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yannawayne · 2 months

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iv. what's up danger?

SYNOPSIS: "Alright, let's do this one last time. My name is Y/N Kyle. I was bitten by a radioactive spider, And I've been the one and only Spidey in Gotham. I’m pretty sure you know the rest." PAIRING: Older! Damian Wayne/Fem! Reader TAGS: Established Relationship, Wounds, Violence, Surgical procedures, Panic Attacks, Arguments AO3: yenwayne SERIES LINK: gotham's only spidey

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The room falls into a stunned silence, every gaze drawn to your disheveled, bloodied appearance.

You attempt a casual wave, but it comes off as weak and awkward. Blood drips from your bruised knuckles, each drop splattering with a muted plop onto the polished floor. “Hey, everyone. Sorry, I’m late.”

Jason’s eyes flare with a dangerous glint of green as he barks, “What the fuck happened, kid?”

A typical dinner at the Waynes.

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Wednesday, 6:54 PM - Catwoman’s Apartment, Gotham City.

Three Days Later

THE ROOM IS QUIET except for the occasional rustle of clothing as you pack your things. You carefully fold your favorite hoodie, tucking it neatly into the suitcase. Next, you grab a few pairs of jeans, some t-shirts, and your worn-out sneakers.

You pause, your fingers lingering on a framed photo resting on the edge of the dresser. It's a snapshot of you and Damian at a carnival, his arm slung over your shoulder, his lips gently pressed against your head.

It’s been three days of radio silence between you and Damian. Three days of not speaking, which is practically a record for your relationship. And just when you were starting to get used to the peace and quiet, Bruce had to go and invite you and Selina to a celebratory dinner tonight. A gourmet guilt trip.

With a sigh, you place the photo gently on top of your clothes. Then you move to your desk, gathering a stack of notebooks crammed with sketches and half-finished plans scribbled on napkins and crumpled scraps of paper. You tuck them into the side pocket of your bag, carefully arranging the chaotic collection so that it all fits.

The door creaks open, and Selina steps into the room, her arms crossed with a proud smile playing on her lips.

“Packing up for your big adventure?” she asks.

You look up from your suitcase, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. It’s only for a month, but it feels like I’m leaving for a year.”

“A month isn’t so long.” Selina walks over, her feet thudding softly on the floor. She picks up a small figurine from your desk, examining it with a thoughtful expression. “Think of it as a chance to stretch your wings and maybe learn a thing or two.”

“Thanks.” You smile and turn back to your packing, reaching for your suit. The sleek, black material glistens under the soft light filtering through the window. You run your fingers over the spider emblem stitched into the back, feeling the familiar texture beneath your fingertips.

“You’re not seriously thinking of bringing the suit, are you?” she asks.

You hesitate, feeling the weight of the suit in your hands. “I thought I might need it. Just in case.”

“Well, you’re not planning on fighting crime in Stark Tower, are you?” she snarks, hands finding her hips as she gives you a look that clearly says she’s not buying your excuse. “This internship is a chance for you to have a life outside the vigilante shtick. It’s good for your future. A chance to live a normal life.”

“Normal? Mom, I stopped being normal the day I got these powers. There's no going back to that.”

“Maybe not,” Selina concedes, running gentle fingers through your hair. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have something close to it. You deserve to have options, to see what else is out there for you.”

You meet her gaze, your resolve unwavering. “I hear you. But I think I need to bring it. Just in case something goes wrong.”

Selina sighs, her shoulders slumping slightly. “God. You are just as stubborn as me,” she says, rising to her feet with a resigned smile. “Just promise me you’ll keep an open mind about this internship. Give it a real shot, okay?”

“Promise,” you hum, feeling a small sense of relief. As you reach for the suit to tuck it into your bag, your phone buzzes insistently.

Quickly, you glance at the screen.

Morgana:

Busy tonight? There’s a shipment near the docks. Tech equipment from what I see.

You could infiltrate. They have valuable info.

It's… Black Mask.

For a while, you stare at the phone, your thumb hovering over the screen, itching to swipe through the new messages. But Selina is still standing nearby. With a soft cough and a resigned exhale, you place the phone face down on the floor, deliberately ignoring the message for now.

You turn your attention back to your suitcase, refocusing on the task at hand. Selina watches you with a knowing look but doesn’t press further. The silence in the room is filled with the subtle rustle of fabric and the soft clink of zippers as you continue packing.

“Ready for tonight?” Selina asks.

You nod, though a knot tightens in your stomach. Bruce’s congratulatory dinner feels less like a celebration and more like an impending test, especially with the unresolved tension between you and Damian hanging heavy.

“Ready as I'll ever be,” you reply, attempting to sound confident.

You zip up the suitcase, taking a moment to glance around the room. Everything seems to be in place, but you double-check, making sure you haven’t forgotten anything essential.

Selina nods approvingly, then steps closer, bending to pull you into a hug. “I’ll go get dressed. You do too, alright?”

Selina leaves the room, her footsteps fading into the distance. Turning back to your suitcase, you rummage through the clothes, pulling out a pair of well-worn jeans and a red jacket. After slipping on some socks and sneakers, you reach for a black shirt. But as your hand hovers over the fabric, your gaze is drawn to your suit laid out on the bed.

The spider logo on its back glares at you, its eight-legged emblem almost seeming to reach out with an imperceptible pull, as if urging you to embrace your other self.

After a moment of inner conflict, you give in. You carefully pull on the suit beneath your clothes, the snug material wrapping around you like a second skin. With the suit in place, you slip on your black shirt, followed by the jacket and jeans. You tuck your mask into the pocket of your jacket.

Wearing a superhero suit under your clothes for a fancy dinner—definitely not a sign of insanity. Totally normal behavior. Call it creative paranoia.

With everything packed and ready, you head downstairs. Selina is still in her room, and you catch sight of her as she steps into view, looking a touch more formal than you in a sleek, off-shoulder black dress that hugs her curves. It’s short, tight, and elegant.

“Done already?” she hums, moving to her vanity and starting on her hair and makeup.

You nod, leaning against the doorframe and giving your hair a casual tousle. “Yeah, figured I’d keep it simple. Not sure I’m in the mood for fancy.”

Selina glances at you through the mirror, a small, reassuring smile curling her lips. “You look great. And don’t worry too much about tonight. It’ll be fine.”

“I hope so,” you murmur, more to yourself than to her.

The clock on the wall reads 7:00. You have three hours before the dinner, and Selina, always the early planner, will be occupied with her preparations for a while.

Pulling out your phone, you check Morgan’s message again. If you played your cards right, you could handle the shipment bust quickly and still make it to the dinner on time.

Clearing your throat, you push yourself off the doorframe and tug your hood back on. You head downstairs, making sure to keep your movements casual and unhurried, as if nothing out of the ordinary is about to happen.

“I’ll be heading out for a bit. I want to get some flowers for Alfred,” you call out, your voice carrying through the house.

Selina glances up from her vanity, an eyebrow arching in curiosity. “Alright, but don’t be too long. We need to leave once the driver arrives.”

“Got it,” you reply with a quick nod, turning and heading out of the room. You make your way downstairs, slipping out the front door and into the crisp evening air.

Once you’re in the privacy of a nearby alleyway, you waste no time. Tugging off your shirt, you shove it into the pocket of your jacket, feeling a rush of adrenaline. You slip on your mask, adjusting it carefully until it fits snugly, the familiar material settling comfortably against your skin. Your jeans, jacket, and sneakers stay on for practicality, and you plan to put the black shirt back on later.

With everything in place, you secure your earpiece and gadgets, pressing the earpiece into position and activating it. The familiar hum of your tech springs to life, and you’re ready to move.

The city’s sounds fade as you slip into the shadows.

“Morgz? You there?” you call out, already scaling up the side of a building.

A crackle of static precedes Morgan’s voice. “Yeah, I’m here. You on your way?”

“Just about to leave,” you reply, grabbing onto a ledge and pulling yourself up. “Any updates on the shipment?”

“It’s scheduled to arrive in about 30 minutes. The tech equipment is being unloaded from a truck into a warehouse. Security’s decent, but nothing you can’t handle. You’re only 15 minutes away from your spot right now.”

“Got it,” you confirm, reaching the rooftop and taking a moment to scan the area below. “I’ll keep you posted. Thanks for the heads-up.”

You launch into action, web-slinging towards the docks with a focus on speed. Normally, you’d be showboating and performing flips, but tonight, every second counts. The journey takes a bit longer than expected—20 minutes instead of 15.

As you approach the docks, you spot a boat pulling up to the edge, its silhouette cutting through the darkness.

“Surprised you even took this up,” Morgan’s voice murmurs through your earpiece. “Thought you weren't allowed to patrol on school nights.”

“Technically… I’m not,” you reply, weaving between buildings and adjusting your trajectory for a swift descent.

“Yeesh. Going rebellious already?”

“Teenage angst, remember?” you quip, a grin forming beneath your mask as you prepare to intercept the shipment

Landing on a rooftop adjacent to the warehouse, you take a moment to plan your entry. The warehouse is a large, industrial building with a few tall windows and a side door that looks like it’s used for deliveries.

Security cameras are mounted on the corners of the building, rotating every now and then. You quickly survey the area, noting the guards' position.

There are a couple of guards patrolling the perimeter, walking in predictable patterns. One guard is stationed near the side door, checking his watch occasionally. The other two are more mobile, taking turns walking around the exterior and scanning the area.

Beyond the security, you see five workers moving boxes from the boat to the warehouse. The open doors at the far end reveal crates of tech equipment being unloaded.

You activate your earpiece. "Update. Three guards outside. Five active workers. They've got cameras. Can you get those down for me?"

Morgan's voice crackles through your earpiece. "On it. Give me a sec."

You watch the cameras, waiting for them to go offline. The guard near the side door looks at his watch again, oblivious to what's about to happen.

After a tense moment, Morgan's voice comes back. "Cameras are down. You've got about an hour before the system kicks in again. Oh. That and there are about 5 more guards inside."

"Perfect," you hum.

You time your movements with the guards' patrols, slipping through the shadows. You approach the side door, keeping low and quiet.

Inside, the warehouse is dimly lit, with stacks of crates creating narrow pathways. The workers are busy unloading the truck, their focus on the task at hand. You crawl up the walls swiftly and silently.

You spot a terminal near the back of the warehouse, its blinking lights indicating it’s connected to the inventory system.

Time to get to work.

“I'm at the terminal. What’s next?” you whisper into the earpiece.

Morgan’s voice comes through with a steady tone. “Plug in the flash drive to copy the inventory data. While that’s running, find the main control panel for the security system and plant the tracker. This will help us monitor future shipments.”

You nod, even though she can't see you. "Got it. Flash drive first, then tracker."

You slip to the terminal and plug in the flash drive, which hums softly as it starts copying data. Glancing around to make sure no one is watching, you head to the security control panel hidden behind some crates and quickly plant the tracker.

"The tracker is set," you inform Morgan.

"Great job. The data copy should be done soon. Once it’s finished, you can pull the flash drive and get out of there."

You head back to the terminal, keeping an eye on the workers and guards. The flash drive's light blinks, signaling it's almost finished. After a few tense moments, the light turns solid.

"Data copied," Morgan confirms. "You’re clear to go."

You pull out the flash drive, tuck it into your pocket, and start heading toward the exit, blending into the shadows. Just as you reach the door, you hear voices nearby.

“Hey, did you hear something?”

Your heart stops as the guard’s flashlight beam sweeps dangerously close to your hiding spot. You freeze, pressing yourself against the cold metal wall, barely breathing.

“Probably just a rat. Let's check it out just in case.”

You curse silently under your breath, watching as the guards start moving in your direction.

The first guard steps closer, his flashlight scanning the area. You silently crawl up the wall, positioning yourself above him. With a swift flick of your wrist, you shoot a web at the flashlight, yanking it out of his hand and into the darkness.

“What the—” the guard starts, but you quickly web his mouth shut and pull him up towards the ceiling, wrapping him tightly in webbing and securing him to the roof. You knock his head against the metal, and he passes out.

The second guard, alarmed by the sudden commotion, turns his back to you as he draws his weapon. The rifle fires, but your spider sense helps you dodge the shots.

Cursing, you shoot a web at his feet, yanking his legs out from under him and sending him crashing to the ground. Before he can react, you web his hands to the floor and sling his weapon away.

Dropping from the ceiling, you slow your landing with a web and slam your foot down onto his head, knocking him out.

Despite the quiet disposal of the two guards, the earlier rifle shot already alerted the other workers and guards in the warehouse. You hear shouts and hurried footsteps approaching.

“Someone’s here! Find them!”

Guards scramble, their flashlights slicing through the darkness, casting erratic beams that dance across the warehouse walls. You sprint away, weaving between crates and machinery, but a new threat emerges from the shadows—a massive, burly man, easily twice your size. He’s built like a brick wall, his muscles straining against his uniform, and his face looks like it’s been chiseled out of stone, etched with a permanent scowl.

“Who’s messing around in 'ere?” the giant roars, his voice reverberating through the cavernous space. He brandishes a rifle, and from the looks of it, he seems to be their leader.

You glance at your watch—damn, it’s been two hours already.

Only an hour left.

Still… you could probably get one fight in before leaving.

…

Swinging out of the shadows, you land in front of the giant, hands on your hips.

“Hi, Mr. Villain!” you call out, catching a punch he throws and giving his hand a playful shake. “I’m Spidey, your friendly neighborhood nuisance. Always nice to meet someone with such a ‘heavy’ presence. Looks like you’ve got a bit of a security problem here—totally my bad.”

The giant snarls at you. He fires his rifle, but you deftly dodge the bullets. With a swift move, you fire a web at his feet and arms, pinning him momentarily to the ground. The rifle is knocked from his hands, clattering out of reach.

The guards scramble to regroup, and you spring into action. Flipping back into the air, you disarm the remaining guards—quick web blasts here, a roundhouse kick there, an uppercut thrown. Each guard crumples under the assault, slamming against the walls one by one, webbed together in a tangled heap.

There’s a snap as the leader breaks free, roaring in fury and charging at you. You duck under his swinging arm and fire a web at a stack of crates. The crates topple and crash into his path, heavy wood and metal smashing together. He stumbles, cursing and flailing wildly.

“Careful there! You might just crush your own merchandise,” you taunt, sidestepping his erratic swings.

In that moment of distraction, you snatch his gun away with a quick webshot. But as you turn to face him again, a jolt of pure adrenaline slams through your veins, sharp and unrelenting, like an electric shock.

The world sharpens into hyperfocus.

DANGER!

Your instincts scream at you to move. You leap to the side, but it’s already too late. A shadowy figure springs from the darkness, their knife catching a deadly glint in the harsh warehouse lights.

The blade slices through your suit, leaving a searing, agonizing wound. You stagger, clutching your side as blood seeps through the torn fabric and pools on the cold concrete. With a pained grimace, you muster the strength to shoot a web at the attacker, slamming them against the wall with a forceful swing.

“Spidey?! Come in. Shit. What happened to staying stealthy?” Morgan's voice crackles through the earpiece. “PEPPER, run back their vitals on me.”

A mechanical voice responds through your earpiece. “Vitals are stable. The wound is a deep six-inch laceration on the left side, with moderate blood loss, but the suit's padding has helped. The injury missed major organs and arteries. Immediate first aid and stitches are recommended.”

“Looks like I’ve got a new scar to show for tonight,” you heave, trying to ignore the throbbing pain as the giant stalks toward you. “But I’m not done yet.”

The man's roar shakes the warehouse.

“You think you can take me, you puny spider?!”

You lift your chin, tilting your head with a smirk. “Puny? That’s funny. I’ve taken down bigger.”

The giant lunges, brandishing a scrap of metal like a battering ram. You barely dodge, feeling the whoosh of air as it swings past. You retaliate with a web shot to his face, but he roars and swats it away, his massive arms tearing through your webbing.

“Careful there, big guy,” you quip, “I’m not into heavy metal, but thanks for the offer!”

His hand clamps onto your chest, lifting you off your feet with an alarming strength. He hurls you against a stack of crates, the impact slamming you into the wall. You slide down to the floor, dazed and with blood trickling from a split lip.

While you're down, the giant strides toward you, his heavy footsteps shaking the ground like a mini earthquake. You struggle to rise, just as he launches a flying knee. Your senses scream, a blaring alarm urging you to move.

!!!

With a yelp, you roll to the side, narrowly avoiding the crushing blow that hits where you had been seconds before.

“Hey, watch it! I’ve got places to be after this!” you yell.

Before you can react, a powerful punch slams into your face, sending you spiraling backward.

