#could have made that confession...passable

[adrunkgiraffe]

I have been through this journey before, so I get to be actually frustrated about it.

IUnder a read more because im not subjecting y’all to this. Also: I should caveat I haven’t watched the episode cause I’m waiting till its on Netflix but I have watched way too many other episodes of Supernatural so I have a right to say these things. 

TL;DR: I mean you all knew Cas’ confession was fucking bullshit and that SPN is...hm. But I’d like to actually express my genuine frustration, for a moment? I’m going to say things you already know, but I have too much knowledge of this show and too much stupid meta in my brain about a series I haven’t genuinely enjoyed for at least 5 years which makes this not just blandly bad but disgustingly insulting to me not even as a gay just as like. A writer?

Or, even shorter: Cas’ confession is just a Charlie Bradbury Speedrun 

So. As some of you may know if, for some reason, you followed me back in 2013 (and till...okay fine 2015), I used to be, uh. Really into SPN. Really, I was into Destiel. Like, as in, I slogged through seasons 1-3 to get to Cas and am also really vulnerable to the Sunk Cost Fallacy and projecting onto characters. (I was in 8th grade in 2013, okay? Get off my back)

Also, because I monopolised use of the TV, I kind of...also got my parents into it? In a “this is silly but fun” kind of way.

Over time, critiques of the show from viewers, learning what queerbaiting is at all, fatigue with how long it was going, and also fatigue from how characters I enjoyed, like Rufus, or Crowley, or Ellen, or Jo, or Kevin, or Charlie, or Cas a few times, kept getting killed off. As time went on, it didn’t escape my notice that, aside from Cas, all of these characters fit one or more of the following criteria:

They were a woman

They were a person of color

Were Queer or Queer-coded in some way (listen Crowley was bad rep but at least Mark Sheppard actually kissed a man on screen)

I also just...generally got tired of the way the show treats women and sidelines people of color. 

The final straw really came with Charlie’s death. It got us all excited, because she hadn’t been back in a bit! And it was interesting to see how reuniting with her dark side from Oz had changed her! (yeah remember the fucking Wizard of Oz storyline? The writers sure don’t!) And maybe she’d get developed! Because at this point, Charlie and the fairly good writing of her character was a major upside for the series! Charlie was cool, fun, gay, and morally complex in a way...none of the female characters had been before her, in large part because by definition, her relationship with the boys would always be platonic.

And then. Offscreen. She is violently murdered. For no damn good reason. Like, literally, her being brought back in this episode after fucking off to europe after having returned from fucking off to Oz seems to have filled two purposes in total. 

The codex is solved (but Sam doesn’t know till next episode)

Charlie is dead, which means Dean can be angry, specifically at Sam, and kill more people because he’s the big bad this season. 

That’s it. Two things. Twooooo whole reasons to do this episode. Whoopee. 

But you didn’t come here for this, you came here for me to rip this reveal to shreds. Don’t worry, I’ll get there. What I want in your minds is that Supernatural already had a really good anddynamic queer character. And then they killed her off to make Dean angry. No, it doesn’t matter that they brought her back in season 13 or whatever. They made that decision. 

After the rage this incited, I started realizing general flaws in the writing (I had probably already noticed them but now I was angry enough to complain.) Every conflict is born of Sam and Dean not communicating/taking on burdens and Dean being angry at Cas for reasons that ranged from good to ridiculous, but in a way that always went way too fucking long, (which...yes, does make the “you do it for love” gifs fucking hilarious). It didn’t help that seasons 11 and 12 were next, which meant Demon Dean and GOD’S FUCKING SISTER, plus the decision to resurrect Mary, which, while I do like her later scenes, as a season 12 finale it...well I’ll be honest it kinda sucked. It undercut the majority of the Winchester’s’ arcs and their slow and painful journey out of their father’s toxic vengeance quest and knowing Mary as a person when it’s too late to know her was one of the last semi-compelling grounders of the narrative. 

By this point it was a hate-watch for my parents and I.

So then, I’m at college, and I’m not watching anymore cause I don’t have the motivation or access to Hulu to continue, and SPN is bad. I watch the Scooby Doo crossover when it comes out and my friend and I make fun of it, and we also continue making jokes about Dean and Cas and queerbaiting because we’re queer, but I don’t keep up. My Dad does though, so when I return, I watch some with the fam and lads. It’s even more tiring without context. 

So flash forward to Quarantine, my sister, the only one with taste, has left, and we have run out of netflix to watch. So we return to the well, and seasons 13-14 are. I’m gonna say it. Bad. Really fucking bad. The cycle of bad communication continues, season 14 has like seven antagonists and the way it’s structured makes it so I literally cannot remember the timeline of a season I watched 3 months ago. Oh also, they have a queer coded cannibal snake monster for...well I guess Jack’s snake bud was cool but like. Huh wow it’s almost like these writers don’t handle queers well. 

Our one saving grace is Cas, but he’s barely in any episodes, though I did note that his deal with the empty, being happy completely for one moment killing him, that struck me as “this has potential and I know they’re gonna half-ass it somehow.” Also Jack and Mary, but then oh...plot….The most compelling it gets is literally the finale.

But then, 3 days later, the first half of season 15 comes out on Netflix and it’s...actually kind of acceptable. The new character they give Jack’s actor is fun to watch him play until they make him evil. Exploring just how toxic Chuck can be gave the series direction again. The alternate future was genuinely scarring, and Eileen’s return was genuinely moving. Most of all, though, Cas got the opportunity to tell Dean no, that Dean was being unfair to him, had always been unfair to him, and he was sick of it. I had no illusions, I knew Destiel was never gonna happen, and Cas was gonna die, but giving him that bit of agency, letting Cas grow and be self-sufficient, and be angry with Dean not for existential reasons but interpersonal ones, was such a good sign for me, and Dean grew too! Dean fucking apologized for being horrible and Jensen Ackles had a...yknow what, ill give it to him, he had a good acting moment. 

But the thing. About. The “I love you.” 

Let’s take it in parts.

What was good: I’m gonna admit it, lads, “Wanting what I can’t have” - AS A LINE - is good, and, structurally, there is something to the Empty Deal that could have been an interesting aspect of Cas’ arc when it comes to self actualization and being on even footing with Dean. The problem is, this is Supernatural, and that arc only comes up when I bring it up because character study, even in bad media, is fun for me. 

What was bad:

I mean. Like. All of it? All of it. 

Okay. Fine. I’ll be specific. 

Cas dies immediately when - possibly because- he is revealed as having feelings for Dean. They kill him as they queer him, that’s a Bury Your Gays Speedrun right there.

Like the least they could have done is have him mention it to someone in another scene or something to establish some romantic feelings on the part of canon a full episode beforehand. That would have been the literal bare minimum. 

When Cas starts praising Dean, for some reason both the writing and Misha’s acting take a bit of a downswing (from...where it already was). Cas, whose most powerful moment this season was acknowledging that Dean’s anger at him is cruel and unfair, flatly praises him for doing everything out of love and it reads with a misunderstanding of both Dean as a character and Cas’ understanding of Dean. Dean is angry! VERY ANGRY! And it’s a problem he needs to work on and rarely does. 

Talking out of my ass, a better speech would have been about how Dean is angry because of his love for Sam, family, and the people around him, how, for better or for worse, he can’t help but be angry on behalf of others, and that his journey of moving that tendency towards the better is what made Cas care so much. Guys this alteration to the metaphor took 2 minutes to write tops I am an Art History student and these are TV WRITERS WITH YEARS OF EXPERIENCE CAN YOU TELL THEYRE NOT TRYING YET? 

A better speech would, of course, have come out of a better series. My point: this part was half-assed. Poorly written. Wow it’s almost like the series is also poorly written. 

 Also, Misha is the better actor of the three(***OF THE THREE), but his choices in that scene are jarringly out of character which. Makes the bad writing worse. It doesn’t help that they cut to the same fucking shot of Dean 3 times. The chemistry in that scene makes it feel so fucking hackneyed. Because it is. 

This combines lead me to the point: (wait there was a point to this?)

As someone who does not have the luxury of watching this capsized ship fall into boiling seas from a distance, it is less insulting to me that they did this so last minute and then sent Cas to the Void than it is how they did it. They had ingredients for something that could have been compelling enough to me as a former fan of the show to think that they had put effort into it, that they had decided months, perhaps even years ago to do this, and had crafted a storyline around it. That this was an intentional decision they cared about. It wasn’t. It was barely even pandering, because it’s almost insultingly blatant. 

SPN kinda proved to me that it didn’t care about queers when Charlie was killed off. It proved it to me again when Cas, not only died in confessing his love for Dean but did it in the weakest result of what could have been a surprisingly strong story.

[solarwonux]

Business Proposal || knj (sneak peak)

pairing: namjoon x f!reader || ex friends to lovers!au friends to lovers!au 

Genre: fluff, angst, smut, slow burn, fwb!au, non idol!au, unrequited love 

Warnings: slow burn, angst, namjoon is pretty much not the nicest dude lol (will add more as it progresses), kinda sugar daddy au but not really. It will make sense I promise.

w.c: 799

Synopsis: Namjoon is living on borrowed time, and it’s time to cash in. His father is months from taking his last breathe and his life long dream is to watch his oldest son say “I do.” 

Release date: TBD

a/n: I’ve had this idea for a while, but I wasn’t sure if anyone would be interested in it so I decided to upload a little part to see if it sparks some interest. Let me know if you are interested in reading more. Thank you and Enjoy!

It was a stupid pact.

One that was created on a whim after five cups of coffee and two broken hearts.

“If we aren’t married in ten years time, let’s just marry each other.” You suggested; like it was the greatest idea ever. Your hands were shaking from all the caffeine you had consumed and your eyes were red rimmed and wide from all the crying you had done. It matched his own as well.

The problem was that he agreed, assuming that by the time he was thirty he’d be settled down with a beautiful partner, a dog or a cat and his first child on its way.

Except it hadn’t played out that way and the two of you had lost touch years ago because of a stupid fight that shouldn’t have escalated the way it did in the first place. All because you had confessed your feelings to him, and he didn’t feel the same. He thought your sudden outburst was uncalled for.

So what if he didn’t feel the same way? He was there for you, more than the people you went to high school with. He tutored you in biology and college algebra. While you edited his philosophy papers in exchange for a nice cup of coffee and dinner every Friday night.

But it was his lack of emotion that made you burst. And he couldn’t understand why you had accused him of leading you on for years. He always thought of you as a little sister being the same age as his step brother–Jungkook. Yet, you had read all the signs wrong and he couldn’t seem to understand that. From your point of view he had led you on. Made you catch feelings while playing into them every chance he got. He confided in you, the way lovers did. Never physically but always emotionally. Yet, after the argument and the many tears that you had shed, it was like you fell off the Earth’s surface.

Occasionally he would hear about you through Jungkook whenever the two of them went home to visit their parents on the weekend or during the holidays. And sometimes Taehyung and Jimin posted pictures of the three of you together. Pictures he knew were taken by Jungkook. But you were still the same. Plain and pretty enough to be considered passable but nothing special. Nothing that would make him feel attracted to you. But other than those few instances he didn’t really care enough to ask about you either. The less he knew the better. Sure, you were once his best friend. A person he trusted a lot, but that all flew out the window when you walked out of his life.

It’s funny because now he needs you. His parents are breathing down his neck, begging for him to settle down. And if he doesn’t bring someone home for the holidays. Then he’s fucked. His father is on his last lifeline. His lifelong dream is to have his first and biological son live a fulfilling life with someone by his side, seems less like a possibility as the days go by.

Namjoon is living on borrowed time and if he doesn’t at least show signs of settling down any time soon. He can kiss the large inheritance and his job at the private university his father has shares in–goodbye.

Which is why he’s here in Taehyung’s living room, staring at you from across the room as you laugh at something Jungkook has said. For a split second he wonders what could have you on the brink of rolling on the floor laughing. But he doesn’t care enough. You're his last resort and he needs a way to get you alone in order to bring up the deal the two of you made.

Afterall he’s turning thirty-two and you’re in your late twenties. It's absolutely the perfect time to cash in.

The only problem is that ever since he walked through the door of Taehyung’s apartment you’ve been avoiding him at all costs. Never straying away from the familiar air of your childhood friends Jimin and Taehyung. And when they’re not around Jungkook takes their place.

But Namjoon is desperate. And sometimes disparity makes you do things you least expect. Like considering you to be a placeholder until he finds the right one. Like planning to offer you a big sum of money to just come and act like the perfect little wife to be. And as an added bonus a guaranteed job at the university of your dreams.

One that will help you pay out the loan you took to attend the said university. It’s a win-win situation.

No matter what, by the end of the night you will be his. At least just to pretend.

[hollybell51]

ok i know you said requests are backlogged but i also read your sam winchester fic (oh my god???? so good!!!!!) and i noticed that you put dean on your tag list form and i am literally in love with him so if you get time could you do like a hurt/confort fic for him where the reader gets like seriously injured and tells him she loves him because she thinks she's dying and doesn't wanna die without saying it?

Anon you are in luck, the supernatural brainrot is still going strong. Also if you wanna be tagged in stuff make sure you submit responses to that form otherwise I don't know what usernames to put xx

The other thing

Navigation

Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Supernatural (2005)

Word count: 5.8K

Summary: hunting a ghost that only seems to attack young women, you volunteer yourself as bait. The plan doesn't exactly go to plan, leading to some confessions being made.

Content: ANGST. Angst, besties. Hurt/comfort, mainly hurt but there is some comfort there, whump (sorta), mostly Dean's perspective but still second person narrative voice (loml), probably bad characterisation but I think it's passable???? Sam is like the no. 1 Dean/you shipper, A+ wingman. Badly written emotional vulnerability but I tried I promise. Kissing, first kisses, "I love you"s, bit of blood but not too explicit, hospitals, etc. etc. Dean is a warning on his own but yknow what I love him. I may have missed some stuff so please don't hesitate to catch me on it!

Notes: ft. my freaking awful titles lmaoooo. This isn't really set during any actual episode, but I'm sorta working off only having watched the first two seasons so just assume it takes place somewhere around then. Also the more I watch this the more I just wanna grab him and put him in my pocket or something, it's so bizarre. He's so pretty. I love his cockiness, I love the little eyebrow thing he does, I love the little jaw thing he does. Sorry if I messed up any lore or anything, writing this was a fever dream but tbh I had fun, it's nice to just sorta write you know? Thanks for the suggestion Anon

“Guys, can you hurry up?” 

Dean glanced over his shoulder, frantically sprinkling fuel over the exposed corpse below. He couldn’t see all that much in the darkness, but it didn’t exactly look like you had the upper hand. None of them had realised how big the ghost was until now, and with the machete it was currently slashing at you…

“Almost there!” Sam shouted, striking a match and casting it into the grave. The remains went up with a “whoomp!”, the ghost howled and stumbled back. It was difficult to really know what happened in those few moments as the light from the burning remains glinted off the metal of the machete and the ghost shimmered and began to disappear, but what was clear was that something had happened to you. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, dropping your own weapon with a dull thud. You staggered, catching yourself on a headstone before your knees gave out and you sank to the ground. You were hunched over awkwardly, your shoulders heaving, hands clutched tight to your stomach. 

“(Y/N)?” Dean asked, frowning. Were you hurt? Just out of breath? 

“I’m alright,” you called. “Just… give me a second.” 

“Shit,” Sam muttered, dropping the salt and packet of matches and running towards you. “Dean!” he yelled as he knelt down, stripping off his jacket and balling it up, pressing it to your stomach. 

No, Dean thought. No, no, no, no. He was frozen, the can of fuel dangling limply from his fingers. He’d known using you as bait for a psychotic ghost murderer was a bad idea, even when you’d insisted that you’d be fine. It wasn't that he didn’t think you could handle it – he’d seen you in action enough times to know you were a force to be reckoned with – but he’d had a horrible feeling something was going to go wrong from the moment you’d laid out your plan. 

“He goes after girls, right?” You’d had an uncomfortable light in your eyes, all steely determination that Dean simultaneously loved and hated. Loved because, well, it was so you and it meant you were getting shit done, hated because more often than not you were putting yourself in danger. And yes, he was aware of the hypocrisy. 

He’d tried to talk you out of it, Sam had too. But once your mind was set – and set it was – no amount of convincing on anyone’s part could do anything about it. The second the idea had begun to form in your brain, the path was laid and there was no point trying to change that. 

“You better get over here man, quick!” Sam’s voice dropped, but wasn’t quiet enough that Dean couldn’t hear his next words, addressed to you. “Just hold on, Dean’s coming. Keep breathing, ok?” 

Fuck, that didn’t sound good. Dean’s limbs jerked back to life. He didn’t waste another second, sprinting the few metres through the forest of tombstones to where his brother was bent over you. 

“Don’t just stand there!” Sam yelled, one hand pressing his jacket to your stomach. “Help me!” 

It was like his body was moving on autopilot, kneeling beside you and taking over from Sam without any input from Dean himself. Dully, he noticed that there was already a warm, damp patch on the jacket, as well as a dark spot glistening darkly over your side. Shit. 

“I’ll be fine,” you’d insisted when he'd raised his doubts. “I’ve got you guys. You just burn the bones fast, I reckon I can hold him off for a few minutes.” Then you’d shrugged, grinning. “And if it all goes to hell, I know you’ve got my back.”

Yeah, fat lot of help they’d been. 

“What happened?” he asked. 

“He got me on his way out,” you laughed bitterly. “Can you believe that? Halfway gone and he just–” You broke off, making a vague slashing gesture with your free hand. “God, I’m an idiot.” 

“No, no you did fine. We shoulda been quicker.” Dean assured you, pressing harder. “Sorry,” he muttered as you let out a pained whimper.

“‘Salright,” you grimaced. “My fault. Dean, I gotta–” 

“Shh, no, it’s fine. It’s ok, you’ll be ok.” 

You shook your head, tears mixing with the sweat on your face. He watched one trace a path through the dirt caked on your skin. “It’s important, please.” 

He shook his head. “The only thing that’s important right now is keeping your eyes open, yeah? Just… just do that.” 

“I’m calling 911,” Sam said. “Just stay there, don’t move.” 

“I’m not planning on taking off, don’t worry.” You smiled tightly, then your face twisted in what Dean thought was fear, panic even. It was like a punch to his stomach, he hadn’t seen you look that scared since… Well, ever. Your hand fumbled over his, trying to find something to grab. 

“It’s alright,” he told you, pressing on the jacked one-handed as the fingers of the other one twined with your own. “It’s alright, (Y/N).” 

“No, no Dean, you have to burn me. Make sure you salt me, uh… Sage, use sage too.” 

He felt the blood drain from his face, cold rushing through him. “What?”

“Please,” you begged, your voice breaking. “I don’t wanna hurt anyone. You have to get rid of me, ok?” 

Oh God. Oh God. Dean looked up, searching frantically for Sam. He was watching you while he talked to the emergency operator, his fist pressed against his mouth and his hand shaking where he held the phone. He met Dean’s eyes, shaking his head. 

“You’re not gonna hurt anyone because you’re not going anywhere.” Dean’s voice was blessedly steady, despite the uncomfortable lump in his throat. 

“Promise me,” you whispered, then shouted when he didn’t respond. “Promise me, Dean!” 

He gripped your hand tighter, your own fingers digging harshly into his flesh. “I promise you will be ok,” he said. 

You sobbed, your body heaving under the rapidly dampening jacket. That was way too much blood for Dean’s liking, and judging by the increasing urgency of Sam’s quiet conversation on the phone, he felt the same. 

Your panicked gaze locked on Dean’s face, tears coursing down your cheeks. “I don’t wanna go,” you choked. “I didn’t tell you. I can’t go.” 

Didn’t tell him what? It didn’t matter. He squeezed your hand in what he hoped was a more reassuring than painful way. “It’s ok, you’re not going anywhere, alright? You’re staying right here, I’ve got you.” 

“You’ve gotta listen to me, Dean–” 

“No, tell me later. Just hold on, save your energy.” 

“Dean–” 

“(Y/N) hold on!” 

“Dean!” 

“Dean, listen to her.” Sam had finished on the phone, the screen shining eerily on his face. At Dean’s raised eyebrow he gave a tiny nod. Yeah, there was an ambulance on the way. 

“Sam, she is not gonna die.” He shook his head, turning back to you. “We’ve got all the time in the world, ok sweetheart?” He searched frantically for something to say, anything to keep your attention. He was no doctor, but he knew it would be bad if you passed out. Very bad. 

“Uh… fuck.” He broke off, floundering. What would keep you awake? What could he possibly say after you’d just made him promise to get rid of your spirit once you were dead, which was not going to happen.

“It’s actually not a bad night,” he started, already kicking himself mentally. “Bit of a breeze. I guess it’s sheltered down there, you’ve got a nice, uh, headstone blocking it. Ground’s not too bad either, not too hard. Glad it’s not gravel, my knees’re killing me.” 

A watery laugh clawed its way from you before another sob wracked your body. “Dean, I gotta tell you…” 

“Can you see the stars from down there?” he asked, cutting you off. “I bet they’re bright out here. No light pollution.” He grabbed your hand as your fingers loosened their grip, dread settling like a stone in his stomach. 

Your eyes wandered away from his face, sweeping over the space behind him. You nodded, but the haziness that had slid over your face didn’t do anything to help Dean’s panic, especially now that you weren’t holding his hand nearly as tightly as you had been. 

“Wait,” he said, squeezing your fingers. “Just focus on me, keep looking at me.” 

Your eyes swung back to his. “Please,” you whispered. “Please Dean, listen to me” 

Sam’s hand settled on his shoulder, large and heavy. He nodded to your face when Dean glanced at him, and to his horror he realised there were specks of blood on your lips. 

He swallowed hard. He hadn’t realised, but this was probably one of the worst moments of his life. He’d entirely ignored even the possibility of you being injured, let alone dying – just thinking the word felt wrong – since you’d joined him and Sam, doggedly refusing to acknowledge the near physical ache the idea of your absence caused. Now it was happening, right in front of him. Heat prickled behind his eyes. 

He took a deep breath, steadying his voice. “Yeah, alright sweetheart. You tell me, I’m listening.” 

Relief washed over your face. “I wanted to say it,” you whispered, “before. I didn’t want it like this.” 

“It’s ok. Sh, it’s ok.” 

Your body convulsed under his hand with another sob, more blood leaking from the corners of your mouth. “I love you,” you choked. “I love you so much. I don’t wanna get stuck because I never told you.” 

Oh. Oh. Dean’s mind went blank, then crashed right back into his skull. It was like swinging on a swing, at the peak of the arc where you floated a little before you started going down again. Yeah, that was his brain in that moment. Of course you’d have the guts to say it when he didn’t, even if it was out of fear of becoming an angry ghost. He cursed the universe and its cruel sense of humour. He faced horrors beyond most people’s imaginations almost every day, but still couldn’t say three simple words when he wanted to more than anything, and now you’d taken the first step for him and it was because you thought you were about to die. Someone up there must have hated his guts.  

“I know,” he said finally, nodding. “I know you do. Hold on, ok? There’s an ambulance, it’s gonna get here any minute” It wasn’t what he wanted to tell you, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t make his mouth cooperate. 

You smiled, your grip on his hand all but nonexistent now. Your breathing was getting shallower by the second, your eyes unfocussed and no longer trained on his face. It was like now that you’d said your piece, you weren’t even trying to stay awake. He didn’t like to be too dramatic, but he was almost convinced that he was the one who’d been stabbed, not you. 

“No,” he whispered. “No, (Y/N), not you. Please, not you.” 

A wailing siren sounded in the distance, blue and red lights flashing rapidly brighter as the ambulance drew closer. 

