me why I’m not allowed to go in the attic, you’re keeping so much from me!”

“Has it ever crossed your mind that you don’t need to know about any of those things?”

“I don’t need to but I have a right to!” MC felt every single one of their insecurities rise and bubble in their chest. “You don’t trust me, do you? That’s why you won’t tell me anything!”

“MC, calm down.” Lucifer growled.

“No!” They snarled. “You’ve been keeping me in the dark!”

Lucifer slammed his hands on his desk, cutting them off. MC almost flinched at the sudden noise, the silence that followed was deafening as they stiffened their posture and felt their hands curl into fists.

“Take a walk, MC. You’re being ridiculous.”

MC opened their mouth to speak, to yell, to scream about the unfairness of it all, then closed it. What good would it have done? They turned on their heel and stomped out of the study.

—————

Time heals all wounds, doesn’t it? Not this time considering Lucifer and MC were still upset at how their last chat ended.

Mammon, Asmo, Beel, Satan, Levi, and MC were lounging around in the living room. It was time for the monthly repainting of everyone’s nails, and MC was getting their turn.

“You have to take better care of your nails, MC.” Asmo tutted. “Clean them more often, file them, take those vitamins I recommended,”

When Asmo was lecturing someone, it was always very much a: ‘nod and make random affirming noises every once and a while’ situation. Mammon snickered at MC’s predicament.

“Don’t think you’re exempt!” Asmo held up the nail clippers at Mammon. “Your nails are filthy too!”

The two began to bicker, MC rolled their eyes and moved over, their nails were still half finished. Satan let out an explosive sigh and closed his book.

“Another day in paradise.”

“Paradise Lost, you mean?” MC teased, Satan scoffed and rolled his eyes.

The formerly average bickering of the second and fifth borns had slowly begun to escalate to their usual game of ‘who can make the other cry first’, a game which Asmo was defending champion of.

“Would both of you dummies CRAM IT?!” MC turned and snapped, the two ignored them and their shouting only grew in volume. “I don’t even know why I try.”

The two’s fight had shifted from words to throwing things, nail polish bottles, the nail filers, the clippers, pillows, mugs, the coasters, nothing was off limits. A wayward nail polish bottle hit Satan in the head and ended up spilling all over his pants.

“You two…” Satan growled. MC shifted away from Satan and got closer to Beel, Satan had been progressively getting more and more irritated as the day went on, and this was the straw that broke the camel’s back. “YOU FUCKING IDIOTS!”

Satan leapt off the couch which resulted in Beel dropping his massive stack of pancakes onto the floor. MC suddenly felt significantly less safe.

“Beel, it’s okay, we can make more really quickly.” MC offered, gently patting him on the shoulder. Beel looked from MC, to his poor pancakes, then let out a mournful sigh.

“I’m hungry…” he mumbled, MC leaned their head against his arm.

“We could order in from Ristorante Six if you want!”

The entire time that conversation was taking place, Satan, Asmo, and Mammon were in the middle of killing each other. Levi rolled his eyes and shifted his position in the armchair, the sounds coming from his 3DS got louder as he tried to drown out the fighting.

“Tsk… stupid normies.”

Finally fed up, MC shot up from their seat. “WOULD YOU IDIOTS SHUT UP?!”

The creaking of the door to the living room opening caused everyone to freeze, Lucifer..? No… not him.

Belphegor pushed open the door.

As casual as could be, he grinned and gave everyone a wave. “My dearest brothers, oh how I’ve missed you…”

Everyone stood in complete and utter silence as Belphie casually strolled into the room, he surveyed the mess and let out a giggle.

“Geez, don’t fall over yourselves to welcome me home.”

“…Belphie?” Beel took a few tentative steps forward, then rushed forward and scooped his twin into a back breakingly tight hug.

“Hello to you too, Beel,” Belphie’s smile could have lit up the entire Devildom as he gave Beel a few light pats on the back with his one free arm. “You guys could learn a thing or two from him.”

“Y-you’re supposed to be up in the human world, what are you doing here?” Asmodeus finally piped up.

“Well, I wasn’t actually in the human world. I was locked in the attic.”

“What?!”

Everyone with the exception of MC expressed their shock with a variety of cursing and confused exclamations. MC looked down at their feet and clasped their hands behind their back.

“I’m out now,” Belphie gestured to himself. “Obviously. And we have MC to thank for that.”

MC was now the centre of attention, they felt their face burn with embarrassment. “I-I u-uhm…”

“Speak up, MC,” Everyone whipped their heads around to see Lucifer standing in the now open doorway, his posture was stiff but his expression was completely murderous. “What exactly is Belphegor talking about?”

Their heart hammered in their chest and their ears began to ring. Shit… shit… this wasn’t supposed to happen this way… MC’s ribs seemed to constrict and tighten with guilt as their heart continued to race.

“Oh fuck off,” Belphie scoffed. “You know full well what I’m talking about. You’re the one who locked me up there!”

“Lucifer…” Beel growled. “Is that true..?”

“Yes!” MC finally found their voice and met their father’s stare. “It is true! I found Belphie stuck in the attic over a month ago.”

Lucifer’s eyes flashed dangerously as he shifted his gaze to Belphie. “And the attic is where he’ll stay.”

“Like hell!” Belphie spat. “I’m not going back up there.”

“Do you really think you’re in any place to defy me right now?”

“He’s not going back into the attic, Lucifer.” Beel practically snarled.

The air cackled with tension before MC spoke up again. “Father, can’t we just talk-”

“Stay out of this, MC.”

MC felt the tips of their ears redden as they clenched their fists and stepped up next to Beel and Belphie. “No.”

“MC-”

“No!” MC growled. “Why should I listen to you?! You haven’t told me why you took such bullshit measures to keep your own brother locked up in the attic and lied to everyone about it! What gives you the right to tell me what to do?!”

With one final glare shot over their shoulder, MC, Beel, and Belphie stormed out of the house, leaving the other five brothers behind.

Taking into account Beel’s much larger height and amount of strength, it was a miracle MC was even touching the floor while the trio sped down the street. Belphie was completely elated, taking extra time to walk ahead and point things out.

“Ahh,” Belphie sighed, resting his hands behind his head. “It feels so good to be free…”

“I’ll bet,” Beel smiled softly at his twin and ruffled his hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t-”

“Beel, shush. None of this is your fault.” Belphie tutted.

MC kept their eyes trained on the ground, a ball of guilt beginning to form in their gut. Was this the right thing to do? Run away? What were they going to do..?

“MC?” Beel asked as he suddenly lifted them onto his shoulders, MC squeaked in surprise and scrambled to adjust their balance so they didn’t topple over. “You okay?”

“Ye… yes Beel.” MC took a breath before beginning to giggle. “I’m okay.”

“So uh…” Belphie looked around. “Where are we going to go? I don’t have any money on me.”

“Neither do I,” Beel mumbled. “And I left my DDD back at the house…”

MC thought for a moment, then brightened and pulled out their DDD. “Purgatory Hall! Luke owes me a favour, and there’s no way he’d turn us away.”

“Whose Luke?” Belphie asked.

“MC’s best friend.” Beel replied.

“He’s not my best friend!” MC sputtered, nearly dropping their DDD while in the middle of crafting the text to the angel. “He just owes me a favour after I saved him from those stupid lesser demons…”

“Oh, okay then.” MC felt Beel subtly shake his head to Belphie, who snickered.

Soon, the three were crammed into Luke’s room at Purgatory Hall. MC had been there and stayed over dozens of times before, but the near constant smell of baked goods that permeated throughout the entire dorm hall never failed to make them drool. It seemed that Beel was having an even worse time with the amazing smells, he was staring off into space with a long string of drool dangling out of his mouth.

Luke folded his arms and tapped his foot as he tried to unsuccessfully scowl at the three. The angel had just recently come to terms with MC’s parentage but clearly wasn’t ready to host two full demons in his temporary home.

Simeon on the other hand was quickly looking from Belphie, to Beel, then to MC as if trying to glean the details of the entire situation from their facial expressions and posture alone.

It wasn’t difficult to see that MC wasn’t doing terribly good. The realization had finally fully sunken in and they were anxiously fidgeting in their seat.

Belphie seemed the most calm out of the group, he was leaning back against the couch like he didn’t have a care in the world, if the ottoman were just a little bit closer it looked like he might have kicked his feet up.

“So,” Solomon said, absentmindedly twirling a string of bright purple magic between his fingers. “What’s the story here?”

“Family drama…” MC murmured, their eyes unconsciously flicking to look at Belphegor.

“Family drama that was both caused and solved, by you, MC.” Belphie chirped. “I haven’t thanked you for getting me out of the attic yet, have I?”

MC knitted their eyebrows in confusion. “I never got you out of the attic… I haven’t gone up there in over five days…”

“Then…” Belphie said slowly. “What opened the door?”

Now that was a question that couldn’t be answered by anyone in the room, which left the group in quite the awkward spot. In the end it didn’t end up mattering too much, Belphie was just happy to be out of the attic, and even though the trio were technically in hiding, he was just glad that this was all on his own terms.

Beel and Belphie took some time to catch up while Luke and MC played crazy eights. MC was beating him, but Luke didn’t plan on surrendering any time soon. The half demon continued to fidget and twitch throughout the game, their heart and mind racing despite the complete lack of nearby threats. Luke took notice and also began to fidget.

“I…um…” Luke mumbled and looked away. “Are you… are you and Lucifer okay?”

MC pursed their lips and gave him a half-shrug. Luke hadn’t exactly taken the news that Lucifer was MC’s father very well… for a while he refused to even look at MC properly, and when Lucifer found out about how upset that was making MC… Luke was lucky MC was just sad and not angry.

Even Luke with all his ‘demons are awful and evil’ talk, no one could deny that Lucifer cared about MC a whole lot.

“We’re um… I don’t know.” MC finally replied. “He’s mad at me… I’m mad at him… y’know…”

Luke chewed on the inside of his cheek and nodded, awkwardly giving MC a quick pat on the head. “It’s okay, MC. I’m sure it’ll be okay.”

Giggling slightly, MC returned the head pat, their spirits rising slightly. “Gasp! A chihuahua petting someone? This is amazing, call the news stations!”

“Hey!”

After silencing Luke’s yapping and agreeing that he was in fact an angel and not a chihuahua, MC found themselves leaning on the doorway to one of Purgatory Hall’s balconies. Belphie stood with his back to MC, leaning on the railing and letting the wind gently ruffle his hair. He had a serene smile spread across his face as he took a deep breath in.

“Belphie?” MC asked, padding over to look over the railing next to the Avatar of Sloth. “What are you doing out here?”

“Just enjoying the fresh air. The attic got really musty after a bit.” Belphie replied, another gust of wind blew past, making MC shiver. “It’s nice…”

“Well, enjoy it all you want, because you’ll never be stuck up there again!” MC chirped, but their cheery demeanour faltered as thoughts of the rest of their family entered their mind.

Belphie opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. His eyes narrowed as he stared blankly ahead for a few moments. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as his now analytical gaze moved to MC. “You miss them.”

The comment wasn’t framed as a question, more a statement with the slightest tinge of disbelief. MC looked up at him and nodded. “Of course I miss the others. The reason I got you out of the attic was so we could all be together. I didn’t want the reunion to be like… like this…”

A smirk made its way onto Belphie’s face as he held out his arms. “Does someone need a hug? It sounds like you need a hug.”

The teasing tone almost immediately made MC roll their eyes, but they stopped themselves. They really did need a hug… they rushed forward and wrapped their arms around their uncle, the soft cardigan cushioning their face. Belphie slowly patted MC’s back, his hands slowly rising until one rested right between their shoulder blades, he then stiffened. MC felt him suddenly suck in a breath of air, but his arms remained wrapped around MC.

“Belphie..?” The half demon asked again, shifting their head to look up at him. He was staring straight ahead, almost like he didn’t want to even look at them.

“You…” Belphie whispered. “You care about them… don’t you..?”

MC felt the hand resting between their shoulder blades tense ever so slightly as it rose to the back of their neck.

“Of course I do, you guys are my family.”

Belphie stood completely frozen, MC slowly began to unwrap their arms from the hug, but Belphie remained rooted in place, and the hand on the back of their neck prevented them from fully leaving.

“And they…” Belphie gulped. “They really care about you…”

The two stood completely frozen in silence for God knows how long before Belphie let out a shuddering breath and practically collapsed into MC, the hand that was formerly against their neck was now cradling their head as he gave MC a hug so tight and suffocating that MC was worried their back might break.

“I’m sorry MC… damn it I’m so sorry…” Belphie whispered, pain and regret lacing every single word while MC could only knit their eyebrows in confusion and gently pat him on the back.