“Owie. That one’s definitely gonna leave a mark,” you groan, pain radiating through your skull. Desperately, you shoot a web at his legs, hoping to slow him down. The webbing holds for a moment before he rips through it with sheer brute force.

Groaning, you shake off the dizziness, rolling your shoulders to loosen them before pushing yourself back to your feet.

“Alright,” you mutter, taking a deep breath. “Clearly, the webs aren’t working. Guess we’re sticking to fists. Put ’em up, big guy.”

Laughing with a guttural, mocking tone, the giant charges at you. As he lunges, you brace yourself and bring your fist up to guard your face. With a burst of power, you jab forward. Your knuckles connect with his face with a sickening crunch, the sound of bone shattering and flesh splitting echoing through the warehouse like a thunderclap.

JAB!

The man staggers back, his head snapping violently to the side, blood spraying from his jaw. Before he can recover, you launch into a spinning kick. Your leg connects with explosive force, slamming him into the wall with a resounding thud.

You follow up with a powerful jump, driving a kick into his ribs. The impact echoes with a sickening crack. He roars in pain and collapses, slumped against the wall.

With quick reflexes, you shoot a web at a high pipe, coiling it tightly. You yank the pipe down with all your strength. It crashes onto the giant with a resounding clang, the impact knocking him out cold.

You take a couple of deep breaths, blood and sweat mingling on your clothes and face as you survey the wreckage. The giant groans weakly—alive, but definitely out of commission for the moment.

“Looks like the big guy’s all out of steam,” you murmur, wiping the blood from your brow with a grim smile. “Now, time to find that exit before my own steam runs out.”

With a final glance at the chaos you've left behind, you swing toward the exit. The cut on your side throbs with each movement—though it's slowly healing, the pain and blood are still very much present.

"Spidey? You alright? What the fuck, you just beat that guy within an inch of his life."

“He’ll live,” you huff as you swing through the streets. After fumbling around for a while, you pull your phone from your jacket and curse at the time.

Only ten minutes before the car arrives.

“Uh, Morgz, do me a favor. Where’s the nearest flower shop?”

"Christ. You just busted down an illegal tech deal and now you're out for flowers?" Morgan’s response comes through the earpiece before you hear some typing. “There’s a florist two blocks from your current location. I’m sending you the address. But—You really need to take care of that wound.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you reply. There's a ping as the location pops up on your phone. “Just need to pick up some flowers. Trust me, it’s important.”

You adjust your swing to head toward the florist, landing quietly in the alley outside. With quick movements, you slip off your mask and start changing. You discard your jacket, revealing the bloodied suit underneath. The suit’s dark color masks most of the stains, but it's still a grim sight.

Pulling on your shirt over the suit, you try to conceal the worst of the mess. The sticky, wet feeling of blood against your skin is unpleasant, and you grimace as you adjust the shirt. Finally, you slip the jacket back on, hoping it will help you blend in and give you a semblance of normalcy.

Taking a deep breath, you straighten up and glance at your reflection in the nearby puddle. The image staring back at you is a disheveled mess: hair tousled, face bruised and bloodied, jeans stained with grime and blood, and a jacket barely concealing it all.

“Not my best look,” you bite your lip. “But it’ll have to do.”

With a sigh, you step into the flower shop. The bell above the door jingles softly, and the warm, floral scent is a welcome relief from the warehouse’s stench.

The florist looks up from behind the counter with a curious glance. His eyes narrow slightly as he takes in your disheveled appearance but he doesn’t seem particularly fazed.

In Gotham, a bloodied teenager is probably just another Wednesday.

“Evening,” the florist says, his voice carrying the neutrality of someone accustomed to the oddities of city life. “What can I do for you?”

You give a quick nod, trying to keep your tone casual despite the blood still seeping through your shirt. “Need something nice. Simple. No need for anything flashy.”

The florist nods and starts arranging a bouquet of flowers. You drift over to a corner and find yourself looking at some daisies, their bright, cheerful colors a stark contrast to your current state.

“Spidey? How’s it going?”

“Alright,” you shrug, though she can’t see it. “Can I get a rundown on my vitals again?”

Morgan’s voice hums and there’s the sound of clicking keys. “Vitals are stable. The cut is slowly healing, but you’ll need to properly bandage and get some of that stitched later Happy to say you're not going to die bleeding out.”

She pauses, and then adds, “You’ve got a couple of broken ribs though.”

You blink in surprise and pat at your sides, feeling nothing. “Really? Guess that’s my pain tolerance working overtime. Didn’t even notice.”

“Please tell me you’re getting that treated first,” Morgan says, a hint of concern in her voice.

“Nope,” you reply, moving to pay for the flowers. “Already running late. Mom will kill me if she finds out.”

Morgan’s voice is laced with skepticism. “She’s going to find out anyway.”

You sigh, trying to ignore the twinge in your side. “I’ll just say it was a mugging.”

“Do you really think she’ll believe that?” Morgan asks, her tone dry.

You let out a small, pained chuckle. “In Gotham, maybe. But realistically…no. I’m just hoping to buy myself a little time before it all catches up to me.”

With the bouquet in hand, you head back out into the night. You tuck the flowers into your free pocket and swing off into the darkness. As you soar through the city, you reach for your earpiece and say a quick, “Goodnight, Morgz,” before shoving it into the pocket of your jeans.

Just as you near the bridge, your phone rings. You glance at the screen and curse under your breath—Selina’s calling, and from the look of it, she’s been trying to reach you multiple times over the past hour.

Yeah, you’re fucked.

You answer the call, forcing a casual tone. “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”

Selina’s voice comes through, clearly agitated. You can hear her huffing as she closes the apartment door, the background noise of a car engine rumbling outside. “Where the hell are you? I’ve been waiting forever. We’re all set to head out.”

You quickly scan the streets below as you swing past, trying to gauge your location. “Uh, I’m on 2nd Broadway… actually, make that 3rd Broadway. And… 4th of Broadway! I’ll be there in… twenty minutes tops. Almost there, Mom!”

There’s a pause.

“... Are you swinging?”

“Nope,” you lie smoothly, narrowly dodging a pigeon that flaps angrily past your face. “Just a bit of a detour. You know how it is.”

“Honey. I can hear the wind. Are you really swinging around? It’s a school night. You know the rules—”

You wince, knowing you’ve been caught. “Just… had a few things to take care of. I’m on my way. Promise. Actually, why don’t I meet you at Wayne Manor instead? I’m near the bridge. Ya know, the one by the docks.”

There’s another pause on her end.

“Why are you near the docks?!”

You avoid the question, trying to keep the conversation moving. “Long story. Look, I’m running late. Can we just meet at Wayne Manor? I’ll explain everything after dinner.”

Selina’s frustration doesn’t ease, but she sighs. “Fine. Wayne Manor it is. But don’t think for a second you’re off the hook, young lady.”

You nod, even though she can’t see it. “Understood. See you soon. Love you, Mom!”

༻⊰───⋅

BEEP.

Selina scowls as she ends the call and heads down to meet Alfred. The gritty streets of Gotham greet her, the cacophony of sirens and street chatter providing a harsh backdrop to her mood.

Alfred, noticing her irritated state, opens the door for her with a raised eyebrow. "Good to see you Miss Kyle. May I ask where the young miss is?"

Selina forces a smile, trying to mask her frustration. “She’s… handling something that came up last minute. She’ll meet us at the manor.”

"Very well. I trust she’ll be punctual." Alfred says, a hint of concern in his eyes, but he says nothing more. He closes the door behind her as she slips into the car, adjusting her coat and glancing at her reflection in the rearview mirror.

The engine starts, the low hum blending with the city’s background noise. As the vehicle pulls away, Selina leans back against the cool leather seat, her fingers drumming lightly on the armrest, her mind already racing through the conversation she knows is coming.

You were dead meat.

༻⊰───⋅

After nearly an hour of high-speed swings through Gotham, you finally touch down in a secluded area near Wayne Manor. You're breathless and disheveled, your earlier efforts to look presentable having fallen short. You quickly scan the area, making sure the security cameras don’t catch your arrival.

Taking a moment to compose yourself, you adjust your clothes and press the doorbell. The chime rings through the grand entrance. You glance at your phone and wince—you're an hour and thirty minutes late.

The swinging took longer than expected, and to make matters worse, you had to intervene when this ginger reporter was being robbed. You couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.

Now, as you wait by the gate, you hear footsteps approaching from inside. The door swings open to reveal Alfred, who freezes for a moment, his eyes widening at the sight of you—bruised, bloodied, and clearly worse for wear. You lean against the gate, your fingers curling around the metal.

“H—Hey, Al.”

“Goodness me!” Alfred exclaims, hurrying over to the gate and pulling it open wide. He rushes over, opening the gate wider and pulling you inside with a practiced ease. His gaze sweeps over your injuries, concern etched deeply into his features. “Miss Kyle, you’re in quite a state!”

You manage a tired smile, carefully pulling the bouquet from your jacket. It’s in rough shape—torn petals, crushed blooms, and snapped stems. It looks like it’s on the verge of dying.

“Sorry I’m late,” you say, wincing as you hold up the sad arrangement. “These… are for you. I, uh, ran all the way here. I hope I’m not too late for dinner.”

Alfred takes the flowers with a gentle smile, his concern momentarily overshadowed by a touch of warmth. “Thank you, Miss Kyle. However, I assure you it’s fine. The others have already started eating. They won’t mind if you—”

“It’s fine! This is just…,” you pause, pursing your lips as you scramble for a plausible excuse. You force a smile, shaking your head and pulling your jacket hood further over your face to hide the swelling bruise around one of your eyes. “Hah, you know how Gotham can be.”

Alfred gives you a sympathetic glance but says nothing more. “Very well. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to the dining room.”

He guides you through the grand hallways, your footsteps echoing in the vast space and mingling with the soft murmur of conversation. As you reach the dining room, the door swings open, revealing a table set with care and already abuzz with activity. Selina, Bruce, and the others are seated, their animated conversations abruptly halting as they turn to look at you.

The room falls into a stunned silence, every gaze drawn to your disheveled, bloodied appearance.

Selina’s eyes narrow into slits, her irritation barely concealed behind a strained, tight-lipped smile. Bruce’s complexion drains to an ashen hue, his eyes are wide as saucers, looking like he’s about to pass out from shock. He casts Selina a panicked glance, which she meets with a weary sigh, her hands momentarily covering her face as if trying to shield herself from the mess. She looks utterly drained.

Jason’s eyes flare with a dangerous glint of green as he barks, “What the fuck happened, kid?”

Next to him, Cassandra’s face is blank. Her fingers fidget with her utensils as she shifts her gaze rapidly between you and Selina, trying to piece together the fractured narrative from your battered appearance and Selina’s body language.

Bruce, who had been quietly observing, stands up and approaches you with slow, measured steps.

“You’re hurt,” he says, his voice a deep, resonant murmur. His hands, surprisingly gentle for their strength, settle on your shoulders. His eyes, usually as inscrutable as the dark depths of a stormy sea, now soften with the tenderness of a lighthouse guiding you through a night. “What happened, kiddo?”

There’s a strange, twisting sensation in your gut, flaring just beneath your ribs. A lump rises in your throat, and despite your best efforts to stay composed, your eyes begin to well up.

“I—” you begin, but the words falter. Your gaze drifts across the room and locks onto Damian’s eyes. They’re like emeralds, gleaming with a ferocity that seems to pierce through the walls you’ve built. Though he remains silent, his piercing look conveys a thousand unspoken thoughts and emotions.

A wave of shame is crashing into you, pushing your words back down. “Just… a rough night. Got into a fight.”

Bruce’s eyes narrow, and a wave of seething anger ripples through him. You try to ignore it.

“And who was this?” he demands, his voice a controlled, simmering growl.

“It’s okay. It ended up alright,” you try to shrug it off, forcing a casual tone. “Really, it’s not as bad as it looks. Just a run-in with some rando on the street.”

Everyone’s reactions vary, but it’s the look in Selina’s eyes that strikes you the hardest. Selina’s weary gaze peeks out from behind her hands, and the sight makes your face crumple.

“Pull off your hood,” Selina commands, icy and devoid of warmth. As she straightens in her chair, her blood-red nails dig into the mahogany table, turning her knuckles as pale as frost.

You keep your gaze fixed on the polished marble floor, scuffing the dried mud across its pristine surface. The silence in the room grows heavier with each passing second.

“Take off the damn hood and show me your face!”

Scowling and clenching your jaw, you yank the hood off. As it falls away, the full extent of your injuries is laid bare. Selina’s eyes widen as they take in the black eye, the bruises, and the cuts that mar your face. Her shock quickly morphs into a deepening scowl, her lips trembling as she fights to control her rising anger.

Everyone waiting for the outburst that is sure to follow.

Instead, Selina’s hands fly to cover her face, and she looks as though she might fall apart at any moment.

Bruce stares at you with something akin to horror.

Before anyone can react further, Damian abruptly stands, his chair scraping against the floor. Without a word, he strides over to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and guiding you out of the room.

His muttered words are barely audible, “I’ll take care of their injuries.”

Bruce moves back to Selina’s side, gently wrapping an arm around her shoulder as he tries to offer comfort.

You can hear his soft, reassuring whisper as you walk away, “You can stay for the night. It’s too late to head out now. Give her some time.”

Selina, her face still pale and troubled, nods gratefully, her gaze tracking Damian as he helps you toward the manor’s second floor.

Damian ushers you into his room, the door closing behind you with a decisive click. He motions to the bed, and you sink onto it with a heavy sigh, the weight of the day dragging at your limbs.

You watch Damian retreat to the bathroom, your gaze lingering on the raw, bloodied skin of your knuckles, tinged with a gnawing sense of guilt.

Moments later, he returns with a first aid kit in hand. He kneels before you, reaching out to tug off your jacket, but you quickly shake your head, not wanting him to discover the suit beneath.

“I’m going to change in the bathroom,” you rasp. Damian silently nods, moving to his closet and pulling out one of his cotton shirts and boxers. He hands them to you with a resigned sigh and leans against the wall beside the bathroom door, giving you the privacy you need.

You take the clothes from Damian and head to the bathroom. As you push open the door, the dim light casts long shadows across the tiled floor. You deliberately avoid meeting your reflection in the mirror, not wanting to confront the full extent of the mess you’re in.

Once inside, you drop Damian’s shirt and boxers onto the floor, followed by your jacket, shirt, and pants. The fabric makes a soft rustling sound as it lands. With a deep, steadying breath, you begin peeling off your suit, slow and painstaking.

As the suit peels away from your skin, the blood and sweat that have soaked into it reveal the severity of your injuries. You wince as the cut on your side comes fully into view, a raw, angry red line that stretches from just below your rib cage to the middle of your side. It looks even worse up close—jagged and still oozing a bit despite the healing process.

You quickly change into Damian’s boxers, opting to keep the shirt off for now. You carefully bundle your suit and hide it under your jacket and pants, folding it as neatly as you can manage. With a deep breath, you step back into the room.

Damian’s eyes narrow as he assesses the cut on your side, now reduced to a four-inch scar due to your enhanced healing abilities. His gaze is hard, and you can almost see the weight of the lecture that would have come if he’d seen the injury in its original, more severe state.

“Sit down,” Damian finally speaks, his voice firm. He begins to open the first aid kit, movements slow. You drop your ruined clothes in a far corner and plop back down on his bed, rubbing your hands together nervously.

A beat passes as Damian finishes cleaning the wound and reaches for the anesthesia, preparing to start stitching you up. You shake your head and push his hand away. “I can take it.”

“No,” Damian scowls and continues his work. He applies the anesthesia despite your protests, injecting it around the wound to numb the area. The needle pierces your skin with a sharp sting, followed by a dull, throbbing sensation as the anesthetic begins to take effect.

He sets the syringe aside and picks up a pair of sterilized tweezers and needle and thread. You watch as he carefully makes the first stitch, his hands steady and precise. The thread pulls tight, closing the wound with a series of tight, even stitches.

His long lashes flutter over his hooded eyes with each focused blink, his emerald gaze intense and filled with concern. The warm ambient light of the room casts a gentle glow on his deep tan skin, accentuating the chiseled contours of his face in a soft, almost ethereal light.

The beam of light highlights the light almost invisible scar that stretches from his cheekbone to his crooked nose, tracing the elegant curve of his cheekbone and the strong, defined line of his jaw. Your gaze drifts to his full lips, noting the perfect cupid’s bow of his upper lip.

His hair is meticulously styled, with longer strands on top falling in inky, sleek waves across his forehead, remnants of gel catching the light. Damian’s thick, well-kept hair frames his face like brush strokes, adding to his strikingly handsome appearance.