“Just a few more minutes,” Sam said, pacing. His eyes never left your face. “Come on, (Y/N), any second now.” 

You were perfectly still, too still. Dean leant over, careful to keep applying pressure to your stomach as he listened for breath. The faintest hint of it brushed his cheek, not enough. He blinked hard, holding you against his chest, his face pressed into your hair. It still smelled like the cheap shampoo from the most recent motel, mixed with blood and dirt and sweat. It should have been disgusting, but to Dean it smelled so right. He wondered what that said about his lifestyle choices. 

“Please,” he whispered, his voice choked. “(Y/N)...” 

Your hand slipped from his, and it was like a damn breaking. He felt his shoulders jerk, something between a sob and a grunt torn from him. 

“I love you too,” he whispered, clinging so tightly to you he was half scared he was going to hurt you. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, (Y/N), I love you.” 

The siren was deafening as the ambulance skidded to a stop, Sam waving frantically to the paramedics swarming the graveyard. Someone pulled Dean back despite his protests. Cold stung his cheeks, the breeze from earlier having turned into a wind. It vaguely occurred to him that the reason it was so cold on his face was because he was crying. 

Everything was a blur as you were engulfed by uniformed paramedics, your limp form lifted onto a stretcher and born away into the vehicle. Someone tried to talk to him before Sam, uncannily put together and coherent, spoke to them and explained. There was a lot of nodding and “thankyou”s, then Dean was being loaded into the Impala like a little kid and Sam was driving like you were in the back seat instead of in the ambulance.  

All he was aware of at the hospital was Sam’s hand gripping his arm, muttering that he needed to pull it together “for her, man.” The harsh, clinical lights and the rush that everyone seemed to be in wasn’t helping Dean’s panic, every prone body he glimpsed taking on your face until he blinked and it was a complete stranger. What if the unthinkable really happened? What if you died, and he hadn’t been able to save you, keep you safe like you’d been so sure he would? What if you really did linger as a tormented spirit, what if he and Sam had to hunt you, get rid of you like you’d said? He didn’t know if he’d be able to do that. 

Finally, a serious looking man with a clipboard and a badge approached them. “Are you with the young woman–” he glanced at the clipboard, “(Y/N), who just came in?” 

“Yes,” Sam said quickly. “Yeah, how is she? Is she alright?” 

“She’s damn lucky someone put as much pressure as they did on that cut,” he sighed. “She’s lost a lot of blood, but she’s stable.” 

Dean let out a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide their shaking. 

“Thankyou,” Sam smiled. “Thank you, doctor. When can we see her?” 

He frowned at the clipboard again, tapping his fingers on the plastic. “Well she’s unconscious, I daresay she will be for a while yet.” 

“Please,” Dean interrupted. “I– we just need to see her.” 

The doctor raised an eyebrow. “You boys family?” 

“Brothers,” Sam lied at the same time as Dean said “husband.” 

“I’m her husband,” he went on, ignoring the little flip his stomach did. Somehow, the familiar lie felt different now that he’d told you how he felt, even if you hadn’t heard. “He’s my brother in law.” 

“Ok,” he shrugged, “but she won’t… Well, she was stabbed. There’s a lot of tubes, bandages, and she’s out cold. It might be…” He stopped, sighing. “Some people find it confronting, seeing their loved ones like this.” 

Dean felt Sam glance at him, but he ignored it. “Trust me,” he said with a tight smile, “I’ve seen worse.” 

He had not, as it turned out, seen worse. You were completely still apart from the gentle rise and fall of your chest, a thin cotton blanket pulled up and tucked in with clinical precision around your ribs. You had a little cut on your forehead that Dean hadn’t noticed at the graveyard. A drip trailed from the back of your hand to a cluster of bags suspended above you, a thin plastic tube wrapped around your head just under your nose. Oxygen, he assumed. If he ignored all that, you could have been sleeping. 

Sam pushed the door open softly, as if he was afraid he’d wake you up. Dean hesitated a moment, then followed him inside. Up close, he could see the light sheen of sweat on your forehead, the darkness under your eyes, the pallor of your lips and cheeks. He reached out to touch you, maybe lay his hand on your forehead or smooth your hair away from your face, but drew his hand back at the last moment. He didn’t want to somehow unbalance you from whatever tightrope you were walking right now, even though he knew that was illogical. Still, even breathing the same air felt somehow dangerous for you. 

“Did she tell you?” he asked Sam eventually. 

“That she loves you?” He didn’t give Dean a chance to explain that he hadn’t meant that, that he’d been talking about your fear of not-quite-death. “She never said it outright, but I sort of worked it out, y’know? You guys weren’t really that subtle.” 

Dean frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Just…” He shrugged, gesturing vaguely between your prone form and Dean. “You’re always looking at her, when you think she can’t see you. She does the same. Always just sorta… doing little things for each other. And you’re always touching her, I don’t know if you realised.” 

“Huh. I didn’t.” It was true, although it didn’t really surprise him. He liked the little smile you gave him whenever he picked something up from a store for you – a favourite candy, something you’d mentioned you felt like – and he’d just assumed when you did similar things for him it was because you were, well, you. But now that he thought about it, he couldn’t name half as many times when you’d taken the same care and effort for Sam. Not that you’d neglected his brother, it was just… slightly less personal, less specially catered. He felt a surge of warmth for you, then a pang as his eyes landed again on your too-pale face. 

As for touching you, well, he wanted to. All the time. He wanted to put his hand on your shoulder, wrap his arms around your waist, hold you close and feel your heartbeat against his. Every brief half-hug or brush of your skin against his was something precious to him, so of course he’d want more. His mind flashed back to the tightness of your hand in his at the graveyard, the warm slick of your blood as you’d clung to him. Even that had been almost euphoric, past the raw terror and sickening dread. He was going to hold you like that again – under better circumstances – if it killed him. 

“Yeah,” Sam went on. “She’s the same, actually.” He laughed, shaking his head. “I remember this one time, Illinois, I think. We got a motel room with the longest couch you've ever seen. You sat down in the corner, and she comes and sits right next to you! When she’s got, like, another two metres of space to choose from.” 

Dean did remember that, actually. He remembered the rush he’d gotten as you’d squished up against his side, complaining that you were cold even though your skin had been warm to the touch. He still thought about it, sometimes. “Huh,” he said again. 

“Yeah.” It was silent apart from the beeping of your monitor and the normal hospital sounds outside the room, then Sam turned and faced him. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

Dean shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have let her put herself out there like that in the first place.” 

“No, I was supposed to have her back. I shouldn’t have taken so long with the salt.” 

He wasn’t wrong, Dean knew that, but it had been him who’d agreed to your plan. You’d put your faith in him just as much as you had in Sam, and he’d let you down. He hadn’t liked the whole thing from the start, but still he’d gone ahead with it. And now here you were, lying unconscious in a hospital bed, and Sam was beating himself up about it. It was all so wrong, and Dean could have stopped it so easily. But as he looked at you, he swore he could hear you snorting derisively at him, crossing your arms with a firm “bullshit!” 

“It’s my choice,” you’d say. “You’re really gonna try to steal my credit?”

“She’d call bullshit on you, you know,” he said. 

His brother shrugged, nodding. “Yeah, you too probably. She’d poke you, right here.” He reached around and stuck his finger firmly in the middle of Dean’s chest, right where you’d done countless times. 

Despite himself, Dean smiled. Then your drip beeped and he was jerked painfully back to the present, and the problem at hand. 

“Did you know she was so scared?” he asked. “Of, y’know…” Dying. Haunting someone. Getting stuck here, not being able to move on. 

Sam didn’t answer for a moment, then he sighed, still looking at you. “She mentioned it.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Why didn’t she tell me? 

“She didn’t want me to. She thought you’d think… I don’t know, that she wouldn’t be able to do the job. She really didn’t want you to know she was scared, she was so worried about what you thought of her. She said you were…” He swallowed, cleared his throat, continued. “She said you were never scared, and she didn’t want you to think she was. Even when I told her we were all terrified.” 

“Damn right,” Dean muttered. You’d done a great job at putting on such a brave front, he’d sometimes wondered if there was actually something wrong with you. Or maybe not wrong, but different. He’d never known anyone who could handle the things they did so well, not even his dad. It was something of a relief to know that there was more to it. 

“She was convinced she’d be the type of person to get stuck,” he continued. “Kept saying she wouldn’t be able to move on, that she had too much that she was holding onto and she didn’t know how to let go.” He finally raised his head, looking at Dean with what he thought was pity. Any other time, that would have annoyed him. 

“That’s why she said it,” he muttered, the uncomfortable lump back in his throat. When you woke up, he was going to give you a serious talk about timing. 

Sam nodded. 

“And she didn’t–” His voice broke, and he turned away. He wanted to punch something, put his fist through the wall or slam his hand down on the table, but he was too scared it would somehow disturb you. “I didn’t say it back.”

“Woah, hey.” Sam’s hand was firm on his shoulder, steadying him. “You did, man. You did.” 

“I was too late! She was out!” 

“Yeah, and you can tell her again when she wakes up.” 

“What if–” 

“No.” Sam shook his head firmly, fingers digging into Dean’s shoulder, anchoring him to the spot. “She’s waking up, and when she does you’re gonna ask her out on a proper date, she’s gonna say yes, and you’re gonna sort yourselves out like adults. Ok?” 

Dean looked away. The prospect of asking you out suddenly felt enormous. Of course he’d taken girls on dates before, he knew what he was doing, but that had been more along the lines of “I think you’re cute and you’re clearly into me, let’s get dinner and then we can hook up.” He’d never faced “I’ve been pining over you for months and I was too scared to do anything about it but you almost died and told me you loved me – love, not like – and I have no idea where this is gonna go but Sam’s right and asking you out is probably the best next step even if it’s absolutely terrifying”. He was a total mess, and he knew it. 

“Ok?” Sam asked again, insistent. 

“Ok,” he agreed. “Ok.” 

“Good.” 

You didn’t wake up until a day later. Well, that was according to the time and date displayed on the clock opposite your bed. Dean didn’t really have any recollection of time actually passing. 

He was slumped in the chair beside your bed, your hand held gently in his own as he dozed. He hadn’t let himself fully sleep since you’d been brought in, too afraid that something would happen while he was out, despite all Sam’s urging. Eventually he’d just sent his brother back to the motel, assuring him that he’d be fine on his own and that he wanted to be there for you when you came around. 

He jerked out of his half-nap when your fingers twitched, cursing when his pain stabbed through his neck. Snoozing in hospital chairs was never a good idea. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, frowning at the ceiling. 

Dean cleared his throat, his mouth suddenly dry. “(Y/N)?” 

You turned, your face clearing when you saw him. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t make his heart skip a beat. “Dean,” you whispered. “What’re you doing here?” 

He shrugged, making to withdraw his hand, but your grip tightened. “I’m the ‘welcome back’ committee.” 

“Oh.” You nodded, smiling softly. You ran your free hand over the bandage circling your waist, studying the IV embedded in your skin. “We got him, didn’t we?” you asked. 

Right, the ghost. “Uh, yeah, he’s gone. Your plan worked,” he added, almost as an afterthought. 

“It was a pretty good plan,” you grinned. 

He shook his head. “It almost got you killed.” 

“But it worked,” you insisted, your eyes shining. “He’s gone, Dean. Who knows how many people we saved?” 

“And what about you, huh?” 

You shrugged. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.” 

He took a deep breath, bending his head so you wouldn’t see the moisture he was sure he could feel gathering in his eyes. How were you so casual about it? It had been your life on the line, you who’d gotten stabbed, who’d been bleeding out, terrified of not dying properly and becoming a ghost yourself. 

“Hey,” you said gently, your hand slipping from his, sliding up over his arm to rest hesitantly on his shoulder. “Are you alright?” 

“You almost died, (Y/N). Sam told me, what you said about getting stuck, being unable to move on.” 

You were silent for a moment, then you sighed. “Well it’s just awkward now that I’m still here.” 

Despite himself, Dean laughed. He raised his head, placing his hand over yours, rubbing his thumb in a circle over it. Your skin was warm as ever, dry to the touch. It was such a contrast from the graveyard, one he was glad of. You smiled, some of the colour already returning to your face. 

“I’ve always got your back,” he said, “no matter what. Why didn’t you just tell me?” 

“I wanted to, I really wanted to. But I just… I don’t know, I just couldn’t. Every time I tried it was like this brick wall went up in my brain.” You shrugged, drawing your hand back as you shifted to sit more upright. Dean missed its warmth instantly. “You’re always so… unfazed, you know? It felt kinda stupid.” 

He snorted. Sure, Sam had already told him what you’d said, but it was different coming from you. 

You folded your arms, as if you’d just won an argument. “See?” 

“Shit, (Y/N),” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not – what’d you say? – unfazed. This shit gets to me too, I just…” He thought, unsure how to phrase it. “I didn’t wanna scare you,” he finally settled for. “Didn’t want you to worry.” 

“Oh.” You picked at a loose thread in the blanket, biting your lip. “And the other thing?” 

“Yeah, the other thing.” He’d known this was coming, he’d tried to find the words as he’d sat beside you, waiting for you to wake up. He’d almost had it, he told himself. How hard could it be, after all? 

“I didn’t wanna die with, like, unfinished business. That’s the main reason people stick around. It felt like if I didn’t get it out there, I wouldn’t ever be able to… keep going. Move on.” You swallowed, not meeting his eyes. “It’s ok,” you went on, “if you don’t, y’know, feel the same. I’d understand.” 

So you hadn’t heard him. Dean wasn’t surprised, but some part of him had been clinging to the hope that somehow his words had gotten through to you even as you were bundled into the back of the ambulance. 

He shook his head. “I just wish you’d said something before.” 

You looked up, hope chasing confusion across your face. “What?” 

“I wish you’d said something before,” he repeated. “It would’ve saved us both a lotta trouble.” 

“I don’t…” You frowned. “What’re you…?” 

He shrugged, his heart beating a million mph. “I love you too,” he said simply.

You blinked, opening your mouth to say something, closing it again. Slowly, a smile crept across your features. “Alright,” you grinned, way too smug for Dean’s liking. “Alright then.” 

“Don’t push it,” he warned, but the threat was empty and you both knew it. 

You shifted again, leaning towards him. “Come here,” you said softly. 

He stood, ignoring the ache in his back from the bloody uncomfortable chair. 

Impatiently, you beckoned him closer. 

He raised an eyebrow, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face. “Do I get to kiss you?” 

“That’s the goal, yeah.” You rolled your eyes, tilting your face against his hand. Dean wasn’t fond of the whole “butterflies in your stomach” thing, but he had no idea how else to describe the feeling that tiny gesture conjured. It really was like someone had released a swarm of the things inside him, and he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. 

You were watching him expectantly, almost like you were challenging him. “Go on,” your eyes seemed to be saying, “try it.” 

He did. Your lips were softer than he’d expected, and just as warm as your hands. You made a sound somewhere in the realm of a sigh as his hand slid down to rest on your shoulder, pushing gently towards him, your own fingers running over his jaw to brush along the back of his neck. He couldn’t believe he’d waited this long to kiss you, and now that he’d finally taken the plunge, he never wanted to stop. 

But he had to breathe, unfortunately, and so did you. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” you whispered. You were still close enough that he could feel the words against his skin. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he replied. 

You laughed, a soft, breathy sound, and closed the tiny gap once more. “I love you,” you murmured between kisses, “and I’m sorry it took me almost dying to say it.” 

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that too.”

The door handle clicked, the hinges squealing. “Ok, so I ran into the doctor on the way in— woah.” 

Dean stood up so fast he almost overbalanced. 

Sam was standing in the doorway with a disposable coffee cup in each hand, his mouth hanging open as he stared from you to Dean and back again. 

You cleared your throat. “Hi, Sam.” 

He shut his mouth, shoving the cups into Dean’s hands as he crossed the room and bent to hug you with a muttered “thank God.” 

“Watch it,” you warned, “I’m injured.” But your arms snaked around his back anyway, your voice muffled as you pressed your face into his neck. 

“You’re never allowed to scare us like that again,” Sam said firmly. 

Your eyes found Dean’s over Sam’s shoulder, and you smiled. “I’m not really planning on it, don’t worry.” 

Sam just laughed. “How’re you feeling?” he asked when he finally let you go. 

“Ok,” you nodded, then frowned. “Hungry.” 

Sam glanced at Dean, who shrugged. He’d gotten bored some time in the morning, and the packet of pudding that had been left on your bedside table along with a bottle of water had been practically begging to be tasted. He’d wondered if you’d wake up before they brought a replacement, he’d even felt a little bad eating your food, but he was hungry, dammit, and when Sam had left he’d said he would come back “later” which meant “tonight”. And that was too long for Dean to wait. He also didn’t have any money on him, and wouldn’t have left your side for the cafeteria when the pudding was right there. 

“What?” you asked. 

“He ate the pudding they left you,” Sam said. Dean never should have mentioned it, but he’d been desperate to get Sam to bring him something and it had felt convincing over the phone.

Dean glared at his brother and the coffees – which were very noticeably not the fast food he’d had in mind. “You try living in that chair for a day, see how long you can go without.” Then he turned to you. “You didn’t miss much, don’t worry.” 

“Well, I’m hungry!” you protested, crossing your arms and looking for all the world like a petulant toddler. 

Sam’s words about asking you out echoed in his mind.

“I’ll buy you dinner,” he said. “At an actual restaurant, not a fast food place. As soon as they let you outta here, alright? In the meantime…” He reached for the bottle of water, handing it to you with an apologetic shrug. It was better than nothing. 

You wrinkled your nose at him. “This is a pretty shit first date.” 

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said. Then, on second thoughts, “It’s not a first date, Sam’s here.” 

“Geez,” Sam muttered, “sorry. And after I got you a coffee too.” 

“Did you get me one?” you asked hopefully. 

“No,” he said slowly. “But you can have mine if you want?” 

You sighed. “I don’t like it how you do. But thanks,” you added with a smile. 

“Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you to be awake.” 

“Have a little faith, Sam.” 

He smiled, glancing between you and Dean. 

“You owe me a coffee, and you owe me a dinner,” you continued before he could say anything. Dean thanked you silently. He didn’t really want a shovel talk from his own brother right now, which he could see Sam was just dying to dish out. He wondered if you’d be getting one. Probably, but he had no doubts that it would be less “shovel” more “talk”. 

“Soon as you’re fixed up,” he said. “I promise.” 

“And it’ll be a date?” 

“Sweetheart, it’ll be the best first date you’ve ever been on. Trust me.” 

You just grinned, ignoring Sam’s fake-disgusted sigh. “Ok.” 

[bragganhyl]

38. “i’m not scared but if you are, you can hold my hand.” fluff prompt with Aloth and Guara. Bonus points if Aloth is scared :D

Thank you, Anon, here you go 😊 It's not quite as tooth-rottingly fluffy as I planned, but it's still soft. It takes place at the beginning of Act 3 of PoE 1 so after a certain reveal

Word count: about 1630 words

There were nights when Caed Nua felt like a realm of its own: a strange pocket of space and memory somewhere midway to the In-Between. The night sky was clear and the full moon shone so brightly, that it’s gentle light managed to burst through even the thick, drawn curtains concealing the windows to Gaura’s room. The moonlight mingled with and clashed against the light of the Watcher’s face in the otherwise dark room and as her ears were filled with the voices of long dead souls still lingering by her home, she couldn’t help but feel like she was looking at a reflection.

She hasn’t heard any recent news about the riots since she fled Defiance Bay. For all she knew, it might have been still happening in that very moment, deep in the night. It was late, too late, to have such thoughts on her mind, to have such worries plaguing her. If she allowed them to linger within her, she wouldn’t sleep that night at all. She got out of bed and put on her boots. She made a silly sight wearing the finely made leather footwear and her ill fitting nightgown, but it was a passable attire for a late night stroll.

The Watcher quietly left her room and sneaked downstairs, but just as she was about to leave Brighthollow, she noticed light coming from one of the rooms – based on her familiarity, she assumed the hearth was lit by the reading corner she had set up. She cautiously approached the source of the light, only to find Aloth sitting by the fire, arms wrapped around his knees, seemingly doing nothing, watching the logs burning deep in thought. He looked up as she slowly made her way to his side. He only seemed surprised by her for a fraction of a moment, and even then his reaction was dulled by his exhaustion.

‘Can’t sleep either?’ Gaura sat beside him. Aloth took note of her proximity and seemingly shrunk where he sat.

‘I can’t stop thinking about Defiance Bay,’ he spoke quietly as anguish flashed in his eyes, then just as quickly as it appeared, his expression was replaced by one of guilt. For a moment, silence filled the small space between the two of them. Only the shadows moved, dancing on the walls to the soft crackling of the hearth.

‘Yeah, me neither.’

The Watcher wasn’t sure what else she could say. They haven’t had a chance to talk, alone, just the two of them, since the riots began and Aloth confessed about his affiliations. He was a member of the Leaden Key. The group behind the riots, behind the murder of Lady Webb, behind Waidwen’s Legacy. The group that marked her and Kana for death.

And yet, when Gaura found their hideout under First Fires, she could walk right in there and walk out without anyone noticing the infiltration. It seemed to her, no one knew more than the least amount of information they needed to complete their missions. Not even the higher ranking members asked more questions from their underlings than what they absolutely needed answered. Chances are none of them even knew about the kill orders Thaos placed on her and Kana.

None of them, except for Aloth.

She has given him so many opportunities to turn on her. He could have given her identity away when she entered the Temple of Woedica. He could have helped those of his fellows that waited for her and her companions by the entrance of the Endless Paths, after they recovered the pieces of the Tanvii Ora Toha. He could have just pretended a spell of his went astray, during any of the battles they fought together. During any battle where she took it upon herself to keep him safe and in turn he watched her back. He could have struck her down in her sleep in the home she shared with him.

Now he sat beside her, tense, as if it took every last bit of his strength to avoid looking at her, to stop himself from asking for the comfort she was more than willing to give.

‘Do you want to talk?’ The Watcher broke the silence. Aloth gave her a look that she couldn’t quite read.

‘If… If you want to learn more about the Leaden Key, I’m not sure if I can help,’ he said. His gaze slightly drifted away, and lingered on a spot by her shoulder. ‘I feel like I learned more about their motivations following you, than I did working for them,’ there was a hint of gratitude hiding in the tone of his admission. ‘And you have seen how they operate, I’m not quite sure what else I could add about that.’ Aloth’s gaze met hers again. His look was apologetic and tired.

The Watcher shrugged hesitantly. ‘We can just talk. About anything. It doesn’t have to be about the Leaden Key,’ to give her words some weight, she moved closer to him. She half-expected that he would keep his distance, that maybe he would move even farther away from her than their original distance. But Aloth stayed where he was, seemingly taken aback by the offer, then a moment later a shy smile tugged at his lips and he turned away.

‘Forgive me, I’m… not really accustomed to…’ as he was trying to find the right word, something seemed to have occurred to him. A short laugh bubbled up from him that seemed to have removed an enormous weight from his shoulders. Gaura was almost convinced Iselmyr came forward, but Aloth continued. ‘You, I suppose. And to the kind of acceptance you have been showing me.’ He sighed as he looked towards the hearth, reminiscing. ‘I don’t think you realize what this means to me.’

The Watcher felt her hair flutter. ‘Don’t mention it,’ she hastily smoothed down a mischievous flame, ‘I… I meant what I said on the bridge.’ She averted her gaze from him as she took a deep breath. ‘I need you by my side.’

Aloth didn’t answer at first. When the silence started to grow uncomfortable, Gaura risked a glimpse, only to see the wizard shift, moving to sit on his trembling hands.