“I-it’s not your fault, Belphie, everything will be fine, okay?”

MC felt Belphie shake his head as he released them from the hug, his expression was a crude mixture of glassy and downright horrified.

“I don’t know about that, kiddo.” He rasped, he slowly reached a hand out and ruffled MC’s hair, before giving them a half-smile. “But thanks anyway.”

That odd interaction lingered in the back of MC’s mind as the day progressed. The complete radio-silence from the HOL had been the front runner in MC’s growing list of worries. Why hadn’t anyone tried to call them? Or go after them?

Luke being the sweet friend he was, invited MC to bake with him. The delicious smell of freshly made chocolate chip cookies didn’t exactly soothe MC’s anxieties, in fact, they only worsened when the sound of shouting made its way into the kitchen.

“What’s going on up there?” MC said as they stared up at the ceiling.

“Maybe it’s-”

The hairs on the back of MC’s neck stood straight up as a massive magical shockwave slammed into the two. This wasn’t any ordinary magic, it was ancient, and much more powerful than anything MC had ever felt before. For the first time in their life the little voice in the back of their head wasn’t screaming at them to fight and prove their superiority, it was begging them to surrender. To run and hide and pray to whatever would listen that whoever set off that magic wouldn’t find them.

Thousands of years worth of demonic instincts went ignored as MC rushed out of the kitchen to go see where and what the source of the magic was. Their blood ran cold when they reached the top of the staircase and saw exactly who was standing there.

He had clearly just shifted out of his demon form a second prior, the golden glow in his eyes had just begun to dull when his gaze landed on MC.

“L-lord Diavolo…” MC stood completely straight and still, they did their best to suppress the shudders that wracked their spine while they were in the presence of the Crown Prince of the Devildom. The very idea of addressing the demon that stood before them with any kind of disrespect or even camaraderie was completely absent from their head.

Diavolo’s gaze softened ever so slightly, but that provided no comfort to MC as every limb in their body seized up.

“MC,” He nodded in greeting. “I’m glad you’re well.”

Feeling slowly began to trickle back into MC’s arms, but they didn’t dare move from their spot. “What are… um… what happened?”

“Well,” Diavolo began. “Belphegor being out of the attic is the main reason I’m here.”

“Y-you knew about that?” MC sputtered.

“Yes, and after someone let Belphegor out of the attic I needed to make sure he didn’t do any damage.”

“Damage..?” MC mumbled. “What do you mean damage?”

Diavolo sighed and took a few steps closer to MC. “I take it you know Belphegor opposed the exchange program, right?”

MC nodded.

“Do you know why?”

MC hesitated, then shook their head. “No. No one told me.”

Diavolo looked away from MC, his forehead creased in thought before he eventually shook his head. “You’ve done a lot for your family, MC, you took on a burden no one asked you to take, and that’s very commendable. But it’s time you let the adults handle things, alright?”

“Alright?!” Any lingering traces of fear completely vanished as MC clenched their fists and stared down Diavolo. “This isn’t fair! Belphie hasn’t done anything wrong!”

“While free, Belphegor poses a threat to more than just the exchange program.” The shift in tone from calm to stern made any retort MC could possibly muster die in their throat. Diavolo smoothly moved past them as he began his descent down the staircase.

He turned to look at them once again, and his voice softened. “One day I hope you’ll understand my reasoning and be able to forgive me, MC.”

After Diavolo left, MC sprinted into Luke’s room where Belphie and Beel were supposed to be, only to find Beel floating midair. He was posed in a way like he was lunging for something, his eyes flashed when he saw MC and he suddenly dropped straight to the ground.

“Diavolo took Belphie.” He rumbled.

“Yeah, I figured.” MC muttered as they helped up Beel. “Listen, we need to do something and I have an idea.”

—————

MC bolted through the hallways of the Demon Lord’s Castle, the memories from the retreat serving them well as they made it to the corridor where the door to Barbatos’ room was.

Beel was doing his part, he gathered his brothers and he was in the main hall distracting Barbatos and Diavolo by pleading their brother’s case. Not that any of them knew it was a distraction. MC’s plan wasn’t their best work, but it was all they had.

They twisted the doorknob and the door opened, revealing the creepy room MC remembered. Hundreds of doors lined the seemingly never ending walls of the room. Staircases twisted and winded around, leading to yet even more hallways. How was MC supposed to find the door they were looking for in there..?

MC shut the door behind them as they walked closer into the room and began to inspect the first sets of doors. Many of them were similar in features, but some had more… distressing things added on.

One of the doors was being held shut by dozens of heavy glowing chains, there was no padlock in sight, but the chains themselves seemed to be at least somewhat alive as they wrapped themselves protectively around the door. From the sudden feeling of intense dread and terror that gripped MC, they decided it would be best to steer clear from doors like that.

The hallways warped and shifted around MC as they continued to search the room for their door. They needed a door to at least a few hours before Belphegor somehow escaped from the attic.

“Down here?”

“This one.”

“Oh no… what have I gotten myself into..?”

Unfamiliar and unseen voices echoed down the never ending hallway, closely followed by the sounds of multiple doors opening and shutting. There were others somewhere in the room…

MC’s listening was brought to an abrupt halt when they passed by a seemingly normal looking door, but something about it yanked at their mind. This was the one. They just knew it. This was it. They were going to fix this. Fix all of it.

They opened the door and stepped in.

—————

Lesson 16’s coming up next folks, beware and be afraid!

[egcdeath]

opposites attract

pairing: steve rogers x villain!reader

summary: based off of the lyrics:

“you and i are two oceans apart

we're on earth to break each others hearts

in two, and it's hard

with you, when i'm too far

from you, i look at the stars,

do you?”

from ‘ferrari’ by the neighbourhood

warnings: injuries, sparring, mention of blood and bruises, angst, fluff, and banter

word count: 3.7k

a/n: i am a simple woman. i think of a hurt/comfort concept and am morally obligated to write it. (this is a repost from the other day so if you saw it before, no you didn’t)

if you’d like to be added to my taglist, click here! as always, comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3

Thick, cushioned, cream colored walls. You supposed this was an upgrade from your last room, with its harsh and reflective steel. Every time you made an appearance here, it seemed there was a new, yet futile, attempt to keep you contained.

As you studied the pillowy surface, you drummed your fingers on the wooden table that your hands were currently strapped down to, and secretly hoped for your captor to rear his head, even if he was peeking through the double-sided mirror to your left.

Your mind proved itself to be a powerful thing, as the door ahead of you opened, and none other than Captain America stepped in, looking valiant and proud as ever.

“Good afternoon, Captain,” you greeted.

“Flux,” he said in a matter of faculty tone, nodding his head at you before pulling the chair in front of you aside and sitting down.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” you asked, as if you hadn’t been tussling with him in the streets less than an hour ago.

“Y’know, just our biweekly catch up,” he shrugged, playing along.

“Can I suggest coffee for our next meeting?”

Steve scoffed, but you almost swore that if you squinted, you could see him blush. “Enough of that,”  he mumbled before opening a yellow folder and turning it to face you. “You ready to tell me about him?” Steve asked, pointing to a printed photo of Brock Rumlow.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Captain,” you responded, looking up and batting your lashes at the man. This routine was like clockwork for you two. Fight a little, get yourself caught after a moment of weakness, and end up in an interrogation room.

“Don’t play dumb with me Flux,” he warned in a snarl, wrapping his fingers against your wrist and making you yelp. That was definitely going to leave a mark.

“Ouch, Captain. You’re being rough today, even for you.”

“I’m always rough with you,” he insisted, raising a brow as he loosened his hold on you.

“You’re being rougher than usual, that’s what I just said,” you furrowed your own brows at him. “Something on your mind?

“You’re stalling,” Steve stated while squinting at you.

“I would never do something like that, Cap,” you closed your eyes and visualized the outside of the building. “Does it have anything to do with those accords?”

You opened an eye quick enough to catch a glimpse of his jaw ticking, “I didn’t mean to strike a chord. Oh my gosh, ‘a chord’, accord. I really didn’t even mean to do that.”

You opened your other eye to get a clear view of him glaring at you. “Okay, sorry, I’ll be out of your hair in a moment,” you gave Steve a sly wink.

He stood up from the chair in a dramatic fashion, leaning down to get right in your face. “No. You won’t. Tell me everything you know about Rumlow.”

“Cap,” you pouted mockingly. “You’re not very good at this. Really makes a gal wonder why they keep sending you in to interrogate me, when you don’t seem to get much out of me.”

He grit his teeth while looking down at you, your eye contact both intense and passionate.

“If it makes you feel any better,” you began, looking away at a plain wall in an attempt to focus a bit more on leaving, “I genuinely know nothing about him.”

Steve gave you a humorless look, and your eyes naturally flitted back to him, “really,” he said drily.

“Really,” you confirmed. “We don’t really work in that whole chemical warfare field. Especially with a guy like Rumlow? He’s bad news. Did you really think that all ‘villains’,” you made air quotations on the table. “Know the intimate details of each other’s lives and plans?”

“Hmm,” Steve hummed aloud as he moved back, seemingly convinced.

“I was serious when I said that I’m leaving, though. You and I both have better things to do. But please tell Wanda that she did a good job for me, okay? I mean, civilian deaths are never pretty, but I genuinely would miss having you around.”

“I hate how you talk so much, but literally say nothing,” he huffed.

“I’m not gonna take that personal, ‘cause I know you don’t really mean that,” you sighed softly and looked away to visualize the outside of the building. “Hopefully the next time I see you won’t be UN sanctioned. Farewell, Captain.”

With those words, you were gone.

——

For the next few days of your life, you hadn’t stopped receiving an earful at the Brooklyn base. Mainly from your teammates, who seemed to never let things go, and were the nastiest gossips you’d ever met. Currently, rumor had it that Cecelia, your boss, was preparing to have a strong word with you.

You cracked your knuckles anxiously as you followed a teammate, Amelia, down into the sparring facility, as an attempt to calm your mind before whatever bad news was broken to you.

You passively listened to the TV in the corner of the room while wrapping your knuckles in preparation of getting your ass beat, and listened to the rapid fire reports from hours earlier in the day, but mainly tuned into the fight between the Avengers at the Leipzig airport.

“Have you heard?” Amelia questioned, tying up her lengthy hair as she sauntered onto the mat.

“No, tell me more,” you followed suit on the mat, rising onto the ball of your foot to the heel of your foot in an alternating rhythmic bounce.

“I guess some of it is that UN thing, but it’s probably because of the Winter Soldier,” Amelia bounced similarly to you before charging forward and throwing a left hook at you.

“No way! I thought that guy just disappeared after that S.H.I.E.L.D shit,” you dodged the swing, and went to knee her. “I swear, I asked Steve about it once.”

Amelia rolled her eyes at you, and caught your knee, pushing you down to the ground in the process. “You’re obsessed with him.”

“I think it’s mutual. And you said you’d go easy on me,” you whined, grabbing her extended hand and pulling yourself back up.

“You’re delusional, and that’s why Cec is pissed with you. In fact, Cecelia was so mad, that she couldn’t even form the words to tell you. At least, that’s what she told Naomi.”

“Why, though? It’s not like I haven’t been caught by him a million times already.”

“That’s the problem, though. What happens when they decide to send someone else in to talk to you? And they start waterboarding you, or some shit? All the sudden the Avengers know everything about us?”

“Well that wouldn’t happen, because I would leave,” you shrugged after blocking a few punches.

“I hope you’re getting all your aloof-ness out now, because Cecelia is not gonna put up with this attitude.”

You huffed, and marched over to get a sip of water, dramatically squirting it in your mouth before heading back to the sparring mat.

“Just let me enjoy this while I can, okay? I know how to protect myself,” you swung your fist in an uppercut, and Amelia maneuvered herself out of the way.

“Well, I was just reading something before this. Apparently your boy is a fugitive of the law now. It almost looks like your time is already up,” Amelia commented, delivering a stiff jab to you at the same time that you crouched.

Hearing this news, you froze up, and the punch landed right on your nose, an unsatisfying crack reverberating in your ears.

“Y/N, you alright?” She asked, approaching you as you reached a hand up assess the damage, and pulled away an extremely bloody hand.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you mumbled letting her lead you off of the mats and to the connected bathroom, so you could get a better look at yourself.

You were dizzy with pain, and you pressed your hand to your nose, willing it to heal. Though not your most frequently used ability, it certainly assisted some of the pain. You squeezed your face in a cringe as your bone rearranged itself.

“Is he in jail?” you asked, watching her face screw up in the mirror.

“You’re not really- you are a lost cause,” Amelia scoffed.

“You could be a little nicer to the person whose nose you just broke.”