Unable to hold yourself back, you raise a hand to cup his cheek. Damian hums, a low, soothing sound that rumbles in his chest. He keeps his eyes focused on your wound but tilts his head slightly to press a soft, tender kiss to your wrist.

With the stitches complete, Damian shifts his attention to bandaging the wound. He secures the bandage, his fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary as he smooths out the edges. Finally, he raises his head and meets your gaze, eyes conveying everything he can’t say aloud.

Exhausted and overwhelmed, you slump into Damian’s embrace, dropping your hands onto his shoulders. He responds instinctively, taking your hands in his. Large, calloused fingers gently lift yours, pressing a tender kiss to each of them before moving to softly kiss your bruised knuckles.

With a whisper of your name, Damian draws your hands over his shoulders. You smile, sinking deeper into his embrace, arms draped over his strong back. Damian holds you close, lifting you off the bed as he pulls you into a hug. His arms wound up around your waist, pulling you tighter against him.

“You know, trying to keep secrets from me is pointless,” Damian murmurs, a thinly veiled threat in his words peppering kisses up the side of your neck. “I am the son of the greatest detective in the world. I will find out what happened.”

You chuckle softly, feeling the tension ease a bit. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Just let me hold you, you insufferable know-it-all.”

Damian’s grip tightens slightly. His forehead rests against yours, hearts swimming in his emerald eyes. “You’re lucky I tolerate your nonsense. But seriously, you need to start talking.”

“Maybe later,” you reply, smiling against his shoulder. “Right now, I just need you.”

༻⊰───⋅

An hour later, it’s already 1 AM, but you and Damian are still awake, watching a show on his television. You’re curled up together on his bed, the flickering light from the screen painting the room in shifting hues of blue and gray, casting gentle shadows that dance across the walls.

You rest your head against Damian’s chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. His arm is wrapped around your shoulders, holding you close. Despite the late hour, the warmth and comfort of his embrace keep you from drifting off.

“This show is surprisingly bearable,” Damian murmurs.

You smile, nuzzling closer. “Told you it was worth a watch. Thanks for staying up with me.”

Damian’s fingers gently stroke your hair, each touch a soothing rhythm against your scalp. “Of course I’d do it, even if it means enduring your rather questionable taste in television.”

You scoff, pretending to be wounded. “Questionable taste? This show is a gem. You just don’t want to admit I’ve expanded your horizons.”

Damian raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes as he gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Expanded my horizons? More like subjected me to a marathon of pedestrian entertainment.”

You roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips despite his words. The episode continues, the soft hum of the TV blending with the comforting rhythm of Damian’s breathing. The earlier tension and worry seem to dissolve into the background, replaced by a quiet intimacy.

Damian’s hand moves slowly, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. His thumb begins to trace gentle, deliberate patterns on your back. You shiver slightly at the unexpected sensation, a delicate ripple of warmth spreading through you. His touch is soft yet firm, spelling out something with careful precision.

Though you don’t fully grasp the intent behind his touch, Damian’s fingers trace a delicate script across your skin, inscribing the words of Talia’s favorite Arabic love poem onto your back.

“My life shall be sacrificed for her beauty,” his thumb whispers across your skin, “my blood shall be spilled freely for her, and though I burn for her painfully, like a candle, none of my days shall ever be free of this pain. Let me love, oh my God, love for love’s sake, and make my love a hundred times as great as it was and is.”

The gentle pressure of his touch, the rhythmic way his thumb moves, slowly eases you into sleep. As each verse of the poem is imprinted on your skin, you find yourself drifting off, nestled against his chest. Damian tenderly presses his lips to your temple, wishing you sweet dreams.

༻⊰───⋅

Thursday, 3:02 AM - Damian's Room, Wayne Manor.

Dick moves stealthily down the moonlit hallway, his footsteps muffled against the plush carpet. He reaches Damian’s door and pushes it open with a gentle nudge. Despite his careful approach, the old hinges protest with a loud, protesting creak, shattering the quiet of the night and immediately stirring Damian from his sleep.

The sudden noise jolts Damian awake, his reflexes kicking in. His eyes snap open, and in a heartbeat, his muscles tense as he instinctively tightens his protective embrace around you. The world outside fades as his focus zeroes in on the intruder.

Damian’s gaze narrows into a steely glare as he locks onto Dick. In a seamless, fluid motion, he throws aside the blankets and reaches beneath the bed, his hand closing around the hilt of a gleaming katana.

Without hesitation, he draws the blade with a swift, practiced flick, sending the katana arcing through the air toward Dick.

SHINK!

Dick stumbles back, raising his hands in a defensive gesture. The katana thuds harmlessly into the wall beside him, its sharp edge embedded in the wood just inches from his head.

"Such a dramatic wake-up call… Good morning to you too," Dick grins, clearly used to this routine. “Alright. I know it’s late, but Selina is still up. I think she wants to talk to Y/N.”

Damian’s snarl is a low, dangerous rumble. “If you wake her, I will cut your hands off.”

Dick raises an eyebrow, clearly unfazed by the threat. “Come on, baby bird. It’s not that big of a deal. Just let her know she’s needed.”

Damian’s eyes remain locked on Dick, a burning intensity that could have melted steel. Yet, after a long, tense moment, he grudgingly nods, the anger in his posture easing ever so slightly. With careful precision, he unwinds himself from the cocoon of blankets that envelops you, making sure not to jostle you awake.

!!!

But as Damian shifts, your senses stir, your eyes fluttering open to the dim light of the room. Your hand moves instinctively, reaching out to grasp Damian’s wrist, your fingers curling around him with a surprising strength. The sudden contact startles Damian, and he pauses, his gaze softening as he looks down at you.

Confusion and concern flash across your face as you murmur, “Dames?”

He pauses, his gaze softening as he looks down at you, his eyes reflecting a tender regret. “It’s okay. I apologize for waking you, but Miss Kyle is calling for you.”

You tense immediately, and Damian feels a pang of guilt unfurl in his gut for disrupting your rest.

You sigh softly and rise slowly, wincing slightly as though the wound still bothers you. Although your injury has healed, you keep up the act, unwilling to make it too obvious that you’re fine. You know you’re on thin ice, and the last thing you want is to make things more suspicious.

Damian instinctively moves to support you, his hand steadying your back with a reassuring touch as you rise. Dick, lingering at the doorway, casts an apologetic glance your way.

Damian helps you to your feet, his touch steady and reassuring. He retrieves his soccer jacket from a nearby chair and drapes it around your shoulders with a gentle, almost reverent touch. The jacket, well-worn and carrying the faint scent of his cologne, envelops you in its soft, reassuring warmth.

As you and Damian approach the door to his room, you hesitate and turn to him.

“I think I need to handle this alone,” you say quietly. “Can you wait here?”

Damian's eyes narrow slightly, and he hesitates, his protective instincts flaring.

“Are you sure?” he asks, running a hand up your back.

You give him a reassuring smile. “Yes, it’s better this way. I’ll be fine.”

Damian’s expression softens reluctantly. “Alright. I will be right here if you need me, beloved.”

You watch as Damian retreats to his room, his hand sliding around the katana lodged in the doorframe. With a smooth, deliberate motion, he withdraws the blade, the metal glinting momentarily before the door closes softly behind him. Dick, meanwhile, falls into step beside you and guides you down the corridor. His presence is steady and reassuring, a calming force in the tense atmosphere.

As you walk, Dick leans in slightly, his voice a low murmur. “Your mom’s been on edge all night. I’m… not sure what’s going on, but she made it clear she wanted to talk to you immediately.”

You nod, feeling a knot of anxiety tighten in your stomach. “I figured as much,” you reply, trying to keep your tone steady.

Dick’s expression turns serious, but a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You really gave us a scare,” he says, his tone softening. “Just remember, as a future Mrs. Wayne, we’ve got your back, no matter what.”

You chuckle softly, the warmth of his words offering a small measure of comfort. Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself for the conversation ahead as you reach the door to Selina’s room.

You turn the knob and push the door open.

Tall windows, framed by heavy drapes, stand slightly ajar, allowing the Gotham breeze to drift through the room. The curtains flutter rhythmically, whispering softly against the glass panes. Selina stands by the window, her silhouette etched sharply against the city’s glittering skyline. Her back is to you, tense and rod-straight.

The door clicks shut behind you, and she turns her head slightly, her gaze meeting yours with a cool, unreadable intensity.

"Are you going to start talking, or am I going to have to drag it out of you?”

“I was just—” you stammer, struggling to find the right words. “I passed by, okay? I saw the situation and I had to intervene—”

Selina cuts you off with a sharp twist of her head. “I have eyes. I know what happened. I was informed about a tech shipment—an underground tech shipment by the docks. It was infiltrated. They found all the men webbed. Webbed. To the walls and floors. Don’t lie to me, honey.”

You sigh, the weight of the truth settling heavily on your shoulders. “Yeah. Okay,” you admit, your voice trembling despite your efforts to stay composed. “It… was planned.”

Selina’s eyes narrow dangerously as she strides towards you, heels clicking sharply against the floors. Her silhouette, framed by the soft, muted glow of the city lights filtering through the window, looms larger than life.

“Did you have a single clue as to whose men those were?” she demands, her voice slicing through the silence like a whip crack.

“I knew,” you say quietly, “I knew they were connected to Black Mask. It was a tip-off, and I thought if I could just—”

“You thought? You thought what? That you could handle it alone?” Selina’s eyes flash. “This isn’t some playground for you to experiment with your powers. You’re dealing with dangerous people—people who won’t hesitate to kill. And if you get yourself hurt—or worse—what good are you to anyone?”

You lower your eyes, feeling the sting of her words as if each one were a reprimand meant to cut deeper. “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

“Sorry isn’t going to undo this mess!” she snaps, her hands gripping the edge of a table.

A hand tangles itself into her hair, strands of hair failing over her gaze. “Do you have any idea what you’ve put us through? What you’ve risked by acting recklessly? I’m not just scolding you because I’m angry. I’m scared. You’re my responsibility”

Your anger surges, and you shout, “I know, Mom! I know!” The words escape before you can stop them.

Selina’s expression shifts from anger to hurt, her eyes momentarily softening before hardening again. “Don’t take that tone with me."

“Excuse me?” you snap, stepping closer. “You think you’re the only one who’s ever lost something? Every time I bring up my mother, you just give me the bare minimum! I was going to start digging eventually.”

Selina’s eyes widen, a mix of hurt and frustration flashing across her face. “You think I’m holding back information from you? I’m trying to protect you! When your mother died, I promised myself I wouldn’t let anyone else I cared about get hurt."

“We’re so past that! I’m already knee-deep in this world,” you say desperately, your voice rising. “Mom, look at me! Just look! I have Spider DNA in my veins. My boyfriend is a vigilante. I’ve faced kidnappings and attempts on my life ever since I was born! You can’t keep treating me like a child who needs to be sheltered from reality.”

“I raised you! ” Selina screams, raw and primal, the words tearing from her throat with a force that leaves you momentarily stunned. “I gave up everything to keep you safe, to try and shield you from the worst parts of this life because I couldn’t bear to lose you too!”

Her voice shatters mid-sentence, the tears slipping from her eyes despite her best efforts to hold them back. But she doesn’t stop, pushing through, her words tumbling out in a frantic, desperate rush. “Every time you put yourself at risk, it’s like ripping open a wound that never heals! Don’t you get that? I can’t—I won’t—lose you, too!”

The raw emotion in her voice shatters your anger, melting it away like ice under a warm sun. You step forward, your movements gentle as you grab onto her shoulders, guiding her down into a chair.

“I know, Ma,” you murmur, your voice softening as you try to soothe her. “I know it’s okay. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. I’m sorry.”

Selina breathes heavily, her anger still simmering just beneath the surface. “I know. I know you’ve been through so much. It’s just—I don’t want you to be a target for Black Mask. He’s a fucking monster, and I didn’t want you to be in his crosshairs.”

“I’m already in his crosshairs,” you whisper, bending down and reaching into your sock, where you’ve hidden the flash drive containing the information you retrieved from the warehouse. You had tucked it in earlier while changing in the bathroom.

“This,” you continue, holding up the small device, “is information on all his future activities. This was the mission I had earlier.”

Selina’s eyes widen in alarm, her fear quickly reigniting into fury. “Have you put no thought into the rules I set? Putting yourself in that kind of danger—”

“Danger I’m already in,” you cut her off. “Danger I’m about to face.”

"Y/N," Selina hisses out in warning, her eyes flashing dangerously, fangs glinting in the moonlight like a cornered cat.

“What? You think you can stop me?” you scowl as she stands. “I’m done playing by your rules. And if you get in my way, I won’t hesitate to take you down.”

Selina’s eyes narrow, and a scornful smile twists on her lips.

"Prove it."

“What?” you manage to choke out.

Without a word, she launches herself toward you. Her foot whips out in a sharp, hard kick, sending you reeling backward. You hit the small balcony with a heavy thud, the harsh chill of the metal biting into your skin.

A pained grunt escapes you as you scramble to regain your footing, the cold air wrapping around you like a bitter embrace.

"Prove it, honey," Selina taunts, her voice dripping with contempt as she saunters toward you. She draws her claws with a slow, deliberate motion, the metal gleaming ominously in the dim light. “Show me you’ve got some fight.”

Before you can fully recover, Selina is on you again. You barely evade her claws, landing heavily on the cold metal railings. The chill bites into your feet, but you push off the railing with a powerful leap, ready to re-engage.

Selina's leg sweeps toward you with brutal intent, aiming to knock you off balance. Reacting quickly, you shoot a web to the railing, swinging yourself back into position and avoiding her strike.

You retaliate with a hard kick to her chest. The impact sends Selina sprawling, her body slamming into the ground. She rolls to absorb the blow, springing back up.

Her eyes flash with anger as she leaps from the balcony’s ledge, executing a high-spinning kick. You twist in mid-air, grabbing the edge of the balcony to dodge her attack and pulling yourself back onto solid ground.

“If you try to stop me, if you try to control me, you’ll only push me further away,” you shout, breath coming in sharp bursts. “And I promise, I’ll fight back with everything I’ve got.”

"Then fight!"

As she swings at you again, you snatch her wrist, twisting it with a sharp, decisive motion. With a sudden push, you force her own claws against her, the cold metal slicing into her shoulder.

Selina hisses in pain, her body recoiling as she shoves you away. The razor edges of her claws carve a deep, angry line across her shoulder, a vivid stripe of crimson blooming against her skin and staining her outfit.

The sight of it catches you off guard, a sharp pang of guilt gripping you as her pain registers. You stand frozen, eyes locked on the streaks of red that disrupt the perfection of her skin.

“Mom—” your throat tightens. “I’m so—”

Selina starts to smile, a small, almost reluctant grin that slowly grows wider. The sight is so unexpected that it momentarily takes you aback. Then, much to your surprise, she begins to laugh—a rich, genuine sound filled with a mix of relief, amusement, and something deeper you can’t quite place.

“You think this is funny?!” you exclaim, bewildered and on the verge of anger.

Selina looks at you with a bitter smile, her laughter fading. She clutches her bleeding shoulder, her expression softening as she lets out a long sigh.

“You really are my daughter,” she murmurs.

You slowly ease from your defensive stance, confusion furrowing your brows.

“Alright, fine. Point proven,” she continues, voice gentler now. “Trying to cage you would only make you fight harder to claw your way out. Literally. I should know better than anyone how that feels.”

“O… kay?” you mutter, still grappling with the sudden shift in her demeanor. “So, I guess we’ve proven my point. What now?”

“Now,” she says slowly, “we talk. Like sane adults. No more clawing each other’s faces off.”

༻⊰───⋅

An hour later, both of you sit on the edge of the bed, cradling cups of warm jasmine tea from the tea set provided in your room—because, of course, each guest room in the Wayne Manor has one.

The steam rises gently from the cups, warming your fingers and offering a soothing contrast to the cool air. Selina sits across from you, her shoulder wrapped in bandages.

As you sit on the edge of the bed, you fill Selina in on everything that’s happened: the mugging with Morgan, the shooting when you saved her, and the whole "guy in the chair" thing. You’re honest about all the other stuff and the support you’ve received, but you leave out the fact that Tony Stark knows your secret identity, keeping that bit to yourself for now.

Selina stares at her cup of tea, her eyes wide with disbelief. The steady ticking of a clock fills the room, punctuating the silence as she processes what you've just shared.

“So, you’ve been pulling all the strings?” she asks. "Orchestrating all of this?"

You lick your lips, choosing your words carefully. Orchestrating is a strong word. More like everything is falling into place. But that does sound better.

