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narrated · 3 months ago

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it’s easy to be nobody in the forest. past the edges of the riverbank where there is just enough even cleared ground for the clan to set up camp, ancient trees fill the grove so dense that the ground rippled and shifted from their growth. the trunks extend far up into the sky, branches like dark spindly fingers clawing at the infinity above. the keeper once said that each tree represented a life lost in defense of their home, a graveyard of vivid green. as she climbed over the first mass of gnarled roots and the clan disappeared from her line of sight, she felt no bigger than a mouse or sparrow, no more significant as the woods swallowed her.

she spent more days here than in the camp in recent years. her excursions grew from childhood curiosity, a fascination with just how big and bright and expansive nature could be, all part of andruil’s gift. curiosity had shifted into determination, a desire to prove herself. with the simple longbow she ‘borrowed’ and a crude target painted with crushed wildflowers, she practiced for hours until the inside of her fingers were bloody from the string cutting into soft flesh. the next day, she eagerly showed off to the lead hunter as all five arrows found the center of the target. instead of admiration and keen enthusiasm, she was met with a cool disinterest and half-hearted speech about how being good with a bow didn’t necessarily mean she was cut out for being a hunter. she woke up before daybreak and snuck into the hunters’ early meetings, refusing to leave unless they let her come along. perhaps they knew that her mother wasn’t stopping her and didn’t want to argue. perhaps they simply didn’t care enough about her. anytime she joined a hunt, it was because they all turned to one another with the same dull gaze, waiting for someone to eventually pipe up “i’ll take aderyn” with reluctance. she no longer asked to go with them. they did not mention that one of their longbows now permanently resided in the small quarters she and her mother shared. it was a truce in some regard.

sometimes, she does hunt if weather and mood permits. it’s a strange kind of calm that washes over her, her senses turned away from herself and out on the world. as she draws the bow, in those drawn out seconds where nothing exists but the nug or squab or ram within her sight, a sort of tether forms between the creature and herself. predator and prey, prey turned predator. she always says a few words to andruil before closing the animal’s glassy eyes, a small but necessary gesture to her.

most of the time, she just climbs. as high as she can, wind whipping at blonde hair shorn just above her shoulders. even this length feels wrong to her, but she already got enough questions soaked with thinly veiled concern the first time. when her muscles start prickling with the beginnings of ache, she stops and settles onto a branch strong enough to support her. (the climb down, while easier, is still taxing.) she may sketch with charcoal but usually just sits. she sits and listens to the rustling of leaves, distant bird calls above the canopy, scratching and skittering of life surrounding her.

she does not keep track of time; there is rarely need for it. nobody has ever come to look for her if she has not returned in time. not even her mamae, even though she requests a promise to be more careful but never takes any action. she does love her still, that has never been in question. when she returns, her mamae will have supper prepared and help brush out her tangled hair and they will continue to speak of nothing. there was one time where she came back with scraped up knees and elbows from a fall. nellas slathered poultice over the raw skin, smelling bitter and herbal and stinging in her nostrils, and murmured so softly the words could have been swept away by the breeze, “oh, lethallan, what am i going to do with you?” she wonders whether, if different from the rest of the clan, her mamae actually likes her.

she sits cradled by the trees, cradled by the memory of the dalish that came before her. she knows not if whoever this tree was planted for was man or woman. it matters little now. would they care that she feels trapped within this body? would they care that she feels the gaze of her clanmates behind her, regarding her as one would a sick halla? her fascination by the forest was entertained only until it became clear this was a new path she wanted to carve. do they also see it, how her clothes drape over her form purposefully, how she curls in to hide herself? if this long dead dalish warrior asked for her name, what would she respond? not aderyn. she does not recognise it as her own now, only a sound that she occasionally knows to respond to. it is a name that belongs to some distant herself that may have never truly existed. it does not belong to the himself tucked away under her breastbone. she wishes, fruitlessly, that someone may one day say his name tenderly and brimming with love. she wants desperately for him to live but not here. there is no home for either of them with the clan. maybe the woods will come to claim her for good and he will never exist, withering away like a fledgling whose wing snaps on their first time out of the nest. maybe that is a blessing. to wish for anything more seems impossible for the girl who has always been lonely and the boy who doesn’t know how yet to live.

the trees ask for a name. her name is the rushing of the wind as she tumbles into free fall. his name is the bubbling of ice cold water filling his lungs as he sinks beyond cracked ice.

#matthias l. ✦ the wolf child #happy tdov! here's some Very stream of conscious writing #this is. the first time in nine years that i've acknowledged matthias's dead name. and i trust u all to be normal about it please #saw a post abt it on main but smth specific about how 'tomboy' nature or tendencies will get dismissed or ignored if you're still a girl #but as soon as you try to come out people finally treat you the way they've always seen you (weird)#this whole drabble may not make sense to anyone else but that's fine. it's for me mainly :)

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victorystalline-a · 3 months ago

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"Shit..." Nico leans his weight against the railing separating him from the river's edge, still shaking. He'd run out of the stadium about as fast as he could, wound up by the riverside—not a bad place to be, considering he'd pretty much emptied out his stomach right after. So much for seeing the end of that match.

Slowly, he sinks to his knees. Its quieter here than in the stadium, but his ears are still ringing. His head—fuck, his head hurts! Terestralization was downright tolerable in comparison to whatever the hell this was. It felt like... man, he couldn't even describe it. It was like his brain was being crushed in a vice. While also being stabbed.

Turns out his sensitivity extended beyond Tera Crystals. The exhibition match he'd gotten tickets for had been going just fine. He was having a good time! Getting excited to take on the Galar league this summer! And then one of the competitors had Dynamaxed their pokémon, and...

He swears he blacked out for a second. It was almost like he'd been hit by something. All of a sudden there was pain shooting through his head, the whole stadium felt like it was spinning. It hurt, it hurt so damn bad, and he knew he had to get out of there as fast as possible.

It's hard to even get a thought in, and his vision is... off. Everything seems blurry, and its way too bright outside. But it's better than being in that crowd. He wishes he'd figured this one out before registering. What the hell is he supposed to do now...?

#◇ main.#◇ galar adventures.#new tag for this lil mini plotline/verse #◇ drabble.#icb nico is fucking dead #(again)#◇ queue.

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neferaskingdom · 2 months ago

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♡ Where's The Trophy? He Just Comes Running Over To Me | MV1

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: She ended it — he said she was too much. But now every time he wins, he looks for her.

A/N: Here's a little drabble for you guys. Inspiration is still on the down low but MAX WON IN SUZUKA GUYS and this lil idea struck.

MAX VERSTAPPEN MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

It was all over the internet. The photos of him standing on the second step of the podium in Melbourne, jaw tight, eyes scanning the crowd with this distant, searching look. He should've been proud—second place with a car that was fighting him every step of the way—but it was like he was waiting for something. Or someone.

People on Twitter noticed. Reddit too. The way he didn’t smile properly, the way he glanced toward the sidelines right before the champagne came out. There were theories. Some people even guessed right. He was looking for her.

Max hadn’t been himself for a while. And maybe that wasn’t fair to say, because he was still fast. Still pushing the Red Bull harder than anyone else could’ve. But the car was holding him back this season. Everyone knew it. It wasn’t just bad luck or a weird setup. It was an actual issue. Aero, balance, whatever the hell the engineers were arguing about behind closed doors. Max could drive like hell, but if the car wasn’t ready, it just wasn’t.

Still, it didn’t stop people from whispering about him. And it didn’t stop her from wondering, in quiet moments, if he was okay.

It had been almost six months since they broke up.

Not that the anniversary needed marking.

It happened just before his fourth championship.

The fight had been coming for weeks—tension simmering beneath every conversation, every missed call, every cancelled dinner. She gave him space, tried not to take it personally when he snapped or forgot her birthday or ghosted her texts for two straight days because he was in sim sessions and meetings.

She really tried.

But he pushed. And pushed. And then, one night, he said something he couldn't take back.

It was late. Past midnight. The apartment in Monaco was dead silent except for the sound of Max’s voice echoing from the kitchen, clipped and sharp.

"You don't get it. You never have."

She was standing by the window, arms crossed, the city lights painting her face in cool blue. "Don’t turn this into that. I’ve done nothing but try to understand."

He walked past her, tossing his phone onto the counter with a thud. “You think trying means texting me after every quali like that’s supposed to fix it? I don’t need a cheerleader. I need someone who doesn’t make everything harder by hovering all the time. You're just too much!”

The words came out fast, angry. He froze as soon as he said them.

“I didn’t mean—”

She blinked at him. Just once. Then picked up her bag from the back of the chair. “Yeah. You did.”

Max moved toward her quickly, regret all over his face. “No, I didn’t. I swear. I’m—fuck, I’m tired, I’m under so much pressure, I—”

“I gave you space,” she said, voice quiet but shaking. “I let you push me away. I made excuses for you. I convinced myself this was just temporary. But this?”

He reached out, catching her wrist. “Please don’t go. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. I’m just tired. I love you.”

She looked at him, heart breaking and already halfway out the door. “I love you too. But I can’t do this anymore. I need space to think.”

She left. No big scene. Just keys on the counter and a cab at the curb.

The last time they spoke was the night of his fourth championship. She watched the race from her couch, pride and heartbreak mixing in her chest like poison. When he crossed the line, the tears came fast. It was supposed to be a moment they shared.

She sent him a message. Just one.

Her: congrats on the title. you deserved it.

He replied five minutes later.

Max: Please call me. I need to talk to you.

Max: I’m so sorry. I think about you every day.

Max: I fucked up. Please don’t shut me out forever.

Max: I know I don’t deserve it, but if there’s any chance at all… please.

She didn’t answer right away. It took her hours to even look at her phone again. And when she finally did, she typed out something simple.

Her: I’m proud of you. I really am. I know it was a stressful time. But what you said… it stuck. I just need some space. I hope you understand.

She didn’t text back after that. Not for months.

Then came the 2025 season.

It started off okay. Not great. Not Max levels of dominance. The car was twitchy, unstable in corners, and the engineers were playing catch-up from day one.

He still dragged it to second place in Australia. It was a miracle drive. But when he stood on the podium, he wasn’t smiling the way he used to.

Then China happened. P4. Not a disaster, but it hurt. Everyone could see he was wringing every last drop out of that machine and it still wasn’t enough. But he wasn’t throwing tantrums or being cold with the press. He just looked… tired.

That was when Lando started texting her.

Lando: okay hear me out

Lando: come to japan

Her: lol what?

Lando: serious. Quadrant’s first launch post-rebrand is in Suzuka and it’s a big deal and I want you there. you always said you’d come if we did something huge. You promised

Lando: don’t be mean i’m sensitive

Her: I don’t think that counts as a promise lol

Her: lando.

Lando: Please. I’ll keep you away from him. swear on my life. you won’t even smell a red bull. max won’t know. just come support your favourite british gamer boy.

Her: I’m not sure it’s a good idea.

Lando: It’s for me not for him. come on. just this one time.

Lando: I’ll buy you japanese snacks and let you win mario kart. i’m begging.

Her: you never let anyone win mario kart.

Lando: but for you. I’ll throw the race.

Her: …

Her: fine. one weekend.

Lando: YES. you’re the best. he won’t even know. it’s gonna be chill. just quadrant stuff. you’ll have fun.

Suzuka was buzzing. She had an amazing time with the Quadrant crew, watching all the behind-the-scenes of photoshoots and going out for ramen with Lando. But she couldn’t avoid the paddock. Not when Saturday’s quali brought a surprise. Max was on pole.

She watched it all from the shadows, tucked behind a wall of McLaren gear and camera rigs, staying low-key like she promised. But when he stepped out of the car, helmet tucked under his arm, grinning wide like it was 2023 again, her heart did this dumb little flip.

God, she missed him.

Race day came. And Max? He dominated.

He drove like a man possessed. Fast. Precise. Every lap smoother than the last. The Red Bull finally looked decent again—maybe not perfect, but close enough in his hands.

And when he crossed the finish line, hands raised, engine screaming, she didn’t mean to move. But her feet took her to the barricades at parc fermé before her brain caught up.

She stayed hidden, sandwiched between McLaren crew and camera guys.