‘And I needed to hear that,’ he responded eventually, ‘more than I realized. Truth be told, I was terrified coming forward about my allegiance to the Leaden Key and… even the best case I had in mind didn’t involve… being treated as a friend.’ The wizard shook his head. He flinched at a thought and Gaura knew, it was best not to ask what the worst case he thought was. ‘All my life I have been following the paths people more powerful than I laid out ahead of me,’ he continued. ‘Whether it was my father, the erl he worked for,’ he let out a bitter, rueful chuckle, ‘even joining the Leaden Key was a desperate attempt to free myself from them. I remember those days… it felt like the world was closing in around me, until there was nothing left but the path I never wanted to take. So I… to use your words… exchanged one master for another,’ he sighed. ‘I was somewhat aware of the danger of doing so but I didn’t realize the true cost that I would have to pay, until I met you. I… I apologize for thinking you wouldn’t be any different from them. It was unfair of me to think so, you’ve never given me a reason to think that way, I just…’

Unable to explain himself, Aloth shrugged. The movement looked stiff with tension, however.

‘No need to apologize. You said it yourself, you… didn’t know how to expect better.’

Aloth turned to her. He watched her intently, as if he wanted to etch that moment deep into his memory. He watched her as if he discovered something rare and… awe-inspiring.

‘The world feels a lot bigger right now,’ goosebumps formed on the wizard’s arms as he came to the realization. ‘I admit, I’m a little terrified of it.’

Gaura smiled at him. ‘You sound like a novice expeditioner,’ she chuckled as she thought of her homeland, ‘the fear will go away, once you’ve done a little exploration and developed a taste for it.’ The Watcher then stood up and reached down towards Aloth. ‘Until then, if you’re scared you can hold my hand.’

Aloth blinked up at her. Then he looked at the hand she extended towards him. Gaura could’ve sworn she saw a faint blush color his cheeks as he placed a hand in hers. She pulled him up with a light tug and guided him away from the hearth, up the stairs, to his room.

‘Get some sleep, we have long days ahead,’ the Watcher said good night, only to find that the wizard wasn’t ready to let her go. He slightly raised their clasped hands and placed his free hand on top of them. He let his eyes close as he took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, he looked like he gained whatever comfort he needed.

‘Thank you,’ he ran a thumb along her knuckles as he spoke, ‘for everything.’ He let her go reluctantly and entered his room. He looked back at her, half-hidden by the door to wish her a good night.

Gaura was alone again. As she made her way to her room, the warmth of Aloth’s hand lingering on her palm, she remembered his words and she agreed: the world felt much bigger in that moment. She couldn’t afford to be afraid when Defiance Bay needed her to set things right. She had no reason to be afraid when she was safe in Caed Nua, surrounded by people she could trust. With her life.

[neutron-stars-collision]

Waiting for the Night

Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Chapter 8 - Started slow, started late

Masterlist; Chapter 7 Summary: Reckless decisions and miscommunication shake up the foundations. Warnings: Angst (sadly the time has come), violence (non-graphic descriptions), swearing. Author's Notes: Remember the intensity I mentioned? Well, here is some of that. Apologies for whatever you find here, though I assure you it was necessary. Idiots need idiot-proofed methods, after all. And it does get better. With that said, this chapter is sort of an introduction for the next one aka the one where we get up to speed. And I do hope it makes sense 🙈 Thank you to everyone reading, leaving comments and reblogs - it really means more than I can express! 💕 Hope you'll enjoy and tell me what you think? #singleblueberryclub Taglist: @thecraziestcrayon, @kookiewastolen, @imimsy, @tuskens-mando, @sugarcoated-lame, @blue-aconite, @hypnoash, @rabbitdictionary, @nicklet94, @mcrmarvelloki

(Gif source: @1038276637)

Sometimes when waking up, especially after a peculiarly realistic dream, you have no idea where you are even though nothing has changed. The walls seem different. The shapes of the furniture and the shadows falling on the floor too. Then it all fades. Only sometimes it does not.

Your eyes flew open as the body registered the softness of the thick quilt and the strangeness of the mattress. It was certainly not the shabby bedroom of your apartment. And then it clicked. Your gaze wandered over the guest room at the Wayne Tower. The heavy curtains were drawn over the window, the coat of dust on the mahogany furniture, the large postered-bed with pristinely white bedding. Despite the evident years of neglect in the air, the grandeur was easily noticeable. And even a little overwhelming.

With a sigh, you rolled over to pick up your phone, noticing the late hour. It took another moment of gathering strength to throw away the covers and get up. The coldness of the floorboards acted like a sharp wake-up call, making you quickly scuttle towards the window and draw back the curtains to reveal the view. A gasp was the natural reaction when your eyes landed on the cityscape spreading outside. With the clouds hanging low over the horizon and no rainfall in sight Gotham could be almost pretty. Almost.

Once the ice-cold water splashed your face over the bathroom sink in the ensuite, the coherence returned fully. And along with it, the memories of what you said and did. The confession. Everything that followed. Fuck. Although a devoted advocate for never crying over the spilt milk, you strayed dangerously close to doing just that. Only the scalding shower stopped you. And the unknown of what lay beyond the door to your borrowed room.

After making sure you looked passably normal (except for the rumpled clothes), you braved the outside. The corridor was almost eerily quiet. With all the doors closed and no sign of a living soul. Following the logic, you silently made your way down the staircase, listening in on any clues. Suddenly your ears perked up upon hearing the distant sound of the television. You traced your steps along the unfamiliar route, past the study and the kitchen, until you found an open door to what looked like a dining room. The tv was on, and the table was set for breakfast. Shyly, you peered inside only to see Alfred sitting by the table, staring at the tv with a porcelain cup in hand. He did not give you time to back away and pretend you never found him in the first place.

“Good morning” the warm smile greeted you with a welcomed dose of familiarity.

“Morning” raising your hand in a half-wave, you slowly entered the room, taking in the surroundings.

Like every other room, the dining room, too, was furnished with grandeur, which had now faded. Although dusted and frequently cleaned, the cupboards and decorations all needed a new coat of lacquer. The table was large, yet only a half of it seemed in use and covered by a smaller tablecloth. Alfred was sat at its head, over the breakfast spread consisting of coffee, toasts, butter, and jam.

“Do you want to grab some breakfast?” interrupting your study of the room, Alfred glanced at you expectantly.

As if responding to the question, your stomach rumbled quietly, making you frown with embarrassment.

“I- Sure, though I don’t want to steal your food” with your cheeks tinted pink, you took one of the empty chairs and eyed the spread with curiosity.

Because it did look inviting. And you were hungry. Without a doubt, Alfred did not need to hear your thoughts to understand your qualms.

“Don’t worry, I’ve already prepared the meal for two,” another encouraging smile paired with the man passing you a plate with toasted bread, “Bruce is still asleep. He’s rather… nocturnal,” he answered the unasked question without a hitch, busy with preparing the cup of coffee to hand you.

It was impossible to stop your heart from springing back up from the dead upon the mention of Wayne. It seemed that no matter how hard you could have tried to pretend that nothing was happening, you were bound to fail. Because something was happening. And it had nothing to do with logic and everything with feelings.

“I see” you washed away the fear with a sip of cappuccino and pasted a grateful smile you’re your face, “Thank you,”

No need to be dramatic. You got as far as spreading butter over the toast when the news jingle caught your attention, and you raised your head to watch the tv. On the screen, a well-known face of the GC1 presenter greeted you, only without the usual bright smile:

“Good morning, Gotham. It’s Saturday, November the 2nd, and we must pass you the terrible news from the previous night. Another high-profile murder happened last night. Commissioner Pete Savage has been found dead inside the Police Athletic League facilities in the Tricorner area. This time, the killer has come forward to claim the credit via a video posted on social media. We must warn you; the footage is very disturbing…” you barely registered what happened next, watching dumbfounded as the terrifying show commenced.

This is the Riddler speaking… The sentence rang out in your head as you placed the cup back on the saucer with a rattle and glanced at Alfred. Judging by his shocked expression, the information was news to him as well. Ignoring the dread raising the hair on the back of your neck, you mused dryly:

“Well, that looks much more serious than a desperate cop trying to wipe his name clean…” it was difficult to pretend you were not bothered.

That you were not scared by the prospect. Because if there were a serial killer lurking in the city and ready to let loose, you would need both courage and confidence.

“The Riddler, is it?” Alfred met your gaze with a cautious look of his own “What are you thinking?” the glimmer in his eye told you he meant it.

The feeling of being at ease in his company helped to do the talking. As a preamble, you shrugged and took another toast from the plate, taking the time to piece together an answer.

“He’s after the powerful and the mighty, so it seems like perhaps he’s got dirt on them, only instead of blackmail, he’s into more… final solutions” frowning at the choice of words, you offered the butler a knowing look “It looks like both Mitchell and Savage were corrupted, but they were good at keeping it under wraps” making a mental note to ask fellow journalists about the rumours concerning the late commissioner, you added “He’s aiming to change that drastically” a grimace painted itself on your face at the memory of the recently watched video.

A cage and a rat trapped inside it, waiting to scratch at the face of the victim sounded elaborate. And unbelievably cruel.

Before you could think of a thing to say, footsteps echoed in the corridor, stopping at the dining room’s doorway. Bruce peeked inside with strange uncertainty, eyebrows drawing up once they saw you at the breakfast table next to Alfred. As usual, your gaze slipped over him without a rush, lingering at the shape of his face and the forearms revealed by the oversized t-shirt. It was once he caught your stare that you looked away. You could feel Pennyworth’s gaze boring into the side of your skull, undoubtedly watching the scene with curiosity. He was the one to save you the pain.

“Good morning, Bruce” Alfred offered his protégé a warm smile as he gestured towards the table, “Do you want to join?”

The look of utter bewilderment at the question appearing on Bruce’s face made you choke back a chuckle. As if he was a vampire who did not need food to survive, and the idea alone made him cower back with revulsion.

“No” Bruce shook his head once and directed the intense look to you, asking, “Do you know what happened?”

There was no doubt about the meaning. You nodded and replied with the voice even:

“Yeah, it was on tv just now…” trailing off, you tried to search his face for clues.

It was difficult to shake off the residual awkwardness. As if the nightly happenings have caught up with both of you and were not letting you forget should you want to. Only, you didn’t.

In Bruce’s eyes, you found the shadow of the conflict reflected as he made up his mind and offered an answer:

“I have something to show you” with that, he was halfway out the door.

Confident you would follow. With an incentive like that, you had to. You threw a regretful look at the food left on the table.

“Now?” just to be sure.

“Yes” judging by the sound, he was already halfway down the corridor.

You downed the cappuccino and drew the chair back with a defeated sigh. Grabbing another toast and quickly spreading a thin coat of butter over the surface, you muttered to yourself:

“Alright,” you could feel Alfred watching you with a smirk hidden in the corner of his mouth as you met his searching look and grinned, bowing mockingly, toast in hand, “Thanks for the company,”

Without waiting for his response, you bolted through the door and down the corridor towards the disappearing Bruce Wayne. Once you caught up with him, you threw an arm over his shoulder to make him slow down the steps. One look full of confusion was enough to pass him the buttered toast and press a quick kiss to his cheek. You did not wait for his reaction, passing him in the corridor and confidently striding towards the library. He would follow. You knew that already.

***

Not long after, you found yourself staring at a series of printed photographs, all grainy and dark, with the confusion etched deep in the crease between your eyebrows. Bruce had placed the photos on the table and took a step back, expecting you to study them, so you did just that. But you did not know what you were looking at; the faces all seemed foreign or too obscured to remind you of anyone particular. Picking up one of the photographs, you inspected it closely, eyes taking a long moment to look at everyone pictured. There was an expensive car in the background, and the location seemed similar to the front entrance of the Iceberg Lounge, Falcone’s realm. At the centre, you could see a woman with a tear-streaked face, held in an iron grip by a smartly dressed man. When your gaze landed on the stranger, it clicked. Don Mitchell Jr. himself. And a woman, who was certainly not Mrs Mitchell.

“Where did you get those?” glancing over your shoulder at Bruce, you noticed a passing annoyance, immediately triggering a chuckle; no questions “Oh, alright, I get it” grinning, you finished the half-pirouette and faced him properly, resting your back over the table edge “So I was right” the smug note was undeniable.

Bruce returned your triumphant look with a pained sigh before he closed the gap and collected the photos, explaining:

“Yes, seems like Mitchell had a lover. She’s gone missing, by the way” he gestured towards the woman accompanying the late mayor and continued, “Both him and Savage were often seen in the 44 Below. It’s a-”

Uh huh.

“I know what that is,” interrupting Bruce with a dismissal wave, you strode over to the armchair, arching your eyebrow with curiosity piqued, “How do you know all this?”

That is the question.

He did not seem thrown off guard, leisurely sinking into another armchair and addressing you with a measured tone:

“Through an informant. I found her when I was doing some digging last night. She’s working in that club and knows who’s a frequent client” your reaction upon hearing the information was everything but measured.

It was hard to pinpoint which one stung the most. Whether it was the fact that you were not the only one working with him. Or whether that last night, when you went to bed and promptly stared at the ceiling for hours, he kept on working. Outside and not alone. And there was absolutely no reason to be jealous. Only your heart didn’t get the memo.

Biting hard into your lip to focus the brain, you asked:

“She?” because clarification could only be beneficial.

And because you did not trust yourself to say anything more than a single word.

“Yes, why?” it was his turn to look at you with palpable disorientation.

Whatever was going on in your head must have remained on the inside, for Bruce seemed clueless. Which could only work in your favour, right?

“Nothing,” you tried to rouse the flatness of your tone with a faux smile, eager to change the subject, “So… what’s the plan?”

There. Perfect distraction. Bruce caught it without a hitch, opening a laptop and slipping into your usual mode of work:

“We could try to find any common threads between the two victims, people they both could have known” you could see the metaphorical cogs turning in his head as he pulled up documents and websites.

It was almost too effortless to understand his intent and get pulled along for the ride. Almost. A frown painted itself on your lips even before the words got out.

“To foresee who’s next? The Riddler seems to punish the corrupt, and if that’s the only requirement… half the Gotham falls under the criteria” you shrugged, sensing the dejection take hold.

It was nothing, merely the dread from before settling in your heart and hoping to make its home there. You knew your sentiment was shared when you met Bruce’s weary gaze across the space. He looked tired, dark shadows underneath his eyes highlighting the blue of the irises. Yet there seemed to be a spark of eagerness buried deep underneath the regrets and the worries. It was that feeling you heard in his voice when he spoke next:

“Maybe it will narrow the scope” the look he shared with you said something else.

It was enough to curl your mouth into a smirk and offer a quip:

“Or you’re just that desperate to work with me” your grin widened upon seeing the hint of blush on his cheeks.

Bingo. The glare you received all but confirmed it as Bruce made sure to move further away from you, muttering under his nose:

“No comment” you could have told him that saying it never worked the way they showed in the movies.

But instead, you only hid the fond smile behind a laptop screen and began the research. As he said – maybe it would do something. And something was always better than nothing. Or so the tired brain told you.

It turned out that mapping the shared relationships between the mayor and commissioner was not that easy. Not for the lack of similarities but rather for the abundance of them. Before long, you both realised that there likely was a whole web interwoven between the victims. Bruce took it upon himself to go through the names in common, identifying the potential targets and drawing up a map of connections between them. Your job was to dig in the past of the dead figures, find out their sins and transgressions, to decipher why they had been chosen. Which also proved harder than expected.

So, when the clock had chimed two in the afternoon, and you heard your stomach rumble loudly, it was impossible not to let out a loud groan, catching the attention of your companion. Bruce raised his head slowly, peeking at you from the distance, visibly perplexed. You had half the mind to get up and go to the kitchen to fetch a sandwich before he stood up with a graceful stretch and placed the laptop on the side.

“What-” before you could finish the intended question, Bruce interrupted you with a glance.

“Stay here” the command fell from his mouth without a second thought, and he marched out of the room with confidence in his step.

What indeed? To say that the object of your interest was confusing seemed like an understatement. There was nothing else to do but sigh heavily, curse your preference for males and bury yourself in the newspaper archives. Which you did, once again forgetting about the passage of time or the need to eat. After all, what was more interesting than the love life of Gotham prosecutors and wanna-be politicians?

You did not notice when the silence was interrupted by footsteps. Or when Bruce stepped close, soundlessly placing a plate with a sandwich on the table in front of you. The first thing you registered was a gentle touch on your chin, fingers tipping your face up. With your mouth agape and eyes wide, you looked up to see Bruce staring at you with a soft smile. There was no time to react when he leant forward and pressed his lips to yours in a tender kiss, easily stealing the breath from your lungs and the coherence from your mind. His mouth glided over yours with familiar zeal, yet there was no hint of desperation. As if now that he knew how you felt, he was willing to be braver. To risk more in exchange for whatever you could give him. The brief kiss was over before it began, but the taste lingered as Bruce took a step back and glanced at the plate on the table as if expecting a question. You sure did not want to disappoint:

“What’s all this?” with an eyebrow raised, you allowed yourself a quick swipe of tongue over the lips.

Just enough to collect the remains of the sensation. And to make Bruce blush, again.

“Thought you were hungry” he only shrugged; a strange sense of lightness in his eyes.

It seemed different, new in a way. But you would not be the one to argue with the turn of events, accepting the meal with a grateful grin and no complaints. If it was a truce for the mention of Bruce’s informant earlier, you sure did not mind.

The research lasted for another few hours, leaving you both drained and resigned, bathed by the shadows of the fading day. After the kiss, Bruce moved closer, seemingly unafraid of your proximity or the sharp teeth of your jokes, often aimed at him to lighten the mood or distract him from work. Even the silence felt companionable, lulling you deep into that blissful state of ignorance. Only to shatter soon after.

Checking the watch to find that it was long after six in the afternoon, you stood up and stretched, instantly catching Bruce’s attention. Whatever comment was waiting in the roof of your mouth was forgotten when he spoke:

“I’m busy tonight, so… You’re free to do whatever you want” the casual statement caught you off guard, forcing the brain to pick it apart and find meaning.

What you began to understand turned the taste on your tongue sour and tightened the invisible rope around your heart. It sounded like a rejection, not a straightforward one but the meaning was the same. Ignoring the pain shooting through your body, you measured him with a steady gaze and asked:

“What?” because once more, a single word was just enough to get through the constricted throat.

Anything more could have broken the illusion Bruce seemed to hold. The illusion that this did not bother you. That jealousy was a foreign emotion. And perhaps to him, it was.

“I’m doing recon at the club…” the hint of puzzlement in his eyes was enough for you to backtrack, enforcing the wall and strengthening the foundations.

If he did not understand, it was not your job to tell him. Because maybe it was simply not meant to be.

“With her?” forcing out another question, you put an end to the eye contact and walked over to the window.

The city did not look as pretty as it did in the morning. Or maybe it is you who changed the outlook throughout the day.

“Yes,” when Bruce replied, you allowed yourself a quiet sigh and pressed your forehead to the cold window.

Not long after, you heard him leave the room. Undoubtedly off to disappear in the rooms you had no access to until he would have to meet her. Her. The pronoun rang strangely in the quiet of your mind, tinting everything with envy and regret. Perhaps it was a mistake to let him in. Perhaps you really should have known better.

***

If asked to say exactly when the idea bloomed to life in your head, you were not sure. Maybe it was during the train ride home, legs hugged to your chest, unseeing gaze fixed on the dirty railing of the cart. Maybe, it was when you stepped inside the apartment, noticing the dust covering the furniture and the darkness lurking in the rooms, waiting for you to disappear inside it. Maybe it was when you sat on the chair by the table, and the only thing you could think of was that night when Bruce was sitting in front of you. His hand held in yours, a tender yet strangely solid connection. Only you were wrong. Destined to pay for the naivety with heartache and shame burning in your blood.

Just once, you wanted to stop feeling useless. To do something and show them they were wrong. They, him, it didn’t matter. Someone. Using the research you wasted the day on, you knew that apart from the 44 Below, there was another club often attended by those in power. Going by the catchy name of Inferno, the venue was famous for its bad reputation, easily beating the Iceberg Lounge and its secret club-within-a-club. And since that first place was a no-go for the fear of getting your broken heart shattered, the choice was made for you. Your recon mission, and where better than in a place directly controlled by Carmine Falcone. Right?

Sure, it did sound… risky. But, sometimes, it was better to be sorry than safe. Or so someone told you. Ignoring the anxious thoughts, you made sure to get dressed to the nines, pulling out a skimpy skirt from the bottom of the closet and fishing out a sequin top to match. It was hard to say which voice told you to drop the key for the Wayne Tower into the purse as you exited the flat. But thinking could only bring harm, so you brushed it aside, focusing on the determination that had sprung from pain. The determination to be something more than you were. To be enough. For him. For them. For you.

Getting past the bouncer was easy. You flashed him a confident smile and waved your hand as you passed, doing your best to create an impenetrable veil of certainty that you did not feel at all. It was all a question of the right smile, the sureness in the stride, never-waning eye contact with whoever was eager to look at you. As you descended the metal staircase into the underground venue, the red lights hit you in the face, making you squint in the harsh glare of the reflectors. Unsurprisingly for a Saturday night, Inferno was packed. It was impossible to tell where the dancefloor began, for the space between the entrance and the booths was crowded with strangers. The deafening, blaring music filled your chest with subwoofer vibrations and filled the blood with a daze. But you had to stay vigilant, quickly creating a plan in your head as you pushed through the people, locating the bathroom, bar, and potential targets of the reconnaissance. The best strategy on paper was to loiter, listen to the partiers, have a drink, and mix in with the crowd while searching for familiar faces.

Ordering a margarita at the bar, you scanned the surroundings, waiting with your back pressed against the counter. Here, too, the space was cramped, voices interweaving in a barely comprehensible mess, but you listened in anyway. All it took was a little period of adaption, getting accustomed to the rhythm of the music and tuning it out. You took a deep breath and focused your mind on the people around you, slipping between them like a ghost. Soon enough, the voices were there for you to hear them:

“That Riddler guy? Fucking hell, and here I thought that the Bat was the worst this city has to offer” a heavy sigh accompanied the sentence as the man downed a shot of vodka, flinching comedically.

“Maybe Riddler is the good guy, helping us get rid of the rats in the sewers” his companion had a slurred speech, offering counterarguments with the wisdom of a drunkard.

“Nah, we’re all fucked. No one can save us from this shithole,” another shot, glass hitting the bar counter with a clink.

That was certainly not what you were looking for. You picked up the drink and waded through the crowd, nearing a circle of chirpy women buzzing with gossip. Resting by the wall close by, you tuned into their conversation:

“Have you heard? Vengeance showed up at the Iceberg Lounge last night” the young blonde leant close to her companions, excitement clear in her voice and the sparks in her gaze.

Interesting… very interesting. Because Bruce was there too last night.

“Secret deals with the Penguin?” the one who replied wiggled her eyebrows suggestively while taking a long sip of the drink.

“I dunno… maybe he was just looking for company” third woman chimed in with a smirk gracing her face.

You did not like the sound of that, turning away with a strange sense of unease. Because it was a fact that Bruce ventured into the club and found company, in some meaning of the word. What Mr Vengeance had to do with all of that you were not sure if you wanted to know. You took a swig from the glass, feeling the pleasant burn of the alcohol in your throat. Mixing in with the crowd felt good, quite like being anonymous. Lost in solo dance, you did your best to look around, spotting familiar faces from the research. Cops, lawyers, lower-rank city officials. All supposedly not fitting in yet looking perfectly at home.