“You’re fixing your own nose! You’re fine, okay?” she exasperatedly brought her palm up to her forehead. “I’m gonna go take a shower. Be ready to talk to Cecelia as soon as you leave this room. A word of advice? Don’t mention your work husband unless she mentions it first, okay?”

Amelia set a hand on your back and pat it, “good luck with her. If you need a sofa to crash on after this, my place is always free.”

You shook your head at yourself as she left, your own personal healing already fixing most of the damage. As you hopped into your own shower stall, you couldn’t help but question just how bad this confrontation was truly going to be.

——

You walked into Cecelia’s office after receiving a text message from her assistant, inviting you to meet with her.

You were handed a disposable cup filled with piping hot coffee as you entered, and Cecelia beckoned you to sit down in front of her. You obliged, nervously rubbing your hands on your pants as you sat.

“Y/N,” she began in a sigh, “what has gotten into you lately?”

“Nothing, just-“ the older woman put an open hand out, prompting you to stop.

“No, Y/N. You’ve let Rogers become your biggest blind spot. You let him catch you off guard and capture you nearly every single time you go out on the field! I’m starting to think that you want him to catch you.”

“What if I do?” you shrugged, feigning indifference.

“It’s not a ‘what if’ anymore, dear,” Cecelia took a deep breath. “Especially after what happened in San Francisco.”

“I- Cec, you told me that you wouldn’t bring up California anymore!” you huffed and shook your head. “It’s not even like it’s a problem. They haven’t once received intel from me,” you added.

“Something tells me that you won’t be having the same interrogator for a while at least. We were gonna take you out of the field before this whole Avengers fiasco, but I think it’s time for you to just take a break as a whole.”

“So you’re firing me?” you huffed, “great.”

“No, you are taking a break. We can get you set up in the Prague safe house, and everything.”

You weakly threw up your hands and looked away from Cecelia, not even being able to bear looking at her for the moment. What a great day you were having.

——

You sulked the whole way up to your apartment, and reached in your jacket’s pocket with sluggish speed. It was as if you couldn’t catch a break today, which was all you seemed to be able to think about while grabbing your key.

You looked up at the door, and noticed something slightly off. The door was just the slightest bit ajar, as if it was deliberately cracked for you to see. Someone was inside. Waiting for you. You held in your groan as you came to this conclusion.

You really couldn’t catch a break.

Despite your better judgement, you devised a quick plan in your mind. You could probably protect yourself, right? You closed your eyes in a blink, and imagined your kitchen. The plasticky tiles on the floor, the dent in your countertop from dropping a mug, the wooden cupboards that you’d quickly fallen in love with. The next moment, you were standing in your kitchen, right next to your silverware.

As quiet as you could possibly manage to be, you slipped your sharpest and largest knife from its home in a wooden block, and defensively in front of you. Creeping out of the kitchen and into your hallway, you examined area by area for any sign of intrusion, pointing your knife with every turn.

After finding nothing and no one, at the end of the hallway you turned, walking back down and stopping in front of your living room after noticing a few dark stains on your carpet.

You took a deep breath before walking into the open space, the pit in your stomach growing at the thought of what it was that you were about to find.

With a few timid steps, you found a shirtless Steve Rogers, sat on your couch, head lolled back, eyes squeezed shut in pain as he released shallow breaths and attempted to apply pressure to a wound. With one look at him, you yelped and involuntarily found yourself back in the hallway outside of the room, your fear strong enough to force you into teleportation.

“Funny seeing you here,” Steve began, and you stalked back into the room, your steps slightly less fearful as you stepped over his discarded tactical gear.

“Steve?” You whispered, setting the knife on a random bookshelf before kneeling down on the floor next to him. You had a plethora of questions, but you couldn’t decide what was the most important. “I- Are… What happened?”

He shrugged weakly.

“Okay, well how badly are you hurt?” You questioned apprehensively.

“Pretty badly,” he responded.

You nodded slowly while you attempted to process the entire situation. You couldn’t tell if this was a scene from your wettest dream, or worst nightmare. “I’ll be right back,” you muttered, leaving the room to grab some water to help you speed up your healing process.

As you reentered your living room, you set down the bowl of water and squatted down next to Steve once again. Dipping your hands in the liquid, and placing them on an open head wound, you found it appropriate to question him.

“Steve,” you began, watching the forehead laceration quickly shrink into a small scar. “Why are you here?”

“I had nowhere else to go,” he put plainly.

“A hospital, maybe?” you added, pushing away the hand that was currently holding down a rather bloody wound on his upper arm, and exchanging it for your own.

“Something tells me that a hospital isn’t the best place for a guy of my legal status to be at right now,” he countered while you halted your attempt to reduce the size of the wound, cracking your stiff knuckles in preparation for the final push of closing the abrasion. “Besides, this isn’t the first time we’ve done something like this before. You remember S-“

“San Francisco. Right,” you cut Steve off, and brushed off the previous comment. “This is gonna hurt a little,” you warned. before setting your fingers down, and putting an obscene amount of pressure on the bicep wound.

Steve grit his teeth so hard that you swore you could hear it. His muscles clenched as you resumed your attempt to soothe the sore.

“Hey, look at me,” you used your free hand, and gently pushed his cheek so that he was looking at you. “If I distract you, it’ll hurt a lot less. Trust me.”

He seemed to agree with you, and took in a deep breath while the corner of his eye twitched.

“How did you even find my apartment?” you asked, using your pinky to tilt his chin up, and force his view away from the cut.

“It wasn’t that hard, I mean, we’ve been tracking you and that ‘financial firm’ you work in for years,” he spoke through clenched teeth.

“You sure it’s not because you like to keep a personal tab on me?”

“No! Why would I…?”

“Because if all the Avengers knew where me and my teammates reside, we’d all be locked up already.”

“Fine, maybe I pulled a few strings. It’s just because I think you’re the biggest threat to the general public.”

“Really? The woman with the least destructive powers of all of us, not the one with super strength? Or the one who could manipulate elements? Or even, I don’t know, the person leading us?” you chuckled a bit at the poor excuse.

Steve rolled his eyes fondly, but you could clearly see the soft flush on his face.

“It’s okay, Steve. We all have our favorite coworkers.”

“We aren’t coworkers, though.”

“It seems like you’re gonna need all the allies that you can come across. Don’t get picky with me now,” you tutted, finalizing your work on his peck, and leaving behind a small, pink scar.

You let out a breath of exhaustion as you pulled your hand away, and pointlessly shook out your wrists.

“You alright?” Steve questioned, adjusting himself a bit on the sofa and grunting at the rather simple task.

“Fine. What else needs attention?”

He gestured to the light bruising on his ribs that only seemed to be getting darker by the moment.

“We should take a break first, though. You seem tired.”

“I told you that I’m perfectly fine,” you countered, setting one hand on your chest, and pointing a lazy finger at Steve, “you’re the one that needs a break.”

Steve grabbed your finger and gently pushed it down, “I don’t really, but maybe we should take a break.” He gave you a kind smile, and your heart fluttered. Even bartered and bloody, Steve managed to make you feel like a schoolgirl with a crush.

“Well, any great Captain America plans to get yourself out of this mess?” you leaned against the sofa, and twisted your torso slightly so that you could get a good look at your visitor.

“Nope, not yet,” Steve pursed his lips slightly. “Any input from the lady who seems to get out of every rock and hard place she finds herself in?”

You snickered, and shook your head at this, “not at the moment. But you have me on speed dial, right? I can get back to you when I think of something,” you joked with a wink.

“I would laugh, but I’m honestly a little nervous that my lung might pop if I do.”

“Oh fuck, Steve,” you scooted away from him so you could be closer to the bowl of water once again. “Why did we take a break? You need urgent medical attention.”

“You needed a moment.”

You shook your head and frowned, catching the inside of your bottom lip between your teeth, “don’t do that again.”

You dunked both of your hands in the water, then turned back around and set your damp hands on the bruising on Steve’s ribs, closing your eyes in concentration as you addressed the damage.

Steve howled out in pain, making you flinch as a result. With the hand doing less work, you blindly pat around in a search for something to shove into his mouth and dampen the noises he was currently making. Eventually settling on a blanket, you shoved the fabric deep into his mouth.

“Sorry,” you uttered while the muted noise of his pain rang through your ears, “neighbors.”

The task wasn’t the easiest for you either, healing what seemed like such a large break or fracture following several other injuries was depleting your energy quickly. Your arms and hands trembled as you began to watch the splotchy yellow mark begin to blend into the rest of Steve’s skin, and you were becoming more and more light headed by the second.

Feeling somewhat satisfied with your work, you pulled your shaky hands away, and leaned away from Steve’s body before losing your balance, and falling back onto your plush floor.

Steve yanked the blanket from his mouth, sticking out his tongue for a second as he attempted to pull a spare string from his mouth. He sat up rapidly, and looked down at you with raised brows, and big, frightened eyes.

“Y/N?” he asked breathily, still exhausted from his own exertion, “you still with me?”

Your chest rose and fell slowly, and you were silent for a moment before responding, “I just need a minute.”

Steve relaxed back into the sofa with the knowledge that you were at least still conscious, and waited a few beats before he spoke again, “thanks,” was all that he managed to utter.

The two of you sat there in an extremely loud silence, the only other noise being your nearly synchronized panting.

“I’m gonna go shower,” you announced after what felt like hours on your floor. You slowly rose, and dragged yourself to the bathroom in your bedroom. Hitting the shower valve, then sitting atop your countertop you let the suite fill with steam, reflecting on your bizarre day, but most of all, your interaction with Steve.

You let yourself dwell on this while you stood in the shower, forehead pressed against the warm tile as you considered the implications of every word shared between the two of you, and how you’d let this tiny crush get so far ahead of you. Maybe it really was a good idea to take some time away from New York. You were so deep in your own thoughts that you failed to catch onto the sound of the floorboard that loudly creaked in your living room, or the soft click of your front door opening and closing.

Changing into some more comfortable clothing, you exited the bathroom, and ultimately your own room ready to offer up your shower to Steve, and possibly even talk about your feelings in a serious manner with him. Yet, by the time you arrived at the couch that had held him just a half hour ago, it was vacant. In fact, your whole apartment was vacant. You’d checked three whole times.

Ending your fruitless search on your balcony, you settled down into the single plastic beach chair that you kept outdoors, and draped the blanket from your sofa that had previously been in Steve’s mouth around your shoulders. The chill of the night air contributed to the sting of your eyes when they welled up, and you told yourself that it was silly to ever think that this, you and him, could ever happen in the first place.

Gazing up at the stars, you cursed yourself for being so naive. For letting yourself fall so fast, and so hard for someone you knew so out of reach. The stars seemed to mock you, in all of their billions of years of knowledge.

Yet, part of you was comforted by the knowledge that Steve could be viewing the same constellations as you.

----

a/n: listen. i feel like these idiots have a lot of potential so if you want me to write any more of them i am totally down!

[avaritia-apotheosis]

Phantom Children Ch. 6

Hi guys! I'm back <3 (also, I'm currently looking for alpha/beta readers for Phantom Children, so if you're interested, feel free to shoot me a message!)

In Which: Danny Attempts to get Answers, Bruce Learns, and Dick Finally Learns What's Inside the Door that Doesn't Exist

AO3 | Prologue | 5 | [ 6 ] | 7

DANNY IS KNOCKED DOWN three, four, eight times on the ice. Each time made his back ache, his bones bruised and tired, and his mind burning with embarrassment and a drive to lash out. But each time he gets back up. Each time he lasts a little bit longer against Talia.

The ice still shifts, cracks and rumbles with every wrong move. Danny learned to roll with it. Move on light feet but attack with a firm stance, gauge which parts of the ice are stable and which should be avoided. Multi-tasking has never been Danny’s strong suit, but he’s good at learning and learning quickly.

Talia corrected his form as much as she beat him down. Exploited every one of his openings until he learned to defend them and praised him whenever he managed to pull one over her. The League’s martial arts was the holy amalgamation between almost every single fighting style there is, mashed and refined to perfection to become almost unpredictable to the untrained. A vast improvement to Danny’s previous ‘fuck around and see what works’ brawling and had the added benefit of meshing together with his spontaneity.

“You are doing well, Daniel,” Talia said as she sheathed her sword, hand resting just above her hip. “You have improved greatly in such a short time, as I have expected.”

It takes every ounce of Danny’s superhuman energy to not collapse to his knees, his every breath a ragged shudder as he tries to get his breathing under control. “Still can’t beat you, though.”

“Very few can boast that feat.”

“I’m not exactly sure if that’s supposed to make me feel any better or not. Do I get my prize at least?”

Tahlia tossed her braid over one shoulder with a laugh. “Come, then, let us rest in the caves. The sun is to set soon and we must make camp before we freeze to death.”