Max was all celebration—yelling over the radio, hugging his engineers, trading high fives and slaps on the back. The joy on his face was infectious, the kind of smile she hadn’t seen in ages. He placed his helmet gently on the stand, grabbed a water bottle from the pit wall, and turned slightly—ready to take a sip—when he spotted her.

He froze.

The bottle slipped right out of his hand, hitting the concrete with a loud thud as he stared.

Then he ran.

No hesitation, no second-guessing. Just sprinted straight toward her and pulled her into a hug so tight it knocked the breath from her lungs.

She was too stunned to speak, too overwhelmed to do anything but hug him back. Her fingers curled into the back of his suit, and she held on as the flashes of cameras popped around them like fireworks.

She glanced up, catching Lando a few steps away trying to subtly signal if she needed help—if he should pull Max off her. But she shook her head, just barely.

Max wasn’t letting go.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured into her hair, over and over again, voice hoarse with emotion. “I’m sorry. I missed you. I’m so sorry.”

She leaned back just enough to cradle his face in her hands, thumbs brushing his cheeks as she looked at him—really looked at him—for the first time in months.

“Congratulations Max” She whispered, watching him calm down a little.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at her like he was afraid she'd disappear.

"I didn’t know you were here," he said finally, voice rough.

She nodded. "Wasn’t planned. Lando guilt-tripped me."

He gave a breathy laugh. Then his face sobered. "You saw the whole thing?"

She nodded again.

Max stepped closer. "I meant what I said. About being sorry. I think about it every day."

"Max—"

"Just let me say this," he interrupted, voice low. "I was angry. At the team. At the car. At myself. And I used you like a punching bag and took you for granted. That was on me."

She looked at him for a long second before smiling widely.

"Go celebrate," she whispered against his shoulder. "You earned it. I’ll meet you in your driver’s room later ok?."

He pulled back just enough to look at her. Hope flickered in his eyes. "Yeah?"

You nodded. "We’ll talk. After."

He didn’t push for more. Just touched their foreheads briefly before turning back towards the staff ushering him to the cooldown room.

And this time, as Max stepped onto the podium, standing tall as the Dutch Anthem played in the background, as he sprayed Champagne on Lando and Oscar, he didn’t need to search the crowd.

He already knew she was there.

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mirrorcatcreditcard · 6 months ago

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As someone eternally stuck in a tiny, dead, or dying fandom, I'd like to say this.

I love you people who post once a week.

I love you people who post once a month.

I love you analysis writers who pour content then stop up for so long I forgot why I followed you until you pop more out again.

I love you fanartists who hate their art.

I love you fanartists who love their art.

I love you fanartists who are neutral or apathetic to that art.

I love you people who have only posted once in this tag and never again.

I love you people who have never posted and only reblog.

I love you people who leave comments and help build the fandom's morale.

I love you snippet and drabble writers.

I love you self-shippers.

I love you people who only consume and share content about their niche fav that most of the fandom forgot existed or discarded as not worth their time and attention.

I love you shippers of the main pairs and shippers of the rare pairs.

I love you person who posted on the fandom tag after two years of silence.

#fandom #fanfic #fandoms #fanfiction #fanart #fan art #fanfics #fanfic.net #ao3 #wattpad #fanfiction.net #shipping #self ship #self shipping #mirr speaks #1k

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antinousletmehit · 6 months ago

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𐙚 ⋮ Aphrodites gamble ꒱ ‧₊˚

୨୧┇This series is basically like what if Antinous had a younger sister that likes to bully Telemachus but plot twist they fall in love and Antinous crashes out.

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

╰─ ♡ Main series:

୨୧┇Chapter one

୨୧┇chapter two

୨୧┇Chapter three

୨୧┇Chapter four

୨୧┇Chapter five

୨୧┇Chapter six

୨୧┇Chapter seven

୨୧┇Chapter eight

୨୧┇Chapter nine

୨୧┇Chapter ten

୨୧┇Chapter eleven

୨୧┇Chapter twelve

୨୧┇Chapter thirteen

୨୧┇Chapter fourteen

୨୧┇Chapter fifteen

୨୧┇Chapter sixteen

୨୧┇Chapter seventeen

୨୧┇Chapter eighteen

୨୧┇Chapter nineteen

୨୧┇Chapter twenty

୨୧┇Chapter twenty one

୨୧┇Chapter twenty two

୨୧┇Chapter twenty three

୨୧┇Chapter twenty four

୨୧┇Chapter twenty five

୨୧┇Chapter twenty six

୨୧┇Chapter twenty seven

୨୧┇Chapter twenty eight

୨୧┇Chapter twenty nine

୨୧┇Chapter thirty

୨୧┇Chapter thirty one FINAL!!

﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍

╰─ ♡ Antinous and Y/N sibling stuff:

Talking about their relationship/past

Scenarios from when they were younger

More scenarios from when they’re younger but antinous is shittier

Reader is injured

Antinous being a shitty brother (and character designs)

Antinous walks in on his sister smooching Tele

Antinous dying during hold them down

Reader having a breakdown during chapter 19

Chapter 20 scenario that anti talked about

A brother’s plea

Readers dead

Kid reader is drunk

Emotional manipulation.

﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍

╰─ ♡ Extra:

Ithaca saga scenario

Ithaca saga scenario pt2

Bad ending (not cannon)

The cast as cats

Reader is dead again

Eurymachus’s first time meeting reader

Early palace scenarios

Reverse au

Younger reader and Tele

Pillows….

Caught in the act

Odyssey!Tele meets reader

More early palace

College au Drabble

How would odyssey!telemachus deal w this

Early palace pt3

Antinous’s bad babysitting

Telemachus fearing for his life

Early palace pt4

Early palace p5

Odyssues finding out of readers past

﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍

╰─ ♡ SEQUEL

﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍

╰─ ♡ COMMENT TO BE ON TAGLIST

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress @f3r4lfr0gg3r @permanently-nothere @eyuunho @jackintheboxs-world @simpingmyassoff @sunshinewhosketches @sugarlillycookie @kaguraaaa @doodle-with-rhy @0anodite0 @cocosparkel @tati-the-fangirl @dazedemery @tsmaruchan @xo-cuteplosion-xo @galaxygurlll @pjopinkk @h0ne4bee @minteaspoon @zendoesstuff @yuvany @i-liketoast @dorkyfangirl24

#epic the musical #epic the musical x reader #epic telemachus #telemachus #telemachus x reader #antinous #aphrodites gamble

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pipedreame · 2 years ago

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𝐃𝐏𝐱𝐃𝐂 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞/𝐖𝐈𝐏 — ‘𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬’ ᴘᴛ. 2

part 1

“Hey- wha- Danny!” Jason yelled in panic and jerked forward, hands on the ledge to look down and body ready to vault after his idiot as quickly as he could, but was stopped by a familiar cackle, a sudden burst of light, and Danny himself standing, no floating, in front of him with stark white hair and green eyes that were quite literally glowing.

What the fuck.

“What the fuck,” he parroted his thoughts. His lips still tingled from where Danny had pressed his own against them and it was all together enough to make his brain short circuit.

“Yeah, so, uh, hi?” Danny waved lamely which turned into even lamer jazz hands, “Surprise?”

Jason blinked. And blinked again. “What the fuck,” he repeated again, this time with feeling. Danny winced a little and launched into an explanation.

“So, you know I died? Well, apparently while I was dying my DNA was also being infused with, like, a shit ton of ectoplasm which made sure I didn’t all the way die but I also didn’t come all the way back and ended up as half-ghost half-living — halfa is actually the term we use, but that’s not super important right now —” his words were nearly blending together with how fast he was trying to explain, “And, oh! I can transform at will and have been fighting ghosts since I was fourteen because they come through the same portal that I well, you know, died in, and I may also have some super cool powers and technically be King-to-Be of the Infinite Realms because I beat the last King in combat and inherited the throne, sooooo,” Danny finally stopped his word vomit. “Questions?” He finished meekly.

Jason stared and stared before tilting his head back and groaning. “Of fucking course my boyfriend would be a fucking ghost king. I am never going to live this down.” He scrubbed a hand down his face and turned to see Danny grinning lopsidedly at him. “What now?” He asked warily, suddenly feeling like a long nap would do him wonders and, really, the concrete roof was absolutely not the worst place he’d slept on before, so maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea—

Danny floated closer and Jason’s attention was stolen by the fact that his legs had transformed into a trail of… mist? Gas? What were ghosts even made of? Jason didn’t know but the sight was disconcerting and a little more than a bit distracting, especially paired with the skin-tight suit that had taken place of Danny’s usual baggier clothing. He took it all in with fascination and still a hint of disbelief.

“Boyfriend, huh?”

His eyes shot back up to Danny’s green ones and he flushed a bit at how close he had gotten without Jason noticing. He pinched his lips together when the question sunk in.

Well, in for a penny and all that.

Danny’s grin widened even more but Jason didn’t give him the time nor satisfaction to say something witty; he gave into his desires and cupped Danny’s face, noting both how strange it was to not have to lean down whatsoever to look Danny in the eyes (since he was still, y’know, floating) and how cold his skin was (Danny had always ran cold, but this was different, like the complete absence of any underlying heat that blood and skin produced).

Danny’s grin morphed into something softer and surprised, as if Jason had caught him off guard. Good. See how he likes it.

“Yes,” Jason stated, voice a bit gruff but soft between them, and Danny’s eyes darted back to his own from where they had been staring at Jason’s lips. Score. “Boyfriend,” and then, because he was a gentleman, thank you very much: “Only if you want, of cour—“ Jason was cut off by another press of lips on his own, only this time he was prepared and held on tighter, not letting Danny pull back as quickly.

Their lips stayed pressed together, soft and gentle and it made Jason ache with something fierce. He wasn’t used to tenderness. He wasn’t used to getting what he wanted. He wasn’t used to anyone wanting him back.

When they finally pulled away it was only to lean their foreheads against each other. Danny let out a breathless laugh and nudged his nose against Jason’s in a way that made his stomach flip at the casual affection. “Yes,” Danny said with another quick peck to Jason’s lips, “Boyfriends.”

Jason couldn’t stop the small, crooked grin if he had even wanted to try (and he really, really didn’t). It had been a long time since he had felt this good. This happy. Sure, he’d gotten a lot better in the past couple of years since he came back full of boiling green rage and the itch for violence at his fingertips, but Danny was the one to make him want to be better. Jason finally wanted to come back to himself, to allow himself the grace to forgive and be forgiven and move towards a future that wasn’t bathed in blood and tainted by the Pit Rage. He wanted a better relationship with his family. He wanted to do his city proud. And he wanted Danny by his side through it all, apparent Kingly status and everything.

“Good,” Jason said, drinking in the sight of Danny’s own giddy grin that showed off the longer and more pointed canines that Jason was definitely not imagining dragging along his skin. No siree. He shuddered, and it was definitely from the cold that Danny radiated. Nothing else.

Danny seemingly felt the shiver and pulled back a little more and with a flash of light he was back to his messy black hair and blue eyes, standing on the ledge with his arms around Jason’s shoulders much like they were before he had tried to give Jason a heart attack earlier. The temperature warmed a few degrees and Jason noted the fact to ask about later. “Good,” Danny parroted and then let out a little sigh, “Though, we really do need to talk about this so you actually know what you’re getting into. There’s… there’s a lot I need to explain.”

Jason nodded in agreement. He couldn’t imagine that anything Danny had to tell him would change the way he felt, but he would very much like to know everything. “My place or yours?”

Danny grinned mischeivously, “What, not the Batcave? The sooner I disclose my identity to all your bats the less chance of me slipping that I know and being hunted for sport, right? Plus, I think I could use Batman and Red Robin’s help on a couple of things assuming they’re amenable.”

Jason shook his head immediately, not wanting to imagine how the conversation would go with his entire family there to harass them without them being a hundred percent prepared (and very curious about what exactly Danny could need Bruce and Tim’s help with).

“Absolutely not. I’m not letting that conversation happen with you there until I know they can all behave themselves and not be asses about it. Jason was especially worried about Bruce’s reaction considering the man’s trust issues and his invasive need to pry and leave no stone left unturned. His siblings would be nosy and insufferable with their teasing but at least Jason was used to their antics and could shield Danny from the worst of it by giving them the short rundown before the full question panel had to happen. No, better for Jason to learn it all first and be able to prepare them both for the inevitable shitshow.