As your gaze landed on a group occupying one of the more intimate booths distanced from the dancefloor, you spotted a GCPD investigator, Clint Johnson. The man surfaced on the few lists you went over earlier, both as the acquittance of the murdered and a notable sinner. Hoping to look as natural as possible, you slowly drifted towards the table he occupied, catching the conversation:

“So, Clint… you worried about our dear Pete?” the man seated opposite your target leant into his space, cheeky expression on his face.

From your vantage point, the whole party looked wasted, either thanks to the drops or the alcohol. It did not matter.

“It’s a god-awful tragedy, but… I mean… pretty sure he had it coming” Johnson stumbled over his words, tongue-tied by the intricate lies and half-truths, “Man was practically best pals with Falcone, spending every weekend at the club” he shrugged as if wanting to shrug off the guilt he had been burdened with.

“Not worried you’ll be next?” his companion had no intention of giving up.

“Why?” another shrug though you had a feeling those were not going to work, “I’m as innocent as they come” the blatant lie fell with a hitch of a drunken hiccup.

You frowned with disgust, burying the expression in another sip of the margarita.

“I think the prosecutor would disagree with that” the stranger leaned back in the booth, leisurely letting his eyes wander over the people.

Including you.

“About the Maroni case? Come on, that’s gone now. We all did what we had to do” there was a growing sense of defence in his tone as though desperate to fight for his name right here, “Including-”

But you never got to hear the end of that sentence. The other man had stood up from the table, the ruthless gaze set on you entirely:

“What’s your problem, babe? Are you lost?” the questions were dropped with a venomous edge.

Fuck. You felt the adrenaline surge to the head, mind lost in a chaotic daze, wanting nothing but to find an escape from the situation.

“No, I was just-” the denial died on your tongue as he leapt from the booth, forcefully taking hold of your arm.

“I saw you, eavesdropping” he tightened the grip, the other hand waving at the bouncer for attention, “Hey, can you throw her out? She’s ruining our evening,”

Fuck. It took one look at the bouncer to know there was no chance of getting out of this unscathed. The fear seemed like a permanent fixture in your chest when the man started leading you away, the iron grip bruising your skin mercilessly. Putting up a fight could only make everything worse, so you let the man lead you towards the exit with your eyes fixed on the floor to avoid meeting anyone’s curious gaze. The shame and panic were stronger than the need to keep up the act. There was no point anymore, you had already lost. Now it was just the question of paying the price.

When he led you outside through the open doors and into a dark and empty alley you knew it was bad. The bouncer was followed by another one, both have barred their teeth, grinning at you like demonic incarnations of the Cheshire cat. The grip on your arm loosened as your captor spoke:

“Let me show you why pretty girls like you should never disobey our guests” you did not need a warning, already cowering back as far as he would let you.

But it was never far enough. He released you when his colleague raised his hand, palm open, to slap you across the face. The sting of the hit reverberated through your cheek and over the split lip, making you wince. It was not the first time, but the pain was just as bad. If not worse. The next punch was not a surprise, yet when a fist hit you in the side, you doubled down with a sharp gasp, eliciting a malicious laugh from your executioners. Another hit, deepening the bruise over your rib. Second blow across the chest, the pain shooting through your body. The tears began streaking down your face as the only sign of torture you were eager to offer. The whimpers were all kept behind a façade, in the teeth biting into your split lip and tasting of copper. It took three more punches to make you fall to your knee, the impact sending a sharp sting through the right knee and immediately toppling you to the ground. Another salve of laughter as you covered your head, instinctively curling into a fetal position. But it was not enough. A kick to the back was all it took to break the dam. Only just enough to make you sob quietly, the tears flowing freely down your face and onto the damp tarmac.

“That will show you” the voice pierced the silence, followed by heavy steps retreating from where you were lying.

When you heard the metal doors close, you allowed yourself to move. First, slowly sitting up, feeling the bolts of pain shooting through your whole system at every move, no matter how small. But the pain was not the worst. The worst was the feeling of knowing that you failed. That you made a mistake. That you were not good enough. For anything, for anyone. The sky opened as you stood up. The raindrops fell on your face and mixed with tears until it was impossible to tell one from another.

A fuck-up, a mistake. That’s all you were.

***

Maybe it was fate that made you rummage in the purse then, desperate to find at least a half-used tissue to wipe away the blood and the tears from your face. Instead, your hand encountered the cold metal of a keyset; fingers clutched it tightly as the overwhelmed brain scrambled to remember. The keys to the Wayne Tower, of course. You breathed a sigh of relief, legs carrying you towards the train station as if acting on their own accord. For once, there was no strength in you to argue. Because you did not want to limp back home, destined to survive the night alone, without a shred of comfort or hope.

No one batted an eyelid when you stepped aboard the train drenched by the rain, with the tears streaking down your face and a bloody cut on the knee. But then, nothing of this sort was an unusual sight in Gotham. Least of all, on a Saturday night. You took the seat close to the door of the cart and fixed your gaze on the floor, urging the mind and the heart to keep it together just a little longer. Once you were in the tower, there was no point trying. Alfred and Dory would sure be asleep, and Bruce might as well still be outside. Or so you tried to tell yourself as the train carried you through the city towards your stop.

There was a part of you that wanted to find him. The part that wanted Bruce to see you like this and not take pity but feel something else entirely. Anger, hurt, and worry, to name a few. But that part was too dangerous, so you kept it locked up, letting yourself drown in the overcoming emptiness, numbing away the pain throbbing underneath the skin. When the train pulled to your stop, you were the last to step off the cart, walking along the platform and down the stairs. You did not even realise when the legs had carried you to the tower as you gingerly climbed the steps towards the front door, the keys clutched in hand tightly as if they were a lifeline. Following the habit, you made sure to check whether there were no spectators before turning the key in the lock and quietly opening the door. Another rule was broken. Once upon a time, you would have never allowed yourself to enter Bruce’s house at night. Even if only because of common sense. But that was long gone. As your eyes adjusted to the lighting change, you were struck by how different the space looked without the daylight falling through the stained-glass windows. With the doors closed and locked, you felt the adrenaline plummet. Along with it, the numbness dialled down, making you realise a few things at once. Everything was aching; the whole body felt as if you had been beaten and slammed into the concrete ten times over. With the continuous rain pouring down from the moment you left that alley by the Inferno, your clothes were soaked, making you shiver and tremble from the cold autumn wind outside. Before you had to decide what is the next reasonable step, the noise from the elevator caught your attention.

Slowly, you turned to face whoever had stepped into the foyer. You froze, motionless when your eyes met the familiar blue gaze, staring at you across the space. A frown etched between the dark eyebrows, mouth agape in mild surprise. Bruce looked almost too ordinary, dressed in the same old jeans and a black t-shirt he had on earlier. With your eyes fixed on his face, it was easy to tell when he registered every detail regarding your state. The frown deepened. A strange flash of darkness clouded his eyes as he desperately looked for something to say. You found it before him, taking a shaky step closer as if pulled by an invisible wire towards Bruce:

“I didn’t know where else to go,” you choked out the sentence, grimacing at the coarseness of your voice and the pitiful excuse.

How pathetic. He had every right to turn you away, to make you leave and tell you how worthless you are. And, for a minute, you expected him to. The pain and misery rose in your chest until there was no air to breathe, and the sobs shook your frame with force. Tears welled up, falling down your face without a care of being watched. Of causing a scene. In the final moment of self-consciousness, you covered your face with your hands, hiding away from Bruce and his intense gaze. At least the broken whimpers and cries were muffled now.

You had no sense of how long you stood there, lost in your tragedy. Or whether Bruce was still there. Then you registered slow, cautious steps on the carpet, stopping close and warm, gentle touch, fingers curling around your wrists and peeling away the hands to make you look at him. When your eyes met his, Bruce entangled your fingers together in a careful hold. There were many questions in his gaze, but he asked none.

For now. A grateful sigh was all you could manage as he started leading you towards the elevator with certainty in each step.

[thedevilsdom]

5000 year old virgin levi anon and i just want to say: i’m so glad my evil horny thot ways have inspired u. now consider this: levi basically being pavlov’d into getting hard around you bc he’s so pent up after that experience that he squeaks and runs out of the room if you walk in, mumbles and blushes and short circuits if you get too close, has to lock himself in his room/the bathrooms at RAD/etc to rub one out bc you smiled at him... and it of course all culminates in you cornering him and teasing him about just why he’s been avoiding you. “what, you didn’t think i’d notice that little tent you’re always trying to hide from me? come on, levi. i’m not stupid.” and boom, he nuts 💀 (i wish i wasn’t an anon but i’m a coward)

alrighty here we go again here’s part 1

part 3

Leviathan/Female Reader (no mention of gender though, but there will be in future chapters), around 1.1k words

Did Leviathan confess to you while you had your hand on his dicks? Yes. He very much did. Did you confess back, and anticipate pursuing a relationship with him afterwards? Yes to that, too. With all the boxes checked, you’re left wondering why the otaku insists on fleeing whenever you enter the same room as him.

At first you’d thought that it was a coincidence, maybe he had somewhere to be and it just happened to line up with the time that you step into the same room. But then it just happened too many times to keep thinking that it was mere chance. Like clockwork, you’d walk in, spot him, he’d spot you, and he’d turn tail and run out through whichever door was closest to him and furthest from you. He even almost ran out of the fire exit before realizing and course correcting. On top of all of this, and luckily for him, you don’t share any classes with him.

Guess you’re going to have to do this the hard way, then.

Class has just let out and you had a plan to put into motion. It starts simply. You leave your class, packing your things up as quickly as possible before making your way towards the classroom that Levi should be in and, just as you suspected, you spot him easily. He’s got his back to you, just as you expected, and he’s taking the route home that you’d planned on him taking. The special thing about this route is that, along the way, it has a couple empty classrooms that you could make use of.

You close the distance with him, sneaking and keeping your steps quiet until you’re right on him. Then you reach out and grab him by the back of his jacket, snatching his attention.

“Come here.” You say before he can get a word in, leading him into one of the empty classrooms and locking the door behind you. When you turn around and make eye contact with him, he’s already looking at you with big, tear filled eyes and a quivering lip. He knows what he’s been doing is wrong.

“What gives, Leviathan?” You ask, standing between him and the door. His eyes scan the room, only to see that the door that you’re blocking is the only way out.

“I-I-!” He stammers, backing away from you until he collides with a desk at the backs of his legs.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, I just want to know why you’ve been avoiding me. We both said we liked each other, so I thought- oh.” While you speak you close the distance with him, and just as you’re telling him off, your eyes finally trace down his body and spot a very prominent bulge in his pants. Looking back up at his face, he looks mortified, like he’d rather drop dead than be here.

“I’m sorry! I can’t- No matter how much I try I can’t stop thinking about- about what you, uh, did-! And whenever I see you I just remember it all over again!” His voice is barely a squeak, wobbling as he’s on the edge of tears while he babbles out his explanation, hands covering his beet red face. “I’m a sorry excuse for a demon! Just a shut in otaku who doesn’t deserve you. Y-you don’t- I know you didn’t mean it when you said you liked me I-“

That’s enough of that.

“Leviathan.” You say in the most stern voice you can muster. A shameful shiver runs down his spine at the sound of you saying his name like that, and it puts a stop to his self deprecating. “I don’t lie to you, Levi.” You close the distance with a couple strides, coming up to be nearly chest to chest with him. He tries to even out his shaky breathing. He pushes further back against the desk he’s leaning on.

“I told you before, you’re my good boy-“ You put your hands on his hips and plant your foot against the horizontal bar between the desk’s legs, your leg between his own.

“W-Wait, MC, I-!” He stammers out, only to be cut off by you.

“And I’m not gonna stop until you see that.” With one solid tug, you easily pull him away from the desk and forward, so your thigh is giving him pressure right where he needs it.

And that’s enough to get him.

He pitches forward, both hands over his mouth to try to smother his moans as his thighs clench around yours, hips giving pitiful little twitches as he cums hard into his pants. His whines and shudders, the dark spot between his legs only continues to grow. Reaching up a hand, you gently ease his palms off of his lips so you can hear the litany of curses and soft, shaky moans of your name that he tries to keep quiet.

“Wow,” You say, voice almost mocking, and it makes him shiver.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m sor-“

“You know, with the amount you’ve cum, I’d almost think that you weren’t running away to jack off every time you saw me. But I know that’s exactly what you were doing, of course.” Even though your words are cruel and teasing, your hand comes up and cups his face, thumb delicately stroking across his cheek. His eyelashes are wet with unspilled tears as he trembles, looking at you. You look down to see the dark stain on his pants now and remove your jacket, tying it around his waist. It’s at least passable at hiding it, so long as nobody asks any questions.

“My Leviathan, you know what this means?” You ask. He does not like the mischievous look in your eyes. Or, maybe he likes it too much.

“N-no?” He tilts his head, fringe falling across his eyes and furrowed brows.

“It just means that we need to desensitize you.” You grab his chin and give him a peck on the lips, “That way you can at least exist in the same space as me.”

“Wh- w-w- wait, you mean, like, like do more? You want to keep doing this with- with me?” He never ceases to amaze you by going through whatever loops in his head he has to go through in order to not believe what you tell him.

“Yes, Levi. I told you I like you, and I think you’re adorable.” You’ve got one hand on his cheek and the other on his hip, and he looks like he’s about to combust as he stammers out something unintelligible. He’s quaking like a leaf.

“Levi,” You say. He’d do anything to keep hearing his name on your lips.

“Mmh- yeah?” Comes his response. He’s squirming a little, feeling his cum against him in his underwear. You know what you’re subjecting him to, and he knows that you know.

“You said you weren’t too experienced with this stuff, right?” After you speak, he nods in shameful admittance. You’re curious to see just how inexperienced he is. “Great, I can’t wait to teach you some stuff. Now let’s get going, the halls should be clear now.” You skip merrily out of the classroom, unlocking and opening the door as though you hadn’t just made one of the most powerful demons in the Devildom cum in his pants.

Leviathan is both incredibly smitten, and utterly, unabashedly doomed.

[spicycreativity]

Flufftober Day 1 - Winning a Tedddy Bear for the Other

This is the only October prompt fic I was able to write, so uh. Hopefully you enjoy it!

2.5k words, pairings are pre-Logince, Dukexiety, and pre-Moceit

Nobody actually wins a teddy bear for anyone, despite their best efforts

Truly have no idea if this is solely an American hick town thing or not, but where I'm from, all the summer drama took place at the county fair; the hook-ups and break-ups and all the stuff that people would gossip about at the beginning of the school year. Except! The crew have just graduated and this is kind of their last hurrah before college and work and what have you.

Roman closed his eyes and tried to focus. He turned the basketball over in his hands, privately grossed out by the weird, sticky texture beneath his fingertips. He let the ambient noise of the county fair fade into the background. Focus. He just had to focus.

Then Virgil's voice shattered his concentration: "You know this game is rigged, right?"

Roman opened his eyes and, catching an annoyed glance from the carnival worker, sighed and hurled the ball at the hoop. It soared a neat arc and fell neatly through the center of the hoop. Ha. "I'll have you know I played basketball in middle school." He puffed out his chest a little and raised his arms so Virgil could admire his killer delts. 

"And how old are you now?" Virgil leaned into Remus, who was lurking over his shoulder like some kind of lanky cathedral goblin. How Remus had landed a boyfriend before he did, Roman would never know.

The worker handed Roman another ball, which Roman accepted with a half-hearted "Thanks."

"It's true, though," Remus said, placing his chin on Virgil's shoulder. "The hoops are ovals."

"Everybody knows that," Roman huffed, and threw the ball.

"Yeet!" said Remus. Idiot.

The ball bounced off the rim. "You distracted me!" Roman huffed. The carnival worker held out another ball, but Roman dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Oh, forget it!" Two baskets would only get him a stupid Minions keychain, and he definitely didn't want something that cursed in his possession. He turned and walked away, half-hoping Remus and Virgil wouldn't follow him. 

"Dude, you paid for three tries," Virgil said.

Roman stopped and turned around and nearly got trampled by a herd of excited pre-teens. "You don't get it!" He gestured at Virgil and Remus' intertwined fingers, even now unable to fight back the wave of jealousy and longing that rose up inside him. "You guys already have your fairy--" He paused, corrected himself. "Your weird, creepy, Tim Burton fairytale dream. I have one shot to impress Logan tonight and I need to make the most of it!"

"Hold on, hold on, hold on!" Remus grabbed Roman by the wrist (ewww, Roman, just try not to think about where his hands have been) and dragged him over to a bench. "Your grand plan is to win Logan some lame carnival prize before he even gets here?"

"Oh, buddy." The mocking pity on Virgil's face was enough to make Roman blush. Jerk. All he'd had to do was sit around and wait for Remus to make the first move. "What makes you think that's even going to work?"

Roman stood up again, motioning for Virgil and Remus to stay seated. He'd had enough. "Because it's a grand, romantic gesture and I am a grand, romantic prince. Now leave me alone! You're wrecking my concentration and I'm supposed to meet Logan in an hour!" And he stalked off, soon getting lost in the crowd.

Virgil looked at Remus, who was wearing a look of undisguised masochistic glee. Still, Virgil ventured, more to soothe his own conscience than anything, "Should we try to help him?" 

"Look!" Remus shot to his feet, pointing off into the distance. "Deep fried pickles!" He took off, nearly jerking Virgil's shoulder out of socket.

Virgil dodged an elderly woman and nearly tripped over his boots. "Roman?"

"No, I'm Remus."

"No, I mean, should we try-- Oh, forget it." Virgil wrapped his free hand around the back of Remus' and let Remus yank him through the crowd. There was a long line for the cart selling deep fried monstrosities because this was the county fair and people lost their humanity upon stepping through the gates. Not Virgil. He would sooner lick the door of the horse barn than consume anything from this horrorshow of a food cart. That was one thing Virgil and Roman could agree on: fair food was disgusting. Ah, poor Roman. "You do have to feel a little sorry for him, though," Virgil said, admiring the shiny piercings decorating the shell of Remus' ear.

"Who?" said Remus, standing on tiptoe and examining the crowd. 

"Ro--"

"Oh, Roman?" Remus landed hard on his heels and nudged Virgil with his hip. "No I don't. A little heartbreak might take Sir Brags-a-Lot down a peg." Something caught his eye and he jerked his head away with a smile. "Hey. V. I'd like to dip my pickle in your deep fryer."

Virgil made a face, but soldiered on. "But he's had a crush on Logan since, what? As long as I've known him."

"Longer." Remus stuck out his tongue. "He and Logan were lab partners Freshman year. And I had to hear about him every single night." He lowered his voice into a passable imitation of Roman's, gesticulating with abandon. "'Ugh, Remus, this boy in my science class is so annoying; he knows about dumb shit like protons and covalent bonds. Who even cares about that? I don't. So I'm gonna keep talking about it for the entire bus ride home.' Nightmare."

"Exactly!" said Virgil, though he had kind of forgotten what he was getting at. What had he been getting at? He shuffled forward as the line moved and turned his fractured attention to the menu.

"Hey," said Remus, now drumming on Virgil's shoulder with his fingertips. "When was the last time you saw Pat and the Hat?"

"Who?"

"Come on, that was clever."

Virgil tapped his lower lip. "You mean Patton and Janus?" Remus just blinked at him. "I dunno, didn't they say they were buying tickets?"

"Yeah, like, 30 minutes ago.

The line moved forward again. Remus ordered his horrifying hell-pickle. Virgil ordered a lemonade, knowing full well that Remus would insist on paying anyway.

"Maybe," said Virgil, side-stepping away from the order window and deliberately ignoring the way Remus was running his tongue all up and down his deep-fried pickle, "they went to the petting zoo."

"Well, let's go get 'em," Remus said. "They don't get to ditch us just because Patton wanted to see the bunny rabbits."

The setting sun painted the clouds a brilliant orange. Patton sighed and stared out at the expanse of the fairgrounds beneath him. One by one, rides were starting to turn their lights on. It was exactly the most romantic time of evening, exactly how he'd wanted things to go when he suggested they take a quick ride on the Ferris wheel before tracking down the others.

Well.

Almost exactly.

"I should sue," Janus said. Again. He looked over the edge of their basket where it dangled almost exactly at the top of the Ferris wheel. "How long would you say we've been stuck up here?"

"Um," said Patton, trying to wiggle his phone out of his pocket.

"What if I was diabetic, hm? What if one of us needed to take life-saving medication and couldn't because we were stuck at the top of this death trap?"

"But Janus." Patton waited for Janus to meet his eyes, then smiled. "We don't."

The magic didn't last. "It's the principle of the thing!" Janus said explosively, looking away in obvious agitation.

Patton rallied and tried again. "You don't think it's kinda romantic? I mean, look out there." He gestured at the lit-up fairgrounds and the golden haloes of clouds.

Janus huffed and didn't look. "I don't see what's so romantic about a potential reckless endangerment lawsuit." And he was off again, ranting about confusing legal concepts and other things Patton wouldn't care about, except that they were important to Janus.

Oh, well. He sighed and watched the blinking lights of El Niño. If they got down soon, maybe he could win Janus a teddy bear or something and make his confession then.

"What color?"

Roman ran a hand through his hair. Of all the games to have a knack for, he hadn't expected darts. "Pink, I guess-- No, wait, the blue one."

The attendant nodded and handed Roman a flimsy acoustic guitar. "Congrats, man."

"Thanks." Roman turned to go. He had to meet Logan at the gates soon. At least he wasn't doing it empty-handed, not that a barely-playable guitar was a particularly romantic gift. Realy, who was he kidding? Logan didn't want the guitar and Logan didn't want him.

The fairground lights lit everything up a sickly green. Roman scanned the crowd at the midway, trying to determine the best way through, when his gaze fell on a familiar pair of glasses.

He was still trying to decide how to react when Logan reached him, his arms full of brightly-colored stuffed lemurs. "Hello, Roman."

"How long have you been here?" Roman demanded. The idea that Logan had been sneaking around, avoiding him, sat heavy in his stomach.

But to Roman's surprise, Logan blushed. "Not long," he said, shifting his weight. "I wanted-- Well, it seems foolish now."

Roman forgot his anger in an instant. "What? C'mon, Lo, I don't think you're even capable of being foolish."

"I had thought," Logan dropped his gaze to the stuffed lemurs in his arms, "I had thought that if I came early, I might be able to win something big and--" He cleared his throat. "And give it to you."

"Why?" Roman demanded. Why would Logan copy his plan? 

"Well, Roman," Logan said in such a clipped, professional voice that he might have been delivering the weather report, "traditionally, winning a large prize for your sweetheart at the county fair is a romantic gesture."

"But I'm not your sw-- Oh." Roman's jaw dropped. The guitar's strings dug into his fingers. Then he started to laugh. Logan's expression hardened, but he stayed put, staring intently at Roman. "I'm sorry!" Roman choked out, brandishing the guitar at Logan as some sort of peace offering, though Logan didn't have a free hand to take it. "I was--" Tears streamed hot and ticklish down Roman's cheeks, his entire body still spasming with stifled laughs. "I was trying to do the same thing! That's how I got this stupid guitar."

"Oh," said Logan. "Oh, dear."

"Come on, let's sort this out." Roman stood on his tiptoes, spotted an empty bench, and led Logan to it.

"This is terribly awkward," Logan said, adjusting the lemurs in his arms. "Do you even want these?"

"Not really," Roman said. He held up the guitar. "Do you want this?"

"I don't."

They smiled at each other. "You know," said Roman, hurriedly counting Logan's stuffed lemurs. "You can trade six of those in for a kiss."

"Piercings!" Remus tugged on Virgil's sleeve and gestured at the booth. 

"I thought we were looking for Patton and Janus," Virgil said, already trying to think of a way to keep Remus from getting an ill-advised piercing.