“Hypothermia is so last season. I’m way too cool for that.”

He didn’t know whether to be disappointed that Tahlia didn’t react to his pun. It was pretty clever, in his opinion.

('Puns are the lowest form of comedy,' said mind-Jazz.

Says the one who named the Box Ghost the ‘Crate Creep.’

'That’s alliteration, not a pun.')

It was kind of pathetic that even his mind-version of Jazz was smarter than him.

“What would you like to know first?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Sarcasm dripped from Danny’s voice. He sheathed his sword and let it hang loose at his side. “Maybe how old this mysterious brother of mine is?” Ancients, his life was weird enough already, it wasn’t supposed to sound like the B-plot to a bad soap opera.

“Damian is younger than you by a little over four years. He will turn eleven this year.”

“Huh. Never been an older brother before.”

“Perhaps you might have been, if circumstances had been different.”

Cryptic. Great. Danny stepped over a particularly large crack in the ice and scampered over to solid ground. “You gotta give me more than that. What’s he like?”

“Prideful,” she said. “But skilled enough to warrant it. He was raised like a prince—as how you should have been.”

“And he lives with…our dad?”

“Yes. In America.” The cave was deep enough to shield them from the worst of the eventual mountain winds. Tahlia had already started building a campfire with equipment from her knapsack, embers eating away and growing into a steady flame. He sat down, legs crossed, beside the fire, hands tucked beneath his armpits.

He bit his lip, a question forming in his mind. “Do…do we have the same dad?”

Tahlia looked up at him. “Of course. Only your father has had the privilege of being called my beloved, and only he is worthy enough to have sired my children.”

Once night fell, it fell quickly. Blanketing as far as Danny could see from the mouth of the cave in a thick darkness. Snow fell from the skies in thick tufts and covered their footsteps.

“Does he—do they know about me?”

“No, they do not.”

“And you probably aren’t going to tell them anything about me, if you could help it.”

“That is very perceptive of you, habeebi.”

“You won’t tell me anything more about them, will you?”

“In due time, I will.”

Danny blew part of his fringe away from his face. Figures.

Despite the ever-present niggling at the back of his mind, Bruce had yet to see what was in the flash drive. The weeks since his strange meeting with Vlad Masters suddenly exploded with criminal activity with the recent breakout in Arkham and the brewings of another gang war in the shadows of Gotham’s paved streets. It was all hands-on deck. And Bruce, whether as Batman or Wayne, had always prioritized Gotham and its citizens over anything else.

The flash drive remained on his person despite the crisis, tucked away in one of the sturdier compartments of his utility belt to prevent the data inside from becoming damaged. Sometimes he found his hands gravitating towards it, fingers brushing against the button that would release the mystery from its confines before he realized what he was doing and steeled himself. Hands fisted to his side and attention forcibly directed elsewhere.

Eventually, the rogues were placed back into Arkham, and Gotham let out a shuddered breath of relief as it remained standing for another day.

Most of the family were out on a light patrol, cleaning up the remains of the breakout and helping where they can. Jason and Dick bickering over the comms whilst Barbara laughed in her clocktower.

(“It’s not that bad.”

"‘It’s not that bad’—shut the fuck up.” Jason spat. Bruce could hear him revving his bike. “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that? Certified Grade A idiot. B’s gonna kill you.”

He could hear Dick roll his eyes. “Sure, pile it all on, Jaybird. Blame the victim.”

"It was your fault.”

“It’s not my fault I didn’t see it there!”

"You tripped and got a concussion. From a stick. A. Stick.”

“Can we please just leave that out of the report?” Dick groaned. Barbara laughed. “Oh god.”

“Richard motherfucking John Grayson. I swear if you vomit on me then—”

“I’m not gonna vomit on you! You just turned the corner a little too fast. It’s nice to see you care though.”

"Fuck no, I just don’t wanna smell like regurgitated cereal.”)

Damian was benched from a patrol. Their last conflict with Poison Ivy ended with Damian sticking a bad landing and twisting his ankle. He dealt with it with as much grace as can be expected. Meaning that he spent the last few days sulking as he caught up on his missed schoolwork and shooting daggers at everyone else who came back from patrol.

Bruce flicked the flash drive open and plugged it into the computer. The flash drive contained only a single folder dated six months ago.

He clicked it, and a news headline popped up.

LOCAL TEEN DIES AFTER DRIVING OFF CLIFF

Beneath it, a picture. Blue eyes. Black hair. A familiar face.

Blood pounded in Bruce’s ears. He could hear nothing except a sharp gasp from Damian behind him.

When Dick and Jason arrived at the batcave, it was to an eerie silence. Not that it was usually loud, only that Bruce spent most of his free time down in the cave and Dick had come to expect hearing some signs of him around. Typing on keys, the clicking of a mouse, the heavy thuds of a fist meeting a punching bag or a training dummy, etcetera, etcetera. Or maybe even Alfred cleaning up around the cave, feeding the bats, or restocking their med bay.

(Dick, it turned out, didn’t have a concussion. Probably. Not a severe one anyway. What mattered most was that he managed to convince Jason to have dinner at the Manor. Alfred was making a tarte tatin for dessert tonight and those were absolutely to die for. )

One of Tim’s cases took him to the other side of Gotham. The only person in the cave was Damian, who was staring agape at the batcomputer.

“Why the hell is the demon spawn looking at old pictures of Bruce? We get it. They look alike.

“Uh, Dami? What’s up?”

Damian snapped his mouth shut. “I believe it might be best if you asked father that, Grayson.” Despite his clipped tone, there seemed to be little anger in his voice. His proud shoulders were hunched over on the chair, eyes trained on his lap.

He looked so small.

Damian clucked his tongue. “He’s upstairs, if you need him. So is Pennyworth.”

Dick shot a glance at Jason who raised his hands in mock surrender. “You’re up golden boy. Whatever the fuck the old man’s problem is this time, I’m not dealing with it.”

Dick sighed. “Fine.”

There was a door in Wayne Manor that didn’t exist.

When Dick was a child and recently adopted by Bruce Wayne, one of the first things he did was explore the manor. It’s the prerogative of every child that somehow found themselves in a large mansion—even more so given the castle-like exteriors of Wayne Manor. All castles have secret passages, and if the Batcave lay in the subterranean depths below, then surely the manor proper must have its own secrets.

Dick would tumble and cartwheel along the hallways, opening any and every single door he came across. A lot of them were just empty bedrooms or unused parlors and sitting rooms; the furniture covered by white sheets to keep the dust away. Alfred was probably magic, but even he can’t keep the entirety of the manor dust free.

The majority of the unused rooms were unlocked.

Except for one.

It was a room in the west wing, on the second floor. A couple doors down from where Bruce’s and Dick’s were. Why it was locked, Dick never found out. But he was curious since it was the only room on that floor that remained shut.

When he asked Alfred about it, the old butler only said that it was an unused storage room they preferred to keep locked just in case. When he asked Bruce about it, he’d be quick to change the subject. Usually something Batman related. Which, well, always worked, because it was Batman related. And Dick, young and spry and itching to fly under Batman’s wings, would quickly forget about that curious little mystery in favor of punching bad guys in the face and flipping over rooftops.

At some point that locked door quietly disappeared, leaving a blank expanse of wallpaper and a decorative vase where it once stood. It was never brought up again. And Dick slowly forgot that it was ever there in the first place.

Until now.

The wooden table and vase were shoved off to the side. Wallpaper sliced away to reveal the lines of a doorway. The door, covered in its faint damask wallpaper, was kicked open, the wood around the bolt splintered and cracked. He could hear voices—Alfred’s and Bruce’s—speaking softly on the other side.

He pressed his back against the wall and kept his breathing quiet.

“Three times, Alfred.” Bruce’s voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Three times she’s done this to me.”

“Master Bruce…”

“I don’t—I don’t understand why—” Bruce choked, swallowing a shuddered breath. “Damian, I can understand. Jason, I can too. But…This? I—” Bruce suddenly quieted. Dick knew the jig was up.

He unlatched himself from the wall and slowly slid through the once-hidden-door, a hand kept on the frame. “Um. Hi, Bruce? Alfred?” The words fell flat, stilted. Dick winced as he said them. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but, uh…” He trailed off the second he registered what was in the room.

It was large, as so many rooms in the manor were. The room was covered in peeling green wallpaper with faded pictures of baby deer and owls and other woodland creatures prancing about. There was a dresser on one wall. A shelf filled with little picture books and stuffed animals on the other. A brown teddy bear had fallen on its face on one of the shelves.

In the middle—where Bruce was hunched over—was a crib. The wood streaked and aged with time, the beddings within pristine and untouched, if not dusty. Hanging overhead was a mobile with little animals dangling on a string.

“Worry not Master Dick. It is good that you are here since it will inevitably involve the rest of the family at some point.”

Dick nodded absentmindedly, trying to lock eyes with his guardian. “B? What’s—what’s going on?” Dick took one step deeper into the room. “The pictures in the cave. I thought they were you since they were too old to be Damian—” Bruce’s hands on the crib’s railing flinched.

Dick’s breath hitched.

“They’re…not your photos, are they.”

Bruce took a deep breath in, the lines of his shoulders tense. “No. They’re not.”

In their line of work, the answer could have been anything. Clones, magical doppelgangers, alternate universe counterparts, hell, even just someone’s genetic code being coincidentally similar to another person. But…this room, this nursery, pointed towards only one conclusion.

“Who is he, Bruce?”

Bruce angled his head towards Dick, unshed tears glimmering in his eyes. “He’s my son, Dick.

“He’s my son.”

[yamithediaperdork]

Baby bird and Super daddy (DC)

it was Friday afternoon and school was out which only meant one thing for a group of young sidekicks: it was time to haul their butts to San Francisco and more to the point to Titans tower.

Oddly though one member of the titans wasn't getting his normal ride from Gotham to the tower with his mentor Batman, AKA Bruce Wayne but inside had been picked up in Smallvile by his surrogate big brother Nightwing who was also giving a ride to Kon-el, AKA Superboy.

Sulking and pouting in his costume, Robin AKA Tim drake was blushing and his bottom looked a little more puffy then normal, but only a expert would know to look and see it.. so Naturally Dick had.

"So I'm not one to judge, I mean, I've know you and Kon where hooking up for awhile." Dick said, smirking and while he kept a eye on the controls of his aircraft, he made sure to steal looks back at the blushing big time Tim who had been tugged into Kon's lap. And of course Kon was smirking.

"but I just need to know, Is my little brother from anther mother in huggies because you two are kinky, or Kon needs to stop topping for awhile?"

"DICK!" Tim shrieked and whined, burying his face in Kon's shoulder and whining.

"He tried to make me his little guy, needless to say it backfired." Kon chuckled, and rubbed Tim's back and patted the boys bottom, a faint crinkling being heard only by Kon due to his super hearing over the dim of the plane.

"Oh, I HAVE to hear more..but before that.. I think I have a juice box or two if the little guy is thirsty." Dick offered.

"Dickkkkkk!" Tim whined and pouted, shooting daggers though his mask.

"Well he is a thirsty bitch, but he had a big ba-ba of fresh milk before we left." Kon chuckled.

"Hate you both." Tim whined and tried to squirm out of Kon's lap, but he was a boy of tissue in a boy of steel's grip, and wasn't going anywhere.

As Dick chuckled, Kon reached into Tim's belt and pulled out a superman logo pacifier and popped it in the boy wonders mouth and rocked him, and in seconds Tim had gone night night and Kon was free to tell the story.

Tim had pleaded and begged to hang out with Kon-el for the two days he had off from school back in Gotham (the staff was recovering from the latest attack by a bat rouge, Riddler this time.)

Bruce had tried to say the time could be used to help out with Gotham but after getting Alfred on his side it had only taken anther half hour before Bruce was dropping Tim off by the Kent farm, commenting on how much extra baggage he had taken with him for just going there for Thursday and Friday (Tim had spare clothes at titans tower)

Tim had come up with a excuse that he might help on the farm and didn't wanna end up smelling like cow dropping and Bruce had let it go.

Superboy of course who's X-ray vision was coming and going at this point had been able to spot right away was was in the extra luggage and just smirked to himself.

The Kent's of course knew without being told that Tim and Kon were dating, Connor just wouldn't shut up about him and they were practically all over each other calling it rough housing.

"If that's what you kids these days call it. Take it out to the barn." Was all Pa said, not looking up from his newspaper.

Once out in the barn, Tim went right to work turning on the puppy dog eyes and kissing Kon's neck and blowing in his ear, things that drove the boy of steel wild.

"Koooon, I have a hawt idea we should try out." Tim said in his 'I'm so cute you can't refuse me' voice which normally had Kon wrapped around Tim's little finger.