Danny shrugged, “Probably best to go to my place anyway; I stole a bunch of tech from my parents and it’s way easier to explain everything with some visual examples.”

Jason arched a brow, “What kind of tech?”

Danny’s grin was down right devilish as he transformed once more with a flash of light and held out an inviting hand as he floated a few feet away from the ledge, “How do you feel about going ghost hunting?”

Jason had a sudden feeling that Danny was going to be the death of him, but, strangley, the thought wasn’t nearly as frightening as it should have been. Maybe Danny was onto something when he said dying once really put things into persepctive. After all, there were much worse ways to go.

He confidently stepped onto the ledge and grabbed the offered hand tightly, “Bring it on, Ghost King.”

#lol here it is finally! i don’t have any more written for it but that may change if Lady Inspiration blesses me #i have a general outline of the lead up to this and what comes next but it will probably stay a drabble rather than an actual fic #anyways i hope you enoyed :) <3 #dpxdc #dpxdc dead on main #dead on main #dpxdc drabble #dead on main drabble #my dpxdc writing #my dpxdc drabbles #my stables #my writing

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seumyo · 6 months ago

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I WANT TO BE FOREVER YOUNG

PROMPT. How they mourn when you were gone too soon. You did worry about getting old, didn’t you?

FEATURING. Midoriya I., Bakugou K., Todoroki S., Shinsou H.

NOTE. I’m testing the waters with angst content + formatting style for multiple drabbles—so forgive me if it’s not that good!

MIDORIYA IZUKU — Sees you in someone else.

Midoriya Izuku found passion in teaching. It’s a life-changing job that molds each and every student into the person they want to become with the help of people like him.

His students, vibrant and full of life, were so much like his old classmates—and among them was Takashiro Ayane, her laughter light and melodic as she teased one of her friends about their clumsy landing during training.

It reminded him of someone. Someone close.

You.

And the thought always came to him, even when he didn’t mean to. Even at the most random times.

Ayane’s resemblance to you was uncanny. It wasn’t just her kindness or the gentle way she spoke; it was in the way she held herself, her subtle but unwavering resolve. Midoriya could see flashes of you in her—the friend who had once been a constant source of warmth in his turbulent journey at U.A. High.

As Ayane reached up to adjust her headband, smiling brightly, Midoriya felt a pang in his chest. The sight was like a memory brought to life, a reminder of your soft-spoken encouragement and the way you always stood firm despite your fears.

God, it felt like seeing you all over again.

“Sensei!” another student called out, pulling him back to the present. “Did you see that move? I think it might actually work in combat! Or support, if I feel like it.”

Midoriya blinked, shaking off the haze of memories. “Y-Yeah, it looked great!” he replied, mustering enthusiasm. “Your timing’s improving a lot—keep it up!”

He tried to push the thought aside, focusing on the here and now, but it was no use. The resemblance was too striking, and his heart felt heavy with the weight of unspoken grief. You were gone, after all. Gone too soon.

As the students broke into laughter again, something about the carefree sound and the dynamic of his students triggered a reflex. Without thinking, he spoke, his voice soft yet audible enough to be heard.

“[First Name], I—”

Your name left his lips before he realized it, and the world seemed to freeze. The students fell silent, their laughter replaced by curious stares. Ayane tilted her head; confusion could be seen in her face.

Midoriya’s heart sank as he realized his mistake. He quickly forced a smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I mean Takashiro,” he corrected, craning a hand to the back of his neck.

“Sorry about that. Guess I’m more tired than I thought.”

The students exchanged glances, a few offering polite chuckles before moving on. The moment passed, yet for Midoriya, the weight of it lingered. He stayed behind as the students began their walk back to the main building, his gaze fixed on the ground.

Everything came flooding in his mind. Like a relentless tide that swept him away. Your jokes, your laugh, and the countless little moments that had defined your friendship.

He hadn’t spoken your name aloud in years, not since your passing. Now, saying it felt like reopening an old wound, one he had carefully avoided for so long. But he could only do so much avoidance ‘til he has to come to terms with it.

“Sensei?”

The gentle voice startled him, and he looked up to see Ayane standing a few steps away. Her expression was concerned; her head tilted slightly as she studied him.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly. “You seemed... distracted earlier.”

Midoriya hesitated. The words caught in his throat as he wrestled with how to respond. How could he explain to his student that she reminded him of his dead friend?

What kind of teacher would he be if he were to say that? The awful, grieving kind, he bets.

“I’m fine, Takashiro,” he said finally, forcing a smile. “Just a little tired, that’s all. You know how these long training sessions can be.”

She didn’t look entirely convinced but nodded anyway. “If you ever need to talk, Sensei... we’re here for you too. Fighting!”

“Midoriya, grow a spine! Fighting!”

Her words hit too close to home.

“Thank you,” he could only murmur.

Ayane lingered for a moment before turning to join her classmates. He remained there, rooted to the spot as the sun began to dip lower in the sky. The golden light bathed the empty training grounds, and the silence felt heavier than usual.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ve tried to move on, but I see you everywhere. In everything. In everyone.”

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, a mix of regret and longing washing over him. “You were right about so many things,” he continued, his voice barely audible. “I just wish you were here to see it—to see how far we’ve all come.”

But you weren’t here anymore, and that’s the problem.

Bakugou Katsuki — Mourns you longer than he’d known you.

Cemeteries never brought discomfort to Bakugou. Not until you died, that is.

The place stretches out in solemn silence; the faint rustle of leaves in the hedges are the only sounds he heard as he trudged along the familiar gravel path. His boots made dull, deliberate crunches against the fallen leaves, the heaviness of his steps matching the weight in his chest.

In his hands, he carried the usual offerings: a bouquet of red spider lilies tied neatly with a ribbon, a box of your favorite sweet treats—melon pan today—and the incense sticks he always lit with care. It had been years since your passing, but for Bakugou, the loss felt as raw as if it had been yesterday.

He approached your gravestone, its surface polished and pristine, just as he always left it. Your name was etched into the stone with delicate precision, the sight of it both grounding and crushing. As if to remind him that you weren’t coming back because you’re just here, waiting for someone to visit you.

Bakugou knelt, his movements stiff and reluctant, as though even now he couldn’t fully accept your absence. Why can’t he accept it?

“Yo, dummy,” he muttered under his breath, pulling the lilies from their wrapping and placing them carefully at the vase near the gravestone. He adjusted them twice, three times, until they looked just right. His eyes lingered on the name etched into the cold stone, a bitterness creeping into his tone.

“Brought your damn flowers again. Hope you appreciate it.”

The sarcasm in his words was thinly veiled; beneath it lay the unmistakable ache of someone who had loved and lost far too deeply.

He pulled out the incense sticks next, lighting them with a practiced flick beneath his palm. You would’ve loved to see him do it in person; maybe light up a candle or two when the power goes out during your high school dorm days. The smell of sandalwood quickly mingled with the damp earth, and Bakugou leaned back on his heels, staring at the curling smoke.

“Another week down,” he began, his voice quieter now. “Another round of saving people, making headlines, being the ‘Great Dynamight.’ ” He spat the title out like it was poison.

“It’s what you always said I’d do, isn’t it? Go big; make my mark. But, damn it, [Last Name], none of it means anything without you here to see it.”

He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms as the familiar wave of guilt and frustration washed over him. His head dipped as he let out a long, ragged breath.

“I thought time was supposed to make this easier,” Bakugou admitted, his voice rough. “It’s been... what? Seven years now? And every damn day, it still feels like you’re just gonna show up out of nowhere, like you’re gonna annoy the hell outta me with one of your stupid jokes.”

The thought made his lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile, though it was laced with sadness. He could almost hear your voice—that gentle yet persistent tone you’d use whenever you tried to drag him along to something.

“C’mon, Bakugou, I’ll need someone to bail me out of jail! You’ll regret it if you don’t come along.”

And you were right. He regretted it now. Every single refusal, every grumbled excuse, every moment he could’ve spent with you and didn’t.

“You were annoying as hell,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “But you were... you were good. Too good.” His fists loosened, his hands falling limply to his sides.

“And you didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve to go like that.” Bakugou remembers the time he almost stained his conduct by almost killing the villain that got to you.

It’s unfair, isn’t it? The villain got to live behind bars, while you lost yours.

The wind picked up, rustling the leaves in the trees above. Bakugou tilted his head back, glaring up at the overcast sky as though it were to blame for everything.

“They don’t tell you how much it fucking hurts,” he said bitterly. “To lose someone like you. They don’t tell you that the longer it’s been, the harder it gets, ‘cause every year just reminds me of how much more I’ve missed. How much quicker I could’ve been.”

He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small, weathered notebook. It was yours, something your family had found amongst your belongings after you passed. They wanted him to have it since his name was always frequently mentioned. The edges were frayed, the pages creased from countless readings, but it was his most treasured possession.

Bakugou would rather die than even let a single drop of water meet one of its pages.

Flipping it open, he scanned your handwriting, some neat and some looking as though you couldn’t be bothered with basic penmanship. He stopped on a page that always gutted him.

Life’s short. Spend it with the people who matter. Don’t let moments slip away! :P

His thumb brushed over the words, his jaw tightening.

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighed. “You don’t have to keep reminding me, you know. I get it. Too late, but I get it.”

He placed the notebook on the gravestone, letting it rest there for a moment before tucking it back into his pocket. His hand lingered on the cold stone, his fingers tracing the engraved letters of your name.

“You were supposed to stick around,” he said softly. “Supposed to keep bugging me, keep dragging me out of my own damn head. Now I’m stuck here, talking to a rock, and it’s not the same. It’ll never be the same.”

The clouds began to part, a faint beam of sunlight breaking through and casting a soft glow over the gravestone. Bakugou stared at it, his eyes unreadable. He’s thinking.

“I’ll keep coming back,” he finally said, his voice steadier now.

“Every week, every month, every damn year. You’re not gonna be forgotten. Not by me.”

He stood slowly, his body heavy with exhaustion and grief. Adjusting the incense sticks and flowers one last time, he stepped back, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“See you next time, dummy,” he murmured, his voice low. “Don’t forget about me or whatever, wherever you are.”

As Bakugou walked away, the wind carried the faint scent of incense and the quiet promise of a man who would mourn you longer than he’d ever known you.

TODOROKI SHOUTO — Learns things that reminded him of you.

Todoroki knows that he’s been busy. It’s in the way the white camellias he brought you months ago are now wilted, showing their dried-up state. His fingers brush against the wilted petals, lingering as if to apologize for not visiting sooner.

“I still remember the last thing you said to me,” he murmured, his voice soft yet filled with an ache he couldn’t quite put into words. “It wasn’t even anything serious—just you scolding me for not eating enough during lunch. You were always so good at taking care of me, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

He glanced down, the corners of his lips twitching into a faint, bittersweet smile. The image of you—scolding, your hands on your hips as you tried to hide your worry—was etched so vividly into his memory that he could almost hear your voice.

Todoroki’s gaze traveled to the offerings he had brought with him: a fresh bouquet of camellia, a neatly folded scarf he had knitted in one of his new hobbies that he took up classes for, and a small pack of your favorite matcha-flavored sweets. “I know you’d laugh at me for picking up knitting,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “But... it’s calming. I think you’d appreciate that. You always said I needed to find something that made me happy outside of being a hero.”

The scarf was simple, a pale green color that reminded him of the shade you loved wearing. He had spent hours perfecting it, thinking of how you might have joked about him for being so precise yet ultimately praised his effort.

“I hope you’d like it,” he whispered, setting it down carefully beside the gravestone. “I thought about giving it to someone else, but it felt wrong. It’s yours.”

Todoroki draws in a breath, closing his eyes, letting the stillness of the place envelop him. Yet in the quiet, his mind raced with so many thoughts all at once.

“I also learned how to cook,” he tells you—he tells your grave. “It’s not as good as yours, but Bakugou’s been helping.”

He thought of your childhood, how you had been his only light during the dark days of his father’s strict training. How you had been this bubbly girl that the teacher often praised, how you had stood by him when he was still new to making friends at the nursery, offering him a hand when he thought he didn’t deserve one.

“You were the best person I knew. And I pushed you away. You didn’t deserve that, [Last Name]. You were my friend when I didn’t know how to be one back.”