"Forget them! I wanna get my tongue done."

"Here?" Virgil asked as Remus tugged him closer and closer to the piercing booth. "We're, like, six feet away from a horse barn. You're gonna get an infection."

"Damn, V, it's not like I'm gonna French kiss the horses."

Virgil bit his lip and made a second attempt. "Don't you have enough holes punched in yourself?"

"Nope!" They reached the booth and Remus bounced on his toes while he studied the laminated photographs pinned to one of the tent walls.

"Fine, but don't expect any kisses until that piercing is fully healed," Virgil said, struck by an eleventh-hour moment of genius.

"Hold up." Remus turned around and stared at Virgil. "What?"

"You heard me." Advantage secured, Virgil relaxed a little and even managed a sneer. "No kisses until I'm 100% sure you're not gonna get blood or anything else in my mouth."

"Baaaabe." Remus wrapped his arms around Virgil's shoulders and let Virgil take some of his weight. "You're killing me! What about my self-expression?"

"You can get your tongue pierced," Virgil said, "just not at some shady horse barn-adjacent piercing booth run by a bunch of traveling randos."

"I'm an American," Remus mumbled into Virg's collarbone. "It's my God-given right to die of a horse infection because I got my tongue pierced at a-- Whatever you said."

"C'mon." Virgil stood Remus upright and took him by the hand. "I'll pay for you to get your tongue pierced at that nice place downtown. Or I'll get Janus to pay for it. Next birthday. I promise."

"Thanks, I guess," Remus muttered. He was obviously trying to pout, but his face kept cracking into a smile.

"And as for your self-expression…" Face-painting booths were a dime a dozen at the fair; you practically couldn't turn a corner without running into some kid with their face painted to look like Spider-Man. Virgil pointed to the closest one and continued to lead Remus toward it. "I'm thinking spider eyes for me, kraken for you?" Remus took a breath, but Virgil knew better. "There's no way anyone is going to paint a photorealistic dick on your face."

"Alriiiiight," Remus said. "Kraken it is."

The sun was now nearly gone over the horizon, only visible as a faint golden line. Janus had finally worn himself out and gone silent, though even in the darkness, Patton could see the annoyance smoldering in his eyes.

Oh, he was so cute. Even when he was annoyed. Which, granted, seemed to be most of them time, although some of it had to be an act. He smiled sometimes, when he thought Patton wasn't looking.

It was those secret smiles that had given Patton the courage to make this plan. He jiggled his leg and swallowed as nerves sent flutters of nausea through his belly. "Um, Janus?"

"Hm?"

"I mean," Patton started, "since we're stuck up here and everything."

"Don't remind me."

"I mean, you know, It's not all bad. If I have to be stuck at the top of a Ferris wheel, I'm glad it's with you. I… I'm glad it's us."

For a moment, Janus was silent. Then he said, in a tone of suspicion: "You're trying to cheer me up."

Patton sighed. As smart as Janus was, he just didn't seem to be putting the pieces together. Although, that was as much Patton's fault as it was Janus'. Well, it was mostly Patton's fault. He just had to be brave. "Look, Janus, I had this whole plan where we were gonna ride the Ferris wheel together and it was gonna pause at the top and while we were looking out over the fairground, I--" His breath hitched.

"...Was going to push me over the edge?" Janus asked.

"I was gonna do this." Rainbow lights from the Ferris wheel spokes danced across Janus' face. Patton leaned over and took his hands. "Janus, I really like you. And I want--"

"Yes," said Janus. "Whatever you're about to say, yes."

So Patton kissed him. 

[tennessoui]

The divorced fic was so cute i want to scream. Does Obi have any time to be sad or are Anakin and his little demons always there to distract him from his infinite sadness

so i know most everyone wants to know what anakin does about The Kiss but here's a bit of light hearted angst a year before that (because humanity is inherently whatever but i am inherently evil)

aka

the immediate aftermath of the Router Incident (1.4k)

The night of the day of what will come to be known as The Router Incident starts off with a bang.

Obi-Wan gets home a bit later than normal. Not because his work drags on longer than usual, but because he is, on the subject of all things even passably related to his personal life, a coward.

It’s been at least ten hours since he left the house with the goddamn wifi router tucked under his arm because Anakin had said something about finding a new place.

As if this isn’t the twenty-first century. As if Anakin doesn’t have a phone with unlimited data. As if Anakin isn’t the sort of person to walk five miles to the nearest coffeeshop with his kids in their stroller, just to use their wifi to email Obi-Wan a series of italicized question marks.

Obi-Wan’s been practicing his apology ever since he got that email. I’m really sorry, I promise I’m not a controlling megalomaniac. I just panicked because I’m not that good at letting go of things. You’d think I’d have learned by now, but apparently I only know how to dig my heels in whenever I think people are starting to pull away. Apologies again, life is not a game of tug-of-war, and I promise I do know that.

He practices his apology, of course, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t also try to put it off until the last possible moment. When he leaves the building, his car is the only one still in the lot.

I’m really sorry. Here’s the router back. I support your decision. Your kids will be great. I know you probably won’t let them see me, because that’s a bit weird if we don’t all live together, and you also don’t use social media, which is great because I also don’t use social media, but I would have made a Facebook account just to keep up with your family. It’s meant more than I can say to have something to come home to this past year, and I understand that you can’t put your life on hold for a lonely old man like me, and I will endeavor from now on to not impede your search for a new place to live.

No, too needy, he thinks at a red light, dragging his hand over his beard in defeat. He won’t beg Anakin to stay.

He would very much like to beg Anakin to stay, but he hadn’t even begged Satine to stay, and he had been in love with her.

He just enjoys Anakin’s company. His presence. Unwinding next to Anakin after a difficult day teaching is one of the things he looks forward to the most.

And this past holiday season, they’d had a big dinner at his house, filled to the brim with Anakin’s friends and his friends and some people from the local grocery store they’d met when out shopping together, and it had been so loud and so amazing. Nothing had been left untouched, there had been food on the ceiling (Obi-Wan suspects Leia to this day, but Luke had confessed), there had been leftovers for days.

You can’t just give me holidays like that and then take them away, Obi-Wan thinks angrily as he turns into his neighborhood. What will I do next winter, then?

He has to sit in his car for a second after parking, just to calm down. He’s the one in the wrong, he reminds himself. Anakin has all the right in the world to want to leave. It was never Obi-Wan’s family to begin with.

It was never Obi-Wan’s family to begin with.

When he opens the door, he’s met with the sound of children screaming and crying.

Luke rushes at him and jumps on him with enough force that he reels backwards, almost out of the house. He drops his bag on the floor in order to steady the child.

Luke is bawling his head off right next to Obi-Wan’s ear so it’s very, very difficult to hear what a red-faced Anakin is trying to say.

And then Leia runs up to him, tugs at his free hand until he looks down at her, and then stomps her little foot with a scowl. “I hate you!” she declares just as loudly as Luke is crying, before her tiny face breaks into tears and she runs off.

“Oh, for the love of--” Anakin shouts, throwing his hands up in the air and chasing after his daughter.

Obi-Wan, ridiculously hurt beyond measure and without a clue about what’s happening, goes to sit down on the couch, still gently cradling Luke’s body to his as the boy continues to weep.

“Hush,” he says soothingly. “And, ah. Please tell me what’s gotten into the Skywalkers now.”

Luke only sniffles and rubs his snotty nose all over Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

Well. It’s laundry day tomorrow anyway.

“Daddy says you hate us,” Luke mumbles, just as Anakin comes back into the living room, notably sans Leia.

Obi-Wan feels his mouth fall open in shock. “Daddy says what?” he asks, very slowly, making dangerous eye contact with Anakin over the top of Luke’s blond head.

Anakin flushes an even darker shade of red and looks around the room, as if that’ll save him.

“Daddy says we gotta go because this is your house and we don’t wanna stay over our, um. Welcome. We can’t reproach on your space, which means you hate us.”

“Encroach,” Anakin corrects, which Obi-Wan does not think is the thing that really needs to be corrected. When he tries to communicate this with his eyes, Anakin gulps and says quite quickly, “I’m gonna go check on Leia actually.”

Coward.

“Luke,” Obi-Wan says gently. “Your daddy is just being very, very dumb, a trait I pray with all my heart skips a generation.”

Luke blinks at him, his little eyebrows furrowed and his button nose bright red from all of his crying.

“I don’t hate you at all,” Obi-Wan says. “I love both you and your sister very much.”

“Then why do we gotta leave?” Luke complains. “I don’t want to go, we could never play Space Pirates and Lava Dragons at the old place, it was way too small.”

Obi-Wan thinks privately that his house, while certainly big enough, is by no means the proper size for how rambunctious the twins get when they’re playing Space Pirates and Lava Dragons.

“Well,” Obi-Wan hums consideringly. “I don’t want you to leave either.”

“You don’t?” Luke asks, eyes wide and hopeful.

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “I really don’t. But it’s not my decision to make, Luke.”

“It’s Daddy’s,” Luke concludes, head hanging low. “And Daddy wants to go.”

Obi-Wan ignores the way that sentence drives what feels like a knife straight through his heart. “Yes, well,” he coughs. “Your daddy won’t do anything he knows you and your sister really don’t want.”

Luke looks contemplative. Obi-Wan wonders if he should feel really bad or downright awful for manipulating a child in this way. But needs must.

“And he won’t listen to me,” he continues gently, smoothing down the front ends of the boy’s soft hair. “Because your daddy can be very stubborn when he thinks he’s doing something right.”

“He’ll listen to me and Leia though?” Luke asks, head cocked and eyes bright.

Obi-Wan nods very seriously. “I think he would if you both asked very nicely and thought about a lot of good reasons why you should stay here.”

“I can think of loads! And Leia can think of a ton more probably!” Luke exclaims with renewed energy, launching himself off of Obi-Wan’s lap and up the stairs, ostensibly to their shared bedroom.

Obi-Wan leans back against the couch, equal parts amused, exhausted, and hurt. He’ll need to have a serious talk with Anakin soon. He’d thought the man knew that his home was his as well. Yes, Anakin still paid rent, an unfortunate but necessary sort of system, but they’ve never been normal roommates. And Anakin isn’t a guest who could overstay his welcome.

He’s. Well.

Obi-Wan doesn’t know exactly what Anakin is to him, but he had hoped it was obvious to Anakin at least that Obi-Wan would not ever grow tired of his presence in his life.

So they do have some things to talk about.

But hopefully this means that Obi-Wan won’t actually have to apologize for the router incident, seeing as Anakin’s fuck-up caused much larger waves.

[kuroopaisen]

12:54 am || kozume kenma

➵ some important introductions are finally made.

wc: 1496

warnings: gn!reader, kenma is a youtube g*mer

a/n: gracie dear, this one is for you! i remember you saying you were looking forward to it. you’re one of the loveliest people i’ve chatted to on here and you have such a kind and gentle heart. thank you for having such an accepting and calming vibe and you’re so so easy to talk to, it’s very relaxing! your blog is such a positive space you and you make me feel the big ❤️ bless your dear heart, and i hope that november is kind to you!

The sun is long gone, the sky above Tokyo draped with velvet midnight. It looks like the kind of night you’d want to go out and experience, to walk around the ever-bustling city centre, to watch the sky in the hope of seeing something that’ll make your heart stutter in your chest.

But you don’t have the energy for that this evening.

Your honours project is sucking all it can out of you. You’re not surprised, of course, but that doesn’t make the experience any less irritating. You’re at that point where you just need to push a little more and polish it off; but as always, that’s the hardest part. Trying to thread together every section into something that’s not only coherent, but also of passable quality is harder than you’d given it credit for.

It’s the time of night when your eyes feel like they’re about to dribble out of their sockets like candle wax, and you’re aware that you’re not going to get anything of substance done now. You sigh, squinting at your laptop screen.

12:54 AM.

You blink your sore eyes rapidly. Was it really that late?

You stretch your arms above your head, feeling the strain in your muscles. You want nothing more than to curl up in bed with your boyfriend, letting the stresses of the day fade away as you run your fingers through his hair. He usually lets you at this hour, melting into your touch in a way he wouldn’t usually during the day.

It’s much too late for you to get anything of worth down for this assignment.

As you stand up, you swear you can hear every bone in your body crack. You don’t just want to go to bed, you need to get some rest.

But there’s no way you’re going alone.

You totter down the hall as quietly as you can, balancing yourself on your tiptoes. Kenma’s gaming room sits at the end of the hall, chosen for its decent acoustics and spaciousness. You tease him for his set up all the time – ‘epic gamer’ is your favourite moniker, and currently crowns your LINE messages.

You and Kuroo had even made him a little sign for his birthday. It’s a plaque stuck to the door that reads, “WARNING! Don’t talk to me until I’ve had my Epic Gamer moment.”

You grin at it as the door creaks open.

Kenma’s clicking away on his computer as he sits at his desk, eyes narrowed and a little pout on his lips. You smile to yourself; he looks so cute like this, so focused and intense. He doesn’t tend to get like this about anything else, but gaming had a way of drawing the intensity out of him.

You can’t help but wonder if he was like this during his volleyball days in high school, analysing the court in the moment. You’ve never seen him play, and you doubt you ever will. He pays Hinata to do that, after all. You’re glad that such a bright boy is part of your boyfriend’s life. Between you, Kuroo, and Hinata, there’s no fear of Kenma going unloved.

You give him a small wave from the door.

Recognition flashes in his eyes as he catches sight of you, the smallest of smiles gracing his face. Someone outside of your relationship might assume that doesn’t count for much; a tiny, forgettable little gesture that isn’t worth taking note of. But you know how to read Kenma.

His gaze flicks back to his screen.

“You all want to know that bad, huh?” He teases, even though his voice is still monotone.

‘Know what?’ you mouth.

“They want to know what made me smile,” Kenma tilts his head at you, and you swear your heart is about to bloom into a kaleidoscope of light.

You nod, tottering over to him as he rolls his chair back. He’s left just enough space for you to sit. You settle yourself down on his lap like it’s second nature, and he loops his arms around your waist. Usually, that wouldn’t make you blush. But, knowing a significant portion of his viewership were watching this happen in real time brings a certain nervousness to mind.

He props his chin on your shoulder, as he always does. For once, he’s more casual than you; he’s in his element, immersed in a game and bolstered by people who adore him. It’s all you could want for him.

“Yeah, this is my partner,” he hums, small smile playing at his lips.

You see the chat rush by on the corner of his screen, but you opt not to look. Doing so would only make you more nervous.

“They want to know how long we’ve been together,” he says, conspicuously dropping the question in your lap.

You grin, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “Officially, two years,” you smile. “But basically three.”

He chuckles lightly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “They also want to know how we met.”

“I was Kuroo’s roommate in university,” you say, well-aware of Kuroo’s much-loved presence on Kenma’s channel. “He decided I’d be a good friend for Kenma so he wrestled me into their little duo. He likes to say that us getting together was part of his plan all along, but I have my doubts.”

In all honesty, you’re surprised by how relaxed your reveal is. You’ve been worried about it for the past year, fearing the backlash that romantic partners of youtubers – especially gaming Youtubers – tend to receive.

Kenma had told you it would be okay, that you won’t have anything to worry about.

It feels nice, just sitting in his lap, getting to be part of this little world of his.

You stay for the next fifteen minutes or so, answering a myriad of questions pinged your way; was Kenma the same as he is in his videos? Does he ever sleep? Do you game with him much? Does he go easy on you in 1-v-1’s or is he ruthless?

“Thanks everyone,” Kenma yawns, propping his chin on your shoulder. “We’ve run over time, but you guys did a great job today.”

You bite back a giggle as you listen to his ‘Youtuber Outro Voice,’ which was just a shade brighter than his normal cadence.

You sit patiently as he wraps up, mentioning something about his next upload and the charity this stream was for. You know it’s got something to do with ensuring that children with disabilities are offered opportunities to take part in sports, and to help schools accommodate for that. You’re pretty sure Kuroo’s the one who linked your boyfriend up with them; you often teased him for ‘exploiting’ kodzuken’s following for charity.

Kenma clicks off the stream, letting out a long sigh as his shoulders deflate.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, nestling his face in the crook of your neck.

You giggle, reaching a hand back to smooth his hair. The angle’s a little awkward and your fingers bump against his headset, but you don’t mind.

“Did you raise a lot of money?” You ask, shifting in his lap so you can see his face.

He nods. “Not as much as the collab with Shouyou and Kuroo, but a fair bit.”

“Good,” you smile. He looks exhausted; he often does after long charity streams. But you know he cares about them – he wouldn’t bother with them otherwise. You gently slip his headset off – you bought them for him as a one-year-anniversary present, a cute, high-tech thing with cat ears – and place it gently on his desk.

You run your fingers through his hair, gently grazing his scalp. He hums in response, letting his eyes flutter shut. It’s like all the tension is melting away under your fingers, as if you’ve brought him a moment of precious reprieve. He never complains about his work – not in any real capacity, anyway – but even he got tired of his job.

As you gaze at his face, you’re content in the knowledge that you don’t need to flit amongst the city or watch the sky to see something that’ll make your heart stutter. He’s right in front of you.

“Hey, Kenma?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

The words flutter between you, threading a proper smile across his face. He doesn’t need to say them back to know your feelings are reciprocated; Kenma isn’t a man of many words, and his affection doesn’t tend to come out in grand statements or confessions. His love is in the little gestures; in a gentle kiss to the nose, or his fingers laced through yours, or permission to be part of his little world.

His love is shy, gentle, purposeful. You know he struggles to let people in. To let himself be seen. But he opens his windows for you, lets you filter through like the sunrise.

It’s all he’s capable of giving; but he gives it all with a quiet thoughtfulness.

And that’s more than enough.

[jojoboisimagines]

Snippets Ch.4 : Johnny and Josuke (4) with the Same Crush (3)

Previous Chapter

A set of multiple drabbles/oneshots combining characters (i.e Jojos) from multiple parts and AUs.

.::.

"That guy...do you think--" Josuke started.

"That's their boyfriend? No idea." Johnny quickly answered, trying to play it off as if he didn't care.

It was quite the opposite. He may have cared too much.

To say Johnny was jealous was an understatement. But it seemed like Josuke was feeling some of the heat too, seeing you hanging out with some guy and proceeding to talk about him with Josuke when the two of you went to lunch the other day.

Josuke was still in the dark about Johnny’s own crush on you, which was a relief for the jockey, but it was hell for him, having to be afraid of either guy winning you over first.

He just needed to muster up the courage to talk to you again, but it was a lot more difficult than he thought it’d be. You two always seemed to be busy when the other wasn’t. Of course he still had Gyro (and occasionally Josuke and Hot Pants) to keep him company, but he missed you.

The little spat the cousins had was forgotten for a while. They didn’t exactly apologize to each other, but just starting to talk normally again was enough sign there was no hard feelings. The younger teen was still very confused about Johnny’s intentions that day.

‘ Was he trying to be a good role model or was he just mad I was leaving him at home?’ he thought. It didn’t really matter to him anymore, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t concerned about what Johnny must’ve been thinking, and if he still did feel that way.

They sat at a small table on the far side of the kitchen. Josuke, looking rather bored, held his head on his palm, while Johnny was playing on their shared Switch. Or at least, was pretending to be after Josuke brought up the subject.

“Hey, can I ask you an honest question?” The Japanese teen breaks the icy silence once again.

Johnny merely raises an eyebrow with a low ‘hm’ that was barely audible. His heart silently raced thinking of what the boy sitting across from him had on his mind to ask.

“(y/n)...how long have you known them?” 

A simple enough question to start off with, Josuke thought. Yet Johnny’s lips still pursed.

“Uh...about half a year now. We got really close in that time I’d say.” That last part wasn’t even to get a rise out of Josuke, he just genuinely thought so. He really cared about you, romantically or not.

Meanwhile, Josuke had only known you for the duration of the summer, which was about to end in a couple of weeks. Perhaps if he’d beg Johnny to let him stay he’d have more time to bond with you, but there was also the issue of him feeling homesick from time to time.

God, if he could take you back to Morioh with him..it’d be like a dream come true.

They both had quickly forgotten about whatever guy Josuke was referring to earlier, mixed up in their own thoughts about their relationship with you. Besides, he had only ever seen the guy once, there was no way you’d switch up on him that quickly.

He had no dates or anything planned with you like he usually does, though. Not that he didn’t want to spend time with you, he just felt as if he was coming off as a little...clingy.

Higashikata had been trying to drop hints that he liked you, such as buying you things, having heart-to-heart conversations as he’d walk you home, calling you pet names, and ending his goodnight texts with a little heart emoji. He considered himself a romantic, but when it came to your reactions, you kinda brushed them off platonically. Perhaps you’d never been flirted with before?

His texts were still frequent, making sure you were having a good day and all, but he figured maybe he should start being a little more risky..

“What do you like about (y/n) anyways?” Johnny asked.

There was a pause for a couple of seconds, before Josuke scooted back in his chair and got up from the table, intending to retreat to his room for a couple of hours.

“The same things you do, probably.”

.::.

“Ow! Gyro, what the hell was that for?!”

“Because, idiota, you need to confess already.” He hovers over Johnny like a judgmental parent.

Josuke had left the house to get some groceries, and in that time, the jockey called Gyro over. Not for advice specifically, but that's what it had eventually turned into. Sitting on the floor of Johnny’s room (where it was painfully easy to find porn magazines, Gyro won’t let that go as long as the two of them live).

“Like seriously, this is getting embarrassing to watch, just do it already.” The Italian pointed a finger at his friend. “Sooner or later you’re gonna do the thing where you get the girl drunk and then sleep with her regardless of feelings.”

“Ugh, I’m not like that anymore Gyro!” Johnny folds his arms with a pout his friend knows all too well at this point. “I’ve never committed to anyone before, so of course this is a little more awkward for me than it is for anyone else, you know this!” 

Indeed he did know. It was somehow one of the things they always ended up talking about.

“Listen, I know how this is gonna end. Its gonna end with you in this same room, bunched up in several blankets, listening to Fleetwood Mac on repeat with 3 pizza boxes to make yourself feel better.”

The American scoffs.

Gyro sits upright on his bed. “I’m right. Look, this gal means a lot to you, I know. I’ve seen it. You’ve never stared at someone with such a…not hateful look in your eye.” It was half a joke, half truth. “And I don't wanna see you sad, so you’re just gonna have to pull yourself up, grow some steel balls, and ask them out. For real. For both of our sakes at this point.”

Johnny rolls his eyes. “Wow, Gyro wants me to be with a girl? Pigs must be flying.”

“You are so not funny.” The Italian’s teeth flashes for a moment as he scowls.

“Alright, since you’re such a casanova, why don’t you tell me what to say to them?” At this rate, there was really no other choice for Joestar to take. He could ask Hot Pants, but knew she would give him similar advice.

“Nyo-ho! I’ll show ya! All you gotta do is gimme your phone.”

As soon as the word ‘gimme’ was uttered, the jockey clutched his phone as if it was a baby. The last few times he lended his friend his phone, it didn’t go so well.

Gyro would’ve snorted if he wasn’t serious about this.

“Come onnn! It--”

“Won’t go like the last three times, right? Fat chance.”

“Just hurry and hand it over before I tackle you!”

The larger man did that far too much already, much to Johnny’s dismay. Once Gyro had him in a headlock, there was no getting out of it. He defeatedly raised his phone up to the man for him to take.

“If you ruin anything, I’m doing the same thing to you, AND taking your damn horse.” The Italian waved him off as if he was merely an angry toddler. As he typed, Johnny tried to peer over and see, but his friend was too adamant on turning side to side so he couldn’t. The expressions Gyro was making wasn’t a good sign either. First confused, then mischievous, then looking a little too proud of himself. The jockey’s hands could start sweating at any moment from the sheer anxiety this was giving him.