However forewarned Kon was ready and kept his control in place, though asked what Tim wanted to try out.

"Well have you ever heard of diaper punishment or age play?" Tim had asked, opening the luggage and holding up a teen sized diaper with little bat symbols on it and holding it out, grinning ear to ear.

Kon however, returned that grin with his own and played along, though not like Tim had expected.

"oh I see, You wanna be my little baby bird! Cute! and you even got bat diapers! Adorable!" Kon gushed as Tim's jaw dropped.

"W-What? No! I-" Tim started, blushing bright red.

"Ohhh I've heard of this, you're gonna act like you don't want it so you can be a pouty little boy while enjoying your diapie wipies~" Kon chuckled, dashing up and snatching the diaper from the smaller boys hands and planting a smooch on him, tongue dominating Tim's mouth and feeling the fight go out of Tim for a second.

he also felt the boy wonder less then wonderful hard on press against his leg and broke off the kiss.

"well I think that answers whether or not you want daddy Kon to make you a good little baby bird." Kon said.

"I what.. No! I was gonna.. you were gonna.." Tim whined, flustered and trying to will away his hard-on, but but there was no amount of zen training with Batman that was going to make the boy wonder's stiffie vanish.

"Oh look, you have a paddle, and some baby outfits.. paci's and ba-ba's..Damn you must REALLY wanna just be a helpless little diaper dork huh sweetie?" Kon was saying, looking though all the supplies tat had been meant for him and super warming up to the idea of babying Tim.

There was even a pair of jean overalls with crotch snaps so a certain diaper boy could work on the farm!

"and look at all these diapers! Somebody plans on making LOTS of presents for his super daddy huh?" Kon added.

"NO I DO NOT! THAT WAS ALL MEANT FOR YOU!" Tim whined and stomped a foot, hands balled in fists and at his sides.

Sadly, this did nothing to help his argument.

"Baby bird, that's enough of the attuide. You need to take off your big boy clothes and lay down so I can get you in a diapie or else mister man." Kon said, smirking but trying to have a authoritative tone, picking up the paddle.

"YOU DON'T HAVE THE BALLS!" Tim yelled.

Sadly as it turned out for Tim's poor soon to be bright red backside, Kon had the balls and more.

On a scale of 1 to 10, Kon guessed the effort he had put into the spanking (and being nice enough not to use the paddle too!) was about a 3 or 4, but from the howls and sobs that had escaped the soon to be pampered sidekick, you'd of sworn he had gone all out.

'Man, either full on humans are more fragile then I thought, or Tim just can't take a spanking!' Kon mused as he cleaned up the puddle that the boy wonder had made during his ten swats, and let's just say it wasn't urine. 'Though for someone who's sobbing so much with his nose in the corner..'

"Baby bird, you're gonna wake up half of Smallville with that sobbing, I'm gonna need you to tone it down or I'll have to get creative with gagging you." Kon called over sweetly.

Tim, with pants gone and butt glowing bright red from the spanking and having his hands on the back of his head turned around from the corner and moved his mouth as if to argue, then apparently thought better of it and meekly nodded his head.

"I-I'll try.." Robin sniffled and whined, any trace of him trying to be dom had left his body when he'd creamed himself from being spanked.

"I could give you one of your paci's, but you have to promise to be a very good boy and not spit it out, I'll just pop it back into your mouth anyways." Kon offered.

Looking around the dirty floor of the barn, Tim made a icky face and nodded he could be good and opened his mouth for the customed Superman paci, with the large oversized rubber nipple making Tim start to drool down his chin in seconds.

"it's too bag you didn't pack a enema kit, I bet you have the CUTEST 'i'm pooping!' face baby bird!" Kon commented, having laid most of the items out on his bed and chuckling at the whimper that escaped from Tim.

"Shucks, and Pa and ma Kent kicked us out to the barn for the night.. I know ma has a nice big one. Ah well, there's always tomorrow." Kon chuckled and shrugged.

Tim gave a series of muffled protests around the paci turning a little pale at the thought of getting a massive soapy enema while Kon and the Kent had breakfast, though it was also making him get a little excited.

"Hmmm? Oh I see someone likes the idea~ thats great! I'm sure Ma and Pa won't mind having a baby around the house." Kon laughed.

Tim whined and wanted to argue, wanted to take out the paci and say no way in hell,m but his body betrayed him again and he made anther puddle instead.

"Sheesh, You must be backed up like crazy.. Better get you pampered before you paint the walls."

"Wait, did he really cream himself again just from-" Nightwing asked, snickering and glad he'd switched to auto pilot for this.

"NO I didn't!" Tim whined and huffed, squirming in his seat.

"Baby bird, what did I tell you about telling fibs?" Kon warned wagging a finger at the smaller boy.

"...OK maybe I did.. But it's not my fault! you know how hard it is to crank one out at the mansion since Alfred doesn't approve!!" Tim whined and sulked,

"Actually back in my day Alfred just left me tissues and Lotion and a note asking I keep my voice down." Dick chuckled, though he blushed a little as he recalled it.

"That's SO unfair!!" Tim whined and huffed.

"Don't worry about it baby bird. now that you'll be my little guy at least once a week I'll make sure you're never backed up again." Kon teased and kissed Tim's forehead.

"My hero.." Tim huffed. "Just finish the poopie story."

To say the Kent's were a little shocked the next morning when A clearly diapered Tim was lead over, sucking on a paci and dressed to go to work in the field would of been a understatement, but as the human couple that had raised Superman from babyhood to adult, Had been the home of Matrix while she was still adjusting to life on this earth and were now looking after Kon,,they got over the shock rather quickly.

If anything, Kon had called it and Ma Kent dotted on baby Tim right away, though to Kon's disappointment (and maybe Tim's) she turned down the idea of giving Tim a enema for fun.

"Those are just in case the widdle cutie is all backed up!" she scolded Kon, who pouted a little but backed down.

Breakfast was egg's and bacon for the Kent's and Kon, and a bowl of oatmeal for widdle Timmy who (thankfully!) was too big to fit in Kal's old highchair, but they did have a booster seat he was put into and had one of Kal's old bibs tied around his neck.

"You know, after we get the farm work done, we could go into the wood shop and likely make him a high chair." Pa mused.

"W-What?" Tim asked, his spoon dropping into the bland icky oatmeal.

"Oh, get idea pa! Think we could make him a crib too?" Kon asked, grinning ear to ear.

"I don't see why not. Just a shame Most of Clark's old stuffies didn't make it." Pa chuckled.

"heh, I can help with that. I've been making teddy bears for the church to sell so I think I could make our new widdle great grandson one or two. Do you want a teddy bear Timmy?" Ma asked and reached over, using the bib to wipe a spot of oatmeal off of Tim's face.

"I...I..I.." Tim whimpered and squirmed like crazy in the high chair, suddenly thankful that Kon was the only one with hearing good enough to heard what he was doing to the front of his diapers, though Kon just smirked.

"Trust me Ma, he does."

[needtherapy]

The Necromancer’s Apprentice

Xue Yang has seen The Dark House and he’s heard the rumors that a zombie, a witch, and a necromancer live there. It’s stupid, obviously, but...well...maybe he’ll just sneak in one night and find out.

It’s better than doing nothing. It’s better than going back to the group home. It’s better than sleeping on the street.

Aka, three mildly feral twentysomethings are forcibly adopted by one (1) very feral thirteen-year-old Xue Yang.

Read on AO3

Many thanks to @coslyons for co-writing this with me (all the funniest parts belong to them) and @kevinkevinson for beta.

There is a Dark House in Ballard, and people say to avoid it.

It is probably not called the Dark House because evil lurks inside, although there is some debate about that. It is called the Dark House because it is black from threshold to cupola, from shutters to frames, and it looms on a block where whimsical shops of brick and steel are far more common. Unlike the thrift store and the record shop, the hiking outfitter and the vegan patissiere, no ivy reaches toward the roof of the Dark House. Unlike the local yarn store, no dogs sniff the Dark House’s gate, although at least two cats—also black, naturally—are always sitting on the porch.

It may not be fair to judge a house by its color, but the local legends are clear. If you step on the cracks in the sidewalk, the Dark House will steal your soul. The wrought iron gate of twining snakes comes alive under the light of the full moon to snap at unwary joggers. Children who walk alone after dark get eaten, and the yard is full of bones that wail songs of their murders.

Xue Yang sits on a bench, across the street, eating ice cream and admiring the house. He wonders about the sanity of people who mow the lawn and trim the roses, yet painted their pretty little house black, until it occurs to him that he could just go inside and find out.

He waits until dark, not to stay hidden, but because it’s a more terrible idea, and Xue Yang always gives himself permission to do more terrible things whenever he gets the chance. The high iron fence buzzes with a strange kind of energy that crackles in his palms, so Xue Yang wraps his hands tightly in his flannel shirt as he climbs over. His mother always said he was a practical boy, back when she was still around to say things.

Xue Yang lands in the backyard with a quiet thump onto thin and scraggly grass. The center of the yard is dark under the watery moonlight, with the dirt churned up and loose, and for the first time, a tiny twinge of warning pings in the back of his mind.

He ignores it.

With a flick of his wrist, he summons his knife, a long black switchblade that is seven kinds of illegal and which he loves more than anything else he has ever had, not that there is much competition. With nimble and practiced hands, he slides the knife between the door and the frame, twisting just right when he reaches the lock. With a grin of triumph, he turns the handle, shaped like a gaping mouth, and opens the door.

In the center of the room, there is a long sort of table that seems somehow to pull all the darkness of the room toward it. The shadows gather most thickly around a large, human-shaped lump laid out stiffly on top of it. Xue Yang reaches out to poke it and feels something unexpectedly warm give slightly under his finger.

The shadowy lump on the table sits upright with a sudden jerk.

The shadowy lump on the table sits upright with a sudden jerk.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Xue Yang shrieks.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” the shadowy lump shrieks back.

“Why the fuck is everyone yelling?” a voice says, and the room is suddenly filled with light.

The shadowy lump rips off the sheet and turns into a guy in his early twenties with a scraggly little beard and wicked bedhead. The voice belongs to a grumpy-looking woman wearing a fluffy pink bathrobe. She squints at him in the oppressive brightness, glaring for a long moment before apparently deciding to deal with the man on the table first.  

“Wei Wuxian, I’ve told you a thousand times that the workshop is not a place for sleeping.”

“Technically—” the man begins, before being abruptly cut off by the woman.

“If the next words out of your mouth aren’t ‘yes, Wen Qing,’ then I don’t care. Go to bed.” She rounds on Xue Yang and he takes a tiny, involuntary step back. “You. What are you doing here?”

Before Xue Yang can answer, another guy—this one with long hair, killer tats, and a dedication to the goth look Xue Yang has to admire—runs in with a baseball bat held in his hands like a club.

“Jiejie! Is there something wrong?”

The woman—Wen Qing, she’d said—pinches the bridge of her nose and says, “It’s fine, A-Ning. I’m just trying to figure out what this little hooliganthinks he’s doing breaking into my house and tripping all of my wards while I’m trying to fucking sleep .”

Xue Yang is now convinced that what he’s broken into is some kind of madhouse, and he pastes a charming smile on his face, the one he uses when fists are clenched and the smell of alcohol burns in his nose. The smile whispers words like “anger issues” and “prone to destruction,” and it’s usually weapon enough, but he holds his knife a little tighter too, just in case.

The woman snaps around like she’s felt his fingers grip the handle of the blade and holds out her hand. “Give it to me.”

No. He will not. His chin tips dangerously, his smile grows icy spikes.

Her eyes narrow. “I could just take it.”

They face off for a minute, the tension almost palpable. Actually, Xue Yang thinks, it’s not tension after all. There’s something else in the air. It reminds him of the buzzing fence, and he doesn’t like the way it confuses him.

“Ah, Wen-jie, let him keep her. Can’t you tell? The kid is scared, they’re both scared, and it’s not like he can hurt us.”

Xue Yang is offended. He is not scared, but he’s relieved that Wei Wuxian spoke up all the same, because even though Wen Qing purses her lips and looks annoyed, she drops her hand.

“Fine.” She crosses her arms again. “Wei Wuxian, make sure our little guest leaves. I’m resetting the wards in five minutes and going back to sleep.”

“Yeah, sure.” Wei Wuxian grins and shoots finger guns at Wen Qing. “Sleep well and dream of me.”

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “Yes, because I love having nightmares.”

“Oh shoo.” Wei Wuxian flicks his hand at the goth man and Wen Qing. “To bed with you both. I can handle it.”