The pain of those words hung heavy in the air, and Todoroki’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. He had spent years replaying your interactions, wishing he had done things differently. If he had done things differently, you would’ve been here, probably teasing him for taking up chopstick-making classes.

“I was so angry back then,” he confessed, his gaze fixed on the gravestone. “At my father, at myself, at the world. And I took it out on you, the one person who never stopped trying to help me. I told myself I didn’t need anyone, but... I needed you.”

Another tear slipped down his cheek, and he hastily wiped it away, frustrated by the way his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. He was the Number Two Hero now, a symbol of strength and perseverance. Yet here, in front of you, he felt like the lost, broken little boy that longed for his first friend.

“I need you now, please.”

The sound of a bird chirping nearby pulled him from his thoughts, and he glanced up at the sky. The sun was setting, casting a hue that reminded him of your warmth.

You did like sunsets, didn’t you?

“You’d probably scold me for crying,” he said with a faint chuckle, though his voice still wavered. “You always hated seeing me upset. But I think it’s okay this time. You’re worth crying over.”

He knelt down again, his fingers brushing over the engraved letters of your name.

“Shoucchan! You can’t cry! We can be partners—the best partners!”

Yes, partners. The best partners for as long as you’ll have him.

“I’m trying to live the way you wanted me to,” he continued. “To find happiness outside of being a hero. To be someone you’d be proud of. But it’s hard, [Last Name]. It’s hard without you.”

He stayed there for what felt like hours, speaking to you as though you were sitting beside him, as though your gentle presence could somehow reach across the veil of death. He told you about his hero work, about the classes he was taking, about the little moments of joy he tried to find in a life that often felt too heavy.

Finally, as the sun dipped below the horizon, he rose to his feet. His knees ached from kneeling for so long, but he barely noticed.

“I’ll come back,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the tears that still shimmered in his eyes. “And I won’t let you wait so long again. Next time, I’ll bring something better than just a flower. Maybe one of those awful paintings you always said I should make.”

As he turned to leave, he hesitated, glancing back at the gravestone one last time. As if you’d be there with open arms, waiting for him.

“Thank you,” he whispered, the words carrying a weight that only you could understand.

He walked away slowly, the sound of his footsteps fading into the stillness. The cemetery grew quiet once more, the only reminder of his visit the small offerings left behind—silent testaments to a bond that even death could not sever.

SHINSOU HITOSHI — Avoidance by all means necessary, until he finally caves in.

If you were to ask Shinsou what his prized possession was, he’ll tell you that it’s a shoe box. A shoe box that seemed to hold the world—your world, with remnants of a friendship that had lasted his entire life—a lifetime with you.

Shinsou sat on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands hovering over the box as though touching it might shatter him. He had been avoiding this moment for weeks. The funeral had been a blur, the condolences—a cacophony of words that didn’t mean anything because he knew that they couldn’t possibly understand how it feels. Everyone seemed to know the right things to say, except him.

All he had wanted was for you to be there, to laugh at how awkward he was with the whole ordeal.

Now, it was just silence.

With a deep breath, he finally reached into the box, pulling out the first item: a knitted scarf, a rich shade of violet. It was slightly uneven, the handiwork amateur at best, but it was one of the first gifts you’d ever made for him. He could still remember your smile when you handed it over during your middle school years.

“I thought it’d look good on you,” you had said, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Don’t laugh! It’s my first try. Nuh uh, I’m taking this back—Hitoshi!”

He hadn’t laughed. Ok, maybe just a quiet chuckle, but he had worn it every winter since.

He leaned forward again, staring into the box. Inside were the tokens of a life intertwined with his—handmade crafts, small souvenirs, and letters tied with ribbons in colors you knew he liked. Each item was a story, a piece of you you had given him, never expecting you would be taken away so soon.

He gently picked up a small ceramic cat figurine, its paint slightly chipped. It was from one of your family trips abroad.

“I saw this and thought of you!”

Younger Shinsou blinked, confused.

“Me?”

You nodded. “You’re like this cat. All serious, but secretly soft and comforting.”

Shinsou chuckled softly at the memory, though the sound was tinged with sadness. He had teased you for it back then, calling it tacky, but it had ended up on his desk at home. Now, it felt like a sacred relic.

Setting the figurine down, he reached for another item. Shinsou pulled out a small, framed photo of the two of you at a summer festival. He was scowling at the camera while you grinned beside him, holding up two sticks of cotton candy. It was one of the rare times you had dragged him out, insisting he needed to “experience life beyond his walls” when he just wanted to sleep in.

He’d go to every summer festival in the country—even if it meant losing sleep—as long as he gets to do it with you.

The frame trembled slightly in his grip as he swallowed the lump in his throat.

He pulls out a well-worn journal. It was yours. He hesitated, knowing that opening it would feel both comforting and unbearably painful. After a moment, he gave in, flipping through the pages.

Inside were your thoughts—notes about school, sketches of the two of them, and half-finished poems you had written during quiet afternoons.

The prince has been so stressed lately.

I wish I could take it all away.

He deserves the world, but he won’t let himself believe it.

Maybe one day he’ll see himself the way I do.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. You had always been like that—putting everyone else first, even when you had your own struggles. He closed the journal and held it to his chest, his breath shaky.

“I should’ve told you,” he whispered. “I should’ve told you how much you meant to me.”

The tears that had been threatening to fall finally spilled over, sliding down his cheeks as he sat there in the coming twilight. He thought back to the nights they had spent stargazing, sharing their dreams and fears. You had been his constant, his answer, his light, even when he didn’t know he needed one.

His phone buzzed again, a reminder that the world kept moving even when his had stopped. He glanced at the screen—it was a message from his secretary.

Meeting tomorrow at 9, Sir. You told me to remind you.

Shinsou scoffed bitterly, tossing the phone aside. Work didn’t matter right now. Nothing did.

He looked back into the box and pulled out a small, intricately folded paper crane. He had almost forgotten about it. It was from your high school years, during a particularly tough exam season.

“This is for luck,” you had said, carefully handing it to him with an awed expression. “And if it doesn’t work, at least it’s cute, right?”

He remembered stuffing it into his pocket, too embarrassed to admit how much it meant to him at the time. Now, it felt like a lifeline.

As he unfolded the crane carefully, a note inside revealed itself. The ink was slightly faded, but your handwriting was unmistakable.

You’re going to be amazing. Always.

A choked sob escaped him, and he clenched the note tightly in his fist. You had believed in him, even when he hadn’t believed in himself. He wished he could’ve seen this sooner.

When it got dark, Shinsou didn’t bother turning on the lights. The silence felt appropriate—a space for his grief to exist without judgment.

“I miss you,” he confessed, his voice trembling. “I don’t even know how to keep going without you.”

He glanced at the small collection of gifts and letters spread out on the table. Each one was a reminder of the life you two had shared—a life you had enriched with your thoughtfulness and love.

Though the pain was overwhelming, Shinsou knew he couldn’t let your memory fade. You had given him so much, and the least he could do was honor you by living the way you would have wanted—fully and without regret.

“I’ll keep going,” he said softly, almost as if speaking to you. “You’d probably get mad if I slept in.”

The room remained quiet, save for the faint sound of the wind outside. But for Shinsou, it felt as though you were still there, your presence lingering in every corner of his heart.

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jadegrey711 · 4 months ago

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Wally Clark x Reader Drabble

Just a quick little drabble about Wally and reader trying out some thigh riding. Really more banter than smut, but enjoy!

*NOT MY GIF*

If you like my stories you can check out my sideblog @jadegreywriting to see all of them and my masterlist without filtering through my main blog.

I own all rights to this story and do not give permission for my stories to be published, translated or reposted anywhere else. The only places I have published my stories is here on Tumblr and on my AO3 account (LadyAuthor711)

This story is for 18+ ONLY. It contains sexual themes that are not suited for younger audiences so if you’re under 18 my blog and this story is not for you. Please make sure to read at your own discretion and remember that you are solely responsible for your content intake.

"I really don't understand why you wore shorts on top of the grey sweatpants?" you teased as you sat in Wally's lap. "I mean you died after the movie Rocky came out and he was just rocking the grey sweatpants."

"It was the style!" Wally groaned.

"This is why the 90s were WAY better than the 80s."

"Excuse me?" Wally gasped. "The Goonies? Stand by Me? E. freaking T! Not to mention Dirty Dancing, which I know you love. So don't even try." He acused pointing a finger at you. "As well as MTV. The 80s were the shit."

"The 80s had great movies no doubt but fashion please! The 80s will forever be the spandex era, and you my wonderful Wally, are a victim of that." You said making your point, and trying to get up from Wally's lap.

"You think I'm a fashion victim?" Wally gaped, and pulled you back down to where you were stradling his thigh, the heat of his strong thighs radiating through the grey sweatpants he always wore. "Please I might have been dead but I watched everyone go through the 2010s, all that galaxy print still makes me shudder." He made an exasperated shivering motion which made you laugh as he wrapped his arms back around your torso.

"I never said that the 2010s fashion wasn't shit either. I think that galaxy print and spandex go hand in hand with the fashion victim department."

"Oh you're going to pay for that comment, baby. I ain't nobody's fashion victim." The grip on your waist tightened just a fraction.

"Oh yeah? And whatcha gonna do...Wallace?" You sassed staring those dark brown eyes down. And watched as they flicked down to your precarious position, straddling his thigh.

"Hmmm. Let's see what this will do." He said as he grabbed the hem of your jeans, and brought you forward on his thigh. You let out a small gasp, as the seam of your jeans hit just right on your clit as he brought you up his thigh.

"Wally!" You gasped.

"Did it feel good baby?"

"That's not the point." You said softly still trying to sound stern. "People will hear us." Wally leaned in close for a kiss.

"I promise I'll keep you quiet." He smirked, then pulled you back down his leg and back up again. You let out a reluctant moan and Wally was quick to cover your mouth with his, hushing your moans.

"Wally." You tried again, but he was having fun now and there's no stopping Wally not until he's made you cream your pants.

"You're so sensitive baby. We're going to have to do this more in the future." He growled, as he brought you back down and up again. "Do you think I could make you cum like this? It's going to be fun trying." He chuckled, kissing you again and deepening it this time, his tongue invading your mouth, eating the small moans he pulled from you.

"Maybe next time, I'll do this when you've only got your panties on, see how fast this fashion victim can make you cum, huh?"

You couldn't help the giggle that escaped, you and the heat that the thought of you two doing this again brought to your core.

#wally clark #wally clark x you #wally clark x reader #wally clark fanfiction #wally clark smut #school spirits season 2 #school spirits #milo manheim #jade tries writing #jadegrey writes

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jinwoosungs · 9 months ago

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09/15/24; 05:40pm

{ drabbles / headcanons }

[ when they see other men hitting on you ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel

sylus had allowed you to join him on one of his meetings. he had admitted to needing you by his side, just to help him cheer up while discussing plans to merge businesses together with a potential partner.

the meeting place was at a high-end bar sylus owned, filled with rooms that helped with keeping the privacy. you remain by sylus’s side, as his future business partner sat across from you. while you sit with sylus on one of the velvet seats, you became bored with each passing minute. your drink had long since been drained, your glass empty as the intimate light became reflected on its smooth exterior. time seemed to drag on, making mere minutes feel like hours.

sylus and the man kept droning on and on about the logistics of their business, talking about how each party had high hopes of supporting each other through their deal and blah blah blah blah blah…(clearly you were close to turning brain dead from boredom).

letting out a huff, you rest your chin against the palm of your hand. sylus senses how antsy you were getting, placing his hand over yours before giving it a light squeeze. such subtle displays of affection makes you smile in response, all while catching his tiny smirk as well.

while sylus’s partner reads over the paperwork, you trail your eyes toward the main floor of the bar, seeing all of the people mingling and dancing as the music began to play. as you focused on the familiar beats, you let out a gasp upon realizing that it was your favorite song that was playing.

letting go of sylus’s hand, he gives you a questioning glance. you point at the main floor of the bar, “my favorite song is playing, is it alright if i join in and dance?”

he lets out a gentle huff, “go on. i’ll join you in a moment.”

letting out a happy giggle, you press a kiss against his forehead before standing from your seat. with a bounce in your step, you walk down the stairs and join in with the others, basking in the pulsating music.

you simply follow along to its beats, body gently gyrating as you moved across the dance floor. gone was your boredom when you allowed your stiff body to dance freely, simply enjoying the music that was playing when a low whistle catches your attention.

you continue to sway back and forth, seeing a man dressed in a pristine suit make his way over to you. “whoa, babygirl, you’ve got to let me buy you a drink.”

your eyes were sparkling with amusement when you gave the man a shrug. “sure, okay.”

the man was shameless, flashing you a hungry grin that sends shivers down your spine. “so… are you seeing anyone right now?”

you had to hold back a giggle, catching sight of a familiar man dressed in a black and red suit from your periphery. a smile graces your features as you continue dancing, gesturing your head upwards towards the stairs.

the man frowns, using his pointer finger toward the same direction. “you keep looking up-“

he follows your gaze and visibly stiffens, finally noticing sylus before letting out a string of curses.