“Aaaaaand done! There we go, all set!”

Johnny reached for his phone as soon as the words left his mouth, unapologetically in a snatching manner to immediately read the text sent.

::‘Hey This is Johnny darling. Hope your day has been as beautiful as your smile. I was wondering if you’re free tomorrow by 12pm. I have something very important to tell you. See you soon xoxo.’::

Alright, so it wasn’t as bad as he thought itd be (not nearly as bad as the time Gyro dared him to send a ‘send nudes’ text to you) but god, it would look suspiciously out of character for you to see. He can’t even remember the last time he typed ‘darling’ instead of ‘darlin’ and actually bothered to punctuate his texts. And who even used ‘xoxo’ anymore?

His friend looked at him with a big grin, waiting for his reaction. A slightly more pure smile than if he were waiting for Johnny to get a joke.

“Soooo what do you think? You gotta pick some nice clothes out for your date.”

The shorter man sighs.

“Its...passable.”

.::.

 Josuke got home a little later than he expected. He was surprised to see there was still Prince CDs in stock at the store. Thats one of the perks of coming to America, he guessed. He was more than ready to put them into one of Johnny’s old CD players he had found. It was already hard for him to listen to pretty much anything without thinking of you. At least if it was Prince specifically, it would help him feel better and he could jam out to it.

Finally finding the track he wanted, he grinned, letting the music play out loud and hopping on his bed. It was a good few minutes before he had started getting that feeling in his gut again.

..Crap, this wasn’t helping either.

The teen felt that he couldn’t endure this much longer. Love was something he took very seriously and to be so unsure about your relationship just made him feel funny. He had to at least know for sure if the both of you were on the same page. Josuke was sick of being so anxious about it.

Josuke laid down flat on his back, pulling his phone out.

“You know what? I’m gonna ask them out.”

[candorarchives]

Confession

Author’s note: This is Part 1. Apparently things were getting way too long and I was having too much fun. Might post the second part when the mood strikes. “And now...we wait,” I muttered under my breath. The clothing given to me was passable, but fitted badly on my form. It was made for someone with more mass than I did. Usually, I’d like the quiet, but the lack of sound was more unsettling than anyone would have anticipated. 

The confession booth was rather dark, a small light illuminating the inside. Though there were holes for light to pass through, this wasn’t enough. It kept whoever was inside hidden from sight, yet seeing the congregant confessing in plain view. I was never raised Catholic, so its significance is unfortunately lost on me. But the psychological phenomena was not. 

Humans, in their constant search for meaning, have propped up the belief in the divine. A means to avoid being accountable—a reason to resign themselves to fate. To have a semblance of wrong and right that won’t necessarily make absolute sense. 

But who watches over the arbiters of sin? Men of the cloth, clothed in black yet none know what their souls are made of. I came here to learn their ways—to uncover the truths hidden beneath their rites and rituals. Nothing out of the ordinary yet. The worst I’ve heard is some priests talking over what was the worst thing they’ve heard out of a confession booth. 

I pity their congregants. 

Currently, there haven’t been many people going to confession. I’ve had the routine memorized already. Get the person to say the prayer of contrition, listen to them confess their sins, and provide means of making penance. It’s a bit similar to actual psychotherapy—just more of a legalistic affair. 

Footsteps grew louder as a small line started to form near the confession booth. I have been working for about two weeks now—but the feeling is something akin to a month. The patterns have become familiar, like knowing how to read notes. The steps have become piano pieces. Regular visitors were becoming more and more obvious by the day. 

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” A feminine voice graced my ear. One too familiar for my liking. “I’ve never confessed in my life, Father...but I aim to rectify this today.” 

I say the usual things, but there’s a lack of authenticity to it. “Speak, my child.” 

“I’ve been thinking...about someone. I don’t see them often, you see.” Her tone takes a solemn approach—but we both know she’s not used to being here. “And, Father—my heart grows fonder for them every single day. They light a fire in me that I cannot quench, and this....has led me down a dark path.” 

The fact that I couldn’t discern for certain that she was making this all up was most concerning. It was even worse that she sounded so sincere...have I lost? Has someone taken her from me already? No. That cannot be. It cannot be. “Continue,” I said whilst trying to compose myself. 

“I longed for him each day, but never tried to approach. It took so long for me to gain the initiative—but worst of all...I started to be….” The rest was unintelligible. Whoever has gained the upper hand from me...he’s gotten her wrapped under his thumb. To get her to stutter and blush at the mere mention of your name...how quaint. “Well...you get the point. It all started when Mr Wing had asked me to send a package to this man…” 

Oh no. 

The realization hit, her narrative unfolding. “He was setting up a card tower….” It was her psychological evaluation. I’m surprised that she remembers it as if it happened yesterday. But I’m getting ahead of myself. The difference between confessing to a priest and confiding in one’s therapist is that the latter has better solutions to fix the issues at hand. A priest is more often than not ready and willing to blame it on one’s spiritual failings than a psychological problem that can be overcome. 

“Though I racked my brain, there was no plausible way the cards would fall.” The goal was never to keep the tower in place. Though I did admire her tenacity for the former. That day she had already proven herself to me...and yet I could not find enough evidence to convince myself that confession was the endgame. 

She was still in the middle of the narrative. “The ensuing nights led me into quite the dreamscape, Father.” Long story short, the dream she was describing was both lucid and made me question for how long she had been harboring these feelings. It took my entire being to control myself—knowing the consequences if I lost control now. You can ask her about it later, just focus on the mission, Richter. Let’s just say it’s not helping that I’m listening to someone describing body parts that shouldn’t be out in the open. “My dear, such dirty thoughts...a more...intense purification is needed it seems.” 

“What do you mean, Father? Shan’t a fervent recitation of the Rosary not do? I could do community service, serve the parish—I don’t understand.” 

Honestly, I could not continue the conversation. Was I succumbing to the darkness yet again? Or awakening it? I could not ascertain. The detective game was one thing, getting into character was easy, but this? I was grasping at straws at this point. “The sins you’ve committed are not so easily absolved, dear.” 

The initiation ceremony flashed, almost in a blink of an eye. I remember having to watch this innocent woman give confession, the priest inside the booth looking flush in the face. But his lust emanated into the hall...and the rest was history. Something I’d wish to forget, yes, but history nonetheless. 

Her voice brought me back to the present day—more of a reminder of the grim reality that faced us. We were playing roles, I a priest about to pounce, and her the innocent damsel in distress. The fact that she was this brings about an unexplained heaviness. A part of me screams to sneak out of the booth and not bring it up, but the information is so close. It’s in my grasp, give it a day, I just have to…. 

Rosa, could you ever forgive me? 

“Father? Am I...am I damned forever?” The fear in her voice heightens. If I didn’t know it was her I’d be honestly worried. “Have I become so unclean that not even Christ can cleanse me?”

To be continued... Tagging @gloryofluv who has been screeching at me to get this posted lmao

[fabricated-misslieness]

Dick Grayson x gender neutral reader

Dick.. why the fuck would you name somebody ‘Dick’. I get that it’s a common nickname for even more common names, but who thought it’d be a good idea? Not to mention ‘Dicky’ from Nicky, Ricky, Dicky, & Dawn. 

The focus shifts around from voice to love which i don’t particularly like, but eh

Reader has a nice voice that Dick just can’t get over.

Requested: No

Word Count: 1573

Warnings: the flirting part is a bit suggestive, mentions of arguments, mentions of injuries

Dick Grayson loved your voice. As oversaid as it is, your voice was music to his ears, in a bit of a literal sense at times. Even your laugh was beautiful, to the point where it made it more contagious.

The first time he met you, it wasn't all about your looks that made him crush on you. Sure, you looked amazing, and your appearance was what attracted him to speak to you anyway, but it was your voice that sealed the deal.

Your voice was soothing, seemingly always calm. You were always calm, no matter what strain you were under. Dick would often call it your superpower, which always elicited a laugh from you.

It was an angel's voice, which is something he almost told you in your first encounter.

In fact, his confession stemmed from a slip up of his. He was listening to you rant about your favorite hobby, not entirely paying attention. To tell the truth, he was listening more to your voice than your words, if you can even do that. "Beautiful." He'd said. He'd meant to say it in his head, but it'd slipped out of his mouth accidentally.

You merely quirk your head, assuming that he'd said it about your hobby. Before you could continue on, though, Dick tried to fix his slip up. If he'd read the situation, he'd known that you weren't all that suspicious. But, in his panic, he hadn't realized it.

"I mean, uh…" Though he hadn't exactly thought his words through before trying to correct himself.

Now you're curious, since you now know that he's not referring to your hobby, which is rather rude but you didn't expect him to pay attention. Somehow you manage to convince Dick to keep talking.

"You're beautiful." He immediately flushes a bright red, which you no doubt find adorable. "Your voice, that is!"

If you ignore the slip up, that compliment is quite commonly used by newly acquired acquaintances, rather than friends. Normally you brush it off, since you get these compliments quite a bit, but then you realize he'd been staring at you this whole time with a dopey look. In your focus on your hobby, you hadn't realized, but now that you'd been distracted from it, you saw it clear as day.

"Does that suggest that you like me, Grayson?" Your lips form into a smirk. God, did he hate your voice sometimes. That is what he would say, but he loved it, which was the problem. Your voice itself was magnificent, but paired with the words and the playful use of his last name, it made his knees buckle.

You take note of how vulnerable it makes him, which means you're sure to use that to your advantage later, whenever that is.

"I–" Dick gulps, practically shrinking under your gaze. "Yeah..?"

Needless to say, you kiss his nervous look away.

Dating was absolute heaven for Dick, apart from the time you spent apart. That was agony.

He realized his love for you had increased when you accepted, even supported his vigilante ways. You'd accepted the fact you wouldn't be spending a lot of time together and, as hard as it is to accept, the risk of him getting hurt out there. It wasn't just that that made him fall in love.

He loved when you'd sing him to sleep while cuddling him, to the point where he asked you to every night you slept together, if you still had the energy. It sure as hell made it much easier for him to sleep.

Compliments are a daily thing, something he also solicits from you. He loves the way they roll off your tongue, even if you slip up a few words. Even when he anticipates it, his face flushes.

Now flirting, on the other hand, god did he love it. Maybe even more than being sung to sleep. The pet names you'd use, the cheesy yet passable one-liners, it was everything to him. You were everything to him.

"Darling, what a nice surprise." You merely sip your drink as you watch him climb through your apartment window. As graceful, flexible, and acrobatic as he is, somehow he can't seem to go through windows very successfully. He nearly falls over.

"Hey." He plays it off cool, but he can see that you're not letting him go that easy.

"Are you okay? You seemed to have scraped yourself on the carpet." He hadn't scraped himself, but his reaction was quite cute either way.

"I'm just fine." He replies, swiping the nonexistent dust off his shoulders.

"Oh?" You raise an eyebrow, taking another slow, agony-inducing sip from your cup. "Are you sure you wouldn't like me to check?"

He chuckles, sliding off his super suit. "If you wanted to see me bare, you could've just asked." Despite suggesting such an explicit thing, Dick slides on his spare clothes anyway. Though before he puts on his shirt, you put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"Well, may I see you bare, as you say?"

Spending all that time together, he never got over your voice. He never got tired of you. He always looked forward to the next time you'd meet.

He didn't need to think about the next time you'd meet when you moved in together.

You start and end every day together, which means more of your voice and way, way more singing. He hadn't noticed the way you sang under your breath while doing a routinely task, though when would he?

You yourself hadn't realized you did. You found out about it around a month after Dick and you started dating. That month was full of Dick asking you to sing for him, which made you notice that you sang much more because of him. If anything, you found it cute.

Because you spent even more time together, he asked you to sing other things that weren't lullabies, typically love songs.

He loved to hear you sing first thing in the morning when he women up as you made breakfast. Sometimes he'd follow along in song, no matter if he sucked or if he didn't even know the lyrics.

But, as perfect as it sounds, fights come. It's part of normal relationships, but they are only a bump in the road. People who are truly in love overcome the obstacles, people that you thankfully are.

Though such arguments always hurt. Dick hates how your usually calm voice becomes frustrated, almost panicked. All he wants is to have the argument over with, which makes making up for it all the more urgent for him. He doesn't care if he has to sleep on the couch, as long as you make up, he's happy. He almost forgets about the argument itself.

These arguments usually come from Dick's nights out. You're prepared yet it always hurts you to see him in pain, even if you'd accepted it.

It was just so hard to see the person you loved like this, so you have the right to break down. Dick makes sure he's careful so he doesn't get injured in fights, but it's almost inevitable that he gets hurt.

When he comes home hurt, he's most likely frustrated too. Especially if it was something he could've prevented. He hated seeing how much it hurt for you to see him this way, so much so that he took his anger out on himself.

You hated seeing him injured, but you hated seeing him be so frustrated in himself more than that.

You hated arguments, but you got over them. You'd gotten used to the possibility of him coming home injured. It was hard to do so, which made him feel proud of you, along with that boost of love, of course.

Finally, he loved coming back home to you.

"Hey." His breathing is hard from all the running he's done, which makes greeting a bit funny.

"Hey." You laugh. You pat the seat next to you, and from the entrance, Dick can see you've left his plate on the table. He loves how considerate you are and how much you trust him to come back home.

"Thanks." Dick digs into his food, taking one bite while scrambling to take his suit off. It's a silly sight, though Dick has no idea how silly it looks.

"What?" He asks in the middle of a mouthful.

"One at a time, babe." You continue to watch him as you eat your own meal. Dick was basically your personal entertainer.

"Right." He gulps down the rest of his mouthful, beginning to get up to go grab some clothes. You stop him before he does, pointing at the clothes at the far end of the small table. "Right, right." Even with how long you've been living together, he can't seem to adjust to how prepared you are for him.

He'd always been a mess when he lived alone, in the behavior part; he liked to have his apartment clean. More often than not he'd leave a small mess for his morning self to clean up.

It's almost as if you were his parent. You told him to take care of himself, but most importantly, you love him and you made sure he knew that. He doesn't know how you put up with his shit.

He loved how calm you were, your voice, and you all in all.

Dick Grayson loved you.

[flyingkiki]

A Very Merry Christmas (2/4)

Full steam ahead! I'm back for more steamy TimRae content! Enjoy, my loves.

Chapter One is HERE. A Very Merry Christmas, Chapter 1.

~~

“Good morning.”

Raven tensed and immediately looked over her shoulder to see Bruce, dressed in pajamas, appear under the arch of the living room’ doorway. She blinked, surprised at how she was not able to catch his aura or emotions – but then again, that would be Batman for you. It stunned her at times how she could oftentimes read nothing from the man. She watched him walk into the room, his movements not making a sound.

“Good morning,” she replied, offering a small smile before involuntarily folding her arms across her chest. Tim’s soft sweater offering some comfort. “You’re up early.”

The corner of Bruce’s lips quirked just a little bit in response. “I’m usually up at this time to prepare for work and start the day,” he replied.

Raven hummed lowly in agreement and returned to staring out the window. It was still dark outside; sunlight would be in another couple of hours thanks to winter. The garden lamps outside illuminated the snowy garden beautifully and Raven had spent the last few minutes just staring blankly out the window and watching illuminated snowflakes drift from the sky.

“Tim’s practically the same. Though he usually stays up until dawn for work and catches whatever little sleep he can. It’s horrible,” Raven said, a fond smile playing on her lips at the memory of Tim hunched over a laptop in his bedroom back in Gotham. “Though he usually gets into bed with a few threats,”

Bruce sighed. “He works himself to the bone.”

“He does.” Raven agreed.

A heavy silence fell over them as Bruce and Raven continued to stare out the window. Raven shifted, pressing her arms just a little tighter to her chest as her discomfort grew. Perhaps it would have been best to have just stayed in bed with Tim. She shot Bruce a quick glance before watching a few snowflakes disappear into a rosebush.

“Thank you for taking care of him,”

Raven starts, looking up at the sudden confession. She blinked, feeling the faint whispers of emotions from Bruce. Her fingers curled into Tim’s sweater as she mulls over Bruce’s words. Raven tilted her head just a little bit and released a soft breath. “He’s been taking care of me too,” she replied, silently recalling her own personal struggles recently.

“We all went through some difficult times,” Bruce said, his voice low in the quiet of the room. Raven held her breath, watching as a few emotions flickered across his face. “Tim more so. I – I,” Bruce blinked and paused, visibly struggling with words. Inhaling softly, Bruce absently tapped the mug he was holding. “I have many regrets.”

Raven felt her stomach twist and she watched Bruce swallow. “You’re trying now,” she said after finding her voice. “Tim knows that. He’s trying too,”

Bruce stared out the window, seemingly lost in thought. Raven saw a broken expression flicker in his eyes briefly, before turning to Raven and offering a small smile. “I love my children though I’m terrible at showing it,” He told her. He inhaled softly and released a rueful chuckle. “I’d never imagine parenting to be this difficult,”

Raven tilted her head and smiled. “It doesn’t come with a user manual, does it?” Bruce returned the smile. Her lips quired at a thought. “Though I’d doubt you’d be type to read the manual.” A fond expression crossed her face and a smile played on her lips as she turned back to the window. “I’d think Tim would though.”

Bruce chuckled and nodded his head. He returned to watching the snow too. “That’s right.”

Raven dropped her hands from around her, tension leaving her. It was still pretty early, perhaps it would be good to return to bed briefly before everyone woke up. Bruce may like some time alone, after this rather strange heart-to-heart encounter. “I –”

“I’m sorry,”

Raven paused and stared wide eyed at Bruce. She held her breath, starting up at the older man expectantly. “Bruce,” she whispered. A swarm of mixed emotions blossomed in her chest and she watched as Bruce looked at her with a rare, apologetic look.

“13 years ago, we made a terrible mistake. We allowed our prejudices cloud our judgement and refused to help a 13-year-old girl asking for our help,” Bruce stared at Raven, for a moment seeing that distraught young girl. He paused and watched Raven’s surprised reaction. “We are an institution that is supposed to help. But we failed you. I have seen your work and the Titans you have built over the years, I’d like to think you’ve become a hero far greater than most of us. I deeply regret our decision – my decision – on that day. I know that trust is hard to build but, I’m sorry for what happened on that night. I hope you can forgive me for my mistakes,”

Raven inhaled softly and for a brief second she remembered that night at the Watch Tower and the silence she received from the Justice League. She remembered Batman and his empty emotions, and she looked up at the same man now and felt his emotions, regret, tickle her own. It took her aback. “Bruce,” she whispered. She blinked, pulling herself out of the memory. “I—thank you,” she whispered. She gave him a rueful smile. “You were being a parent, protecting his home,”

Bruce swallowed, an emotion flickering in his eyes. His lips quirked into a rueful smile of his own. “I’m a parent now trying to correct and learn from my mistakes,”

~

“I’m kinda hurt you didn’t tell me,” Dick shot Raven a playful smile over the kitchen counter as they helped Alfred prepare breakfast later that morning.

Raven rolled her eyes and transferred some fresh pancakes on a plate. “You didn’t tell us you and Star were dating. Just taking notes,” she shot back.

Dick snagged a strawberry from the plate she prepared, much to her annoyance. “Told you a week after,”

“Well, you know now.” Raven replied and pushed the plate of finished pancakes towards Dick. She raised an eyebrow as he eyed the pancakes skeptically. “Alfred made them,” she said. She had been delegated to plating duty after confessing to Alfred that she wasn’t very much useful in the kitchen outside from making tea and toast. Tim had been trying to teach her to cook, but what little time they had together was not spent in the kitchen, admittedly (more like the kitchen floor, but that wasn’t something she would openly admit to Tim’s family). Alfred had promised her to teach her to make Tim’s favorite cookies later though. She hoped they’d be passable.

Dick took another strawberry from the plate. “Yeah. Over a year late,”

They heard Alfred putter in the background, finishing up a final batch of pancakes. Raven dutifully waited by the counter for the final few pancakes for her to plate. “To be fair, nobody really knew.”

Dick propped his elbow on the counter and dropped his chin into his hand as he eyed her. His face contorted. “I feel bad that you felt like you had to keep it a secret,” he told her.

Raven shrugged her shoulders dismissively. She absently rolled a blueberry between her fingers. “Don’t be. We just wanted privacy,” she smiled. “It was nice keeping this just for us,”

“Something as precious as love is always best kept close,” Alfred offered Raven a pleasant smile as he placed a final stack of pancakes in front of her ready for plating. Raven returned the smile, the warm emotions of Alfred tickling her own.

Raven hummed in agreement and the three shared amused smiles. “Besides,” continued Raven and started distributing pancakes onto different plates. “I honestly did not want Gar or Jinx annoy the crap out of me with all their teasing.”

Dick made an agreeing sound in the back of his throat. “I’m still surprised nobody caught on.”

The corners of Raven’s lips quirked just a little bit. “I think Cyborg got suspicious at one point. He caught me once when I was not in the Tower. I leave my comms with the tracker in my room when I go out,” at the look of Dick’s disapproving face, she rolled her eyes. “And take my untraceable comms with me, every time. My tracker said I was at the tower but I wasn’t in my room. Cy got a suspicious. Told him I had to return a book. We were actually in New York,”

Dick raised his eyebrow. “New York?”

“Broadway.” Raven smirked. “Hamilton.”

Dick rolled his eyes at her smirk. “Cyborg’s going to blow a fuse.”

Raven chuckled and nudged all plates into his direction, ready for serving to the rest of the Batfamily. “To be honest, I’m kind of disappointed none of you caught on.”

Tim took this time to shuffle into the kitchen, still in his pajamas and looking disheveled and sleepy. “Terrible detective skills if you ask me,” he yawned and shot Dick a sleepy grin. Dick retaliated by quickly giving his younger brother the finger just as Alfred turned his back on them. Tim maturely returned the finger while crowding into Raven’s space and throwing an arm around her waist.

“Morning,” Tim offered Raven a sleepy smile and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I was wondering where you went.”

“Couldn’t sleep anymore,” Raven shrugged and smiled. She handed Tim one of the plates with pancakes and blueberries.

Jason made a face as he entered the kitchen for his plate of pancakes. “Please don’t talk about your sex lives this early in the morning. We do not want to know what kept you up all night,” he shot Tim an annoyed look.

Dick looked scandalized and shot Jason a dark glare. “Jason!” The last thing he wanted to hear was that his little brother and one of his best friends were having sex. Dick felt a little sick.

Jason lazily leaned over the kitchen counter and pointedly stared at Dick with a bland expression. “Don’t say you didn’t too!”

“You are terrible,” Tim frowned and made a grab for the coffee pot.

Jason pointed a finger at Tim and offered him a wink. “I know it,”

Raven rolled her eyes and shoved a plate of pancakes for Jason to take. She watched him grudgingly take the stack and her lips quirked just a little bit. Despite the storm of emotions Jason usually carried with him, she could feel the light banter behind his words.

“Let’s have breakfast, shall we?” Alfred appeared at the foot of the kitchen island carrying a tray of coffee and hot chocolate. “I am sure Master Bruce and Master Damian are already waiting and hungry,”

They all nodded in agreement and shuffled around the kitchen island, picking up plates of pancakes and trays of fruits. Tim nudged Raven gently and they exchanged small smiles. “All good?” he asked her as they followed the rest of the group towards the dining area.