“Something like that,” you say, nodding.

Selina blinks, taking a slow, contemplative sip of her tea. “Trying to rein you in would be a lost cause at this point,” she says, setting her cup down. “So, what exactly is the plan from here?”

You place your cup back onto its saucer with a soft clink, the porcelain’s gentle chime briefly breaking the quiet. “I need to dig deeper into Black Mask’s operations. With Morgan’s help, I’ve got the tech and the intel, but there’s still a lot we don’t know.”

Selina nods, tracing a finger along the rim of her cup, her gaze distant. “Batman will notice. The moment you step out into the city proper, you’re going to be a target. And once you’re on his radar, a contingency plan will be set.”

You stay silent, fiddling with your fingers.

Selina’s gaze hardens. “And that’s what worries me. Bruce is just a man—no powers, no special DNA. But if he sets his mind to something, he can take anyone down. I don’t want you caught in that crossfire.”

You open your mouth, but Selina cuts you off.

“That’s why I’ve had my own contingency plan in case Gotham ever fell apart.”

You glance at her, a thread of dread weaving itself into your thoughts. “Contingency plan?”

Selina nods, her tone heavy. “When I first took you in, my plan was to leave Gotham as soon as possible. But then the Catwoman thing happened, and I got… sentimental. I couldn’t bring myself to leave. Still, I made sure we had a backup.”

“Backup? What do you mean?”

Selina’s expression softens slightly. “I bought an apartment in Metropolis. It was supposed to be a safehouse—somewhere to go if things got too dangerous here. I even set up fake identities for us, just in case we needed to disappear fast.”

“Metropolis?” you ask, your disbelief coming through with a half-smile. “Seriously?”

Selina winces, her expression sours. “Yes, it was meant to be a last resort. If things ever got too out of control, or if our secrets got out, it was our escape plan. I didn’t want us to be hunted down. I wanted us to have a safe place to go.”

She cracks her knuckles, releasing some of the tension in her hands.

“It’s still an option if things get too messy. But for now, I’ll help you as much as I can here."

༻⊰───⋅

Damian walks up the stairs, his steps muted against the polished wood. In his hand, he clutches a thick blanket he’s taken from the storeroom. The absence of your presence has made his room feel uncomfortably cold, and he refuses to go back to sleep without you there.

As he nears the guest room where you and Selina are deep in conversation, he slows his pace, the soft hum of your voices drifting through the slightly ajar door.

He knows he should respect your privacy—a lesson he’s learned the hard way after being caught tailing you during patrols more than once. But his curiosity tugs at him.

He lingers outside the room, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, straining to catch snippets of the conversation drifting through the slightly ajar door.

“That’s why I’ve had my own contingency plan in case Gotham ever fell apart.”

The voices are muffled, but Damian can detect the guilt in Selina’s tone.

“Contingency plan?”

There was a pause.

“When I first took you in, my plan was to leave Gotham as soon as possible. But then the Catwoman thing happened, and I got… sentimental. I couldn’t bring myself to leave. Still, I made sure we had a backup.”

“Backup? What do you mean?”

“I bought an apartment in Metropolis. It was supposed to be a safehouse—somewhere to go if things got too dangerous here. I even set up fake identities for us, just in case we needed to disappear fast.”

Damian freezes.

"Metropolis? Really?"

Selina’s voice carries a note of sorrow. “Yes, it was meant to be a last resort. If things ever got too out of control, or if our secrets got out, it was our escape plan. I didn’t want us to be hunted down. I wanted us to have a safe place to go.”

Damian remains frozen in place.

Hunt? Who was hunting you down that made Selina think it was necessary to move rather than seek help from his father? Did she not trust Batman's abilities? Did she not trust his?

His grip on the blanket tightens until his knuckles turn white, the rough fabric digging into his palms like a searing brand. A bitter, acrid taste rises in his throat, mingling with the bile of frustration and helplessness.

Had he not proven his devotion enough? Each time he threw himself into the fray, each time he fought with everything he had, did she still doubt his ability to protect you? His every act of defiance, every sacrifice, should have been proof—shouldn’t it?

Did she think that running away was the answer? Did she believe that abandoning Gotham and leaving him and Bruce out of the fight was a better choice? Her secretive plans, her carefully crafted illusions of safety, were they really a solution?

Panic starts to claw at him, twisting his insides into a tight knot. Or maybe it was because of him?

Gods, he knew you were too good for him, but was he so inadequate that she thought hiding you away was the only option? The thoughts gnaw at him like ravenous insects, feasting on his insecurities. He can almost feel the raw, hot sting of failure as it eats away at him from within.

He remembers the first day he was left with Bruce, the way his own father looked at him, the way his brothers looked at him—like something about him was inherently wrong.

He was the outsider, the boy who had to claw and tear and rip his way into their world, proving his worth to a family he barely understood, a family that barely understood him.

Every mistake he made, every bout of uncontrollable rage, felt like blood on his hands—dark, sticky, and impossible to wash away. Another mark on his name.

And now, Selina’s confession feels like another blow to his fragile sense of self-worth. If even she doesn’t trust him, if even she thinks he’s not enough to protect you, what does that say about him?

His legs grow numb, his head spins with disorientation. The edges of his vision blur, and each breath comes in shallow, frantic bursts. He stumbles forward, driven by an overwhelming need to escape. His body moves on its own, carrying him towards his room.

Was he what Selina was protecting you from?

The thought strikes him like a physical blow, leaving him reeling. The blood, the violence, the cold efficiency with which he was taught to kill—it all comes rushing back. Damian was trained to be an assassin, raised by the League of Shadows to be a weapon, a tool of destruction.

He feels numb as he stumbles into his room, the familiar surroundings doing little to comfort him. He collapses onto the floor, his legs giving way as he sinks to his knees. Clutching the blanket to his chest, he tries to draw some warmth from its fabric, but it feels like an inadequate shield against the cold, hollow emptiness that gnaws at him from within.

The voices of doubt and self-loathing grow louder, echoing in his mind. Damian doesn't know how long he's been sitting on the floor, trying to control his breathing. Time seems to blur, each second stretching into an eternity. His thoughts spiral, a maelstrom of fear and insecurity, until he hears the soft creak of the door opening.

You stumble in, and he freezes.

Your eyes widen as you take in his disheveled state, the blanket clutched tightly in his hands, his face pale and eyes wide with panic. You rush to his side, dropping to your knees beside him.

"Dames," you whisper. "What happened? Are you okay?"

He tries to speak, but the words catch in his throat. Instead, he shakes his head, unable to meet your gaze. He doesn't deserve to.

You hush gently, raising your hands to his face. "Can I touch you? You’re having a panic attack, baby."

He nods, his breath still coming in shallow gasps. Your hands are warm and steady as you cup his face, your thumbs brushing lightly against his cheeks.

"Look at me," you murmur softly. "Focus on me. Breathe with me."

He struggles to follow your instructions, his eyes locking onto yours. You take a deep breath in, exaggerating the motion, and slowly exhale. He tries to mimic you, his breaths hitching but gradually evening out.

"That's it," you encourage. "In and out, nice and slow. You're doing great."

Damian's grip on the blanket loosens slightly as he continues to focus on your breathing, finding a semblance of calm in the steady rhythm. Your presence anchors him, drawing him away from the chaotic storm in his mind.

"You’re safe," you whisper. "I’m here with you. Just keep breathing."

Gradually, the tension in his body begins to ease. He leans into your touch, his forehead resting against yours. The panic that had gripped him so fiercely started to ebb away, replaced by a fragile sense of security.

He sits there, the silence heavy around him, before his voice breaks through it, rough and raw. "Are you scared of me?" he asks.

The question hangs in the air. He doesn’t mention what he overheard, but the question reveals the depth of his doubt.

You gently brush a strand of hair from his face, your eyes soft with understanding. "Scared of you? Damian, I’m not scared of you."

He clenches his fists, the blanket still wrapped around his hands. "I… I can’t seem to do anything right. It’s like I’m always falling short."

"You’re not falling short," you reassure him softly. "You’re human, and you’re trying your best."

You lean in, your lips pressing against his in a tender, reassuring kiss. As you pull back, your eyes are filled with a deep sorrow.

"Can I ask what brought this on?" you whisper.

Damian takes a deep breath, his gaze shifting to the floor as he gathers his thoughts.

“I overheard part of a conversation between you and Selina,” Damian begins, his voice sharp and dripping with bitter resentment. “She spoke of a contingency plan involving an apartment in Metropolis and expressed concerns about someone hunting you down. If… If she felt the need to protect you from something by leaving, does that mean that I’m not enough? That I’m not capable of keeping you safe?”

His words come out with an edge. He meets your gaze with eyes darkened by hurt and anger. “I wanted to be someone you could rely on, someone who could safeguard you, not merely another liability. But now it seems I’m just… inadequate. As if my dedication and efforts amount to nothing.”

You start to speak, but Damian interrupts. “Who’s hunting you down? What’s going on? Beloved, I’ve let you into my life—please, let me into yours.”

“I know, baby,” you say softly, running a hand through your tousled hair as you try to gather your thoughts. “Alright, okay, I need to tell you about something important. It’s about the spider vigilante, alright? There’s something you need to understand.”

“Again with this?” Damian scoffs, his hurt evident as he starts to rise from the floor. The movement makes you panic, and you grab his arm, pulling him back down.

“Nonono, wait,” you say urgently, trying to steady your voice. “Forget that for now. There’s something else I need to talk about—something personal. It’s about me, and I need you to listen.”

You take a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady. “Okay. There’s a lot more going on than you realize. I’m investigating Black Mask. He’s got some operation threatening Gotham, and it’s connected to everything that’s been happening lately. I’m trying to figure out what he’s up to, and…”

You pause, struggling to find the right words. “And I might have something to do with that vigilante spider you’ve seen around.”

Damian’s eyes widen in surprise, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. He stands there, his mind racing as he pieces together the implications of your confession.

The increased absences, the unexplained injuries—suddenly, everything starts to make sense. He can’t believe he didn’t see it sooner. How did he not connect the dots? The vigilance, the secrecy—it all makes sense now.

You’re the one being hunted.

Brows threaded together, Damian steps closer, taking your hands in his. His fingers brush over your skin, gently massaging small circles.

“I understand,” he says with a grave tone. “I suspected as much. You don’t need to explain yourself, beloved.”

You smile in relief, misinterpreting his seriousness for support of your dual life as Spidey.

“I was going to tell you,” you say, your tone warm and reassuring. “Just… couldn’t find the right moment.”

Damian’s eyes soften, but a steely resolve glimmers within them as he presses a kiss to your knuckles, his lips lingering.

If the spider is the threat, then it’s the spider he’ll take down.

༻⊰───⋅

Thursday, 7:53 AM - Stark Industries, Gotham City.

Hours later, Damian pulls up to the sleek, glass-fronted Stark Industries building. The structure towers above, its façade a mesmerizing expanse of reflective glass panels that catch and scatter the sunlight, creating a dazzling play of colors. A polished steel entrance welcomes visitors, a bustling crowd already walking in and out.

As the car comes to a smooth stop, he turns to you with a soft, reassuring smile. You reach over, pressing an affectionate kiss to his lips.

His fingers gently brush your cheek as he murmurs against your lips, “Be careful.”

“I will,” you beam, pulling back to meet his eyes. “Promise.”

With one last lingering look, Damian reaches over to unlock the car door. You open it and step out onto the curb, unloading your bags. Damian gives you a final wave as he shifts the car into gear, gliding smoothly down the street and disappearing into the city’s bustling flow.

You clutch your bags tightly in your hands. Exhaustion pulls at your every muscle—patrol, the fight, and the travel have left you feeling like you're on the edge of collapse. After everything that went down last night, you can’t help but feel a bit relieved about the month off from school, courtesy of your internship.

Bags under your eyes betray the sleepless night, while the oversized shirt and sweatpants you’ve borrowed from Damian make you look more like you’ve just rolled out of bed than a professional intern.

Technically, you did roll out of bed, having snagged only about three hours of sleep.

How the hell did Batman and the Robins manage to juggle this kind of life week in and week out? Right now, you feel like death is just a breath away, waiting to claim you.

“Hey, kiddo!” Tony Stark’s voice calls out from a distance, cutting through your fog of exhaustion. “You planning to stand there and stare at the building all day?”

He steps out of his sleek convertible, tossing his keys to the valet with a flick of his wrist that’s more showmanship than necessity. As he strides towards you, his eyes do a quick sweep over your state.

“I offer you the top spot in my program, and this is how you show up?” Tony says, giving you a light shove on the shoulder.

You give a weary sigh and shuffle alongside him into the building. “Good to see you too, Mr. Stark.”

Tony continues with a smirk, “Don’t worry, you’re not the first intern to look like they’ve been dragged through a war zone.”

He leads you into the sleek, glass-walled elevator, pressing the button for the upper floors. The elevator hums softly as it ascends.

You turn to him, trying to muster the energy to keep up with his banter. “So, where’s Morgan?”

“Working on your new tech stuff,” Tony replies. “She’s buried under a mountain of circuits and cables. If you’re lucky, you might get to see her emerge from her tech fortress.”

The elevator doors slide open, revealing the upper floors of Stark Tower. Tony leads you down a pristine, modern hallway where glossy surfaces catch the ambient light, enhancing the tower’s futuristic vibe. He stops in front of a door adorned with a sleek plaque bearing your name.

You gawk at it, your sleep-deprived brain barely processing the sight. “Damn.”

Tony pushes open the door, revealing a spacious, elegantly furnished room. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the cityscape, and the room is equipped with a large, comfortable bed, a sleek desk, and a cozy seating area.

“Welcome to your new digs,” Tony says, gesturing grandly. “I’d say it’s a bit of a step up from your old place. Given your current state, though, I’d suggest you take it easy for now. Rest up, and maybe try to look less like you’ve just walked off a horror set, okay?”

Despite your exhaustion, a small but genuine smile tugs at your lips as you take in the surroundings. “Thanks, Mr. Stark. It’s really… nice.”

With a casual salute, Tony heads towards the door. “Anytime. Now, go on and get some rest. I’ll let Morgan know you’re here. If she manages to claw her way out from under her tech mountain, she might swing by to say hi.”

༻⊰───⋅

A few hours later, you’re well-rested and dressed in a much more presentable outfit: a crisp white button-up shirt with the first few buttons undone, tucked neatly into flared slacks, and paired with white sneakers.

After one last check in the mirror, you give your appearance a satisfied nod, then rub the last remnants of sleep from your eyes. You head out of your room and make your way toward the elevator.

Pressing the button, the elevator doors slide open with a smooth, hydraulic hiss. You step inside and swipe your ID card against the scanner. The elevator's high-tech screen lights up, displaying a seemingly endless list of floor options. You whistle as you scan the array, finally selecting the tech room.

Just as the elevator begins its ascent, a voice suddenly speaks up, making you jump with a startled yelp.

“Good morning!” the voice says cheerfully. “Welcome to Stark Tower. How can I assist you today?”

You quickly recognize the voice as FRIDAY, the building’s AI system. You’ve read about it in papers and seen it on TV before. The holographic interface on the screen activates, displaying a friendly, animated avatar of FRIDAY. The AI greets you with a warm, digital smile and a cheerful tone.

“Oh. Hi!” you respond, a bit thrown off. “I’m, uh, just heading to the tech room.”

“Understood,” FRIDAY replies smoothly. “I’ve already noted your arrival. The tech room is on your left once you exit the elevator. Please let me know if there’s anything else I can help with, sexiest vigilante.”

You blink at the nickname.

“That’s definitely Morgan’s touch,” you mutter.

The elevator doors slide open, revealing a workshop that looks like it’s been hit by a tornado of technology. Equipment is strewn everywhere, and tangled wires snake across the floor. In the center of the chaos, a few remains of a fire extinguisher lie scattered. Morgan is crouched in the middle of the mess, her hair a wild tangle and her face streaked with grease and soot. She’s working intently, completely absorbed in her task despite the disorder around her.

You clear your throat, and Morgan looks up, freezing mid-action. Part of her shirt is charred, and a small flame flickers from one of the devices she’s holding.

“Let’s be honest,” she says, waving a wrench at you, “you’ve seen me in worse shape.”

Shaking your head, you step into the room.

“Looks like you’ve been busy,” you remark, your eyes scanning the cluttered area.

Morgan quickly puts out the fire and brushes a few stray wires out of her path before standing up and stretching with a groan. “You wouldn’t believe the morning I’ve had. Between the latest tech malfunction and the mini-explosion, it’s been one chaotic circus.”