“oh shit-“

but it was too late.

with a snap of his fingers, sylus was already settled next to you, his arms forming a protective shield around your waist. “what’s this? are you trying to hit on my woman so shamelessly, despite knowing how hard your father worked to strike up a deal with me?”

“m-mr. sylus, i apologize! i truly didn’t know, honestly-!”

sylus ignores the stuttering man, choosing instead to focus all of his attention on you. keeping your chin still, sylus leans down to press a searing kiss against your lips, earning a gasp from you. it takes your mind a few seconds to process what was going on until eventually, you kissed him back.

“mr. sylus, why did you run off so soon?” with a grunt, sylus was forced to pull away from you, watching as the older man reappears, out of breath and looking quite red from drinking copious amounts of alcohol during the meeting. his eyes look back from sylus and to his son, eyes already narrowing when he points an accusing finger at him. “now what did you do to get offend mr. sylus?”

the man was left a stuttering mess, trembling beneath his father’s livid gaze, but sylus simply brushes both of them off. he hums while taking out the thick stack of papers that were meant to seal the deal between onychinus and his company. “i’ll tell you what your son did; he managed to hit on my woman all while believing he could get away with it.”

a bored expression was seen on sylus’s face when he rips apart the papers, allowing it to scatter across the dance floor before leading you out of the bar as several guns were pointed at the man, “the deal’s off, because no one tries to take my woman away from me and gets away with it.”

both men were practically trembling, mumbling out excuses as they were close to wetting themselves. a wave of empathy washes through you, and you end up placing a hand on sylus’s shoulder.

“wait, sylus, don’t do something so drastic. if you go through with this, it’ll ruin the reputation of this bar- of your business.”

your boyfriend lets out a scoff, as if annoyed that you would dare to defy him. but he sees the pleading look in your eyes and sighs. with a snap of his fingers, his men stop pointing their guns at the father and son duo.

“you’re lucky my woman is so forgiving.” sylus calls back to the men, keeping you kept tightly in his embrace before gesturing at his men to toss them out of his bar, “i suppose you’ll both get to live another day since i’m in such a good mood now.”

when zayne spoke about attending a conference that akso hospital was hosting, you quickly took him up on his offer of being his plus one.

throughout the night, you enjoyed all the foods the catering had provided for the occasion, taking sips of your wine while zayne kept a polite grip on your waistline. he was always attentive to your needs, not complaining at all when you asked him to get you a serving of some type of food or pieces of fruit you had been craving for.

from greeting his colleagues and even saying hello to yvonne and dr. greyson, you make small talk with them, with zayne remaining glued to your side as a tiny smile graces his handsome features. suddenly, a deep voice was heard calling by out to zayne.

“dr. zayne, would you mind sharing a bit of your time with me? there’s some matters i would like to discuss with you.” you look back to see an older man with salt and pepper hair calling out to zayne.

“i’ll be back shortly.” zayne takes a hold of your empty plate and cup, tossing it into one of the trash bins before coming closer to the man. as you smile back at zayne, yvonne and dr. greyson both began giving you knowing grins.

“god, it must be so nice to have dr. zayne wrapped so tightly around your finger like that.” yvonne sighs while stepping closer to you.

“truly, i’ve never seen such a respectable man turn into putty within mere seconds.” dr. greyson states all while pushing up his glasses.

you end up flushing a bit in embarrassment. “guys, it’s not like that. he’s just… a really good friend of mine.”

“hehe, friend? oh sure… but let me tell you… i’ve never seen mere friends look at you the same way dr. zayne does to you.”

the heat seems to deepen upon hearing yvonne and dr. greyson’s teasing words, yet before you could even defend yourself, they were both called by yet another colleague. “ah, we have to go and attend this conference.”

“but do tell us what happens next when dr. zayne returns!”

with both of them rushing to get to the conference on time, you were left alone, letting out a sigh as you searched the area for any signs of zayne. after spending several minutes walking around the area, trying to catch any sight of him, you gave up and let out another sigh.

resting your back against the wall, you began fingering the snowflake bracelet zayne had given you for your last birthday. seeing the light catching rainbows from beneath the tiny diamonds, you couldn’t help but admire its beauty.

ever since zayne had gifted you something so precious, you had never once taken off this bracelet (aside from the times you needed to shower). it was something that always made your heart flutter with happiness each time you admired it. while looking at the precious gift, you couldn’t help but wonder if there was some truth to yvonne and dr. greyson’s words.

“my, what’s a lovely woman like you doing here all alone?”

you were suddenly ripped away from your reveries, eyes meeting with a tall and handsome doctor that had blond hair slicked back into a neat style. his green eyes shone with amusement, looking down at you with an almost predatory gaze. you look away from him, hiding your precious bracelet behind your back.

“i’m just waiting for someone.” you stiffly tell him, hoping that he couldn’t sense your discomfort.

“oh? is it a boyfriend?”

you keep your lips sealed shut, refusing to answer his question as a chuckle fills your ears. “my apologies, of course you would be closed off from me since i haven’t even properly introduced myself to you. the name is dr. jones, and i work in the cosmetic surgery department.”

you visibly stiffen when dr. jones places a hand on your shoulder, “now, i’ve dealt with my fair share of women who wish to change themselves all in the name of beauty- but i must say, your natural beauty is utterly captivating to me. i see no reason to change a single thing about you.”

“so please, won’t you tell me your name?”

“she’s mine.”

your heart began beating faster, hearing the tranquil voice of zayne coming closer you. his eyes were glimmering with unbidden anger for the blond doctor, standing in front of you while acting as a protective shield between you and him.

“dr. zayne, it is an honor to be in your presence.” dr. jones admits tightly, clearly upset that you were already spoken for-

yet you couldn’t bring yourself to care about the other doctor’s reaction-

since all you could think about were zayne’s prior words.

she’s mine she’s mine she’s mine…

zayne gives dr. jones a stiff nod before wrapping both arms around you, “if you’ll excuse us.”

not even giving him a chance to answer, zayne walks away with you, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around you. looking back at him, he appeared so taut with anger, making you shiver as you apologized to him. “i’m sorry, i was looking for you, but then he approached me and-“

but zayne cuts you off, managing to lead you in a secluded area as he pins you against the wall, kissing you fully against your lips. your heart was felt skipping its beats in response when you finally kissed him back, seeming to melt against him.

no words were spoken when zayne kept kissing you, swallowing each and every moans of your delight as you finally relished in your mutual yearnings for each other.

xavier finally had a day off from missions and asked if you’d like to go out to dinner with him. and of course, being his girlfriend and all, you accepted.

you were eager to walk with him to the restaurant, with xavier calmly greeting the host as he tells her his name. she gives him a wide smile, taking two menus with her before leading you to a more intimate space near the back of the restaurant.

once you were seated at your table, you both look at the menu and decide what you wanted to order. as you searched through the menu, you became aware of how xavier’s converses were felt gently caressing at your bottom leg, making you giggle at his sudden playfulness. you return his affectionate gestures by placing the tip of your ballet flats against the side of his jeans, running up and down the expanse of it with your own, victorious smile.

xavier gives you a smirk, leaning across the table to give your lips a quick kiss before sitting back down just as the waiter appears.

“hello, my name is james and i’ll be your server today.” the waiter was a young man of average height, and just as he takes out his writing pad, he catches sight of you and does a double take.

his freckles seem even more prominent the moment his face flushes red at the mere sight of you. the sudden change in his demeanor makes you tilt your head in response, and xavier wasn’t too happy with the events that were unfolding.

“excuse me, but if you can stop drooling over my girlfriend, we’d like to order.” xavier’s voice cuts through the air, making the waiter’s eyes narrow in annoyance.

“r-right… sorry, what all would you like to have?”

you tell james each of your orders, and once you were done, you notice the way james’ gaze lingers on you for a few more seconds before he leaves the table. looking back at your boyfriend, you began to giggle, seeing the grumpy expression on his face while he remained seated with his arms crossed over his chest.

“oh, come on, xavier. the poor guy was really young, and i’m sure it’s just a harmless crush.”

“tch, it was not a harmless crush. that jerk looked like he wanted to whisk you away from beneath my nose. i don’t like it, lets eat out someplace else.”

“hey, don’t be silly! we are not wasting your reservation just because you’re a little jealous.” you giggle all while leaning forward, taking his hands in yours. “and besides, we both know that you’re the only man for me.”

“that better not change.” your smile widens when you manage to get xavier to smirk back at you, blue eyes filled with confidence once more. once james delivers your food, you did your best to ignore the waiter for xavier’s sake.

for the next hour or so, things went smoothly, with you and xavier enjoying your dinner as you shared your food with each other. once all the plates were cleaned and your respective drinks completely drained, you wait for james to return with the bill all while speaking to each other in soft whispers, so caught up in your own little world that you didn’t notice the plate of a decadent looking chocolate cake appearing before you along with the bill.

you look at the plate of cake, then back up at james. “oh, we didn’t order this.”

“n-no worries, it’s on the house.” james admits to you with a bit of a dreamy sigh, making this the last straw for xavier.

you watch your boyfriend stand from his seat, taking the bill before reaching over to grab at the plate of cake. with lightning fast reflexes, he smashes the cake into james’ face. “she said we didn’t order this, so you can take it back.”

your eyes go wide upon witnessing xavier’s actions firsthand, in a bit of a shocked daze when he takes a hold of your hand and leads you away from the table, leaving james a sputtering mess as he removes the plate away from his face and spits out the bits of cake. “come on, i’ll pay our bill up front.”

after processing what had happened for a few minutes, you came to your senses just moments later, “xavier! what was that about?! that was-“

your boyfriend manages to cut you off by placing a searing kiss against your lips. the sudden kiss manages to make your knees buckle from below you, since you had never felt such a passionate kiss coming from xavier before. in all of your two years of dating, xavier always managed to keep his cool.

yet now, his kisses were so deep that it rendered you speechless. it felt like he was pouring the entirety of his heart and soul into it, acting like he wanted to swallow you whole and claim you all for himself.

when the need for air proved to be too much, xavier was the first to pull away from you, his eyes appearing dilated as he rests his forehead against yours, “i’m sorry, but i won’t ever tolerate a man that dares to look at you like that-

no one will ever love you like i do, and it’s only reasonable that i punished him for daring to look at what’s always been mine.”

you were filled with pride, watching all of rafayel’s art put on display as you attended his first ever exhibit. since your beloved boyfriend was so excited to talk about his passion for art with other people, you gave him some space and simply decided to admire his works displayed throughout the building on your own.

with a glass of wine in your hands, you stop in front of a massive painting that depicted a gorgeous city hidden beneath the ocean waters. your eyes became mesmerized by the gentle lighting and the way it cast rainbows across the various castles.

truly, rafayel had a talent for capturing each scene in such a captivating manner, his paintings appearing like illustrations that came straight from a fairytale novel.

as you attempt to burn rafayel’s latest masterpiece into your very memories, you became aware of a tall figure that stood next to you. you trail your eyes, only to see a man around your age staring down at you.

“now, i know that this is an exhibit that exists to celebrate a young prodigy’s work, but can i just say, seeing you wandering so aimlessly around has me utterly mesmerized, for you are by far the fairest piece of them all.”

a shudder of disgust courses through you, filling you with a strange sense of dread the more this strange man attempted to hit on you.