Their footsteps creak on the wooden floors as they walk further into the house. Xue Yang and Wei Wuxian wait in silence until the footsteps quiet, and then Wei Wuxian turns to Xue Yang. The grin he’d been wearing drops off his face and he looks serious, his eyes shaded and dark.

“Look kid, you should know better than to piss off powerful witches. It tends to be bad for the health.” The side of his mouth just barely tilts upwards, more wry than mirthful, and he looks old now. Old and grey and tired. “So, we’ll just call this a learning experience, and you’ll never come here again, right?”

Xue Yang snorts. “Are you kidding? If you’ve got real magic why the fuck would I leave now?”

“Toddlers shouldn’t swear.”

“I’m almost fourteen, fuck you very much.”

“Ah yes, I am now so convinced you are an adult.” Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “It’s two in the morning. You want to go home and go to bed. There’s nothing here for you to be curious about at all.”

Something sibilant and musical weaves its way through the words, and Xue Yang has his hand on the door knob before he fights off the slithering compulsion.

Holy fuck that was cool.

“Nah, I think I’ll stay,” he says, sauntering back casually, pausing to look at a weird painting of a monster facing off with an axe-wielding guy in front of a lighthouse. He feels a very strong sense of camaraderie with it right now.

Wei Wuxian sighs. “Sure, maybe you’ve got a little gift. But you’re a kid. Don’t you have parents who are going to, you know, notice you’re missing?”

Xue Yang stares him in the eyes, willing himself not to flinch. Something tells him this is a chance he’s never going to have again, a chance that requires honesty.

“No.” Xue Yang lifts his chin stubbornly. “I don’t.”

Wei Wuxian stares back, and Xue Yang gets the feeling that he sees all the years and all the disappointments that fit into that no. He doesn’t care. No one gives you what you want unless you take it.

This standoff lasts forever, or maybe it’s only a few seconds.

“She’s going to kill me,” Wei Wuxian mutters, and a little louder, “You can sleep on the couch tonight, but I’m locking you in the room and if you touch anything, I will turn you into a mannequin.”

He turns to leave, but looks back with a frown. “Wen Qing builds beautiful, elegant wards that you’ll never feel, never even notice if she doesn’t want you to. Mine will hurt. Don’t. Touch. Anything.”

Xue Yang decides, in the principle of magnanimity, to agree. “Whatever.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head and points a finger at Xue Yang. “Go to sleep, kiddo.”

The words hold Xue Yang’s hand and lead him to the couch, make him lay down, and within minutes, he is asleep.

He opens his eyes to piercing sunlight and a pale face inches from his.

“What the fuck!” he yelps, instinctively grabbing for his knife and snapping it open.

“Mr. Wei, he’s awake and noisy,” the face says, and Xue Yang focuses on its features.

It’s the goth guy. His arms have full-sleeve tattoos, matching patterns of stark black geometric lines and circles, but his neck has weird black veins tattooed on it. His eyes, which are still way too close to Xue Yang’s, are so dark they’re practically black.

“Where’s the witch?” Xue Yang asks, sufficiently recovered to be an asshole.

“Boiling children,” Wei Wuxian retorts. He’s leaning over the table and taking notes in a tattered book, poking something with a tiny screwdriver. “It’s the only reason we let you stay.”

“Really?” Xue Yang can’t decide if that’s cool or terrifying.

“He’s always like that in the morning,” Goth Guy says conspiratorially. “By ten, he’s pretty nice again.”

“I’m never nice,” Wei Wuxian grumbles. “A-Ning, can you take our miscreant home, please? The last thing I need is cops knocking on The House door asking if we’re kidnapping children. Again.” “Okay, Mr. Wei.”

Xue Yang panics. He can’t go back there. Not since they found him alone with the fire. He knows what they’ll do, and he can’t go back. He won’t . He ducks under Goth Guy’s arm and has his knife angled under Wei Wuxian’s chin before he’s even processed the motor function commands “get up” and “don’t let him send you away.”

“No! You have to…” He scrambles though thoughts, desperate ideas, each one crazier than the last before he hits on words that work themselves loose from his mouth. “You said I had a gift, you have to teach me to use it.”

Wei Wuxian frowns, but instead of being afraid or angry, he tips his head and whistles, two notes that almost sound like a name. To his great shock and horror, Xue Yang’s knife vibrates in his hand, and his fingers snap open like a broken trap, dropping the knife onto Wei Wuxian’s waiting palm. He carefully folds the blade back into the handle.

“Jiangzai,” he says, almost affectionately.

It doesn’t mean anything, but then it does , and it hits Xue Yang so hard he collapses to the ground. The knife has a name, and he knows it’s right as soon as Wei Wuxian says it. Xue Yang’s heart pounds, and he hates it. He hates this motherfucker who just took his knife away and he hates the Goth Guy who is helping him back to his feet. He doesn’t want to stay anymore, and he shakes off Goth Guy, wishing he could throw his kindness on the floor and stomp on it.

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “Okay, maybe you have a little bit more than a little bit of a gift. But you still can’t stay, and I’m not teaching you anything.”

Xue Yang snatches his knife— his Jiangzai—out of Wei Wuxian’s hand and stomps to the door. “Fine. Fuck you.”

He gets as far as yanking the door open and slamming it against the wall before he realizes that there is a person in the way, and she doesn’t look inclined to move.

“Here you go, kiddo,” she says, handing him a bag. “I bought you some clean clothes and a toothbrush. A-Ning will show you where the bathroom is. Come back down for breakfast when you’ve changed.”

This is somehow more terrifying than when she was yelling at him. Yelling he understands. Now she’s just being...creepy. He stares at her belligerently, and she sighs.

“Listen, you little shit,” she says, bending over to look him dead in the eye. She doesn’t have to bend very far, he realizes. She’s actually tiny, even though she seems as big as the Fremont troll. “You will either go willingly with A-Ning, who is very nice, or you can test my patience and get buried in the yard with all the rest of the naughty children who break into my house. Your choice.”

Yeah, that’s more solid ground.

“Fine.” He grabs the bag from her and waves at the Goth Guy. “Lead the way, A-Ning .” He means it to be an insult, but Goth Guy just grins.

Xue Yang hears Wei Wuxian ask, “Wen Qing, what the fuck,” before Goth Guy herds him up the wide staircase, and he doesn’t hear any more of her answer than, “A-Xian, I can’t let him leave. You don’t understand, I did a location…”

This close to the Goth Guy, Xue Yang decides to acknowledge that the pale translucence of his skin is probably not makeup.

“I’m Wen Ning, by the way. I doubt Mr. Wei or jiejie introduced me,” Goth Guy—Wen Ning—says in a casual tone.

“So are you actually dead or what?” he asks Wen Ning, and Wen Ning grins.

“Or what,” he answers enigmatically, and gently shoves Xue Yang in a bathroom with pink tiles and a claw-foot tub.

Once he’s bathed and changed, Xue Yang heads back downstairs. Breakfast is bacon, eggs, and toast, and he doesn’t even pretend it isn’t the best food he’s eaten in a week. It is, in fact, the first food he hasn’t stolen in a week, and that alone is a novelty.

He’s halfway done with his food when Wei Wuxian, who hasn’t touched a bit of his and looks as sullen as an orange, says, “I have been informed that there is some arcane rule about teaching a gift you discover, and my...how did you put it, dear Wen Qing? My immortal soul and earthly being will be in danger if I don’t capitulate to the inevitable?”

He glares at Wen Qing, and she smiles sweetly at him.

“Whatever,” Xue Yang says around a mouthful of eggs. “Are you going to eat that?”

Wei Wuxian passes him the plate of food, and Xue Yang closes his eyes in bliss. Food is amazing.

“There are conditions—don’t look at me like that, Wen-jie. I agreed, okay? I get to set conditions. First of all, you do whatever I tell you. If I tell you to sell turnips on the street corner, you better sell some goddamn turnips. Second, you don’t touch anything unless I say it’s okay. A lot of this stuff,” he waves his hand around the white and yellow room, which looks surprisingly cheerful for a kitchen in a black house, “is priceless and dangerous, so…”

Wen Qing clears her throat and glares at Wei Wuxian.

“Uh...don’t touch anything.” Wei Wuxian finishes, snaking a piece of bacon from Xue Yang’s plate and shoving it into his mouth before disappearing back into his workroom.

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “I promise he’ll actually teach you stuff once he pulls his head—” She visibly checks herself. “Once he stops being an idiot. More bacon?”

The rest is on AO3

[soulmate-game]

Not related to any other prompts

Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

Day 4: Habits

Not screwed~

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette swung through the Gotham streets, shadows playing over her maroon-and-black biker’s jacket and the occasional street light glinting off of the chunky maroon goggles she used to obscure her identity.

“Help!”

A quick change of course with her yo-yo, and the teen was hurtling in a new direction. One black-gloved hand came up to touch the spot on her specialized goggles that covered her ear, protecting it from not only weapons but also anything that might utilize sound against her.

“I’m deviating. Two streets to the north, woman yelling for help. Checking it out.”

It also doubled as her communicators.

A click sounded in her ear, admitting the professional, clipped voice of Oracle. “Copy that. I’m gonna see if I can get a look for you first— aha. Barely in view of a street cam. Looks legit, I can only see two aggressors though. Might be more out of sight. Sending Batman your way just in case, Ladybird.”

Marinette grinned, landing silently on a rooftop. As quickly yet quietly as she could, she snuck over to the ledge. “This is my first patrol with you guys, but I’m no amateur,” she retorted softly before peering over the edge of the building. Immediately, she scowled. “Shit. Trafficking ring, most likely. I’m counting eleven hostiles, five women tied up. They just knocked out the one that I heard.”

“Good thing I sent Batman. ETA three minutes.”

Marinette nodded, reaching up to turn the volume on her comms down so that it wouldn’t distract her too much before jumping down. Three minutes was enough time for her to start to make a dent without being in too much danger of something happening before her backup could arrive. Considering this was her first time in Gotham, nobody was quite expecting a tiny woman in a maroon and black motorcycle jacket, maroon high tech goggles that curled around her entire head, and knee-high black boots with charcoal gray armor down the front to land on their leader’s shoulder and knock him out with a yo-yo to the head.

But also, this was Gotham. They shouldn’t have been surprised, either.

Leader down, Marinette focused her attention on the guys that were the most heavily armed, bringing out a second yo-yo to speed up her progress. She was three thugs down and in the middle of swinging a rifle away from its owner when a familiar large shadow dropped down to join her.

The appearance of the Bat garnered much more fear, forcing the traffickers to panic and lose a lot of their combative edge. Seeing as Batman was fresher for the fight than she was, Marinette decided to take a pseudo-break to get the women a little farther from the action. She was just pulling the sixth girl, the one she had heard scream, over to the group when one of the few remaining conscious thugs snuck up behind her, gun aimed and finger on the trigger.

But Marinette was faster, having heard the guy scramble to get behind her. She spun, kicking the pistol out of his hand and grabbing it out of the air. Not having the time to grab her yo-yos from off of her hip, she adjusted her grip and slammed the handle of the gun against the guy’s head before tossing the weapon away. It was too much of a risk for misfire if she tried that move again, once was already risky. The guy shook his head, staggering back with nothing but rage and desperation fueling him as he tried again to land a hit on the small vigilante.

Marinette dodged, burying her fist in his gut. The man retched, but swallowed his vomit and tried again. Marinette sidestepped his sloppy attack and slammed an elbow on his back, forcing him to collapse to the ground. She could see he was still awake though, and scrambling for another weapon. So Ladybird raised her foot, prepared to give the guy one last hit to knock him out.

But she was yanked back by a firm hand on her shoulder, upsetting her balance just enough to make her put both feet solidly on the ground and half her attack. She whipped her head back, seeing that it was, indeed, Batman who had stopped her.

All the other thugs were out and restrained.

“Justice, not vengeance,” Batman grumbled as soon as she looked at him. Marinette barely bit back a squeak of frustration, ripping her shoulder away and slamming her foot down just in time to stop the guy from stabbing into her boot. The steel toe would have protected her, but still.

“Batman, he has a knife!” She growled right back at him, finally landing that kick and knocking him out. “I really appreciate that faith, you know. Thinking I’m gonna cross the line in such a simple situation,” she snapped back at him sarcastically, making sure he saw her furrowed brows even through her goggles before crouching down to tie the guy up with her zip ties.

“Sorry,” he grumbled after all the victims had been taken by the ambulance and the criminals by the police. They stood on a rooftop, ladybird staring down at the towering figure of Batman with her arms crossed. “It’s a habit.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” she replied, shaking her head. “I’m not Damian.”

Batman sighed, crossing his own arms. Unknowingly, that caused the two of them to be holding the exact same pose, down to the very position of shoulder blades and feet, as one another. Twins of differing height, to an outsider. A parent and his child, to anyone who was closer.