“Should I even ask what set off the explosion?”

Morgan chuckles dryly, wiping her hands on a grease-stained rag. “Oh, just a little experiment gone wrong. Nothing major. Just some excitement to kick off the day.” She steps over to you, grabs a case from a nearby workbench, and hands it to you with a grin.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued, as you take the case from her. With a click, you open it to reveal a pair of sleek, high-tech glasses.

Morgan plucks them from the case and holds them up with a grin. “For you. They’re packed with all sorts of features—real-time data, targeting assistance, and even advanced communication options. Basically, they’re your new best friend in the field.”

You slip the glasses on, adjusting them to fit comfortably. The world immediately sharpens, and a translucent display overlays your vision, showing various readouts and notifications. You gasp in awe, your amazement reflected in Morgan’s fond smile as she watches your reaction.

She then moves to grab another device—a metal-looking belt that covers your entire stomach. At its center is a spider emblem. She clasps the belt around your waist and gives it a reassuring pat.

“Tell it to go on,” Morgan instructs.

Confused, you turn to her. “Huh?”

“Just think of a suit wrapping around you and command it to do so.”

You give her a skeptical look but decide to give it a try. Closing your eyes for a moment, you focus on the idea of your suit materializing.

“Activate?”

Immediately, you feel a tingling sensation as nanoparticles begin to stream from the belt, enveloping your body. The sensation is oddly comforting, like being wrapped in a warm, secure embrace. The suit materializes in shimmering panels, stretching and shaping itself around your form. The glasses transform into a sleek helmet, molding to fit your head with a satisfying click.

The entire process takes mere seconds, and when you open your eyes, you’re fully suited up.

The suit fits perfectly. The color is a deep, vibrant red that covers the majority of the suit. Black accents trace intricate web patterns that start from the center of your chest and radiate outwards.

The chest emblem is a bold, black spider, its legs extending across your torso and seamlessly merging with the web patterns. The helmet, now a sleek, black mask with a smooth, glossy finish, features white eye lenses that glow faintly. The same high-tech display you saw in your glasses is now visible in the helmet.

Morgan grins, clearly pleased with the result. “Not too shabby, right?"

"What. The. Fuck."

 ༻⊰───⋅

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #batfamily #dc robin #damian wayne al ghul #damian wayne imagine #selina kyle #bruce wayne #batman

413 notes · View notes

blindmagdalena · 2 years

Note

imagine being hired by vought to be a sort of housekeeper to homelander, doing his laundry and cooking for him in his penthouse. he’d immediately grow to love having someone to come home to, and would automatically slip into husband mode whenever he finds them doing him some wifely act of service (conveniently ignoring the fact they’re paid to be there, of course)

ao3 link

Working for Vought, specifically Homelander, turns out to be an insanely simple gig. Typically, you never even see him. You're free to do your cleaning in peace, picking up after America's favorite hero. He rarely ever leaves a mess, but there's enough to keep you employed. Tidying up his towels, replacing his hygiene supplies and tooth brushes. You're trained specifically on how to clean his suits. You empty and stock the fridge. He goes through a lot of milk. You always make sure to get whole. He lodged a complaint the one time it was less than. You were told initially that your cooking services wouldn't be necessary. Homelander isn't known to be, well... much of an eater.

Still, you didn't want the food you stocked at the start to go bad, so one day you prepare a few meals and put them in containers in the fridge. You include little notes with instructions on how they should be reheated. You sign each one with a little heart simply because that's how you've always done it, and pin them to the fridge. You think nothing of it. Homelander is dumbstruck by it.

At first he's affronted that you would leave him cold food in his fridge and expect him to heat it up for himself, but there's something distinctly... loving about it. Coming home to his laundry clean and his shelves dusted never felt like that. It was nothing more than a reset, an automatic process that he didn't dedicate any thought to. But this? This is personal. This reminds him that a living, breathing person was in his home, tending to it, and that person... cooked him a meal, and left him a little note. With a heart.

The next morning you get a text that you will indeed be cooking for Homelander that evening! You're in the midst of it, staying later than you usually do, when he walks in the door. You aren't making anything fancy, just steak and mashed potatoes, but he sucks in a breath like he's inhaling the scent of a gourmet meal. His smile is broad and gleaming. It makes your heart skip a beat.

To your surprise, he introduces himself. He shakes your hand firmly, and holds your stare as you remember your manners and manage to spit out your own name. "Charmed," he says through that radiant smile, and you feel like he means it. His eyes are somehow much bluer in person. His gaze flickers to the stove, and he clicks his tongue. "Not to question your craft, but is this really enough for two?" Looking at the steak currently searing, you falter. "Oh, I'm sorry, are you having company? No one told me." "Well of course I'm having company, you silly goose. You're standing right here, aren't you?" He asks, putting his hands on his hips. It's cheesy, like a moment straight out of a sitcom, but you fluster anyways. This man has such presence to him.

"You... want me to eat with you?" You ask, bewildered.

"Be a shame to cook up a storm and not even feel the rain," he laughs, as if you're the one thinking strangely here. He's already gone to the fridge, and pulled out a second steak. He offers it out to you with that same charming television ready grin. "C'mon. I can hear your stomach growling."

Tentatively, you take the package from him. "Okay."

That night, and each night that follows, you cook Homelander a meal at the tail-end of your shift, and sit down to eat with him. It's surreal, but after the second night, it occurs to you that you've never once seen sign of him having company. There's never extra dishes, or towels. No remnants of a party in the trash. If he does have friends, they're certainly never here.

You can't help but wonder if he's lonely. The thought humanizes him from the larger than life image you had of him in your mind, and you have an easier and easier time engaging him in conversation. He's funny, if not a little strange. There are times when you don't really know how to respond to the things he says, but he often moves on quickly enough to keep things from being awkward.

Truth be told, you're starting to quite enjoy his company.

Homelander begins showing up earlier and earlier into your shifts. The next week, it's barely after 4:00pm when he strides through the door, greeting you with a chipper, "Heya!" and a little salute.

You turn off the vacuum, and despite being a little caught off guard, you smile at him. For the first time, you say, "Welcome home!"

For a second, you worry you've said something wrong. That smile slips off his face, and he stands frozen a touch too long in the doorway. However, before you can add an amendment, his lips stretch back out and he closes the door behind him. "Good to be home," he says. There's less of that showmanship in his voice, you think.

"I didn't know you'd be home so early, I haven't finished-" "Oh, don't mind me, you do your thing. Pretend I'm not even here," he insists, taking a seat on his couch.

You expect him to occupy himself in some way. A book, perhaps, or even just his cellphone. Instead, for the next hour you're keenly aware of the fact the only thing he seems to be entertaining himself with is you.

After that, you cook dinner as usual, and the two of you eat amidst pleasant, casual conversation. It's the same as any other night, and yet somehow this evening feels distinctly different. You can't name exactly what it is, but something has changed.

Homelander begins filling out your time with new requests; he's suddenly become quite fascinated with plants. You had mentioned to him before that you like to keep them, despite the work they take. Your shifts grow longer to account for your new tasks.

All the while, he's been more and more present during your shifts. Although he doesn't directly take or distract you from your chores, you're always keenly aware of of his gaze on you while you work. You try not to overthink it, but the weight of his attention is heavy nonetheless.

One day, you're sweeping up a mess of spilled dirt, struggling to maneuver around the legs of a piece of furniture, when Homelander hops up to intervene. "Let me get that for you, sweetheart," he says, lifting the entire cabinet up as if it weighed nothing at all.

You lose yourself for a moment, standing dumbfounded before abruptly remembering to sweep the dirt out from under it, your heart racing. Your mind keeps replaying the pet name, and with every echo of it, your cheeks feel redder. Homelander smiles, watching you all the while. The next day, you arrive to find an enormous bouquet of roses sitting in a vase on the kitchen counter. There's a note with your name on it, and a simple message: Thanks for all your hard work. Keep it up! The note is signed with Homelander's sprawling signature. Smiling widely to yourself, you tuck the note into your pocket, and lean in to inhale the sweet smell of the flowers. On another occasion, it's time to clean the blades of the ceiling fan in his room, but you can't find that darn step ladder anywhere. Homelander must hear the way you're shuffling around and muttering under your breath—you swear the man hears everything—because he steps in to check on you. "Everything alright in here?" He asks, peeking in from the doorway. "Oh, fine, fine, I just can't find my step ladder anywhere. Have you seen it?" You ask, feeling flustered. Getting put behind schedule never fails to trip a thread of anxiety in your chest. "Can't say I have," he answers, stepping inside. He looks around the room. "What'cha need it for?" "Ceiling fan. Uhm, it's okay, I'll get to it later, if that's alright with you? I'm sorry, I could have sworn I left that ladder-" You stop yourself, realizing Homelander is suddenly striding directly towards you. Uncertain, you begin to take a step back, but he's fast. He puts an arm around you, and without warning you're being hoisted up into his arms as easily as a doll.

"Up y'go," he says, supporting not only your weight with ease, but resting you snug against his chest. You squeeze your knees together, arms pulled in tight, as if making yourself tiny will somehow protect you from the embarrassing quicken of your breath, or the rampant beat of your heart. "There you go. Who needs a step ladder when you've got me?" He asks, grinning down at you with that familiar dazzling spread of pearly whites. His smile feels better suited to a Hollywood audience than this quiet little moment, but the only thing you can really focus on is the fresh, woodsy smell of his cologne. "Uhm, I-I still don't think I can reach-" You stop, noticing the ceiling fan is now within arms reach. "Oh." Looking down, your eyes widen. Neither of your feet are touching the ground. Instead, Homelander is hovering well above it, holding you adjacent to the fan. You can't help the nervous laughter that suddenly bubbles out of you. "Oh my god," you laugh, looking around. "You're flying!" "As I'm known to do from time to time," he says, voice dripping with satisfaction. His gloved fingers tap absently at your waist, basking in your awe over what is, to him, a wholly unremarkable feat. The sheer normalcy of you makes his every move seem a marvel. He savors your wonder. You're so enamored with the novelty of it, you remember belatedly why you're up here. Clearing your throat, you reach up with the duster, and gently spin the fan, collecting the strands of dust and the like that had gathered on each one. You try your damnedest to focus on that, and not the fact Homelander's face is less than a foot from yours. Out of your peripheral, you can see that his grin has softened into a content, absent smile. Your stomach does cartwheels as you finish dusting the fan, bringing the duster back down. You clear your throat again, pretending it's not a nervous habit. "All done, thank you," you say quietly, smiling back at him.

"Any time, sweetheart," Homelander purrs. There it is again, that coy little nickname that sends your mind into a tizzy. As if that weren't bad enough, he winks at you, floating gently back down to the ground. Your legs feel so much like jelly, you worry you'll collapse the moment you're on your feet. Luckily, even once he's set you down, he leaves a hand lingering on your back. "You got a thing with heights? Your heart's pounding," he points out, much to your mortification. You try to laugh it off. "Oh, no! No, just wasn't expecting it. I'm fine with heights," you say, fumbling with the duster for a second before slipping it back into the cover. "Good," Homelander responds, an oddly cryptic depth to his tone. His smile lingers. "That's good. Alrighty, I'll leave you to it," he says, tipping his head in a polite little nod before he heads for the door, leaving you to your own devices, and the rapid fluttering in your stomach. Later that same day, you're thoroughly perplexed when you spot the step ladder exactly where it's supposed to be, certain you had checked there a dozen times over.

Two weeks from the day you first shared a meal, he presents you with a gift after dinner. "Oh, sir, you shouldn't-" "Please, please! Don't be so formal. It's just a little thing," he says, waving his hand dismissively. "Y'know, to show my appreciation. You take such good care of me. Just wanted to return the favor." Butterflies swarm rampant in your gut as you tug loose the pretty red ribbon tied around the box. Uncertain of what to expect, you feel a measure of relief when you lift the lid, and see a lovely apron folded inside it. "You wear this print a lot, figured you could use something, you know, matchy. Feminine," he says, gesturing vaguely with his hand. "Your other one's seen better days."

You exhale a soft laugh, touching the fabric. It's soft beneath your fingers, and of excellent quality. The gift is a thoughtful one, and it feels appropriate, despite what the expensive looking wrapping made you think. "You like it?" He asks after a beat, snapping you out of your thoughts. "I do! Yes, thank you. It's very nice. I've enjoyed working for you, sir—" You stop when he points a finger at you, his brows raised, and you correct, "—Homelander." He smiles, dropping his hand. "And eating with you. I can't say any of my other clients cared whether or not I ate," you say, chuckling. You think you see his nose twitch strangely at the mention of your other clients.

"Right, well! C'mon, let's see how it looks," he says, taking you by the shoulders and guiding you over to the mirror near the floor to ceiling windows that overlook the city. Homelander takes the box from your hands and presents it to you, allowing you to lift the apron up and let it unfold. Odd, it feels a touch heavier than you expected. You sling it around your neck, but before you can reach back to tie it, Homelander has taken it upon himself to do it for you. He cinches it at your waist with a sharp little tug, grinning at you from over your shoulder as he meets your eye in the mirror. "Loooook at that, perfect fit," he purrs, tying the ends off. "It's beautiful, thank y—" Smoothing your hands down the front of it, you stop. There's something in the right pocket of the apron. Glancing up, Homelander has a mischievous glint to his expression, but his brows raise, and his lips curl down. He's playing dumb.

Curiously, you slip your hand into the pocket, and feel smooth velvet against your fingers. Wrapping your hand around a firm rectangle, you draw it out, and feel your stomach flip as you stare at the distinctly luxurious looking black box now in your hands. "Oh, geeze, totally forgot that was even in there," Homelander says. His tone is terribly unconvincing, but he does sound very pleased with himself. "Whelp, you've already accepted, so I guess it's yours now." "I—" "Go on," he urges, giving your shoulders a little shake. He's watching you eagerly through the mirror. "Open it up. It's all yours."

Swallowing, you crack the box back on it's hinges. Your jaw drops, your chest tightens. You stare at the shimmering three-stone drop diamond necklace in utter disbelief. You don't even feel Homelander let go of your shoulders, or hear him slide off and drop his gloves to the nearby table. "Oh my god," you whisper. You probably couldn't afford the box this thing was sold in, let alone a single stone on it. "I don't think I can accept this, sir," you say, slipping back into the habit of formality as your brain struggles to catch up to reality.

"Oop, too late for that," Homelander dismisses, plucking the delicate necklace up from the fabric it lay in. "Here, allow me," he says, ignoring your shellshock while he drapes the necklace against your skin, his bare fingers brushing the back of your neck as he gets it fastened.

Breathless, you tentatively touch the bottom diamond. Your mouth feels full of cotton, and your heart is racing. Is this really happening?

Meanwhile, Homelander grips your upper arms, beaming. "Look at you. You know what they say about diamonds; they're a girl's best friend," he laughs, those canines of his looking sharper than ever.

Giving your arms a squeeze, Homelander leans close to your ear. "Happy two weeks," he whispers, the heat of his breath on your neck prickling goosebumps all the way down your spine. "Thank you," you whisper back, pushing out a bewildered little smile.

Homelander lingers there a moment, the warmth of his hands on your arms seeping through the fabric of your shirt. His smile has relaxed some, and his gaze is slightly distant as he looks you up and down in the mirror. You see a flash of pink as he wets his bottom lip with his tongue. It isn't until you clear your throat that his eyes snap back up to yours, regaining presence of mind. "I should get going," you say gently. His fingers flex on your arms, and the corners of his mouth twitch. "Right," he says, lips pulling into a thin smile that doesn't reach his eyes. This is always his least favorite part of the night. With obvious reluctance, he drops his hands from your arms. "Right, ah, let me—" "Unless..." You interject, turning to face him. Homelander's brows shoot up to his hairline. He blinks. "Unless...?" "Unless you'd like me to stay," you say quietly, your stomach tying itself in knots. "Not as your housekeeper, but maybe as just... Company?"

"Company," he echoes, his parted lips slowly drawing into a smile. This one does reach his eyes. "We could watch a movie."

"I like movies," you say. The words sound dumb to you as soon as they leave your lips, but Homelander looks at you like you've just spun a beautiful sonnet. "Great, I have movies," he says, putting a hand on your lower back as he gestures you to the living room. His smile is broad now, eager and a touch boyish. You feel a little surge of endearment amidst the adrenaline. "What do you want to watch?" "Dealers choice," you say, slipping out of the apron before you take a seat at the couch. Homelander immediately busies himself with the television, flipping through Vought+'s enormous repertoire.