Raven hummed softly and nodded. She felt Tim’s gentle brush of concern and she nodded. Recalling the early morning conversation with Bruce, she realized what tension was left in her shoulders had disappeared. Offering Tim a smile, she juggled the plates of pancakes in her hands and nudged her concerned boyfriend with her shoulder again. “All good,” she replied softly only for them to hear. Entering the dining area, they joined the rest of the Batfamily at the table, depositing stacks of pancakes in front of everyone. Raven caught Bruce’s eye as she settled down next to Tim. The older man offered a small smile and nodded in her direction. Returning Bruce’s smile, Raven allowed herself to slowly let go of her worries of the past. All was good.

~

“And this is still Wayne property?” Raven asked, her voice carrying through the cold winter air. She surveyed the frozen forest, appreciating the sight of a pure white landscape. They were a good distance from the house, walking past a frozen lake and over a snowy hill.

After two days of just staying indoors, baking (and taking out fires that came with it), board games, and movies, Tim had decided they both needed a break from the rest of the group. While he loved his family and it warmed his heart to see Raven slowly take to the rest of the Batfamily, they both needed some much-needed alone time. There was just so much smothering and sex jokes he could take from Dick and Jason.

They decided a quick hike into the forest would do them some good. Raven suggested they take his old camera with them so he could do some photography. Most of the pictures he took were of Raven though, admittedly.

“Yeah, sort of?” Tim replied, lowering his camera after taking a photo of a snow bunny. He smiled as the little creature scurried away after catching sight of them. Turning back to Raven and watching her carefully step over a dead log.

“Sort of?” Raven looked up and eyed him curiously.

“I think this is the edge of the property?” Tim looked around in the clearing they were in, cataloging the trees and calculating the distance they had walked. “Yeah, pretty much the edge of the property.”

Raven stuffed her gloved hands into her jacket and bounced on her heels to get some warmth into her body. “It’s such a huge property,” she whispered and watched her breath condense. There was a winter snap lingering in Gotham and it had been snowing for days. Thankfully it had stopped snowing today. Raven looked around briefly, appreciating the snowy quiet.

“Apparently B’s great grandparents kept this place as a farm back in the day. There’s a really old barn at the back of the house,” Tim told her. He absently took a photo of the dead tree branches, capturing the spiny outline they cast in the sky. He threw an amused smile over his shoulder. “Farming didn’t stick with Bruce. It really wasn’t his hobby of choice,”

Raven chuckled in amusement and stepped up to him, watching as he took a few more landscape photos and clearly enjoying himself. She was glad they were able to do something he liked. “That’s good. I don’t think any of you would be great farm boys,” she teased.

“Hey,” Tim chuckled. “I’m pretty sure I’d invent something to speed up farm processes in no time. Shouldn’t be too difficult,”

“Careful,” Raven chided, purple eyes danced in amusement and she quickly sidestepped Tim as he tried to reach for her. “Your nerd is showing,”

Tim released a loud bark of laughter. Reaching out with his gloved hand, he tried to make a grab for her. Snorting at her playfulness and he watched her slip out of his reach. “Raven,” Tim whined playfully and dropped his camera to dangle over his shoulder. Quickly catching up with her, he caught her wrist and pulled her towards him. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he chuckled as she squirmed in his grasp and tried to elbow her way out of it. Tim grinned at her frustrated whine and tsked lowly in the back of his throat. “So mean,”

Raven let out a soft huff and stopped wriggling. Leaning into his embrace, she conceded to the fact that she was not slipping out of Tim’s embrace (though honestly, with a little fight she could, really). Inhaling Tim’s familiar aftershave, she slowly melted into his embrace and relished the familiar warm press of his body against hers. Coming up to her toes, she pressed a clumsy kiss to his flushed right cheek. “What are you going to do about it?” she whispered playfully into his ear.

Tim groaned. “Raven,” he whispered and held her closer, fingers digging into her hips. Adjusting his hold around her, he leaned forward and captured her lips into a needy kiss. He felt her breathy chuckle and wrap her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. Ignoring the biting cold and the uncomfortable press of his camera into his ribs, Tim sighed and savored the kiss. Humming softly at the kiss, Tim slipped one of his hands down her back and cupped her ass.

Feeling his hot flare of emotions feed her own and the tantalizing grope of her butt, Raven inhaled softly and pulled herself away from Tim. “Tim,” she breathed and dropped her chin on his shoulder, steadying her heartbeat and quickly glancing around the empty forest. “Someone might see,” she whispered, and swallowed as Tim continued to press closer to her and hotly press a kiss into her neck.

Slipping his hands away from her butt and over her hips, Tim ignored her and shifted both their hips towards each other into a delicious press that simply made the freezing outdoor temperature disappear. Pressing another needy kiss onto the underside of her chin, Tim sighed against her skin. “We’re alone,” he whispered, and hands traveled again over her back.

“Tim.” Whispered Raven, her words disappearing into a sigh as she melted into another long kiss. Her gloved fingers curled into his thick winter jacket to steady her as she felt his slick tongue slip against her own. A warmth bubbled lowly within her, and she keened softly, knees growing week and desperately chased after his lips. The cold wind tickled her flushed, warm cheeks, seemingly adding fire to the heady emotions.

Raven gasped as Tim shifted them ever so slightly, one strong leg slipping in between hers and gently pressing against the growing heat between her legs. Teeth scraped against her jaw and her fingers dug deep into his jacket as she felt her emotions purr. She whimpered as she felt his soft breathing in her ear.

“Tim,” whispered Raven, eyes flying open as she heard the distant snap of a twig. She blinked, pulling away but holding onto the man in front of her and relishing Tim’s hot breath fan over her cheek. She briefly looked over his shoulder, just to make sure they were alone.

Tim chuckled softly, swallowing and catching his breath. Catching on her worry, Tim pressed forward and kissed her cheek gently. “Sorry,” he mumbled. Finding his center, he straightened and pulled Raven’s hands away from his back. Slipping his gloved fingers against her left hand, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Let’s walk around a bit?”

Raven hummed and nodded, allowing Tim to tug her along through the snowy forest. They remained quiet for the most part, catching their emotions and enjoying the quiet noise the forest had to offer.

They reached another clearing with a massive tree off the center. Tim tugged her towards the tree and pointed at the large treehouse that sat up in the baren branches. “We built that when the little demon spawn came to live with us,” he told her.

The tree house was large, made of old, sturdy wood, and obviously built to last. It stood out in the white snowy background. Raven squeezed Tim’s hand and eyed him curiously. “You built that for Damian?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. He threw her an amused smile and pulled her towards the tree. “We thought it would make the eight-year-old brat less, uh, deadly. You know, give the kid a treehouse to have some semblance of a childhood, not that any of us really knew what that was, really.”

Raven’s lips curled into a small smile and followed Tim towards the back of the tree. “Did he like it?”

Tim brushed away some snow from the steps that were fixed to the side of the tree. He snorted and gave Raven a wry grin. “He knocked out Jason and left him tied up in this treehouse for 6 hours,” he told her.

Raven frowned and watched as Tim started to climb up the small stairs. “What are you doing?”

Tim threw an amused smile over his shoulder as he stopped his climb up the stairs. “C’mon. Don’t you want to check it out?”

Raven drew her brows together and eyed the large structure skeptically. “Is this even safe?”

“You of little faith,” Tim chuckled. He continued his short climb up the steps and pushed against the floor door to open it. When it released from its internal lock, he looked down and saw Raven at the foot of the stairs. “We built the Batcave. This is basically a fortress of treehouses,”

Raven rolled her eyes and slapped his calf. “Shut up. Your nerd is showing again.” She smiled as he caught her eye and laughed. Raven watched Tim jostle the door a bit more before pushing it open. He climbed throw the hole and turned around to stick his hand out and help Raven through the door. Climbing through the hole, Raven was sure she heard the old treehouse creak under their weight but kept quiet.

“Some fortress,” Raven said dryly, looking around the bare room. An old table stood in one corner of the treehouse. She watched Tim remove his camera from his shoulder and carefully place it on the table.

Tim rolled his eyes at her and walked around the space, looking out one of the two windows. “It’s a treehouse, what do you expect?”

“I don’t know. Maybe like a BatTreehouse?” she teased. She leaned against the window from of the other window and briefly looked out before turning back to an amused Tim.

Tim’s lips quirked into a silly smile and watched Raven in amusement. It was nice seeing her relaxed and with her guard down. “Aren’t you a tease today?”

Raven snorted and crossed her arms. Her purple eyes shone playfully catching Tim’s shift of emotions. Two could play that game. Tilting her head, she raised an eyebrow in mock challenge. “I am?”

Tim hummed his confirmation and moved away from the window, slowly crossing the small space. A familiar glint in his eyes. “Very.”

Raven raised a delicate eyebrow as she watched Tim draw closer to her. The emotions in the room shifted and it suddenly did not seem too cold. A pleasant warmth spread low in her abdomen and her senses tingled in anticipation. “Are you complaining?”

Tim chuckled, stopping in front of Raven and placing both of his hands on her hips. Smiling mischievously, he leaned forward and pressed a gently kiss on her cheek. “Hardly,” he mumbled into her skin. Shifting his hands, he drew her into an embrace, pressing her small form towards him.

“Good,” Raven mumbled into his shoulder, melting into the warm embrace and closing her eyes. Inhaling Tim’s familiar smell and relishing the solid press of his body and warmth against hers, Raven sighed in content. Despite her initial hesitations to go out for a long walk in the cold weather, she was glad to spend some alone time with her boyfriend and get away from all the new emotions at the house. Enjoying the quiet, Raven sighed softy and drew her arms tighter around Tim.

Feeling her shift in his arms, Tim tilted his head and eyed her curiously. “Everything alright?” he asked, voice low and carrying softly through the cold afternoon. He smiled when he felt her nod against his shoulder. Running his hand up her back, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“Though,” Raven voice was mumbled against his shoulder. “I’m still disappointed that this is not a BatTreehouse.”

Tim laughed and his arms drew her tighter to him. “Hey,” he squeezed her waist and grinned at the soft chuckle from her. “I’ll have you know there are definitely weapons in this treehouse,”

Raven snorted and propped her chin on his shoulder. She smiled in amusement. “Of course,”

Rocking them gently, Tim squeezed her hips. He pressed his lips closer to her ear, earning a soft shiver from her form. “Such a tease,”

Leaning up and pressing into him, Raven relished Tim’s warm emotions. Curling her fingers into his upper arms, Raven leaned up and kissed the underside of his jaw. Her skin hummed in silent anticipation. Raven sighed. “I hear no complaints,”

Tim ran his right hand down her back and gently cupped her ass through her jeans. Releasing a soft chuckle, Tim easily caught her lips in a breathy kiss. “No complaints here,” he mumbled against her lips. He sighed softly as she readily responded to the kiss with her arms curling around his neck, drawing both of them closer.

Raven felt his warm emotions press into her and she readily responded in kind, raising to her toes and pressing into Tim’s lips. A soft moan escaped her lips as Tim pressed into her, pushing her against the old wooden wall. His strong fingers pressed through the thick layers of clothes into her hips, and she sighed softly at the pressure.

She felt him shift, hips pressing into hers greedily, and she felt her skin tingle in anticipation and her mind fog. Releasing breathy moan into Tim’s hot kisses, Raven pulled Tim closer. Heat started to pool low in her abdomen and Raven groaned as Tim tilted her head and kissed her deeply, parting her lips and slipping his tongue against hers.

Tim shifted them, greedily drinking in her softy sighs and pressing his right leg in between hers. Grazing his teeth against her jaw, Tim groaned as she shifted her hips and brushed against his own growing desires. “Raven,” he whispered into her neck, her soft scarf tickling his nose. He was faintly aware he was making out with his girlfriend in an old treehouse. How cliché. Tim felt Raven’s fingers curl into his winter jacket, and she shifted against him, hips urgently pressing into his. Fuck.

“Shut up and kiss me,” Raven whispered, lost in the fog of hot emotions. Eagerly lapping up Tim’s warm emotions, Raven leaned up and captured his lips in a heady kiss. She moaned softly as his tongue slipped against hers, teeth catching against lips. His right leg pressed into her, adding a delicious pressure in between her legs. She unconsciously bucked her hips, chasing after the hard pressure. Heat rushed through her and she sighed breathily.

She was vaguely aware of Tim pulling off his gloves. She felt one of his cold hands slip behind her head, threading into her hair and knocking off her black bonnet. Tim tugged her hair gently and titled her head up, kissing her deeply. Pressing into him and bucking into his leg for release, Raven heard Tim’s low groan.

She gasped loudly and pulled away from his demanding kisses as cold nimble fingers had slipped under her jacket and thick sweater and danced over the hem of her jeans. Cold fingers pressed into her heated skin and she whimpered softly. Unrelenting, Tim pressed forward and pushed her harder into the wall behind her. Fingers danced over the hem of her jeans as Tim instead started to kiss her neck, teeth hungrily scraping at the exposed flesh.

Raven felt like she was going to explode as heat pooled in her abdomen and teeth scraped against her throat. Throwing her head back and ignoring the sting of hitting her head against the wall, Raven released a soft moan. Tim’s fingers fiddled with the button of her jeans and his knuckles pressed into her abdomen. Her hips bucked in response. She faintly wondered how she did not burst into flames yet.

“Is this okay?” Tim whispered, voice raspy and needy. Despite the fog that clouded his mind, he was still vaguely aware that they were outdoors and just seconds away of potentially fucking their brains out in public. He felt Raven’s hips buck and his thumb pressed into her jeans button, ready to open a glorious treasure.

Raven inhaled deeply, lust practically purring. Cracking open her eyes, she caught Tim’s hooded stare. Lips curling and shifting her hips into his hand, she tried to pull him closer. “No one is here,” she whispered.

That was all the invitation he needed. In quick, practiced movements, Tim pushed the jeans button through its hole. Surging forward, Tim groaned and caught her lips in a heady kiss. Tongue hungrily slipping against hers just as his fingers slipped past the confines of her jeans and into her tantalizing wet underwear. He happily drank her keen as his fingers slipped into her wet heat. Groaning into the kiss, Tim felt her contract around his fingers.

“Ah!” Raven breathed loudly, head tipping back and hitting the wall behind her. Closing her eyes in pure ecstasy, Raven’s hips bucked into Tim’s hand as his fingers pumped into her in a steady delicious rhythm. Raven was sure her body was on fire as she felt her knees buckle. Her own fingers curled desperately into Tim’s shoulders, trying to keep herself upright. She moaned breathily as Tim curled his finger and hit that spot and she released a breathy moan.

“Raven,” Tim watched the emotions dance across Raven’s face. Pressing a kiss into her neck, he groaned as he felt her chase after his fingers. He felt her flutter around him. Tim sighed into her neck, his own need for release becoming painfully aware. His dick twitched in his jeans.

Tim’s fingers were relentless as they thrust into her and Raven mewled softly, heat close to making her body explode. Gasping as his fingers pressed into her, Raven grabbed Tim’s chin and caught his lips in a rough, heady kiss. She felt Tim’s burning emotions, begging for release pressing into her. She knew they both would not last very long – and while Tim’s fingers fucking her senseless were wonderful – her body was ready to explode.

As Tim roughly pushed into her, his body practically pressing her into the wall, Raven’s hand traveled down his chest. Tim immediately pulled away, and stared at Raven with wide eyes as he felt her fingers shakily work on his belt buckle. The distinct clink of metal releasing from the buckle could be heard over their heavy breathing. “Raven,”

Breathing heavily, Raven unbuttoned Tim’s jeans and swiftly unzipped his pants. Hearing his sharp intake of breath, her dark purple eyes caught his dark blue eyes heavy with lust. Her fingers slipped over his exposed boxers and danced over his hot bulge. “You’re going to fuck me into this wall,” It was more of a command than anything.

“Fuck,” Tim growled. He pulled his fingers out of her, enjoying the slick wet sound as he removed his fingers from her. Ignoring her groan, he grabbed her hips and roughly turned her around, making her face the wall. Mind clouded heavy with desire and his ears ringing loudly with his heavy heartbeat, Tim watched in satisfaction as Raven groaned at the rough action and arched her back. Pleasure spread through his chest in satisfaction – she did always like it rough. Surging forward, Tim groaned and pressed into her back, hips thrusting into the curve of her ass. Freeing her scarf around her neck, he hungrily pressed a kiss into the nape of her neck. He smirked at her breathy groan.

“Please,” Raven whimpered, hands braced on either side of her head and right cheek painfully pressed into the cold wood wall. She thrust her ass into Tim’s hip, seeking for release.

With a strangled grunt, Tim made quick work of pushing Raven’s jeans down her ass and legs. He listened as she inhaled softly as cold air brushed against her legs. His cold fingers ran up the side of her legs before reaching her exposed ass and giving the right cheek a hearty squeeze. After pushing her legs apart a little, Tim pushed down his jeans and pulled his throbbing member out of his boxers. He hissed as the cool air hit his warm dick and he gave it a few pumps. Stepping forward, he pressed himself into her back and allowed his dick to slip in between her legs and brush up against her wet heat.

“Tim,” Raven breathed and whimpered at the familiar feel of Tim’s cock brushing against her. She rolled her hips, hungrily brushing up against Tim’s cock. Bending over a bit more and pressing into the wall, Raven spread her legs further in anticipation. “Please,”

Groaning lowly, Tim grabbed Raven’s hips and with a one fluid thrust slipped into her. Raven released a strangled moan and pressed her cheek into the wall. The cool wall offered some relief to her hot cheek. She moaned softly as Tim filled her to the hilt, the pleasant stretch and fullness made her skin burn and her knees grow weak. She gasped as he began to move, thrusting into her and stoking a hungry fire.

His movements were fast and frantic, both desperately trying to chase after a much needed release. Tim’s right hand slid over her abdomen and towards her clit, and his fingers danced over her as he continued to press into her. Grunting into her neck, Tim rubber her clit while his other hand dug into her hip, guiding her with every heavy thrust.

Heavy breathing and the sharp sounds of flesh hitting flesh filled the treehouse. Tim groaned as he felt her flutter around him, he heard her breathing hitch as they inched towards the end. Despite how cold it was, he felt that his whole body was on fire, practically singing as he held Raven close. He groaned as Raven frantically met every thrust, catching him and pushing her soft body into him.

Raven tittered dangerously close to the edge, her body tingling and her emotions purring in satisfaction. She hungrily chased Tim’s emotions, catching his fiery need and gasping at each needy thrust. She dug her fingers into the wood and her back arched as she released a strangled groan. As fingers continued to dance across her clit and Tim’s hard thrusts filled her, she felt herself dangle close to the edge.

With a low growl, their movements become more frantic and the wet noise of sex filled their ears. Tim gasped and angled her hips just the right away, hitting her from behind that made her throw her head back in a satisfying groan. With a few more heavy strokes, Raven mewled and arched her back as heat just exploded inside of her and she toppled over the edge. Gasping and groaning, Raven tumbled forward as Tim chased after her orgasm and roughly pressing her into the wall, frantically riding out his own orgasm.

Their movements slowed down and their heavy breathing filled the cold air. Tim’s arms wrapped around Raven’s waist as her legs wobbled and he gently pressed her against his chest, supporting her. “I love you,” he whispered and pressed a kiss into her cheek.

Raven hummed softly. “I love you too,” she mumbled, heart still racing wildly in her chest. After a few more moments of stillness and trying to catch their breath, they slowly moved apart. Raven shuddered as Tim pulled out of her. Turning around, she leaned against the wall and inhaled unsteadily as she came tumbling back from her high.

Ignoring the freezing cold as it bit into his exposed thighs, Tim stepped forward and kissed Raven gently. A soft gust of wind slipped through the open windows making them both shiver. They worked quickly to pull up their pants, Raven fumbling with shaky legs. After Tim pulled his pants back up and closed his belt, he threw an affectionate look at Raven and gently helped her straighten her clothes and brushed some errand strands of hair from her face.

“Some walk,” Tim breathed with a soft laugh as they shared a look. Knowing that she needed to steady all her (and his) emotions, Tim gathered her in his arms and listened to her sigh into his shoulder. Adjusting their position, he leaned against the wall and felt her practically melt into him. “Excellent idea for a walk, Rae,”

Raven made a softy sound in the back of her throat and gently pinched his waist. Pulling away from his shoulder, she raised an eyebrow at him. “Having sex in your family treehouse really was not part of the plan,” she shot back. She made a face in sudden realization. “We had sex in your treehouse.” She said as she looked up at the old wooden ceiling. “There are no cameras here, right?!”

“Relax,” Tim breathed and brushed a hand down her back soothingly. He pulled her closer, enjoying her closeness. After assuring her, that no, there were no cameras hidden in the treehouse (maybe explosives? Who knows where Jason keep his shit), the two stayed up there for a little while longer, catching their breaths, and enjoying each other’s presence.

As she buried deeper into Tim’s embrace, she had to agree with him. This was definitely one of their best walks.

[sabraeal]

Provocateur, Prologue

[Read on AO3]

Written for @krispy-kream in honor of her birthday. Many years ago, back when I first joined fandom, I came up with the idea for an Obi Works For Izana AU, and both Sharon and I ended up writing small pieces of a much larger whole. And now FINALLY...I’m actually writing the very beginning 🤣

When it comes down to it, in terms of area and amenities, the royal dungeons has some of his last few flats beats.

There’s light, for one. He’s never liked basement apartments-- he’d take a stifling attic room over a place with only one exit any day-- but the windows here are high up on the wall, enough that he can watch the sun paint his cell floor as the hours pass. They’re ground level, at least by the foot traffic outside of ‘em, and with how loud these guards gossip, he’ll know whose girlfriends are pregnant and who’s nursing a nasty boil by shift change. Just like sitting in a tavern for a few hours, only with less ale.

There’s a cot too, straw-stuffed and a little too soft, with a blanket that doesn’t even itch. Seems like it might be warm too, for when the nights get cold. Not that he has an intention of testing out that particular hunch.

The guard down the hall is decent in the way authority figures never are; when he calls out to ask where his piss bucket is, the man-- boy? It’s hard to tell beneath those helmets-- ushers him down a hall to a water closet, and when he pops out, reminds him to take care to wash his hands. He’s prompt about mealtime too; when supper comes, the man says to expect three square and leaves him with with a dinner that would put most publicans to shame.

All in all, this isn’t the worst trouble he’s gotten himself into. Worlds better than that stint he’d had in Eurikenna’s gaol. Or that night in Port City.

Still, he’s got no plans to linger. No point in sticking around for a punishment when he's got no interest in redemption. But he’s got a prince to wait for.

Oh, His Highness might say he’s above getting his hands dirty, might look down that noble nose at a man like him who makes his living in trade, but he’d seen his look. Not the first, when his little mistress was watching, all puffed cheeks and disapproving brow, but the second, that glance over his shoulder as the Big Man frogmarched a dirty rat down into the dungeons.

That one was a man who had found the right tool for the job. Hands don’t stay clean without gloves to cover them, especially if they mean to hold a mistress who collects trouble like some ladies collect hairpins. If he wants to keep his side piece quiet, it’s only a matter of time before he’ll have to make a statement. And nothing says don’t touch what’s mine like a few accidents. All he has to do is wait out a royal conscience.

The light fades as he waits, just the last stretch of dusky light yawning on the sill. It’s almost time for all good little princes to be in bed, but this one-- this one will be working instead. The hand that grabbed him had been stained with ink and calluses both; the kind of man who longed for action but was stuck behind a desk. He’ll be up late, managing men and supplies miles away on paper, but in his head--

Oh, in his head, he’ll be thinking about the man he’s left to rot in the dungeons. The one that might be just the right fit for what he needs, for the jobs he can’t give that giant or the pretty girl at his side. It’s the sort of idea that’ll eat at him when the lamps are low and the night is quiet, and oh, how a conscience can gnaw when there’s no more work to feed it. There’s a reason he’s never idle. Not usually, at least.