“I know that—“

“And Damian isn’t Damian Al-Ghul anymore either,” she interrupted him, finally dropping her arms to take a few steps forward. “He’s well and truly Damian Wayne. It’s been seven years since he was that abused, hurt, ultra-violent ten year old that he was when Talia first dropped him off with you. The fact that stopping him in mid fight like that is still a habit to you is a problem.”

Batman slowly exhaled through his nose, trying to remain patient with the daughter he had only had in his life for the past three years. He didn’t want to make the same mistakes with her that he made with the others, but just like always he somehow found something new to screw up.

“I haven’t had to say it to him often. Hardly at all in recent years. But seeing you looming over a man who was already on the ground brought back that reflex.”

Marinette nodded, but her jaw didn’t unclench. “It’s been more than a few times,” she told him softly. “Damian tells me, ever since we got closer. He tells me when you have to stop yourself from pulling him back. When you bark his name before seeing that he wasn’t going to use lethal force at all. You need to realize that Damian hasn’t taken a single life in six years. He hasn’t caused permanent injury unless absolutely necessary— a total of three times in twice as many years. You need to nip this habit of yours in the bud, now,” she took a few more steps forward, so that she was only inches away as she glared straight up at his face.

“We are both your blood children, but you have only apologized to me about the way you acted tonight. One day, your lack of trust in Damian could get him killed— again. You call out his name too early, and you could startle him or give his opponent the shock they need to make a sudden attack that Damian won’t be able to parry. You grabbing him and pulling him back can stop him from, like me, knocking out an opponent who is still fighting. Unlike me though, his opponent could have a gun. Or a remote to a worse weapon. He could use those seconds you just gave him to take Damian away from us again,” Marinette stopped, shaking her head and taking a deep breath.

“If you’re gonna have us work with you, you need to trust our judgement. If you want us to be a family, then you need to trust us. Period.” With that, Marinette jumped off the side of the building and swung away, leaving her father standing there with a lot to think about.

—*—*—*—*—*

Short, but angsty! I wrote this in an hour, don’t @ me. I took a thirty minute break for a late dinner.

@momothefemur @ladybug-182 @starlightshield @trippingovermyfeet @greatcatblaze @sam-i-am-0222 @bluesimani @ruelukas22 @acoolspacegirl @iamablinkmarvelarmy

[anthrat]

Frayed Stitches

Kakuzu/Reader

The tears just wouldn’t stop. No matter how hard you tried, how much you forced yourself to push those feelings of anger, sadness and hatred down they wouldn’t leave. They kept rising up, they were a constant threat to your image. You couldn’t let Kakuzu see you like this. You already knew what he’d say.

2243 words

A/N: I actually wrote this instead of writing my linguistics essay so here's to hoping it's actually good hehe :)

A little over a year had passed since you’d joined the Akatsuki, you could scarcely remember what your life had been like before. You’d never achieved much. Running from village to village as a paid assassin, willing to do anyone’s dirty work for as long as they had the money. You had no loyalties, no friends, no comrades, nothing. Your situation wasn’t an especially uncommon one either. On your travels, you’d met hundreds like yourself. Internal strife meant there was always work for people like you, people who thrived off discontent.

Your admission into the Akatsuki had been a reluctant one. Pain himself had scouted you out, requesting you join. You’d initially declined, however, Pain had insisted, coercing you to bet your freedom on a fight. Win and remain free, lose and become tied to an organisation you didn’t care about. Needless to say, you lost the fight. Even now you still didn’t care about the goal of the organisation, heck, you barely knew what it was. You simply did what was asked of you, not wanting to make a fuss. Running away was futile, so you just had to make do with the circumstances.

On your arrival, you’d been introduced to the other members in what you could only describe as the most uncomfortable situation you’d ever been in. Nobody seemed especially enthusiastic to be there, and nobody seemed to care about you joining. The only person who had even attempted to make you feel welcome had been Kisame, he’d given you a toothy grin as he introduced himself, remarking that he looked forward to working alongside you. It was here you were given an insight into the aims of the Akatsuki, at least you think you had been. You’d struggled to focus on what Pain was saying, distracted by the eyes of each member boring into your skull. This was also the moment you were partnered with Kakuzu, or in other words, the moment you were forced into Hell. You’d remembered how the older man had barely batted an eyelid when you were told you’d be partnered together, the way he’d muttered something about how he would be better by himself, his cold eyes piercing your body as he’d threatened to kill you if you got in his way. You had initially dismissed your partner's morbid comment, assuming it was simply a tough-guy act to make himself appear strong in front of the other members. However, before leaving to embark on your first official mission one of the other members had gently placed his hand on your shoulder, giving you a toothy grin before whispering something you’d never forget into your ear.

“You're the fifth to be partnered with Kakuzu. Don’t die.”

Your partnership with Kakuzu had been one which could be easily described in one word. Hell. From not caring whatsoever if you were caught in his crossfire, to forcing you to walk for days on end with absolutely no breaks the man was a tyrant, a monster. You found yourself unable to ever completely relax, your body was in a constant state of emergency knowing full well if you let your guard down for even a second that would give Kakuzu the opportunity to strike. Thinking back on those Hellish times you wondered what had kept you going. Death would have been the easy way out, yet you’d persevered and for what? You’d found yourself growing attached to the grumpy old fuck, you hated to admit it but it was true. Recently you’d found your mind drifting when you were around Kakuzu, you no longer felt like he was an immediate threat. You’d been able to learn his attack patterns and formulate battle strategies which benefited you both. You’d been talking with each other more too, although Kakuzu’s answers were always abrupt and uninviting he was at least finally responding. On the rare occasion, Kakuzu himself had even tried to spark a conversation, although it usually revolved around money. Not long ago you’d even cooked together, well… Maybe it was a stretch to call it cooking. It was more like you’d forced him to cut the mushrooms you’d gathered for lunch after he’d spent roughly ten minutes complaining that you were doing it wrong. Watching his skill with the knife had made you wonder why he always refused to cook meals, he was clearly much better than you were. Given his age and experience you always felt like he’d probably find your cooking skills lacklustre, yet he never once complained about your sub-par skills. This had led you to believe the stoic and grumpy ninja had a slight soft side, or maybe he just really didn’t care.

You raked your hands through your hair, trying to steady your own breathing. Why were you thinking about Kakuzu at a time like this? The man who had brought you so much pain and suffering, and yet was the only person you could trust. He was the only person who hadn’t abandoned you. Placing your hands over your mouth you tried to stifle your cries as you doubled over, cowering into your knees. Your whole body convulsed from the pressure of the wrangled sobs which were trying desperately to escape from your body. You wanted nothing more than to just scream, to let your tears flow freely, to remove the constraints you’d placed on your emotions. Yet you couldn’t. Not here, not now. Kakuzu would hear you, he’d see you. You already knew what he’d say. You’d spent so long carefully constructing an image of yourself, an image which portrayed only strength and aggression. One of independence. One which implied you were able to find joy in your solitude, that you were proud of the person you’d become. Yet here you were, crying on the floor of your rented room like a little bitch. If Kakuzu saw you now he’d know it was all a lie, he’d see you for what you really were. A terrified young shinobi who was in way over their head. An incompetent fool who’d been forced to abandon everything. An idiot who couldn’t even take their fate into their own hands. You tried yet again to steady your breathing, squeezing your eyes shut as you scrunched up your face, balling your hands into tight fists and pushing them roughly against your eyes.

“Breathe normally you pathetic fucking bitch” you muttered to yourself, forcing your legs to move out from beneath you. Forcing yourself to stand. You were going to go and have a shower and clean yourself up. After that you’d forget about this tiny little slip-up, you’d completely wipe it from your memory dismissing it as nothing but a silly dream.

“What are you doing?”

You froze. Shit. How had you not heard him return? This is why you couldn’t let your guard down, you’d let yourself grow comfortable and for what? For Kakuzu to stumble upon you at your absolute worst. Maybe you could salvage the situation, he could only see your back after all. Straightening your back, you let out a long fake yawn, stretching your hands up to the ceiling, then dropping them to your sides as you began taking slow steps in the opposite direction to where Kakuzu was stood, your eyes desperate scanning the bare walls for something, anything, you could use as an excuse to not turn around and face him.

“I’m bored. There’s nothing to do.” You winced, even to you your voice sounded impossibly thick. Unless Kakuzu was actually brain-dead you didn’t have the slightest chance of escaping him unscathed. Spotting your bag in the corner of the room you marched towards it and squatted in front of it, opening it up slowly you rummaged around mindlessly. Acting had never been your strong suit but you hoped this was at least mildly convincing. The silence between the two of you was almost deafening, had you not been able to feel his steel-like gaze piercing through you you may have assumed he’d already left. You breathed a sigh of relief as you heard Kakuzu’s feet move, although that relief was quickly displaced with immediate dread as you realised he was walking towards you. Ducking your head you tried to make your bag rummaging more convincing, although at this point you knew it was pointless.

“What are you looking for?” You felt a shiver run down your spine as the older Shinobi spoke, his deep gravelly voice always put you on edge, no matter what he was saying. You hummed loudly “Nothing in particular. Do you want something?” you inwardly cringed as your voice cracked, you could already feel the pressure building up in your throat. Your body wanted nothing more than to completely break down but that wasn’t an option right now. You tried to control your breathing, praying that he would leave.

“We have a mission. We’re leaving early tomorrow morning”

“Right. Is that all?” you snapped, instantly regretting your tone as you felt a strong hand grip your shoulder.

“Look at me when you speak to me” Kakuzu growled. You felt tears prick your eyes. God not now, please not now. Forcing a laugh you tried to swat his hand away which only caused him to tighten his grip. “Pathetic really, I come all this way to tell you we have a mission and this is the thanks I get. I could have easily just left you here all by yourself-” You’d had enough, gripping his hand with your own you tore it from your shoulder. Turning to face the surprised Shinobi with tears streaming down your face. “Just shut up! Shut up! Leave me the fuck alone!” you screamed as your arms flailed wildly in a series of punches and slaps, each one directed at Kakuzu’s chest. You felt his skin harden beneath your fists, you didn’t care if you weren’t hurting him. You just wanted him gone. Your breath rasped as you repeatedly flung yourself at him. He just stood there, completely still, his face unreadable beneath his mask. Yelling in frustration you turned away from him, picking up your bag and tossing it across the room. “Just fuck off!”

“Me or the bag?” He retorted, Taking a step towards you. You attempted to throw another punch at him, this time however he swiftly caught it. His large hand enveloped your fist as he pushed it harshly down to your side, his eyes meeting your own. There was something different about his gaze, it was still his usual stone-cold glare yet there was something… Almost like guilt? Or maybe it was sadness glimmering within its depths. You tried to disentangle your fists from his grip to no avail. “Kakuzu please, leave me alone” you begged, your voice barely a whisper. He sighed heavily, his feet shifting slightly as he pulled you into a rough and uncomfortable hug. His arms wrapped stiffly around you for a few seconds before he quickly withdrew them and pushed you away. You were in a state of complete shock, your entire body seemed to be malfunctioning. Had you took the time to look up at Kakuzu you might have noticed the delicate shade of pink decorating his face. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave you be” He muttered. Before you could even compute what had happened, never mind think of an adequate response he had already left the room. Leaving you completely alone once again.

You shook your head roughly, it must have been a dream, right? Had Kakuzu, the man devoid of any and all emotion, really just given you a hug? You laughed, you couldn’t help yourself. Maybe you’d finally turned insane. The hug had been possibly the absolute worst you’d ever received in your life, yet somehow you felt lighter. His body had been warm. So warm. So muscular. You pinched yourself, what on earth were you thinking? Had several years lacking in human touch really made you this desperate? Smiling to yourself you wandered aimlessly towards your bed, heavily flopping down on it to stare at the ceiling. You lay like that for a good while, your head spinning with thoughts of Kakuzu. You didn’t know what to make of this advancement, had he hugged you out of pity or was it something else? With your thoughts still racing you slowly drifted off into a deep slumber that lasted until dawn. You weren’t awoken by the entrance of a mysterious masked man who gently placed a duvet over your body. You didn’t see the soft smile which adorned his face as he did this, you didn’t notice the extreme care he took in order to not wake you as he tucked you into bed. You didn’t hear him as he gently whispered goodnight before he left. The next morning you’d wake up, completely unaware of just how much Kakuzu cared about you. Unknowing of the suffering you caused him. To openly reveal his admiration for you would be to reopen old wounds. After all, if you ever found out just how much he cared it would ruin the image he’d spent years constructing.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Greasy Weasel x Reader || Oneshot

Title: Lottie

Notes:

Pay no mind to the title- its just an homage to the original piece this is inspired by/for, for my own happiness ^^

So this is an experiment XD I don't think I got Greasy's character quite right (Even if it IS supposed to build on what little info we have) but I like it... sorta... I like the first bit, anyway XD

Plot: Greasy has known you nearly your whole life (Since you were left on the Toon Patrol's doorstep, anyway, with a note that said you belonged to Smart Ass), he raised you- but what happens between the two of you when you return from the Navy 4 years after shipping off cannot be constituted as platonic, in any way.