“i’m sorry, but this fairest piece of them all has already been taken.” you attempt to turn away from him, but the man seemed relentless in his pursuit of you. he ends up blocking you from the front, arms already outspread to prevent you from stepping off to the side.

“oh, stop making excuses to try and avoid me. if you were taken, then what sane man would even dare to leave you all alone like this?”

he grabs a hold of your wrist, tightening his large hands over it as you winced, knowing that a bruise would form, “let go! you’re hurting me!”

suddenly, you were ripped away from that rude man, now being safely tucked within the arms of your beloved lover. “she’s taken by me, and if you don’t wish for me to cause a scene, i suggest you leave.”

rafayel’s voice had taken on a deeper tone you had never once heard before. ever since you got together with him, he had always been your cheerful and goofy boyfriend- one that was full of bright smiles and sweet laughter…

yet the rafayel that was currently protecting you held none of those soft traits. his eyebrows were knitted together in annoyance, placing both arms protectively around your front as he kept your back pressed deeply against his chest. the man was about to make another move, having every intention to rip you away from rafayel’s arms when he grabs your wine glass and throws the rest of your wine into his eyes.

the man falls to his knees, feeling the alcohol stinging at his eyes as rafayel calls the guards over. “take this man away from the premises. he’s been ruining my exhibition for far too long.”

not even bothering to stick around, rafayel takes you away and into one of the conference rooms. you feel the way he was trembling when he locks the door, making you reach out to try and comfort him.

“rafe-“

he suddenly cuts you off with a kiss, facing you within mere seconds as his trembling hands gently frame at your face. you eagerly return his kiss, slotting your lips against his in a fervent kiss that takes both of your breaths away.

within minutes, rafayel was the first to pull away, showing you his pout for a brief second before he hides his face within the curve of your neck. “how dare he hit on you and pull on your wrist like that? ugh, he deserved more than just some wine to his face. maybe i should have used my evol on him?”

hearing the slight whine in his voice makes you giggle, wrapping your arms around your beloved artist before pressing a kiss against his soft strands of hair. “don’t be silly, you don’t need to waste your powers on him.”

you listen as rafayel grumbles once more, making you grin as you gently remove his face from the curve of your neck. framing his defined cheeks with your two hands, you admire his pout for another moment before leaning forward, pressing a kiss against his pouty lips while basking in his sighs.

and thanks to your kisses alone, rafayel stopped his pouting and forgot all about the anger he felt for the man who dared to take you away from him…

end notes: jealous lads men are so 😭🙌🏻🥰 currently unedited, but i’ll make any changes once this is posted.

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

#sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x y/n #zayne x reader #zayne x you #zayne x y/n #xavier x reader #xavier x you #xavier x y/n #rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #rafayel x y/n #lads x reader #lnds x reader #l&ds x reader #love and deepspace x reader #writings 📖#non-mc reader

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jjanuaryrain · 2 months ago

Text

Another DPxDC drabble, this time Sam going to Bruce Wayne for help

Who knows, maybe I'll add this to the dead on main fic I'm working on. We'll see. Anyway, more under the cut.

Words: 3237

The air was cold and clammy, laden with heavy gray clouds and drizzling sheets of rain when Sam Manson stepped out onto the driveway. The rain pattered a steady rhythm on her black umbrella and she folded her long batwing sleeve over her arm to shut the car door behind her. The sleek black airport taxi idled quietly behind her as she turned to take in the familiar mansion looming before her.

The wrought iron gate arcing above her head was slick with rain, but a singular call button and speaker sat sheltered out of the rain. Sam approached and reached to press the button with a single black-tipped finger. The speaker hummed to life a moment later.

“Wayne Manor, Alfred Pennyworth speaking. How may I help you?” The voice was smooth and poshly British, and Sam took a breath of the cool October air.

“Samantha Manson to see Bruce Wayne,” she murmured into the cold metal. It felt wrong to speak at any higher of a level.

There was a moment’s pause and Sam smoothed her hand over the black lace of her dress. She could do this.

“Were we expecting you this evening, Ms. Manson?” The voice replied after a moment.

Sam pursed her lips together and raised her chin. She put on her best impression of her mother. “No, you were not. However, I believe this to be a matter urgent enough to warrant such a visit.”

“I see,” Pennyworth said. And then, “Why don’t you come in out of the rain? I will contact Master Bruce once you’re safely indoors.”

Sam let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth.”

“Please, call me Alfred.”

Then the speaker clicked off and Sam took a step back so the gates could slowly swing open on their motorized hinges. She waved off her driver and watched them reverse down the long driveway, then turned back to the building that loomed above her. She took a breath.

She could do this.

⋆₊✧₊⋆

The foyer of Wayne Manor looked much the same as Sam remembered from the few galas she’d attended within its walls – vaulted ceilings, sweeping staircases, and two wings diverging off to the left and right. To Sam’s knowledge, neither she nor any of the other gala guests had ever ventured beyond the ground floor before. She wondered if that would change tonight.

Alfred Pennyworth took her umbrella at the door and she made sure to lightly wipe her boots on the mat inside the door. She felt the inherent urge to remove them before stepping further into the house, but none of the Waynes seemed to be from a similar culture, so she dismissed the feeling.

Alfred showed Sam the way to the drawing room to the right and gestured at one of the many cushy couches. “Have a seat if you wish, Ms. Manson,” he said politely. “Master Bruce is finishing up a call in his study and will be out to greet you shortly. In the meantime, may I offer you some tea?”

Sam took a seat and nodded, folding her hands in her lap. “Earl Grey if you have it, please.” Alfred nodded and stepped through a side door that Sam hadn’t even noticed. And then she was alone.

She took a deep breath and clasped her hands tightly together. She was here now, and there was no going back. If she intended to go through with her plan, she couldn’t back down now. The entire endeavor was a long shot, but it was the only option she had left.

The only option Danny had left.

Alfred returned after a few minutes with a tray laden with fine china and two steaming cups of tea. There were also tea sandwiches and scones, and Sam took one comprised of cucumber and cream cheese along with her tea. She thanked the butler again, and he backed out of the room with a bow. She almost felt like she was back in Japan.

A clock on the far side of the room ticked away the time. One minute, then two, then three. After seven movements of the minute hand, footsteps sounded from the foyer. Sam placed her teacup down and folded her hands once again in her lap as Bruce Wayne approached.

“Samantha,” he said warmly as he swept into the room. He was dressed in a crisp navy suit with the top few buttons undone. His shoes were a clean but well worn pair of loafers. “Or Sam, rather. Is that right?” Sam nodded. Mr. Wayne crossed to and settled into a chair opposite Sam, seizing the second cup of tea from the tray on the low table between them. He grinned at her over the lip of it. “To what do I owe this pleasure? It’s not often that people make the journey to Gotham, and certainly not all by their lonesome.”

Sam gave the man a small smile. She wanted to slap the joviality off his face.

“I’m afraid I’m here for business,” she said instead. “Not pleasure.”

Mr. Wayne’s eyebrows raised and he set his teacup down.

“Is that so?” He asked. He leaned back in his seat and regarded her with keen eyes, sweeping them clinically over her person before returning his gaze to her face. “What business do you wish to discuss, then? I don’t recall having any dealings with your parents in recent memory.”

“That’s correct,” Sam said as evenly as she could. She got the distinct impression Mr. Wayne was humoring her. She squared her shoulders. “I should clarify that I’m not here on my parents’ behalf. I’m here for my own interests.” He raised his eyebrows higher. “Or, I should say, the interests of the world.”

There was a pause. Wayne sat up a little straighter.

“The interests of… the world?” He repeated.

Sam nodded. “It is my understanding that you are one of the main financial backers for the Justice League. Is that correct, Mr. Wayne?”

“It is,” Mr. Wayne confirmed, eyebrows drawing together.

“And the Batman?” Sam pushed.

“Well…” Wayne laughed slightly at that and waved a vague hand in the air. “If he were to exist, then sure. But he’s scarcely more than a ghost.”

“He was on national television with Wonder Woman last week, sir,” Sam deadpanned.

Mr. Wayne chuckled and spread his hands like what can you do? Sam did not return his smile. She was quickly becoming sick of seeing his stupidly bright teeth and she hadn’t been in his presence for 10 minutes. She ground her teeth.

When Sam didn’t respond, Mr. Wayne dropped his hands and studied her face. Then he sat up straighter in his chair and met Sam’s gaze seriously.

“What’s this about then, Sam?” He asked. Sam tried not to prickle too obviously at the use of her name. “What business on behalf of the world have you traveled all this way to present to me?”

Sam took a slow breath through her nose. She unclasped her hands, blood rushing back into them at the release of pressure. She’d brought the folder, but the idea of actually handing it over had her stomach clenching. Amity Park and its inhabitants were her best kept secret, the one she and her friends didn’t dare to speak of outside of its borders. And more than that…

“Have you ever heard of the Ghost Investigation Ward, Mr. Wayne?”

The words just sort of fell out of her mouth, but it worked well enough as a start. It was clearly not what Wayne had expected her to say, at least. The man across from her blinked a few times before his face settled into a confused frown.

“I can’t say that I have. And, please, call me Bruce.” Sam nodded once. She’d expected that Bruce wouldn’t know of the GIW, of course, had even hoped so. But it still stung to be reminded how alone she and her friends had been in dealing with this for all these years.

Sam took a steeling breath. She could do this.

Sam reached into the depths of her sleeve and withdrew the folder. She set it carefully on the table between the two of them, to the right of the tea tray. Bruce tracked the motion before returning his quizzical gaze to her. Sam’s heart rabbitted in her chest, but she forced herself into calm. She breathed in and out once, then spoke.

“This file contains all of the information I have on an agency funded solely by the US government that has been carrying out unlawful experimentation on nonhuman entities for nearly half a decade.”

Silence. Wayne stared. Sam pushed on.

“Their work is in direct contradiction with the Meta Protection Acts, yet they have full authorization from and the full support of the federal government. They–”

“That is quite the accusation,” Bruce interrupted with a frown. Sam couldn’t help the glare she shot his way.

“It’s not an accusation,” she said forcefully. Perhaps a bit too forcefully, because Wayne leaned back slightly in his chair. She took a long breath and searched for that internal place of calm. This was for Danny. She didn’t have the freedom or luxury of letting her emotions control her right now.

She tried again.

“It’s not an accusation, Bruce,” she repeated more calmly. “It’s the truth. This file,” she tapped the closed brown cover and Mr. Wayne’s eyes followed the movement, “should have everything required to substantiate my claims and more. It contains copies of the contracts signed between the ward and the Homeland Security, as well as receipts for funds provided by the government in order to create their so-called ‘experimental facilities.’”

She couldn’t help the way her lips curled into a sneer as she spoke, but Wayne wasn’t looking at her. His eyes had locked onto the Homeland Security crest stamped across the file in front of him. Good.

“The file also contains records of the ward’s stated goals, recent movements, and the results of all of their experiments, up until about a month and a half ago. Once reviewed, I’m sure you’ll find that everything about this agency, from its methods to the very purpose of its creation, is at odds with everything the Justice League stands for.”

And you, I hope, she added silently. Please don’t stand for it, either.

Wayne was flitting between looking at the file and Sam, questions swimming in his eyes. Before he could interrupt again, Sam flipped open the folder to its first page. Bruce sucked in a sharp breath when he saw the file and leaned forward to inspect it.

Sam watched his eyes rove over the photos Tucker had managed to pull from the GIW’s database before they’d moved it offline: the torn and broken bodies of countless ghosts, the remains of beings that had been ripped apart for no reason beyond human hate and curiosity. Wayne’s eyes were wide as he took it all in, and his skin had paled to an ashy grey. Good.

“This is the business I traveled all this way to discuss with you,” Sam told him grimly. His eyes flicked to hers momentarily before they were drawn inexorably back to the carnage laid out before him. He pulled the file closer, mouth pressed into a thin line. “This is why I ventured to Gotham all by my lonesome and showed up on your step with no warning. These are the interests of the world I come to represent.”

Sam let him take in the horror before him, to soak in the ghastly knowledge that Sam had been living with for over a year now, for a long minute. When he took a breath and began to pull back, she snapped the folder closed and returned it to her sleeve. Bruce looked up when she did so, and she could’ve laughed at the look on his face if the situation weren’t what it was. He looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“Sam,” Bruce said gravely, sinking back into his chair with a shake of his head. “This is–” he started, but Sam held her hand up. She wasn’t finished yet.