He casts a long glance down the silent hall; the guard sits at his table, log book spread in front of him, another smaller one laid atop. A novel, by the slack-jawed look that’s slapped across his face. In Eurikenna, his reputation had preceded him, and they’d bound him hand and foot, bolting his wrists to the wall and his feet to the bench. Viande had put him in a cell with a single window and stone on all sides, his only escape leading into a moat rumored to be prowled by sharks.

Here he has a single guard and bars he could probably squeeze through if he skipped a meal or two. It’s insulting to be so underestimated-- or it would be, if he wasn’t already planning to stay. He’s paid out his room at the inn for a week; a few days to enjoy the impeccable food and passable mattress he’s got here won’t hurt-- just as long as he makes it back before the innkeep tosses all his worldly goods in the gutter. And if he does need to make a quick escape--

Well, it’s hardly the first time he’s slipped the noose. But it won’t come to that. Younger Highness is on the hook.

The door to the dungeon clanks open; it’s a softer sound, barely loud enough for him to hear, but he hasn’t made a name for himself by being the sort of person who only hears what he ought. The guard’s gone-- book too-- and his hand itches to have something that ends with a point in it. He should have known, this was all too easy.

A shrouded figure sweeps through the threshold, prowling with the easy confidence only men born to power possessed-- or a professional. His hands flexed, too empty. He’s a loose end, an embarrassing stain on a proud man’s reputation, and there’s only one thing to do with that-- rub it out.

“You’re not the prince,” he says, keeping his voice even, maybe a bit petulant. Boldness wins a bluff; all he needs is time. Just a second, a hesitation--

Which he gets; the figure’s boots scuffing to a stop. Its head cocks, curious. “Is that so?”

It’s a man’s voice, higher than he expects, but resonant. The sort that people listen to when they’re not looking for a way out. The sort that won’t care for a man turning his back on it.

“You’re too tall.” He saunters to his cot, the mattress sinking under his weight. Not quite the attitude he’d been hoping for, but close enough. Gives him enough time to realize his cloaked friend isn’t talking-- no, instead he catches the barest tremble of cloth before a gloved hand tugs it smooth.

“How...astute,” the man hums, a strange lift kicking that first vowel before he smooths that out too. Everything about this man is slick, from the shine of his boots to the way he says, “That must be the observational skills that tempted even the marquis to hire you.”

His grin flicks into a grimace, but habit wipes that all clean before he says, “I wasn’t hired by anyone. Just wanted to...advertise my skills. In case anyone with a fat wallet found themselves needing a problem taken care of.”

Another pause, this one heavier. “And this girl seemed like a likely target?”

“A commoner nosing around a prince?” A laugh huffs out of him. “What about that isn’t a problem? At least when it’s a lady, she doesn’t have pockets that need filling, but some little herbalist girl? There’s a long way between lady slippers and slippers for a lady. And not everyone wants to kiss hems to get a mistress in their pocket.”

Not when it’s just as like to be covered in mud. If there’s one thing he’s learned about these bluebloods, it’s that they only suck up, not down.

The shroud shifts, arms folding across a chest too slender to be called broad, and shoulders too wide to be scrawny. Lithe, perhaps, the perfect size to slip through a man’s guard.

“The job is over, you know.” Boot heels clack as the man draws closer, just enough to see a defined chin beneath the shadows of his hood. “There’s no need for all this cloak and dagger. Haruka has already confessed to the crown that he was the one to hire you.”

His fingers flex behind his head, longing for something besides bristle to cross his palms. “Don’t know why he’s going through all the trouble. I don’t know him.”

This isn’t his first interrogation, but it’s certainly the slowest. The man stands silently outside the bars, a single finger lying along his diamond-cut jawline. No questions, no speculation, just a shadow staring out of a hood, observing. This must be what it’s like to be boiled alive; put in the pot when it’s barely a simmer, the heat raising so gradually that it’s not until his chest is near bursting to speak, to fill the silence, that he knows he’s been cooked.

“What would you have done?” the man says, finally. “If you had your way with the girl.”

The girl who, in the face of danger, tore an arrow from the wall rather than run. “Nothing permanent.”

What little he can see of the shroud’s mouth curves. “How very vague. So many unpleasant things only take a moment.”

“The job was to scare her off,” he admits, wondering why his belly quivered in his gut. There’s bars between them, and his hands are faster than any nob’s, no matter how good the costume. But still, his muscles lay coiled against his bones, ready to strike. “Seduce her, if she seemed...amenable. Bribe her if she didn’t.”

“And what then?” It’s a quicker response than he expects, but the man isn’t agitated-- far from it, he’s never seemed calmer. “If the girl proved impervious to your more...gentle measures.”

There’s a question in that, one the shroud won’t voice. But he hears it, loud in his ears as a bell’s gong.

“I’ve killed before,” he says, each word on thin ice. “And I still sleep at night.” Barely. “I could have done it again.”

“But would you?”

For once, he hesitates. Imagines looking into those bright eyes, the ones that flamed so fiercely in defiance, and with the flick of a wrist, snuffing them out.

“It’d be a waste.” His hands tremble where they cradle his head, a command he hasn’t given them. This is the last thing he needs right now, losing control. “That girl’s got a lot of pluck. And if rumors around the pharmacy are right, a lot of brains too. Besides, bodies make more talk than bribes.”

“That they do.” There’s a lilt to those words, almost amused. “You know, you called it a job. Implying that you received compensation for your services.”

It’s a sting to realize he’s slipped. “Doesn’t mean it was the marquis.”

“It certainly doesn’t,” the man agrees, and if this room weren’t so dark, if this conversation wasn’t so serious-- well, he’d be tempted to say this guy is laughing at him. “Do you have a name?”

He turns to him real slow-like, one utterly dubious brow arched toward the guard’s register. “You want me to believe you can’t read?”

That shadow of a mouth lifts again. “Am I to believe a man of your skill gave your birth name to the royal guard?”

His mouth cocks into a grin. “You must if you think I’m gonna give it to you.”

The man comes closer still, one gloved hand wrapping around his bars. He’s visible to the tip of his nose; a long, patrician one.

“Of course. But you must have something you would like to be called.” His lips-- bowed, the most fashionable in Clarines’ court-- twitch toward a smile, but fall perilously short. “An alias, if you will.”

“Obi.” It’s too short, too quick, but already he likes it. It’s a more playful name than he’s had in a long while. Easy to lose, too, if he needs it.

“Well then, Obi.” His arm rests over one of the cross bars of his cell. “I believe I have a proposition for you.”

“Haah.” He hops to his feet, hoping to seize the high ground. “I appreciate the interest, but I’m already waiting on an offer.”

To say the hood recoiled would be an overstatement, it merely pulls back, barely more than an inch. “An offer?”

“Well, maybe more like...I have prospects.” Obi restrains his grin to little more than a twitch. “I just gotta see if they’ll pan out.”

The hood stills, thoughtful. “What if I could guarantee you a better offer?”

“You couldn’t.”

The man hums, amusement changing his pitch. “I quite sure I could.”

“Nah.” Obi shakes his head, almost wishing it weren’t so. This guy seems like he could be real fun, if he got his hands on his reins. “I don’t think so.”

“Please.” He opens a hand; an invitation. “Try me.”

“Fine.” There’s nothing to lose by telling, besides some face, if he’s wrong. Which Obi knows he’s not. “I got a feeling the next guy through that door’ll be His Highness.”

The man rocks back, like he’s been hit. “Zen? You think...?”

Obi expects some bargaining, some disbelief, maybe even some haggling, but--

He does not expect the laugh.

“Oh,” the man coughs, lifting a hand as if he might wipe tears from his eyes. “I promise you, I can give you a...far more attractive offer.”

Now that’s a rich one. “What could be better than a second prince?”

The man’s hand raises past his eyes, right to the edge of his hood. With the barest flick of his fingers, the cloth falls back, baring bright gold and Wisteria blue.

“Why,” drawls His Highness Izana Wisteria, crown prince, soon to be first of his name, “the first.”

[nineteenninety-six]

can I request a John piece where he and MC live in the Wild West and he’s an outlaw while she’s a notable person (sheriff’s daughter, saloon worker, etc) thank you! (:

I’ve never done an AU and I’m also a European who knows nothing about the wild west so I hope this is passable. 

Wild West!AU

John eyed the town around him as he rode in on his horse, it was on the smaller side of towns but it would be suitable enough to hide away in for a week or so. He slid off his horse and tied it up before he looked around for the saloon so he could escape the harsh sun. He removed the pouch of money from the saddle of his bag and placed it in his side bag hoping it didn’t make too much noise.

He was on the run. He had pulled off a robbery that had left most of the crew dead and the ones that survived, his two brothers, had scattered with a promise to meet up at an agreed place in a few months. They had split the money but since there were only a few of them left, each of them got a large amount.

The people outside gave him curious glances but quickly returned to what they were doing, not finding him interesting which John was grateful for. He quickly made his way towards the saloon and breathed a sigh of relief when he escaped the blistering heat, the saloon was dark and dusty yet miles better than the outside.

There were a few people nursing their drinks but none of them looked at him as entered as he made his way towards the person behind the bar.

“How may I help you?”

The person turned around and gave him a sweet smile, catching him off guard. John had expected it to be a man like in every other saloon he had been in but instead, it was a young woman.

“Any rooms available?”

“Yes sir. For how long?”

“Not sure. I’ll pay as I go along” John said as he paid for the first night’s fees.

“Of course”

She gave him a tiny smile before she turned around and picked a key off a hook, she gestured him to follow her as she made her way upstairs to the rooms that rested above the saloon. She unlocked his room for him and gave him the key before she gave him one last smile and returned downstairs.

John watched her until her skirt disappeared around the corner before he entered his room. He promised himself that he would get to know her.

The next afternoon when John wandered down, the woman was back behind the bar but compared to the day before, the saloon was busy and there was a crowd of men crowded against the bar.

It wasn’t hard to guess that the reason was because of the woman and John knew that he wouldn’t be able to get a drink whilst they were all there and found a table towards the back and waited for the crowd to die down.

As soon as the beginning of the next hour chimed, the crowd left the saloon with a collective groan, and John watched them with an amused smirk. It seemed they had all rushed there on their pause from work but now they all had to work which gave John uninterrupted time with the mysterious woman behind the bar.

“You seem mighty popular” John teased as he took a seta, catching her attention

“Men see a pretty woman and lose their mind” She rolled her eyes, “I could tell one of them to rob a bank and they’ll do it”

“Now those weren’t men, they were simply boys”

“Oh? Explain the difference to me”

John leant forward on the bar, leaning on his arms and gave her a grin, “While a boy might go rob a bank simply because you told him, a man will take you along with him to rob the bank together” The woman barked out a laugh at his words, “Okay, outlaw settle down. I can’t have you tryna get me trouble now”

“Why, scared of the sheriff?”

“Hmm, something like that.” The woman changed the subject, “What can I get you?”

John ordered his drink and took a seat at the bar but continued talking to her, he still hadn’t gotten her name yet though. They weren’t alone long before the doors to the saloon swung open and a large man stepped in, he paused at the doors and looked around the room before he began to make his way over to the bar.

“(Y/N), you here?”

“Where else would I be, daddy?” The woman turned to the man with a smile.

“Elias told me about those boys hanging around her at lunch” The older man’s lip curled as he spoke, “You know I don’t trust them boys”

The woman sighed, “I know. I also know to steer clear of them”

As the man got close to the bar John could see the sheriff’s uniform he was wearing and realised with a jolt that the woman was the sheriff’s daughter and he thought back to the pouch of money that was in his room.

“Hmm,” The sheriff pursed his lips and eyed John with a little suspicion before he turned back to his daughter, “Just wanted to check up on ya. I’ll see you at dinner.”

“You’re not gonna stay for a drink?”

“Not today, sweetheart”

With that he left, the saloon doors swinging behind him.

John watched him leave and turned back to the woman behind the bar, “You’re the sheriff’s daughter”

“That’s me.” She stuck her hand out, “My name is (Y/N)”

“John” He replied as he shook it, “Excuse my forwardness but how’d the sheriff’s daughter get to be the barkeep?”

“It’s so he knows where I am, he doesn’t trust those local boys”

“But a woman bartender? I’ve never seen one before”

“No one wants to deny the sheriff with a gun and anger problems” (Y/N) laughed

John laughed along with her, “But everyone has a gun”

“Sure but not everyone’s the sheriff”

“Then I should keep my eyes and hands to myself, right?”

(Y/N) locked eyes with and gave him one of her smiles, “That’ll be smart”

That night as John laid in bed he thought about what he had learnt that day and his current predicament. He would be in deep trouble if the sheriff finds out who he was but he felt such an attraction to (Y/N) that he didn’t want to leave, especially out of the blue.

He wanted to do something stupid. He didn’t even know (Y/N) but he wanted to run away with her and introduce her to more than the shabby little town she was tied down to and he doubted that her father would let go either, judging his constant checking up on her to make sure she was where she was supposed to be and not hanging out with anyone he disapproved of.

The next day, John was back at the bar with another drink in his hand after he paid for that night’s board and the more he spoke to (Y/N) the more he realised that she wasn’t satisfied with her life in the town.

“Why don’t you leave?” He asked, curious

“My father would drag me back here if I even dared. He wants me to stay here and marry a boy he likes- which judging by his recent behaviour, is Elias”

“You don’t want to do that?”

“I want to travel” (Y/N) gushed, “I want to see everything this country has to offer and not be trapped here with a man that my father wants me to marry and my input means nothing”

John stared at her for a moment before he sprung the idea on her,

“Then run away. I’ll be leaving here soon, join me and we can explore together”

(Y/N) scoffed and rolled her eyes, “I wish”

“I’m serious” John locked eyes with her and hope she could see his sincerity

“How can we do that?” (Y/N) asked, not completely believing him.

“ I can do odd jobs, get some us money while we travel” John tried to sell the idea of her coming with him, “Think about it”

(Y/N) opened her mouth as if to argue but she closed it and nodded, “I’ll think about it”

A few days later after not hearing from (Y/N) nor seeing her, John received a knock on his door late at night and it was (Y/N).

“Can I come in?” She asked, looking over her shoulder as she spoke, looking skittish.

John opened the door wider and motioned her in. She looked around his room in mild interest before she turned him and gave up a crumpled up piece of paper,

“Explain. Now”

John unravelled it and swore underneath his breath at what he saw. It was a wanted poster with his face on it and a bounty.

“Where did you get this?”

“My father came in earlier, put some up around the saloon.” (Y/N) told him, “He didn’t recognise you from earlier” John bit his lip as he thought about this new development and tried to think ahead and make some plans.

“Did you kill someone John?” (Y/N) asked, worrying her lip, “Why are you wanted?”

John looked up at her and took her hand in his, “I didn’t kill anyone, I promise you that”

“Then why?”

“...I robbed a bank” John confessed

“So you really are an outlaw? Is that why you’re here, just to escape from the law?”

John hated the betrayed look on her face, “Yes but I do like you.”

“You still expect me to run away with you?”

“You want to leave here, don’t try to deny it.  You’re bored here in this town and I can give you a life worth living”

(Y/N) still looked cautious, “You’re a criminal John”

“That won’t change” John confessed, “Look, I’m leaving here tomorrow night, make your decision by then”

(Y/N) left after that and John got to planning where he would go next, he still had a while until he needed to go to the agreed place to meet with his brothers.

The next night as he was getting his horse ready, the door to the stable creaked open and John spun around and aimed his gun at whoever it was, thinking that someone recognised him but it was only (Y/N).

She had a satchel and smaller bag in her hands.

“You make your decision?” John asked, with a smirk, already knowing the answer.

(Y/N) nodded, “Let’s go”

John took her bags and watched as she readied her own horse before they both left the stable and headed towards the main road together. Just before they left the town, John turned towards (Y/N),

“You sure you’re ready?” He asked

“Absolutely, let’s get out of here” (Y/N) said as she urged her horse to walk on

John shot her a grin and followed after her.

[rukiakwashere]

Chasing Last Summer

An amazing experience while working with talented artist for the @grishaversebigbang 

Corporalki: 

@gimmedafood

Materialki:  

@anubem (link to art), 

@bookish-ginger (link to art),

@wellwatersurprise  (link to art)

Summary: 

As Jesper is trying to settle down, away from cards on the Van Eck estate with Wylan alongside him as a work partner, wondering what to do with his father’s empire, they both start thinking of what they want. The Summer they left behind them went great so maybe it was time to get something serious going on. While busy reordering their priorities, Wylan receives a letter (more like hides it) and it all goes downhill after that...

Jesper boards a ship... The Wraith makes a visit and convinces some cane-dude to tag along... Some Grisha appear... And Wylan may or may not fulfil one of Kaz’s lifelong dreams

tl;dr Post-Crooked Kingdom Wesper making their best to figure out themselves and each other.

Ao3 Link : https://archiveofourown.org/works/33678499/chapters/83698627

[Chapter one under cut]:

Jesper looked at the clock on the wall for what seemed like the twentieth time in the meeting. He fidgeted on his seat looking left and right spotting both familiar and unfamiliar faces. Men and women, mostly old, everyone much older than he was.

Wylan was on his left, completely still and focused on the woman speaking loudly,  moving her hands animatedly to make her point. Jesper thought that her hands were too distracting, he really couldn’t make what the point was with so much waving around. Wylan on the other hand seemed to perfectly understand. He nodded a lot when anyone paused, he offered his opinion when asked and he conversed easily with all the businesspeople around him. It suited him, Jesper thought. Wylan Van Eck looked like a businessman in his own right. His young and calm presence made people trust him and his ironed black and white suit made them believe he was one of their own, refined elite. 

Jesper, on the other hand, didn’t know what to make of himself. His long legs never remained in the same place for more than mere seconds and his awkward posture as he tried to fit on the chair always brought on curious and sometimes annoyed stares. People weren’t used to seeing someone like him sitting on their expensive and elegant chairs. They simply weren’t made for him.

Still, Wylan never commented on anything. Sometimes he caught Jesper’s stare in a meeting and all he did was nod- like he was on autopilot. Jesper didn’t know what to make of it. Was he just another face in Wylan’s business-related crowd? Sometimes he wasn’t that sure if Wylan was only keeping him around because of the promise they had made months ago. Was he just pitying him? 

Jesper didn’t know if being Wylan’s secretary was the lowest or highest point of his life to date. 

Occasionally, he wondered what life would be like if he had never made that deal, not being Wylan’s eyes. Nina’s offer echoed in his ears. Ravka… Would he dare to leave home and become a Grisha? Probably not. 

He would have been back at the Barrel, sitting at a gambling table spending the money he had till it vanished. At least working with Wylan saved him from going broke again, he concluded. Still, was he happy with where his life was at now? Spending his days waiting for the next meeting, talking about things he had little interest in with people that didn’t interest him?

Wylan though… The ginger’s presence was steady and when they weren’t in a meeting, he was okay to be around. Jesper didn’t mind his presence, he rather enjoyed Wylan’s witty remarks and random facts. 

The past few days though, the ginger seemed less and less enthusiastic about anything. Dark circles seemed to have formed permanently below his eyes and he seemed to be sighing a lot – and it didn’t seem to be because of Jesper’s breathtaking presence.

“Wy?” Jesper mouthed, poking the ginger’s shoulder lightly. Wylan didn’t seem surprised, turning discretely towards him with a tired smile. 

“What happened?” Jesper read the ginger’s lips. 

“You cool?”, he mouthed back.

~~~

Wylan had the audacity to snort, suppressing his laughter at Jesper’s question. He opted for a small hands-up and a smile that nearly reached his eyes. Sincerely, he felt tired and spent.

He didn’t know business. Kaz had taught him the basics, which felt more like the principles of manipulation, bribery and theft – which Wylan had decided pretty quickly, were better than nothing.

His father had given up on him early on, realizing Wylan’s bad relationship with letters would make him a bad businessman and would let people exploit him freely. His father never imagined, though, his son would have found Jesper, the only person Wylan could put his trust on fully - and did so every day. 

Jesper was the one responsible for what came in and what went out, who might prove beneficial and who was to be avoided. He read stacks of papers daily, and even though his legs wouldn’t stop moving and tapping the floor, he read them all and reported every line he found even slightly useful back to Wylan. While all Wylan could do was sit and wait, pretending the numbers he could make out at the sheets in his hands were enough.

He didn’t understand why Jesper was still there. His awkward fidgeting at the meetings they attended together made it clear that he felt out of place. Wylan was sure Jesper was longing for action, his revolvers out, not hidden inside his jacket. Sure, they were sharing their profits but was Jesper missing the Slat? Did he want to go back to risking his life every day? To feel the thrill of chasing and being chased? Was Jesper still around him out of pity, trapped in a promise he had made while in action, when he wasn’t sure if he would make it out alive to see the next sunrise? 

Maybe, it was the same as his awkward confession, a stupid phrase that kept replaying in Wylan’s mind even though he had hit stop months ago. Maybe I like your stupid face. 

Wylan was annoyed with himself about how a six-word sentence that nearly insulted him made him feel so tingly and weird inside. He soon realized though, as the battle came to an end, as his dad backed off, as Kaz won whatever feud he had with Pekka Rollins, that some things that are best left unsaid can rise in the heat and uncertainty of a battle and what happened between him and Jesper had been one of them. 

We were fugitives, bounties on our heads. Of course, some emotions would be misunderstood, Wylan repeated in his head.

What happened with Jesper was one of them. Wylan was passable and the time they had spent together just- was like that. It meant nothing more. Jesper might have kissed him twice, or once – damn Kuwei – but as things calmed down and they went back to their lives, old and new, he didn’t approach him again in that way - apart from the occasional flirting - and Wylan… Wylan felt really stupid to have expected something more.

Wylan poked the side of his cheek, annoyed with himself. This wasn’t time for his thoughts to be drifting. The meeting… He had to speak with Lady Kadrir and make sure their agreement held,even though the head of the Van Eck family had changed and he needed to speak with that white haired man and give his condolences to that Lady and so many things he had never pictured himself doing ever before.

He never expected to be here. When his father still tolerated him, Wylan dreamed of a music school and maybe joining a theater orchestra with his flute. Even when his father decided otherwise, he still hoped for a demo-related work at the Crows or maybe someone reaching out and joining a traveling band… never business. His father had made it clear early on that he was not suited for that and it was the only thing Wylan and his father had agreed upon. He wasn’t sure he would like it… and he had yet to decide.

Business was… weird. Wylan’s perspectives of it had been two; one when he was growing up, seeing his father busy with paperwork he was always signing… and then, there was business the way the Dregs did it. Meetings under the fold of darkness, sometimes gunshots sounding along, a gambling parlor expecting tourists and sailors from far away…

Yet, what he felt he was doing on his own, was different. Sure, Jesper seemed to be writing and reading tons of stuff but Wylan thought of business as constant meetings, a lot of useless information in his head and a relentless bell ringing in his head reminding him to be polite yet entitled. That was the way. 

At first, he liked being good at it, memorizing estates, meeting people that didn’t look at him down their noses, because Wylan Van Eck possessed property the same way they did. He sat and talked and traded in the language they understood.

Still, that feeling had slowly drifted away, as the bell in his head rang louder and louder. He felt lost and disconnected, yet he wouldn’t stop. He was more determined than ever not to give up. Those meetings had come to be the only place where he felt like he proved his worth. The only thing he could be good at and be of use.

“Mister Van Eck.” 

It was his turn to speak.

“As my father retired and passed me on new property, I’ve made the decision to establish a reliable network around the Van Eck brand.” Words scripted and exercised in front of a mirror, delivered to an audience just like in a theater. 

It’s fine. I can work like this. At least that’s what he convinced himself as he went on with his speech.

~~~