Still in a mild daze, you don't process any of the titles that fly by on the screen. Instead, you're hyper aware of the weight of the necklace hanging from your throat, and the lingering heat that Homelander's hands left on your skin.

So much for a simple gig.

#i was absolutely POSSESSED by the spirit of this ask lmao #homelander x you #homelander x reader #darling anon #ask and you shall receive #fluff #my writing #i blacked out and posted this immediately #so im sorry if it’s a mess I will fix it in the morning lmao

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cherrrydragon · 4 days

Text

➤ reading between the lines

← back to main masterlist

read it on ao3

SUMMARY ↳ Jason Todd loves nothing more than the sight of you with a book. The book's tension builds, your fingers gripping the pages a little tighter as the protagonist faces a crucial moment. You barely register the sound of the water shutting off or Jason stepping out of the bathroom. He stands in the doorway, towel slung low around his waist, shaking his head with an amused smirk. He slowly takes steps toward you, right up until his knees hit the mattress. He leans down, his arms coming to cage you. Finally, you really take notice of him. “Hi, Jay.” pairing: jason todd x fem!reader warnings: smut tags/notes: oral sex (fem receiving), domestic fluff, jason might be ooc sorry, lets just pretend its a less traumatized version of him wc: 2k

You think Jason has a thing for you and books.

You mean together, of course. Jason Todd’s affinity for literature is well known, and so is his affection for you. But you can see the way his lips curl up when he sees you curled up on the couch reading, wrapped in his favorite blanket.

The soft glow of the lamp casts a warm light over the room, highlighting the way Jason leans against the doorframe, his arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. He’s always been drawn to those quiet moments, watching you lose yourself in a world of words.

“Is that another tragic romance?” he teases, stepping further into the room. You glance up, catching his playful gaze.

“Not as tragic as your face.”

“Ouch,” he groans dramatically, clutching his chest. He falls onto you, plopping his full body weight and nearly crushing you. He buries his face in your neck and presses a chaste kiss there.

You huff and half-heartedly shove him away. “You’ll make me lose my place!”

“That’s why you should use those bookmarks I got you, honey.” He lifts his head, eyes sparkling with mischief. “

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Bookmarks are for amateurs, Jay.” You gesture to the stack of books on the coffee table, a mixture of dog-eared pages and hastily folded corners.

He grimaces at the sight. “I should break up with you.”

“Who would read to you, then?”

He narrows his eyes at you. “Touché.” He presses a quick kiss to your lips and shifts so as to pull you into leaning on him. He wraps the blanket around both of you, plucking the book out of your hands in spite of your protests. “Can’t let you ruin this anymore. Lemme read to you, hm?”

You rest your head on his shoulder. “You can’t do it justice.”

“I’ve got the voice of a poet,” he retorts, arm wrapping around you. His voice is low, intimate and for your ears only. You move to rest on his chest so you can feel the way his chest rumbles as he speaks.

As he reads, you let your eyes drift shut, the sound of his voice becoming a soothing backdrop. Jason leans his down, pressing a light kiss on your head and effectively muffling his voice. Each word he reads intertwines with his heartbeat, spinning a cocoon of intimacy that cradles the both of you.

You notice the way he plops a bookmark on the page you were on just before you fall asleep.

“You’re killing me, honey,” Jason groans over the phone.

The smell of a home-cooked meal fills your apartment as you shoulder your phone. “Come home, then,” you chuckle.

“I swear I can smell it through the phone. Why’re you always cooking something good when I’m away, huh?”

You move to grab a pan. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t be away so much.”

“Gotta do my job, honey,” he sighs. “To keep my beautiful girlfriend safe so she can continue to spoil me with her delicious cooking.”

You laugh, stirring the simmering sauce. “It’s just pasta, Jay.”

“Yeah, but it’s your pasta. That makes it gourmet.”

You can’t help but smile at his praise. “Dork. I’ll save you a plate. Just don’t take too long, or I might eat it all.”

“Don’t you dare!” His voice rises in mock horror. “I’ll be home soon, I promise. Just a couple more things to wrap up. You got dessert for me?”

You scoff playfully. “Pick it up yourself. I’ve got a book to finish.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawls, then his tone softens. “I’ll get you your favorite. Only the best for my girl.”

You exchange sweet goodbyes before hanging up, the warmth of Jason’s words lingers in the air, wrapping around you like the blanket he often claims. You focus on the pasta simmering on the stove, the fragrant aroma filling the kitchen. Your mind drifts to Jason, as it does a lot, and you can’t keep the stupid grin of your face as you finish cooking.

After plating the pasta, you set the table, stealing glances at the clock as you wait for him to come home. You flip through the book, and allow yourself to get lost in the words. The minutes stretch, the kitchen filled with nothing but your muttered words as you read. You’re just about to take a distracted bite of your food when there’s knocks on the door, the specific pattern Jason went over with you.

Jason steps in, Red Hood helmets already off and perched under his arm, a bag carried by his other. You perk up, unable to suppress the smile that spreads across your face. He steps in, shaking off the remnants of his day, and his eyes light up at the sight of the table set for two. “You’re making me fall in love with you all over again, you know that?”

You laugh, stepping forward to meet him in a kiss. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he greets back one you separate. He places the bag on the table, the logo of your favorite sweets brand greeting you. “As promised.”

“You spoil me,” you hum happily, parroting his earlier words. “Everything go okay?”

Jason nods, pulling out your chair for you before taking his own seat. He grabs his fork with an eager shine in his eye that makes you snort. If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Jason, it’s that he loves to eat.

“Usual stuff.” He keeps it brief, for your sake. He doesn’t like you to hear about the stuff he deals with on patrol, once said, “pretty things like you shouldn’t worry about things like that.” Flattering, but it’s whatever.

“Dickhead mentioned this new bakery that opened up, though you might like it,” he mumbles, voice obscured by his chewing.

You smile. “Sure, let's make it a date.”

Jason goes on to mention little things about his day, and you do listen… at first. You love hearing Jason talk, and you love hearing about his day but… you also really wanna finish this book. It starts as subtle glances to the open pages. Then, it goes to skim reading while nodding along to his words. Now, you’re full on reading and have tuned him out. Whoops.

Jason pauses mid-sentence, a playful glint in his eye as he watches you. “Baby.”

“Hm?”

“Are you even listening to me?” he asks, smirking.

You look up, feigning innocence. “Of course. You just mentioned the arcade you went to with Roy.”

He raises a brow and you know he doesn’t believe you. Damn detective skills. If he feels any type of way because of it he lets it go and continues talking. This time you do better to try and pay attention, but when he leaves to go to the bathroom your eyes wander right back onto the pages.

“You’re killing me again, honey.” Shit, he came back fast. To his credit he doesn’t look annoyed, just fond. Still, you feel guilty.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” you groan, shutting the book and throwing it across the room. Miraculously, it lands on the couch.

Jason raises a brow. “Nice throw.”

“Jay,” you whine. He snorts and comes around you, laying a hand comfortingly on your shoulder. “It’s so good. You’ll love it when I finish.”

“I’m not mad, honey.” He leans down and presses a kiss against your forehead, whispering, “Besides, I think it’s hot.”

You blink, watching him sit back down as if he said nothing at all. Well, that’s probably all you’re going to get out of him about it.

You are one of the many people guilty of not knowing when to put down a good read.

In your defense, however, it’s not bedtime yet. Bedtime is whenever you and Jason are in bed, and he still has to shower. Until then, you’re content to let him take his time, as you’re completely taken by your book. The gentle hum of the water running in the background almost becomes white noise to the whirlwind of words in your head.

The book's tension builds, your fingers gripping the pages a little tighter as the protagonist faces a crucial moment. You barely register the sound of the water shutting off or Jason stepping out of the bathroom. He stands in the doorway, towel slung low around his waist, shaking his head with an amused smirk.

He slowly takes steps toward you, right up until his knees hit the mattress. He leans down, his arms coming to cage you. Finally, you really take notice of him. “Hi, Jay.”

“Hi, honey.” His eyes sparkle with amusement as he takes you in. He smooches your cheek before his hands come to grasp at your hips, pulling you to sit at the edge of the bed. You don’t break your focus from your book (if we’re being honest, you’re kind of used to it…)

He knees at your shared bed and spreads your legs. You don’t pay too much mind, even when the feeling of your underwear sliding down your legs sends a familiar shiver down your spine. It is only when a hot wet feel slides against your core that you’re snapped back into reality.

Your body reacts instinctively, squeezing your thighs around Jason’s head. “Jay!” you yelp.

He responds with a hum that sends a buzz through your body. His hands massage your skin as he kisses around your thighs. Your heartbeat picks up and your chest starts to heave. Your fingers tremble around the pages.

A hand leaves your pressure book to grip Jason’s hair. Your hips begin to rock against his face. Your breathing becomes more labored. His thumb begins to swirl your clit, stimulating you to your very core. The room around you fades away, leaving only the rising tension in your body.

Jason's hands move up your thighs, his fingers digging gently into your skin as he holds you in place. His tongue darts in and out, teasing you with gentle licks and soft kisses. You moan, your head falling back against the bed as you give in to the pleasure.

Suddenly, the book slips from your fingers, falling to the floor with a soft thud. You don't even notice, too caught up in the sensations coursing through your body. Jason’s hands pull you impossibly closer, caught up in your pleasure.

"Jason," you moan, voice laced with desire.

It seems that your voice sets him off, because his tongue starts moving faster along with his fingers to bring you to your peak. Your body trembles, and your hips rock against his face, seeking more of the pleasure he's giving you. Your toes curl, back arching against the bed as your moans get louder and louder.

White fills your vision, mouth falling open as a final whine leaves your lips. You take deep breaths as you come down from your high, thighs twitching. Jason’s eyes meet yours, slowly rising from his knees to meet you. His lips brush against yours in a gentle manner. You feel yourself melt once again, your body aligning itself with him.

“Good?” he mumbles against your lips.

“Good,” you affirm, breathing him in.

“Good,” he nods, breaking away from the kiss, before meeting you back for more. You smile against him as the two of you exchange chaste kisses. Your legs fall open to welcome him closer. You whimper at the feel of his bulge against you.

“Jay,” you moan, grinding against him.

You feel his smirk. “Yeah?”

“Please…” He’s only wearing a towel, all you have to do is hook a finger around it and pull…

You’ve never felt such disappointment like when he pulls away from you, tightening the towel. He bends down, picking up your forgotten book, and strolling out of the room.

“Wh- Jay!”

“You said I’d like it, might as well start now. Who knows when you’ll put this thing down again,” he calls from the hallway.

“Jason!”

“This is payback!”

notes: kinda hate this but what can ya do 🔥

#dc x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader

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lilacxquartz · 3 months

Text

JJK x READER DRABBLES I Asking them if they would still love you if you were a worm

a collection of reader insert scenarios in which the jjk characters are faced with a strange question.

w.c: each piece is under 600 words

themes: fem!reader, mostly fluff, some nsfw mentions but light, slight plot, silly scenarios, crack

included: satoru gojo, suguru geto, toji fushiguro, naoya zenin, choso kamo & also sukuna

mdni • semi nsfw • ao3 link

Satoru Gojo:

“Satoru?” you whined in a questioning tone, suddenly seeming genuinely upset about something out of the blue.

It was bizarre, really. One moment you were both watching reruns of your favourite show, perfectly entangled in each other’s arms and the next, you were using that tone with him.

Was he in trouble?

“Huh?” Satoru warily replied, propping himself up so he could get a better look at you. “What’s wrong, baby?”

He stared at you as your expression seemed deep in thought with a topic he could only pray made sense. He couldn’t tell if it was going to be another strange trending question from the internet or if you were truly upset with something serious this time.

It was always a fifty-fifty chance with you but he loved every bit of it, if he had to be honest.

With a furrowed brow, you mustered up the courage to ask a question, “Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

For a while, Satoru had no idea what to tell you as his eyes involuntarily drifted up to the ceiling in disbelief as he held onto stifled laughter. He seemed to recognise his fatal flaw the longer he didn’t reply to you though, so he finally broke the silence with an escaped snort.

“For real…?” he asked, squeezing your shoulders as he held onto you, checking to see if you were pulling his leg or not.

You folded your arms as you signalled to him that this was in fact a serious question to you, tilting your head back to watch those icy blue eyes gradually widen into a burning panic the longer he put off giving you a real answer.

“Uh, hey, look, listen I’d uh…” Satoru immediately scrambled, knowing that he had to answer you sooner than later, choosing to offer you the best answer he could possibly think of, “I’d buy you the highest quality tank, alright? It’ll have the best soil and rocks and I’ll buy you premium-grade gourmet worm food, yeah?”

You slowly thawed as he continued to spout distressed nonsense into your ears, soon finding yourself slowly relaxing as you melted back into his arms.

Confused but strangely relieved, Satoru let out a deep sigh knowing he passed yet another one of your insane tests, deciding to pull you in as close as possible so you wouldn’t doubt him for even a second longer ever again.

Suguru Geto:

Phasing in and out of sleep, you watched how Suguru cleaned your shared home with nothing but fascination in your stare. Your eyes narrowed as you caught glimpses of him meticulously sweeping dust out of existence, ensuring his home would remain perfectly well manicured for his family to enjoy.

You continued to tune into the waking world as the whirring hum of the vacuum cleaner coursed nearby; your eyes slowly widening as your sights focused onto your phone.

Returning as nothing short of a sweaty mess but ultimately fulfilled, Suguru sat at the foot of the bed while you studied him with a specific question in your mind.

Noticing the focus painted on your face, Suguru knew that this had to be good, “What’s up?”

“Hey, Suguru,” you yawned, “you’d still love me if I was a worm, right?”

He narrowed his eyes as you asked him such a strange thing. Furrowing his brows into something that could resemble annoyance, Suguru pinched the bridge of his nose in mock disbelief before finally humouring you.

“Is this one of those trends you’ve seen on tiktok again?”

“Maybe,” you replied as you confirmed his fears, “answer the question?”

“As much as it pains me,” he began as he clenched this jaw, realising that there was no plausible scenario in which this strange idea could ever manifest into reality to begin with, “yes, I would still love you if you were a worm.”

Your face lit up, “Really?”

Suguru ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to further calm himself down and gave you a tight nod instead.

He couldn’t help but exhale a loud sigh as you genuinely seemed thrilled at his answer to your insane question; feeling himself grow tired from both cleaning all morning as well as what it meant to truly be with you.

He loved it secretly even if he was stoic at times.

It was your silly side that drew him in, after all.

Toji Fushiguro:

You walked side by side with Toji on the way to the locks park. In one hand you carried a red fleece blanket while he carried a wicker basket.

He reluctantly agreed to go on a picnic with you during his time off because he knew it would make you happy even if he didn’t quite look forward to sitting on some grass out in the exposed open field.

Upon arriving to the destination and setting up shop though, Toji lasted maybe just under ten minutes before he grew restless and started ripping out chunks of grass in a huff.

“Babe,” he sulked as he tried to get your attention, swatting a fly away from his face, “I’m bored. How long do we have to be here for?”

“You promised you’d tolerate it for at least fifteen minutes,” you sighed, supposing you should have been thankful that he entertained the idea of it at all.

“You keeping track?” he quizzed you, his eyes training onto the basket. “How about we eat then we go? I’ll take you on a nice walk instead.”

You nodded in a resigned manner despite not quite opposing his idea and as you tucked into the packed sandwiches, your gaze settled on a worm writhing between the blades of grass.

Staring at it, you decided to torment him.

“Toji?” you asked.

He hummed in response with his mouth full of bread, making him sound muffled as he replied, “Whath ith ith?”

“You’d still love me if I was a worm, right?” you asked, pointing at the earthworm.

“I already have one of those,” he said as he swallowed his bite, “don’t need another, especially since you wouldn’t be able to do much.”

“I’d be useful,” you defensively replied.

“Yeah?” he asked, staring at you with a strangely fond look in his eyes.

“I’d be your personal little compost worm for your garden,” you proudly announced.

“Garden? You think I can afford a place with a garden?” Toji laughed, tugging your wrist to pull you closer to him.

“…Hypothetically,” you reminded him.

“You are such… a menace sometimes,” he sighed to himself as he reeled you in even closer, “if I tell you what you wanna hear, can we get out of here sooner?”

You nodded, “Yes.”

“Then by all means,” Toji beamed, “hell, I’d even make sure your compost bin looks like a little worm mansion.”

“Good,” you smiled, “it’s what I deserve.”

“God, you and your weird questions,” he sighed as he held you closer, not caring that you were in public, “just keep them to a limit though, I don’t want to go grey before forty. Got it?”

“Got it,” you smiled.