Bruce complied, leaning back in his chair and covering his mouth with a hand. Sam folded hers back into her lap.

“I am under no illusions that you extended me the favor of this unplanned meeting for any reason other than my family’s name,” Sam told him. Bruce didn’t even try to object. “So I am going to ask that you keep your opinion of me and my name in mind when I ask you for this next favor.”

Sam met his gaze, willing him to understand how much she needed this. How much Danny needed this. This was their last resort.

After a long, tense moment, Wayne nodded. “I’ll listen,” he said softly. “Whatever you need, I’ll hear you out.”

Sam’s throat tightened at the words, and she nodded stiffly. She was almost done. She could get through this.

“If you mean that,” she started, but her voice broke. She swallowed it away. “If you mean that, then what I need from you, Mr. Wayne, is a meeting with the Batman.”

The silence after the words left her mouth felt suffocating. Bruce just looked at her. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she held his gaze defiantly, chin raised. She wouldn’t let him say no. He couldn’t say no.

“The Batman?” Wayne asked after a moment. She nodded again, through the lump in her throat. Bruce frowned, steepling his fingers in front of his face. Then, “Why the Batman?”

Sam blinked. “Sorry?” She asked.

“Well, why not any of the other members of the Justice League? Surely this is something that could be investigated by any one of them.”

“I…” Sam didn’t have a response prepared for that. She squeezed her hands together. “I guess… he’s the one I trust the most to get justice.”

Wayne nodded slowly, considering her through calm eyes. “Is that what you want?” He asked. “Justice?”

Sam hesitated. There were a lot of things she wanted. Justice was one. Revenge, another. Danny to be safe more than anything, really.

But when she thought of herself, of Tucker and the people of Amity Park, of the ghosts who had simply left the Zone at the wrong time…

“Yes,” Sam whispered. Her throat burned. “I want justice.” It felt like a ridiculous thing to say, to hope for. There were so many ridiculous things she hoped for these days.

“I want to see the GIW demolished,” she continued despite herself. She clasped her hands hard, feeling the muscles shift and the bones grind. A tear threatened to slip down her cheek. “I want to see the agents pay for what they’ve d-done. I want to look every single o-one of them in the fa-face and know that they understand what they’ve d-done. The lives they’ve ruined.”

A sob bubbled up and Sam tried to push it away but it was no use. Now that she’d started, there was no stopping it, no stemming the waves of emotion.

“I want them to understand it and to be f-forced to live with it,” she said through gritted teeth. Tears slipped freely down her cheeks. “I want what they did to destr- destroy them like it’s destroyed u-us. And I want- I want anyone, anyone at all, to acknowledge that they- they left us there! They- they left us there! In that fucking town to rot! To deal with it by ourselves and we can’t- I can’t- I can’t-” Sam covered her mouth with one half numb hand, but the sobbed words came anyway. “I can’t save him!”

Just saying the words out loud had Sam doubling over on the couch, sobs wracking through her body. It felt so good to finally say it, to finally admit it to herself, that she couldn’t reel herself in.

“Oh god,” she cried into her knees. “I can’t- can’t- I couldn’t save him! He’s- and I can’t do anything!” She pressed her skull into the bone of her knees, panting into her skirt as sobs wracked uncontrollably through her body.

A weight dipped onto the couch beside her, and suddenly Sam was tilting over slightly into a strong, warm body. Mr. Wayne didn’t say anything as he held her. He didn’t offer the empty assurances she had come to expect from adults, didn’t try to convince her it was okay, or that she didn’t need to be so upset. He just pulled Sam gently onto his lap and let her cry and cry and cry.

Sam didn’t know how long she laid there, hiccupping and sniffling into Mr. Wayne’s cotton suit. It was just until the burning, aching guilt began to abate, and she was finally able to quell the tears.

Once she’d stopped crying, the two of them sat in silence for a few minutes. Mr. Wayne’s arm was a reassuring weight across her shoulder and back. Sam listened to the clock tick away across the room and tried to breathe in time with the second hand. Seven seconds in, eleven seconds out – just like Jazz had taught them.

Tears returned to her eyes at the memory, but she just let them fall where they may. She didn’t have enough energy to do much else.

“Why don’t you stay the night in one of our guest rooms, Sam,” Mr. Wayne suggested quietly. He rubbed a gentle hand up and down her arm. “Most of my children are away from home at the moment, so you’ll have the floor to yourself. It’ll just be my youngest, Damian, on the floor below you. Alfred can make it up for you now, if you’d like?”

Sam sniffed and pushed herself into a sitting position. Her face felt tight and dry despite the waterworks, and she resisted the urge to wipe at it. She relished the idea of being able to wash away her ruined makeup and sleep the day off in a real bed, rather than at the hotel as she’d planned.

“Yes,” she agreed quietly. “That sounds very nice, thank you.” She saw Mr. Wayne smile at her from the corner of her eye before he stood and called for Alfred. The two of them had a quiet conversation that she ignored in favor of gathering herself further, and then the butler vanished once again. Sam looked up at Bruce.

“You… You believe me, right?” She asked tentatively. She felt childish saying it, but she had to know this hadn’t been a waste. She had to know there was still hope. “You’ll think about what I said?”

Bruce Wayne gave her a soft smile, much realer than the ones she’d received when she’d first arrived. He returned to his spot on the couch and took her hand, looking her in the eye.

“If there is any truth to what you’ve told me,” he started and Sam couldn’t help the face she made. “Of which I have no doubt,” Bruce added quickly, with another slightly ironic smile. Then his face grew more serious, and he gently squeezed her hand between both of his. “Then I will do everything in my power to see the GIW stopped and shut down, permanently. You will get your justice, Sam. I guarantee it.”

And, just for that moment, Sam actually believed him.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #sam manson #bruce wayne #dpxdc #dc x dp #fanfic #fanfiction #idk what im doing with this #inspiration just came #and now here we are #dunno who the target audience is for this lol #me ig #alfred pennyworth #batman

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pantoneyoongi · 17 days ago

Text

in love with love (with you) || slow dance

series ; in love with love (with you) description ; you’re a romantic. jungkook? jungkook is not.

title ; slow dance

word count ; 3.9k

notes ;

a drabble for the in love with love (with you) series! in which jungkook did not (but also didn’t not) take you to prom. (or: among the first of many times jungkook makes excuses just to be good to you.)

tags ; high school!au, fluff, sickening levels of fluff, my god i love them, the tiniest bit of angst if you squint, frenemies to lovers, this is like mostly unedited but oh well, no u don’t understand i really really love them so much, pls go to main masterlist for more / general tags

you don’t go to prom with jungkook.

actually, you don’t go to prom with anyone. you suppose you could’ve asked taehyung or jimin to come home - they would’ve - but you can’t bring yourself to ask them to pay for a flight right around their finals season at university, just to come and take you to a high school dance. you really can’t justify it. especially not when you do technically have someone to spend the night with, even if you didn’t, technically, go with him.

see, you and jungkook are not friends. you’re also not not friends. your relationship with jungkook is a lot of nots, and not nots. like, his tie doesn’t match your dress. it also doesn’t not match your dress. the color is just one shade off.

and he didn’t ask you to go with him, and you certainly didn’t ask him, but he still showed up with a corsage for you, claiming that he had to buy it as a set with his boutonniere, and then muttering some kind of excuse about his mom wanting to see him with the boutonniere, and it’s not like he has a date either, so he may as well give you the corsage, because who else would he give it to?

which is funny, in retrospect, because it’s not like jungkook is incapable of getting a date. unlike you, jungkook is popular, well liked, and - while you would never be caught dead admitting this - terribly handsome. at least, according to your classmates he is. he has round eyes that shine when he gets excited and his two front teeth are just slightly more pronounced, so he always looks a bit like a bunny, and the hair that falls just so over his eyes is impossibly soft, something you know only because you yank on it every so often whenever he’s managed to irritate you more than usual (especially now that jisoo isn’t around to stop you from tearing his hair out).

he’s handsome in all the ways a high school senior could be. he’s even got the charming personality to match, as long as he’s talking to anyone that isn’t you. there was probably a long line of people - across all year levels - just hoping he’d ask. but he didn’t.

so, yeah. you don’t go to prom with jungkook.

you also don’t not go to prom with jungkook. because he’s the one who drives you to the venue - “it’s easier to carpool, anyways, and i don’t trust your driving skills,” so the two of you show up together. your eyes go wide at the sight of the fancy hotel - glittering chandeliers, plush, carpeted floors, smooth, dark wood bordering the entrance. jungkook steps in beside you, looking unimpressed with the decor, but he doesn’t leave your side, either. lets you take it all in, lips parting with awe, a smile slowly forming on your face. he’s more interested in watching the emotions flit across your face than he is with the grandeur - all your excitement, the mesmerization, the giddiness. you don’t have a date, but anything can happen. the scene has already been set - so what the main lead opposite you has yet to be cast?

you’ve always fantasized of a beautiful, perfect prom night. the same way you dreamed about a handsome senior whisking you off your feet when you were a freshman, or having a sophomore year classmate be the perfect gentleman for you and offering you his hoodie in that one class you had where the air conditioner was always on a little too high. even junior year, when you should have reasonably broken out of your childish daydreams, you wondered about a boyfriend who might study with you as you prepared for college entrance exams, someone to drape a blanket over your shoulders when you fell asleep on your textbooks.

but prom - prom had a four year lead-up. prom had the gorgeous backdrop, and the glittering decorations, and the lavish dress. prom had the adorable promposals that you watched seniors give their dates every year until you became a senior waiting for one, too. even though you knew it would never come.

still. maybe somebody will catch your eye from across the floor. slow dance with you, twirl you around, place a hand at your back, tip you low, maybe even kiss you at the end of the night. tuck that one, inevitable stray hair behind your ear. stare at you like you hung the moon and stars yourself.

jungkook can’t say he understands, but he’ll let you have it, at least for tonight. the teasing can wait till morning. for some reason, he can’t muster his usual antics right now. something about your dress, the blush across your cheeks, the delicate necklace brushing your collarbones - any number of these things combined, even - makes the words die on his lips every time he tries.

you look so beautiful, it makes him breathless, but he won’t admit that.

finally, you continue in, following the signs to the ballroom for the dance. there’s already crowds of people there - your classmates spread across the dance floor, laughing and singing along and dancing wildly to the music that’s so loud jungkook can feel the bass reverberating in his entire body. you wince a little but it doesn’t stop the delight crossing your features even as you’re lifting your hands to cover your ears on reflex. you wander about the ballroom, jungkook following after you everywhere you go.

“you can go hang out with your friends, you know,” you finally turn to him, though you’re basically shouting it over the music. jungkook considers pretending not to hear, but whether he likes it or not, hell, whether you like it or not, you know him better than that.

“nice try,” he tilts his head, raising an eyebrow. “you think i don’t know you’re gonna tell jisoo i ditched you at this dance? i’m never gonna hear the end of it.”

you scowl. he so good at fouling your mood. but he loves the way your brows draw in, how your jaw sets stubbornly, every time he gets on your nerves. it stokes a fire inside him that makes him smirk back at you.

“i’m gonna tell her you didn’t ditch me at this dance, and instead spent the whole night annoying me,” you retort back. “then you really won’t hear the end of it. from me.”

it’s supposed to be a threat, but jungkook feels sparks in his bloodstream instead, and he grins back. leans forward, matches your height. “is that a promise?”

you let out an aggravated sound, one hand shoving his shoulder. he barely budges, but he does at least relent a little and straighten back up, hands sliding into his pockets. you’re glaring at him in a way that always makes his heart beat a little fast, something he largely attributes to a feeling of victory. he loves getting you to make that expression at him - nose wrinkled, lower lip jutting out in the smallest of pouts, shoulders raised like you want to hit him.

it’s kind of adorable. in like, a small, angry creature kind of way.

though if you heard him call you a creature, he’s pretty sure you’d start aiming for body parts he’d prefer remain intact.

“come on,” he says instead. “it’s prom. i promised taehyung i’d make sure you’d have a good time.”