Warnings: Age difference, Dads friend/Friends kid (NOT pedophilia, Reader is like 24 in this and there were no feelings from his end until now), possible sexual references (I mean its Greasy so what do you expect), etc.

Glaring over your salad, which you play irritated with with your fork, as you lean back in your chair. "Greasy can we talk, in the hallway?" The fury is coursing through you right now, like the goddamn Nile. Where does he even get off saying stuff like this? He is in no position...

He must- he m u s t detect the absolute blood lust in your eyes as he takes a break from leaning on Chase, to you. But look ashamed at all, he does not as he shrugs - but does not speak. A tell tale sign that he's just as, if not more frustrated in the moment and as such, is so not in the mood to get berated, - and gets out his seat; heading for the hallway.

You watch him go with glaring eyes, not moving an inch, before looking at the rest of the table including Chase and taking a breath. Calm down Y/N, keep the anger to yourself... until you talk to Greasy, at least.

"Sorry about this guys, and Dad... " Your gaze flickers the the hallways door and you hop out of your seat, itching to tear into Greasy for his behaviour tonight, and the past couple days actually. "I'll be right back."

You pass your father on your way out, sitting in a recliner chair with earmuffs over his head to block out his family for a while.

As soon as you reach Greasy at the end of the hall, your face twists into a total scowl; all inhibitions and constraints disappearing.

"What the hell is wrong with you!?"

"I do not know what you mean, bonita." He mumbles around his grit teeth, arms crossed and resistant. You clench your fists, totally frustrated. Bitter, spiteful, awful man!

"The hell you don't. What was all that!? You've been acting like this since I got home! If you didn't want me back here, then you could've just said it! Woulda hurt a hell of a lot less then this."

At least at that, his shoulders relax for a moment- but his expression does not soften. And neither does the steel in either his eyes or his voice when he yells back, throwing an arm out to express his anger. "It isn't that I didn't want you back home, Y/N, its that you brought some inválido, with you! I did not expect that, from you!"

"Chase is not invalid- " You gasp, horrified at the way Greasy is speaking. Where is all the disgust, coming from? Greasy isn't like this, normally... in fact, you don't think you've ever seen him this senselessly an ass. Why!? "And you say that like its some mortal sin! I brought a boy home, I didn't kill someone- which you would not have the high ground over, either!"

"This was supposed to be family time! You've been gone for years and the first nights you're back, its with some chico!? He must mean a maldito mucho to you for you to possibly think he's worth hanging around with us right now."

"First of all, he does mean a lot to me. He's my friend- " Under his hat, you see Greasy's eyes deeply roll- a huff coming out of him as he tightly crosses his arms again. Like yeah right- "No, no. He is. Shut up. And second of all- if you just wanted to be with family then you could have just said! That doesn't excuse your behaviour." You glare ferociously, waiting for the real reason. Is he drunk, or something?? Honest to god you are baffled by the way he's acting- he's usually cooler then this. Out of any of your father's gang, he was the one you never really had to worry about. His antics made you laugh- but this? This makes you want to cry. Or scream.

You've gone for the second option.

"He does not see you as just a friend." He mutters back petulantly, avoiding looking at you now; Pulling his fedora down more over his face.

"So what!?" Even if he does, why would that make Greasy so mad? You cross your own arms. "You aren't my father and its is not your job to protect my 'chastity', Greasy."

He suddenly goes quiet, though the wrath from before is still clear in way his jaw is clenched. "... I know I'm not your father... " He mutters.

Something about that phrase stumps you. Of course he knows, but why does he look so ashamed? You uncross your arms, and take a deep breath.

"... Okay." Your eyes flash, looking up at him again; Anger still not sated. "Then why are you acting insane and harassing my guest!?"

A growl rips out of him and he bumps the brim of his hat upwards so he can look at you again, right in the eye. "I told you, I don't like that you brought him into this house!- "

"That's not it!" Its not. He's acting crazy about a boy who's acting absolutely lovely and polite. Its not.

You just want him to tell you what it really is that you did. You don't want to keep fighting with him, not with Greasy. You want your silly, campy, perverted Greasy back. Not this rotten version in front of you right now.

"It is!"

You press your fists brattily to your hips. "Is not!"

He bares his teeth and leans forward. "Is!"

"Not!-"

And then all the tension comes to a head, and something absolutely mad happens.

The first thing that you notice is the smell of his stupid expensive perfume filling your nostrils and embracing you, then your your hands curled tightly around the lapels of his suit, and finally the feeling of warmth and tingliness all over your body.

Because you're kissing Greasy.

Your perverted Greasy, one of your fathers best friends, one of the men that raised you, your teenage crush. Your kissing him on the lips and he's slowly reciprocating, his mouth moving carefully, but purposefully against your as he moves his body closer.

But there's anger, too. Your teeth are going to ache when you pull back for pressing into the kiss too hard and the tips of your fingers will pang when you let go of him but not quite yet-

Two sets of lips part and Greasy does this thing with his tongue that tears a long overdue moan out of you, and immediately he rears back like he was burnt. And you're left standing there cold again, completely shocked.

And aroused.

But mainly shocked, because you never expected that to happen but it did and now what are you both going to do?

The air is absolutely silent as you both catch your breaths, from the kiss and also from the fight, and hope your hearts stop beating quite so erratically very soon so you can act normal.

Then, because you've waited for this for too long and the moment is too good to pass up, you step over and kiss him again.

And he kisses you back, like he's totally unable to help himself from kissing you.

All the frustrations and tensions of the past few weeks go into it oh my god- you never expected Greasy to be able to kiss totally well, but it certainly does the trick as it has you holding onto him like your life depends on it, chasing your own pleasure but also experimenting- trying to drag pleasant reactions from him. See what he likes, make him moan.

Between kisses, he mutters 'Cariño... ' warningly, carefully. Like he knows he should stop but you're too good.

When you both finally pull back again minutes later, you're both wide eyed again though far less shocked about your actions, then before.

More scared.

"Don't tell Dad."

___REWIND: A FEW DAYS AGO WHEN YOU GOT HOME___

"Guys!" You scream, the moment your eyes land on the familiar group at the docks, utter excitement fills you up and you almost want to cry as you drop your bags with your friend in order to rush over to your family and throw your arms around the first man you reach- Stupid. "I missed you. I missed you, I missed you so much!!" You squeeze him, the familiar soft, worn feel of his shirt rubbing on your face as you cant help but smile.

"Duhh, Y/N!! We brought you (Favourite snack)!" Stupid informs above you, but squeezes you back in a moment, a happy whine escaping him at having you back there with him. And your hugs.

"Ohhh," Now you really want to cry. You're so overwhelmingly happy to be home and to see them again- and they brought you food. "Now that's what I came home for... " You joke, giggling a little bit tearily before pulling back and almost running in to Psycho, who holds up the snack.

You just wrap him up in a quick, tight hug. As always he's the warmest- like a lizard who's been sitting out on a hot rock for hours.

Next you find your father standing expectantly for you, fake annoyed that you didn't come to him first. "Hey, kid. Yeah, I told 'em you'd be none-too happy to see us if we didn't have your damn food. But this is some reception, for a regular pack."

"Hey, Dad." Your voice comes out wobbly and weak but in a good way, as he takes you up in his skinny arms and pink suit holding your head the way fathers do; Like someone with a bat is coming up behind you but he doesn't want you to know and there's no way in hell, that you're about to get hurt on his watch. "I missed you so much."

He sighs, and grumbles something about feelings, before burning his head down into the hug. "I missed you more kiddo."

After you father curtly lets you go, nodding stiffly at you as if it would save him his tough guy reputation, your attention is stolen by a familiar rusty, painful sounding voice. "Hey there, chickadee. No hello for me?"

"Wheezy!" You exclaim, thrilled. He holds up his hands.

"I wont take it personal if you don't wanna a hug me- wouldn't wanna get all smelly."

You roll your eyes, grinning. "Whenever have I ever cared about that."

"Hm." He grins, and you too hug warmly for a moment then you pull back and greet the last of your boys.

"Bonita, its good to see you of course. Nice to see you got into such good shape over seas- almost as good as me." Greasy grins sharply, before you two collide excitedly, so happy to see each other again and you press a quick kiss to his cheek. You picked up the habit when you had a crush on him, in your teenage years. Now its just routine. Yours and Greasy's thing together.

You squeeze his arms one last time, before letting go. "Oh, guys- " Sniffling, all teary and happy, you hide your face and pull yourself together. "Ahh... I'm sorry." Greasy pats your shoulder, as they all chuckle at your show of emotion- not that they're doing hugely better. Psycho blows his nose into his sleeve, teary himself.

Your Dad, although honestly as happy and serene as he can possibly be, with his hands in his pockets and his little baby back, glances off to your luggage still laying amongst bustling travellers a few metres away and the corners of his lips tilt down. "Boys- go get Y/N's stuff. I don't want it gettin' stolen."

Finally, you pull yourself together. "I brought someone I want you to meet! My friend Chase, he's- he's only stopping off here before moving on to his home further inland. And I was hoping he could have dinner with us tonight? Just, cuz, you know, its both our first night back?"

Your Dad squints at the guy who looks like he's guarding our luggage, as Stupid and Wheezy go and collect it. "That green bean there?"

"He's talllllllllllllllllllll," Psycho comments, giggling as he judges Chase.

"Yep, him." You agree, hoping your father is okay with it. you would hate to leave Chase alone in his apartment the days before his flight. He needs a good, family cooked meal for his first night off the ship!

"Yeah I guess." Smart Ass sighs, shrugging and sighing. "I just got noise resistant headphones- I don't gotta communicate with no one."

You grin. "Thank you, Dad!"

"Whatever."

"A boy?" Greasy pipes up, curiously from beside you. You look over and find him sizing Chase up, then turns to you and smiles weakly- a pale imitation of a teasing smirk. "You brought home a handsome boy?"

Rolling your eyes, you pat him on the back before heading over to Chase; not thinking much at all of Greasy's comment of the odd look on his face. "One, he's a man." Greasy rolls his eyes. "And he's just a friend! Wait here guys, I'll bring him over!"

___Greasy's POV___

"Hmmm... a friend." I shake my head, crossing my arms as watch Y/N interact with this 'Chase'. She picks up one of his bags for him and flashes him one of her pretty smiles, and he watches her move on ahead of him back to us. Por supuesto. For sure.

I watch him as a nauseous feeling rolls in my gut. I know that watch. That is not a 'friend' watch. If he was but a friend, he would be more concerned about the loose wooden board he's standing on rather then the chica's behind.

Perhaps I should tell Smartass what that boy is looking at-

As they come over, the nauseous, grinding feeling in me just gets stronger and I decide against opening my mouth to speak. I'm afraid of whatever might come out- I've never been good at withholding my... feelings.

Its only when the boy catches up to her, and us, and he puts an arm over Y/N's shoulders as she introduces us, and I stiffen up like a wooden plank, that I identify the feeling.

Its something I certainly shouldn't be feeling.

Not about Y/N.

The boss will kill me.

Maybe I can ignore it. Wish it away. Its probably just that I haven't been with a woman in a while, now... Si, that must be it. I am desperate. I good night or two with a lovely lady and I'll be fine.

But then the boy kisses Y/N's cheek and I only just manage to swallow the growl that fights to be torn from the back of my throat at the sight, and I realise immediately that this is going to be more complicated then that.

Far more complicated.

"And this is Greasy! Greasy, Chase." Y/N introduces us brightly, presenting him like he's important and Chase good-naturedly offers his hand to me. All I see though is the devil.

"Nice to meet ya! Y/N's told me about you, I hope we can get along." He beams while I glower, not moving at all to take up his hand.

Oh I doubt that we will, 'Chase', I truly do.

"So Chika!" Promptly I turn to Y/N, a smile on my face as I slip between them and wrap an arm around Y/N, leading her up ahead of the others and especially him. "You haven't told us about your travels much- Psycho ate your last postcard. We have to discuss!"

She glances back, concernedly, at Chase but I just prod her to start talking.

Maybe I can right off these feelings as protectiveness... like I'm supposed to be. I watched this girl grow up and I want her to be happy! I'm like... a... father...

My stomach rolls at the idea, but I swallow the horror down. I have to.