Naoya Zenin:

Sitting from across the dining table sat your stoic and distant husband, Naoya Zenin. Your marriage to him had always been questionable at best, but you didn’t complain too much as long as he kept his promise to provide for you.

On some days, you weren’t too sure how you felt being paraded around as his arranged trophy wife, but surprisingly you both somehow complimented each other quite well.

Initially, he didn’t care for what you had to say at all, finding your words to be pointless. However somewhere down the line, he would allow for you to talk if you truly had to do so, provided that you ceased talking when he told you to.

He wouldn’t admit it to you directly, but he was actually growing quite fond of you as the time passed you both by.

“Naoya?” you asked, swirling a crystal goblet of wine in your hands, raising it to meet with the light.

He set his fork down and leaned his chin over his palms with feigned interest. Just by that tone alone, he could tell it was time for your daily torment of asking useless questions. That was the type of relationship you developed with him; you liked pissing him off with conjured up bullshit while he liked putting you into place in bed later.

“What is it, woman?” he asked, as dehumanising as usual. Maybe one day he’ll call you by your actual name.

“Would you still keep me around if I turned into a worm?” you asked.

“I would not,” Naoya scoffed, his smile widening on accident before falling flat, “you’d be lucky if I didn’t step on you right then and there.”

“Bit mean, don’t you think?” you asked as your head titled off to the side.

Snapping just a little at the ridiculous question, he narrowed his gaze, “What use could I possibly have for a worm?”

“None, I suppose… but it’d still be me,” you gestured dramatically, pulling the wine glass to meet with your lips and taking a sip.

“No, it wouldn’t be you,” he corrected you with a huff, “it would be a worm and I don’t have a use for a worm. I’d step on you and find someone else.”

“So heartless,” you commented, “not even hypothetically?”

Naoya’s expression darkened at your persistence, feeling his patience finally run out. He was already annoyed that you dared to ask such a stupid thing of him. The only reason he even tolerated you to begin with was because you were easy on the eyes and compliant enough—he’d say you were light on the ears but not with this drivel you were subjecting him to.

“And? My point stands,” he replied.

“But-“

“—cease,” he hissed, momentarily losing his composure, “you’re… not turning into a worm. Not even hypothetically, so be quiet.”

You faltered for now as you resigned into hushed submission, thinking about what question to bother with him for tomorrow.

Meanwhile, Naoya sighed at last as this conversation was finally over. He was absolutely going to punish you for making him listen to such garbage; maybe putting that pretty mouth of yours to use in a way that didn’t result in pointless rambling for a change.

It wasn’t like you were using that thing to do anything useful with that thing, anyway.

Choso Kamo:

As you both basked away on a beach during the peak of summer, Choso wasn’t taking the heat too well at all. Not only was he tucked away, clinging onto the shade cast by the parasol but he was also quite literally congealed in what could have been an entire bottle of sunscreen.

He reluctantly tagged along with you for a beach trip because you informed that, to his horror, you'd be lounging around in a public place with just a bikini on. Choso wasn’t possessive by any means he thought (he was wrong), but he didn’t feel quite right for you to do so alone without his protective watch.

As a result, he felt just a little agitated even if he didn’t let it show. Both from the rowdy company that occupied the coast as well as the relentless sun prickling away at his skin.

So when you spotted a worm wriggling around in the sand and he had to witness you fling it back ono the grass with a stick, it seemed that he finally reached his tipping point of what he could handle on such a hot day.

Not quite realising that he was on a descent into madness, you spoke up with a playful tone, “Choso?”

Slowly, he turned his neck around, shuddering at how stiff it sounded. It was as if he was made from stone as his joints swivelled; his eyes settling on you with a questioning hum.

“…Yes?”

“Do you think you’d still love me if I was a worm?” you asked, staring at the sky through your shades.

“A-a worm…?” he asked back, not quite sure if he was hearing you correctly. Maybe he wasn’t and this was his sign that he finally slipped away into madness.

But then you spoke up again, confirming that the question was real, “Yeah, you know, like those long slimy wiggly things.”

“I-I know what a worm is,” he stammered, slowly grounding himself as he listened to you talk. As nonsensical as you were being, he found himself growing calm with the help of your voice.

“That’s good to know,” you snorted, “so… would you?”

Choso sighed softly to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips. He couldn’t help but stare at you with a strange mix of wonder, love and frustration all at the same time. Was this what being in love was like for everyone else?

In an instant, he forgot about the rest of his worries, choosing to take your question very seriously as your reliable boyfriend.

“Yes, I-I’d love you especially if you were a worm,” he replied with a strong hint of determination, not realising that he had already fumbled his answer with a strange choice of words.

“Especially?” you laughed as you turned over to your side, pulling your sunglasses down to get an even better look at his silly state.

“Oh… Oh! N-no I meant…” he scrambled, his brows furrowing in slight panic, “I would love you no matter what form you took on because I’d know it was you and I love you.”

“You’re so sweet,” you laughed. “I would love you no matter what, too.”

Sukuna:

You remained propped up on Sukuna’s lap as he wrapped a secure hold around your form with his lower set of arms. With the top half of his limbs, he held onto a branch of grapes as the other gently petted you, feeding you with a fond look in his eyes.

It was admittedly a little strange the first time he first talked you into these sorts of sessions, but you supposed that they were pretty nice. Quiet and almost intimate moments where he fed you all sorts of fruits all the while he held onto you as though you were some sort of prized possession.

Neither of you ever talked during these interactions, as this was purely an act of not quite affection, but assuring your devotion to him.

However, your mind remained fixated on something from earlier on in the week and it was starting to conflict with the grapes he wanted to feed you.

Just a few days ago, you heard him trash talk humans to Uraume and call them insects, wondering if he felt that way about you too.

Noticing your torn expression, Sukuna sighed as he pulled the grapes away at last and fed you a look of slight disdain.

“Something’s on your mind, isn’t it?” he observed, tweezing your chin to face him as he studied the way you reacted to him, “Speak.”

“I-it’s fine,” you murmured, trying to ignore the issue.

“Don’t take me for a fool,” Sukuna warned, “your secrecy mocks me.”

Figuring that he wasn’t going to drop the subject unless you told him exactly what it was. you decided to work up the courage to ask the question that had been eating you from the inside.

“Do you see me as an insect?”

Sukuna immediately understood what you must have been referring to and rather than berate you for filling your mind with such useless worries, needing to keep you calm for his desired time with you, he shook his head in response instead.

“I do not, my pretty one,” he replied, letting go of your chin at last, “you’re above that. You’re mine.”

“So… if I turned into a literal worm, I still wouldn’t be an insect to you?” you asked, unsure what point you were trying to make exactly.

“You’re pushing your luck here, brat,” Sukuna replied in a serious tone despite surrendering to an amused smile.

“So I wouldn’t be…?” you asked with some hope.

“Ideally, you wouldn’t become such a disgusting thing to begin with,” he replied in a mock shudder, “but I suppose you would have been the only worm I’d have ever liked.”

Seeming satisfied with his response, you finally relaxed once again and that’s right about when he pressed the fruit to your lips to continue from where you both left off.

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incorrectbatfam · 1 year

Note

What would the batfam livestream themselves doing?

Dick: photobombing Gotham's top 10 elite in 1 evening without anyone noticing

Jason: transforming an abandoned building into free housing in 2 weeks with only a pencil

Tim: taking pictures of famous landmarks from all 50 states in 50 days on a $50 budget

Damian: getting a blank piece of paper displayed in the Louvre in 12 hours

Duke: writing and publishing a New York Times bestselling novel in 30 days

Cullen: getting My Chemical Romance to perform at his party in 5 days via a game of telephone

Stephanie: getting invited backstage to a sold-out Taylor Swift concert through only 6 degrees of connection the day of the show

Cassandra: recruiting 25 strangers into a flash mob in 3 hours

Barbara: producing an album and getting 100 downloads in 3 days

Harper: building a full-sized driveable car from scratch in 4 days with only a $500 budget and a toy as the blueprint

Carrie: trying and rating every Gotham fair food in 8 hours without any food waste

Kate: spending 1 week in a foreign country with no money and only packing a water bottle

Alfred: turning the ingredients in Bernard's dorm mini fridge into a gourmet family meal in 6 hours

Selina: entering a cat into a dog show without anyone realizing

Bruce: making a blockbuster movie in 10 days with $10

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kittycatasaurus · 8 months

Text

Love Flavoured Chocolates (2023 Willy Wonka/Reader)

(Cross posted to my AO3, I'm obsessed with Wonka and wanted to share this purely self indulgent reader insert because there simply isn't enough out there and hey it might encourage me to write some more if other people can also enjoy my writing!)

Word count: 3.2k

Willy had come to the Galéries Gourmet with nothing but his love for chocolate making, a wish to once more see his mother, and a hat full of dreams. One thing he certainly hadn’t accounted for was falling in love. He’d first had the pleasure of meeting you the first time Noodle smuggled him out of Scrubitt’s.

You'd befriended the young girl in passing on the street after she’d bumped into you with her laundry cart while neither of you were paying quite enough attention to where you were going. Though the collision was soft enough to keep you both on your feet, she had knocked the book your face was buried in straight to the ground causing you both to startle. Immediately the pair of you burst into apologies (which had made you laugh, despite the girl’s sincere panic), “You’re alright little missy, that was entirely my fault for not looking ahead of me, I simply can’t put this one down, I’m so close to finishing this new tale of a young detective!” You attempted to ease her worry with a big smile, it seemed to work as the girl’s face shifted from concern to interest. “Is-is that the latest Nancy Drew story?” She asked eagerly, trying to get a better look at the book in your hand. With a simple nod, keeping the easy smile on your face you answered, yes. From there the pair of you spent at least a half hour chattering excitedly about the fantastical feats of the young investigator until a nearby clocktower chimed, making her realise she was falling way behind schedule and would soon have to return to the wash house with a few deliveries still to make their destinations. “It’s been wonderful talking to you miss, but I’m afraid I really must hurry along, I hope I run into you again, my name is Noodle in case you see me before I see you!” The girl, now known to you as Noodle, what an interesting name, jumbled out as she made off to scurry away to wherever she needed to be. “I hope I see you again as well Noodle, you’ve been a delight to talk to! The name is Y/N” You called out after her and continued your stroll once she was out of sight, only somewhat more aware of your surroundings this time.

After that initial encounter you had run into each other a few times, eventually budding a wonderful friendship wherein you shared books and life stories with one another. Gradually you learned of Noodle’s more than unfortunate living situation and provided her comfort and reassurance in any ways you could, be that a book from your collection which she hadn’t yet read or a warm hug and shoulder to cry on, the girl became a younger sister figure to you.

This was where Wonka came into the picture, you and Noodle by this point had been friends for the better part of two years and saw each other frequently so you were understandably concerned when you hadn’t seen her around for the last couple of weeks. Just when the worry was getting to the point of you preparing yourself to storm into Scrubitt’s and demand to know about the wellbeing of your friend you saw her, tucked away from the main roads and pathways, talking to her trolley? Now that is upsetting, such a beautiful young mind lost to the madness of her circumstance. As you were about to approach, rounding the corner of the wall you’d hidden behind, a man emerged from the trolley clearly in conversation with the young girl. If not for your sheer confusion, you would have hastily approached the stranger as instinct kicked in to keep Noodle away from any potential danger. She didn't appear frightened or startled so logic told you this was no stranger to her, and therefore not a threat. Upon the realisation, you called out to your friend whom you’d missed in the two weeks of absence, “Noodle! Where’ve you been, little lady?” Immediately, both heads turned to face you and your breath caught in your throat as the mystery man turned and you finally caught a glimpse of his face. It was a beautiful face too, puppy-like hazel eyes, framed by fluttery long lashes, thick full eyebrows sat above them, complimenting his slender, pale face. Both pairs of eyes were wide upon you but you were still taking in the gorgeous man before you, to the point you failed to hear Noodle as she repeated your name, asking “Y/N? What are you doing here?” At the lack of response, she followed up “Earth to Y/N?” with a somewhat exasperated sigh after. Seeing the man turn to face Noodle shook you from your reverie and you let out a sharp little “Hmm?” “I said, what are you doing here Y/N? Were you following me or something?” Her look caused a twang of guilt for a second until you registered that, no you hadn’t been following Noodle, just actively looking out for her as you’d thought her to be missing. “Of course not you numpty! I heard your voice coming from a sketchy alley and saw you talking to your laundry pile, I only wanted to check you were alright, especially considering I haven’t seen you in a few weeks kid! It’s completely understandable for me to be at least a little worried, even more so after seeing a strange man come out of your trolley,” Your voice was taking on a bit of a scolding tone as you softened it to turn to the aforementioned man “No offence.” He shook his head as though to imply none taken as his eyes flitted between the two of you, the friendly smile never once leaving his face. “I take it this is Y/N, Noodle?” his eyes remained on her this time as she nodded back to him. Well that was unexpected, this mysterious dreamboat knew who you were courtesy of Noodle, and while you were flattered she told this new ‘friend’ about you, you worried over what she said in order for him to deduce your identity.

Together, the pair of them explained their plan to get the money to free themselves of Scrubitt’s unfair debt, going into detail about the wondrous and impossible chocolates made by who you now know to be ‘Willy Wonka, future chocolatier extraordinaire’. In all honesty your mind is positively racing to keep up, but with such bright smiles on their faces you can only nod your support and shoot a smile back, albeit a smaller one.

———————————

That had been a while ago, though it felt even longer. By this point, you had collectively put a stop to the chocolate cartel and Scrubitt and Bleacher. Wonka’s chocolates were doing better than ever and with everyone from the wash house going back to their old lives, Willy was alone again, well mostly. Abacus Crunch had been happy to remain the financial adviser for Willy and the group would do their best to stay in touch thanks to Lottie Bell and her phone operator gig but it was definitely lonely, going from all those people around him, that warm environment to nothing again. Although, you were still around weren’t you? You and Noodle? While you both saw her often, upon finding her mother and the library where she stayed, it was less and less that you found yourself in the young girl’s company, she had years of catching up to do after all. You wanted to believe that was why you were seeing less and less of Willy too, but the pair of you had no reason not to see each other often, after all, you’d quit your boring old job to help out and work with Willy at his shop as soon as it had been acquired. So then why did it feel like he was avoiding you, or attempting to shut you out.

This is where you find yourself as you sit with Noodle outside her mother’s library one warm evening. “I don’t understand Noodle, he seems lonely, it's simply a fact that he thrives off of being around other people so I don’t understand why he’s shutting himself away” a too big sigh leaves your mouth. “I miss him, I miss his cheshire grin, the confusing way he talks, even just seeing his garish purple coat” “Hmmm, kinda sounds like you love him” “Yeah, I just don’t know what’s u- WHAT?!?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN NOODLE?” Your face burns red as your brain takes a minute to register what the young girl chimes in with. In response she holds up her hands, palms facing you, “I’m just saying it as I see it.” With a shrug she shakes her head. Though her words do make you stop and think back to the many months you’ve known the eccentric chocolatier.

The first day you’d successfully sold Wonka’s chocolates on the street had resulted in a quick getaway where you and Willy had ended up lost in the tunnels below the city, escaping the corrupt chief of police for an hour or two as you attempted to meet up with the others to get Willy back to Scrubitt’s with the others in time for roll call. At this point you hadn’t yet been alone together, and the lack of familiarity seemingly made Willy nervous to the point his breathing got panicked and you shared a rather intimate moment where you helped ease his discomfort with a simple breathing exercise and hand massage. “Willy, give me your hand please,” you spoke in the most gentle tone you’d ever mustered after his laboured breaths stabilised, he acquiesced rather quickly as you reached out to him, gently cupping his hand. “I’m gonna trace the lines of your palm okay? It might tickle but I promise you, you’ll feel better.” The smile on your face eased any remaining nerves and once you started to caress his palm with your thumb he seemed to lose the last of the tension. “See,” your voice was still incredibly gentle, but now you were both smiling though his was significantly smaller than usual, “You’re okay, sweetie, I’m here” The pet name left your mouth so naturally neither of you reacted, though a moment later you flushed realising the implied closeness of calling him such a name. With level heads you managed to safely navigate your way back to the others in time and wished Willy a restful night. In retrospect that may very well have been when you first started to develop feelings for the man, you could no longer tell, in the objectively short time that you’d known him, you could think of at least a dozen other times that may have stimulated this apparent crush of yours. Though one particular memory comes to mind more often than the rest. The most recent to boot, the day you reunited Noodle with her mother!