“i don’t need your promises,” you mutter back, but jungkook hears it even above the music, mostly because you whip your face away from him to hide your expression, but he sees it anyway, and this one he doesn’t like. he’s all for the cute, annoyed huffing and puffing you do, but not the brief cut of hurt that crosses your features. he crossed the line somehow. he hates crossing the line - because he always does it without meaning to.

“i didn’t - i didn’t mean it like that,” jungkook tries, but you’ve got too much pride to let jungkook apologize, instead lifting your chin high.

“if you’re gonna stick to me, then you better dance, too.”

jungkook swallows down what you don’t want to hear, even if he needs you to know it. maybe he can show you, instead. he’s not keeping you company just because of some silly promise he made taehyung, or because there’s no one else to stick by your side. he’s here because he wants to be. he wouldn’t have even come tonight if not for you.

his eyes light like you’ve issued him a challenge - and jungkook has always been competitive. “better keep up, princess.”

you collapse into a chair, kicking your heels off. jungkook settles into the seat beside you, albeit a little less out of breath. you loll your head towards him, tracing the outline of his neatly combed hair, his shoulders, the way his hands fumble a little with his tie, trying to loosen it. you’re both tired from jumping and dancing and screaming along to well-known songs remixed into one massive run-on song, but true to his word, jungkook did make sure you had a good time. you reach over, smacking his hands out of the way. “i can’t believe you still can’t figure out how to work a tie. shouldn’t it be easier to loosen than it is to put on?”

“you’ve met my mother,” jungkook gripes back. “she ties things like she’s trying to make sure it can never be untied again. i think she might want me to live in this suit forever actually.”

you roll your eyes, managing to hook a finger into the knot and wiggle it a little looser. jungkook inhales a deep breath, dramatic enough that you give into your giggles, and he has to hide his smile behind one hand.

“what now?” he asks, after you’ve both sat in silence - or, as much silence as could be had in a room full of teenagers at a school dance. you hum, one foot nudging at the heel you discarded on the floor earlier.

“well…”

jungkook narrows his eyes. “of course you have something.”

you shoot him a sly smile. “i did a little research before the dance.”

jungkook eyes you warily. “who does research for prom? actually - i don’t think romcoms count as research, y/n.”

you throw him a dirty look. “shut up. i meant about the hotel,” you make a vague gesture towards your surroundings. you bite your lip, and jungkook definitely doesn’t focus on the action. you glance back at him and he snaps his eyes back up to yours.

“there’s supposedly a garden on the sixteenth floor,” you tell him. “it’s usually only for people who, y’know, rented a room or whatever, but it’s not like you need a key or anything to get in, so honestly, once you’re in the hotel, it’s pretty much fair game.” you shrug, but there’s a hopeful shine to your eyes. “the pictures looked really pretty.”

jungkook tries not to sigh. of course. of course even at a school event, you found a perfect, romantic getaway to sneak off to. jungkook thinks you could probably find a romantic setting anywhere you go. or you’d just make one yourself. you could probably dress up a dumpster well enough to make it look like the start to a love story.

jungkook waves a begrudging hand. “lead the way.”

you jump up immediately. he heaves himself out of his chair to follow you, snagging the heels you’d decided to ditch from off the ground. he doesn’t know how you can bear to walk barefoot around the hotel, but he supposes all the carpet feels better than the three-inch heels you’d manages to dance in almost all night. you’ll probably want them later, once you reach the garden.

the two of you sneak past other hotel-goers, and hotel staff, too, slipping into the elevator and thankfully making it up to the sixteenth floor without any stops. you wander down the halls until you spot the glass doors, glancing back at jungkook, giving him only a quick glimpse of the bright, unadulterated joy in your eyes before you’re pushing the doors open, wandering into the garden.

your reaction at the hotel entrance is nothing compared to this. this, you’ve been waiting for since you stumbled upon it a couple days after the prom location was announced. you pause so abruptly that jungkook nearly bumps into you, stabilizing himself against one of the columns that border a walkway that aligns with the wall of the hotel. he’s about to nag you about it, but all that comes out is a quiet exhale, catching the wonder in your eyes as you survey what’s in front of you.

he’ll admit, it is certainly pretty. it’s dark out, but there’s fairy lights strung about, illuminating the open space in a soft glow, just enough that you can see the pretty reds and purples and blues of the flowers, the deep greens of their leaves and the bushes surrounding them. there’s gravel, too, in shades of white and tan, bordering a pathway that cuts through the garden, to a small, white, octagonal pavilion. there’s nothing inside the pavilion but a bench that borders the entirety of it, but there’s vines that climb up the white beams, interspersed with flowers jungkook can’t even begin to name, but he’s sure you must know each and every one, and all the meanings that come attached to them, too.

you begin to take a step out, but jungkook catches you by the arm. the immediate frown you give him makes him snicker, but he sets your heels down at the ground before you. “it’s pretty,” he allows. “but with flowers comes bugs. pretty sure you’re not gonna wanna step on one.”

you make a face, but slip your heels back on, using jungkook to balance yourself. you figure he’s in a good enough mood, loose from the mocktails and the dancing, that he doesn’t say anything about the way your fingers grip onto his elbow.

as soon as the shoes are on, though, you’re off. your fingers brush the petals, touch feather light, and you breathe in the sweet smell, closing your eyes briefly. jungkook trails after you, following you around the garden, walking the tiny pathways. you have a small smile on your face the whole time, like you’re falling a little in love with the flowers. you would, jungkook muses. he’s pretty sure you could fall in love with almost anything.

when you’ve had your fill of the garden itself, you move towards the pavilion. you take a seat on the bench, resting an arm on the ledge as you peer out at all the flowers and greenery and little lights. jungkook joins you, but he doesn’t sit, just observes with you. it’s so quiet up here, a deep contrast to the dance happening sixteen floors down.

his gaze falls to you. you look at peace here, a little sleepy, even, but happy. but for jungkook, that’s not enough. it’s prom night. you’re here, in a dress that sways with your every movement, with your makeup and hair done up nice, and jungkook has no idea what compels him to do it, but he reaches a hand out to you.

you blink at his palm. stare blankly for a half-minute. “yes?”

jungkook clicks his tongue against his teeth, grabbing your hand. “didn’t you want a slow dance?”

he pulls you to your feet. you don’t have to know that his roughness has nothing to do with him pretending to begrudgingly grant you your wishes for prom. that maybe he just wants to hold your hand and feel you stumble into his chest. maybe he thinks you look beautiful in your dress, maybe he adores the way your cheeks turn a little pink with surprise. maybe he wants to feel your palm in his and know that he’s making you happy, because you always wanted to slow dance with someone.

there’s no music here - there’s no one up here at all but the two of you - and that makes it all the more romantic. and he knows it. knows it because he knows you, knows you love this kind of thing, so maybe that’s why he does it. because jimin isn’t here, and taehyung isn’t here, and even yoongi isn’t here, but jungkook is.

jungkook would rather die than say it out loud, but he loves this look on your face too. loves being the one - for once - to put it on you. not your angry, sullen pout, but the stars in your eyes, and how he can practically feel the way your heart races, even if he’s sure he’s not the reason - just the situation, the circumstance. after all, you love romance. you love the twinkling lights, the cool night air, even the clumsy steps the two of you take as you move in circles around the pavilion.

this was what you wanted tonight, even if jungkook isn’t the person you pictured doing it with.

he makes prom magical for you, in this moment. what you don’t know is that you make prom magical for him, too.

breathless.

his heart skips a beat in his chest, as he gazes down at you. you’re not looking at him - still too in love with the setting, the lattice on one side of the pavillion, the short post lanterns, the view over his shoulder from being sixteen floors up. but that’s okay. if you’re not looking at him, that means he can look at you.

it’s circumstance, jungkook thinks. you’re as close to a date as he’s got, and he’s slow dancing with the prettiest girl in school, alone in a garden straight out of a fairy book. if his heart is doing double time, it has nothing to do with you. the same way you’re probably not even thinking about him. only that you’re dancing in a pavilion that could’ve come straight out of a pride and prejudice movie, and when jungkook spins you out and then back to him - that uninhibited, radiant smile isn’t for him. can’t possibly. it’s for that bucket list you keep, of all the things you want to do, of all the ways you want to love and be loved. just like this.

jungkook doesn’t think about that night for years to follow.

except, well, there’s a photo saved on his phone. a couple of them, actually. he never deleted them, and they’re from so far back that no one ever really scrolls that far in his camera roll, so it’s practically hidden.

a little under seven years after the fact, you have your legs thrown over his lap. jungkook is letting you play with his phone, doesn’t really care what you do with it - and you frown. “jungkook.”

he hums. he’s half asleep on the couch, sinking deep into the cushions. he’s pretty comfortable with you here, one hand on your calf, kind of unbelievably pleased with himself that the two of you have moved into a stage where you’re cuddled into his side, head on his shoulder, doing whatever it is you like to do with his phone (usually play mobile animal crossing on his account), while he falls asleep. but you nudge him again. “jungkook,” you insist.

“hmm,” he blinks his eyes open. “what?”

“is this me?”

well, probably. jungkook doesn’t have a lot of photos of people on his phone who aren’t you, or your mutual friends. he doesn’t think twice about it when he peers at his phone, but when he sees the picture, he snatches his phone away from you on pure instinct, so fast that you startle, jerking back a little. “kook?”

it’s not a secret. obviously not, considering he’s never purposefully hidden it on his phone. but he’s kept the pictures for years, refused to delete them, because, okay, yeah, maybe sometimes he likes to scroll back and see them. see you. see that photo of you wandering the gardens, where you’re not even paying the slightest attention to jungkook, but he can spot that lit up smile of yours even in the dim light. or the selfie that he took of the two of you, one that he sends to the group chat later as proof that he stuck by your side all night. jisoo gave him shit on the side for being obsessed with you - at the time, he denied it with fervor. “i’m not,” he’d insisted, but jisoo had clocked him before jungkook had even remotely come close to realizing that hoarding pictures of your prom night in secret meant she was definitively, without a doubt, right.

you’re still staring at him, looking more confused than concerned. he relaxes his shoulders. he has to remember that you like him now. you’ll give him shit for a lot of things but, when it comes to him liking you back, you always get a little shy. like you can’t believe it, either.

he lowers his phone so the two of you can see the screen again. there’s one more photo he kept. the two of you, side by side, with your dress not matching his tie, and not not matching his tie, and you looking breathlessly happy. for once, if not because of, then at least with, jungkook.

he loves this photo. there’s very few photos of just the two of you back when you were teenagers, and even fewer still of you looking so unabashedly happy next to him. you stare, then you stare a little longer, then jungkook watches the flush creep up your neck, to the tips of your ears. just like that, his embarrassment disappears, and he grins, dropping his phone to turn your face towards him.

“i had the best prom date,” he shrugs, relishing in the way you glower back at him.

“you didn’t even ask me to go with you!”

he’s grinning wider as he says, “you wouldn’t have agreed.”

he loves the way this somehow agitates you more. “you don’t know that! maybe, if you promposed well enough, i might’ve considered it.”

he snorts. “there is no promposal i could’ve possibly come up with that could outweigh how much you detested me in high school. please.”

you cross your arms. there’s a glint in your eye that doesn’t match the frown on your face. “skill issue.”

he gapes at you, then tosses his phone to the side altogether, letting it land somewhere on the floor as he flips the two of you until you’re squirming under him on the couch, laughing loudly as he pins you down so you can’t escape. “skill issue? i had half the student population wrapped around my finger-”

“skill issue,” you retort. “i wasn’t one of them.”

“you are now,” he asserts, and you waver, because he’s leaning closer, and you’re suddenly acutely aware of the way he cages you in.

“am not,” you respond, but there’s no weight to your words, and jungkook can’t be bothered to care anymore, because you’re staring at his lips, and he can’t not give you what you want.

you don’t say you want him to kiss you.

you don’t not say it either, and you don’t need to.

jungkook will always love you the way you want to be loved.

the way you deserve to be.

series masterlist ; in love with love (with you)

taglist ; @ahundredtimesover @nadzzzblog @apollukee @codeinebelle @yoongimentita7 @libra04 @welconme-notreally @yeow6n @babyboo22

#jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook x yn #fluff #jungkook #series: ilwl #what we're not gonna do is talk about all the other things i haven't finished or updated in literal years btw #anyways thank u for reading!!

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