It was the day you’d put an end to the cartel, Willy would finally be free to run his chocolate shop and live out the dream he’d shared with his late mother. The celebration in the Galéries Gourmet seemed to go on forever as everyone enjoyed the chocolate fountain filling up cups seemingly endlessly. A group effort had the shop back together in no time, looking as good as new. As the sun was finally descending from its high perch, your friends from Scrubitt’s all said their goodbyes and well wishes to Willy, Noodle and yourself. Leaving the three of you to lounge about in comfortable silence for a while. “We have a surprise for you, Noodle!” You said excitedly to the young girl who was almost falling asleep where she sat. Exchanging eye contact with Willy, you rose with Noodle in tow. Wide awake after jolting her about, she rushed to keep up with both of your longer legs as you sped away from the shop. Stopping abruptly outside of the library, Noodle gathered her bearings with a confused expression on her face and heavy breaths leaving her lungs, “The library?? What could possibly be so important in there you felt the need to sprint AND drag me along too no less!” She was understandably irritated, but you knew it would be worth all the effort soon enough. “Close your eyes for a second for me Noodle-dee!” Willy told her cheerfully as you approached the door holding onto the girl’s hand to bring her with you. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. “Now open them…” You whispered just loud enough for her to hear and comply. Before her, stood her mother, finally reunited after years of wishing and hoping. Immediately the two shared the warmest embrace you’d ever witnessed as you backed up and gave them their space, returning to Wonka’s side and overlooking the tender moment. A soft sniffle from beside you reached your ear and you glanced over to see Willy’s eyes glossy with unshed tears, the poor boy must’ve been reminded of his own mother in that moment, your heart hurt for him. “Come here sweetie,” you hummed to him, pulling the chocolatier into a comforting hug. “She’d be so proud of you right now, you know?” You got a teary chuckle in response to that as his arms wrapped around you. Noodle and her mother looked over to you now and you raised your arm in a wave to let them know you’d be heading back to leave them to catch up on all the time they’d spent apart.

The walk back wasn’t far, but it felt much longer without Noodle especially since you’d run practically the whole way there and were now strolling very leisurely. Neither of you said anything but you were touching in some way the entire time, holding hands for part of the walk, then switching to linking arms, even simply resting your hand on Willy’s back. Eventually you made it back to the shop, with the lights off, it was as though the magic was sleeping. As you entered ahead of Willy, you looked back to examine his expression, he wasn’t upset, of course not, he just reunited his dearest friend with her mother whom she thought long lost, perhaps forlorn was more accurate. The cogs in his head were clearly turning as he wrangled with his feelings, particularly regarding his mother and the seemingly impending loneliness he was soon to face. He stopped walking as soon as he entered, eyes still downcast as though expecting you to turn around and leave right then and there as well. With a low sigh you finally broke the silence “Willy, I’m not leaving you, not after that, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I just walked out after seeing those tears in your eyes.” He looked up, this time they had escaped and he had a sad pout on his beautiful lips. “Can you tell me about her? Have you got any pictures?” You’d not heard much at all about his mother from him aside from how much he loved her and that she was the inspiration for his dream turned reality. Willy gave a little nod and led you through the store to his makeshift office/home/break room, and on the desk sat a framed photo of a beautiful woman with a very familiar smile. “Wow this is her then? She’s beautiful Willy, you look so much like her.” You said the last bit somewhat under your breath as you realised the implication of what you said (as much as you meant it, it seemed a bit forward). You picked up the picture and sat down on the sofa in the room, patting the seat next to you for Willy to sit beside you, the rest of the night was spent listening to stories of his childhood and asking questions. The pair of you laughed, you cried, and eventually Willy fell asleep with his head on your shoulder. Getting as comfortable as the pair of you could, you let yourself join him in the land of dreams shortly after.

Now, it had been a few weeks since you and Willy had experienced the almost intimate exchange of life stories, as well as your chat with Noodle and you had the day off. Willy was on a break from work and went to visit Noodle at the library to tell her all about that night and how great a person he found you to be, gushing over how ‘kind, pretty, sensitive, and funny’ you were but somehow avoiding the ‘L’ word and seemingly ignoring his feelings for you. Eventually, the girl could take it no longer and burst out “Either ask her out, or I will do it for you! You’re such an idiot Willy, it's so obvious you love Y/N and I don’t understand how you’ve danced around it for as long as you have!” Noodle’s frustration was apparent from her face alone, if her words somehow hadn’t conveyed exactly what she meant them to. Willy’s eyes went wide at her outburst and his face started to resemble a tomato almost in how brightly he was blushing. As he opened his mouth to make a retort, Noodle interrupted him with a raised finger and a look that shut him up before he could even make so much as a noise. “Go see her now Willy, or I will.” Was all she had to say to get him standing up and practically sprinting out of the door.

A hurried knock at your door startled you out of your thoughtless stare out the window, you sat up abruptly, I’m not expecting any visitors, you thought to yourself as you walked cautiously over to the door. Through the peephole, you spotted the one and only Willy Wonka, pleasantly surprised, you opened up the door to be pulled into a tight embrace. Despite the initial shock, you quickly recovered to hug your dear friend back, “Heya, what’s gotten into you, sweetpea?” Genuinely confused as to the context despite reciprocating the affectionate action. Pulling back from you to look into your eyes, Willy responded, “I love you, Y/N.” Cue the widening of your eyes as you started to stammer out a reply, “Wh-what, huh, I-” “I love you, Y/N, I can’t believe it took Noodle calling me an idiot to realise it but I’m hopelessly, wholeheartedly in love with you.” He affirmed with a fire behind his gaze. You realised then that he wasn’t joking, this wasn’t a prank or him using the word in a friendly sense. “You, you do?” Tears started to well up in your eyes as you looked into his, “I love you too, Willy Wonka.” Not wanting to keep him in suspense, you confessed right back. A laugh broke free from your mouth as the tears started to fall from your eyes. Gently cupping either side of his face, you brought your lips together in a sweet kiss that felt like it could last forever, his hands finding a comfortable perch on your hips as you held each other close. Breaking apart for air, you both giggled, and leaned back into each other for another kiss, this one escalating a little past wholesome as you softly tugged at his bottom lip with your teeth. Breathing heavily now, you separated once more to stare into each other's eyes. Willy Wonka had confessed his love to you and you were ecstatic to say you felt the same. This would be the start of something beautiful, of that you were sure.

#willy wonka x reader #willy wonka #wonka 2023 #wonka movie #wonka x reader #timothée chalamet #timothee chalamet wonka #reader insert

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sequinsmile-x · 5 days

Text

Chasing Shadows

“Besides, you’ll be there with me. I can just pretend we’re on a date,” she smiles wryly when she finally looks up at him, “But with all of our friends watching us thinking we’re faking being together whilst we’re trying to lure out an unsub.”

He smiles and reaches out to tuck some of her hair behind her ear, “It is getting a little hard to keep track of isn’t it?”

AKA the one where Aaron and Emily are in a secret relationship, and have to 'fake' being in a relationship for a case...whilst pretending they are not actually in a relationship.

-x-

Hi friends,

This is one of the prompts from the I Knew You'd Linger Like a Tattoo Kiss series, but it got away from me so it is its own stand-alone one-shot!

I've made this a series on Ao3 for ease (and to be honest mostly so I can keep track haha). The prompt for this one is 'kisses for a cover'

Anyway, this is really silly in parts and my attempt at being funny.

As always, please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Warnings: Canon typical themes, smatterings of plot/case fic,

Words: 4.3k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

“I could have done that.”

Emily turns to look at her boyfriend over her shoulder. She smiles widely at him before she turns back to the task at hand, her focus on the eggs she was pushing around the pan in front of her instead of how good he looked standing half naked in her kitchen, his chest bare and his hair askew. She loved seeing Aaron like this, without the harsh lines and straight edges of his suits. There was something about seeing him rumpled like this, half asleep and deliciously hers, that she loved.

They had the whole weekend stretched out ahead of them. Jack was with Roy, a weekend away that had been planned for months and Emily had jumped at the opportunity to spend some time alone with her boyfriend. She had felt selfish at first for how excited she was for it, but Aaron had assured her he was excited too, that it didn’t diminish the love either of them had for his son.

She’d woken up before Aaron this morning, which was rare in itself. He was usually up before the alarm, waking her with gentle kisses and his hand trailing up and down her back or arm as he pulled her from sleep. She’d spent some time watching him, enjoying the chance to see him completely relaxed. He’d looked almost boyish as he lay next to her, his face half buried in her pillow, his arm heavy over her waist. She’d eventually snuck out from his embrace, leaving him with a kiss against his forehead before she grabbed his shirt from her bedroom floor, fastening a few buttons as she walked to the kitchen to make them breakfast.

“You needed your beauty sleep,” she says, humming contentedly as he wraps his arms around her, tugging her back against his chest as he kisses her cheek, “Plus, it’s only bacon and eggs,” she says, turning her head to kiss him, smiling when he beams at her, “It’s not exactly a gourmet meal.”

He hums as he buries his face in the crook of her neck, seeking out the scent of her that he’d never tire of. She always smelt sweet, like vanilla, with a hint of spice to it. Something that he’d catch in the air when they were working and she would walk past him, a soft smile on her face when their eyes would meet across the room because she knew exactly what effect she had on him. He could smell himself on her too, a touch of his cologne lingering on her skin from where they’d slept pressed against each other and on the shirt she was wearing. It was mixed in with the smell of her, and it makes him hold her even tighter, his lips against her neck as he kisses up towards her jaw, chasing the giggle she lets out as she continues to cook for them.

“What do you want to do today?” He asks, kissing her cheek, wanting to have as much of this, of her, as he could over the next couple of days.

She hums as if she has to think about it before she turns to look at him, their faces so close their noses bump against each other, “Eat breakfast,” she says, kissing him softly, “Go back to bed, have sex,” she laughs when he does, kissing him again, “Shower together. Have sex in there too,” she smiles so widely their next kiss is lost to a laugh, “Snuggle on the couch and watch a movie, have se-”

“I get the idea, sweetheart,” he chuckles, resting his chin on her shoulder as she turns her focus back on the food, “Sounds like an excellent plan to…” he drifts off as his phone rings in the pocket of his sweatpants and they both groan.

“Please don’t say it’s work,” she grumbles, not even trying to stop the way she pouts as he digs his phone out of his pocket and turns it to show her Penelope’s name on the screen, “Damn it.”

“Sorry, Em,” he says, as if it’s his fault, a hangover from his marriage and the ever-present feeling he was letting Emily down.

“It’s not your fault,” she replies, stamping her lips against his, “You should answer before she leaves you a colourful voicemail about how it’s her weekend too.”

He smiles and nods, “Hotchner,” he says as he answers, stepping away, leaving cool air in his place as he paces around her kitchen. She only half listens, her disappointment cold and heavy in her gut as she plates up their breakfast, her hopes of a lazy day with her boyfriend disappearing with each question Aaron asks Penelope and each long silence that follows as she answers. By the time he hangs up, she’s sitting at her breakfast bar, one of her elbows on the counter as she eats. He kisses her forehead as he sits next to her, his right hand heavy on her bare thigh as he starts to eat with his left, “You’re pouting.”

She scoffs, “Of course I am,” she says, smiling he raises his eyebrows in surprise at her admittance to something she’d usually deny, “We were meant to have a weekend off and now we’re going on a case. Unless Pen was calling to tell you about her plans for the weekend.”

He squeezes her thigh, “No such luck. We’re going to Idaho, she’ll call you soon.”

“See,” she grumbles, fighting a smile when he offers her a bite of his breakfast even though hers is the same. She leans forward and eats the food from his fork and then shakes her head after she swallows, “Our weekend of sex and food is all gone,” she sighs, “And now I’m going to have to pretend you’re just my boss and not my very handsome and sexy boyfriend.”

At first, the secrecy had been practical. A tool she and Aaron used as they navigated the shift in their relationship from friends to more that allowed them to do it with no outside influence. No staring or comments, both well-meaning and meddling, from their friends as they settled into new roles in each other's lives. Then she’d started to enjoy it. She loved that their relationship was something just for them, untouched by the opinions of the others that she cared about more than she could admit even to herself. It’s how they found themselves ten months down the line, both aware that this was it for them - that they wanted everything with each other - with only Jack and Jessica knowing.

It was getting harder to keep it a secret, the shine taken off of it now because she knew if they wanted to take the next step, to live together in one of the houses they’d circled in the paper on her living room table, they had to let their friends in. She knew they’d made it harder on themselves, that the secrecy in itself would garner opinions from their friends and that not all of them would be what she’d want to hear, but she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. Not when she’d had so much time to make Aaron hers.

“We’ll tell them next weekend at Dave’s,” he assures her, “Just like we planned.”

She smiles, “I know,” she says, “Although I’d still have to pretend you aren’t my handsome and sexy boyfriend when we are on cases,” she winks at him, “I will settle for holding your hand on the jet though,” she leans forward and kisses him, “You have some of your suits here, right?” She asks, and he nods, “Excellent. That means you’ll have time to shower here,” she smiles as she pulls back, “And that means we can keep at least part of our original plan,” she sighs when her phone rings on the counter and she picks it up, blowing out a breath at the sight of Penelope’s name as she answers, “Hi Pen, please tell me you’re just calling to hear my voice?”

Aaron smiles at her fake ignorance and kisses her forehead, taking advantage of as many moments as he can as Aaron and Emily before they have to slip back into Hotch and Prentiss.

___

It takes four days for them to make any kind of progress.

Four long days with very little sleep at the motel they’d been booked into. Aaron had snuck into her room each night, slipping into her bed and wrapping himself around her so they could both get better sleep. He woke her up each morning before he left, his lips against her forehead or cheek as he said he’d see her in an hour or so when the team would meet for breakfast. When they first started this they said they’d never sleep in the same room on cases, but it was a rule that had barely lasted the very first case they’d been together for. She slept better next to him, and she knew he slept better next to her, and any attempt to pretend otherwise had disappeared months ago.

She huffs out a breath as she looks at the boards they’d set up in the conference room, looking over the information again and again in the hope she’d see something they hadn’t seen before. All the victims were middle-aged women who had been found in an alley behind the only high-end restaurant in town. All of them beaten beyond recognition and left there like they were nothing more than the trash they were found lying in. The local cops had dismissed the initial couple of victims as escorts, women who they saw as putting themselves in a situation that could have been avoided. The third victim, a well thought of married woman with no links to that life, is what caused the step change in their attitude to the case, finally calling the BAU when they realised just how in over their heads they were.

“I don’t think we have any choice but to send someone to the restaurant undercover,” Derek says, his arms crossed over his chest, “The owner’s lack of cooperation is making this more difficult than it needs to be.”

“He’s worried about his business,” Dave chimes in, his brow furrowed, “More than he is about the bodies getting dumped behind it.”

JJ hums, “Capitalism at its finest,” she murmurs, “So we send someone in who fits the profile of the victims, make sure that they draw attention to themselves and what? Hope the unsub makes himself known?”

Emily sighs, her lips pressed together because she knows where this is going. She looks at Aaron and their eyes meet, and she knows he’s figured it out too, his jaw tight as he opens his mouth to refute the plan, something she knows he wouldn’t do for any of the others. The ability to just be her boss, and not her boyfriend, blurred by his love for her and his hatred of putting her in this situation.

“I can do it,” she says before anyone else can suggest it, before Aaron can say it’s not a good idea, and her smile is tight when they all look over at her, “I’m the only one who fits the profile of the victims,” she forces a smirk when she looks at JJ, “You’re catching up though.”

“No,” Aaron says, shaking his head, “We don’t know enough.”

“It’s the best chance we’ve got,” she says as she turns to look at him, “Plus, it’s not like I’ll be alone. You’ll all be nearby, Plus…I have something I can wear.”

He feels a flash of sorrow in his gut at the knowledge that she’d come prepared, that she always came prepared just in case the team needed her to play whatever role was required. He hates that he’s guilty of it too, that more than once he’s asked her to allow them to use her beauty and the way other people look at her to their advantage.

“Fine,” he says eventually, “But you’re definitely not going alone. I’ll come with you.”

She has to stop herself from rolling her eyes, her instinct to say his first name squashed in an instant as she remembers where they are, that the team are watching this back and forth, “Hotch-”

“It may work,” Spencer says, “If you were acting like a couple and the unsub saw you he might be intrigued. One of the victims was there with her boyfriend before he had to leave for work. She finished her meal and left out the back and was found the next day.”

Derek smirks as he looks at Aaron and Emily, “Do you two think you could be a convincing couple?” He tilts his head as he looks back and forth between them, “I’m not sure I see it.”

Emily narrows her eyes at him, “I’m sure we can manage,” she deadpans before she turns back to Aaron, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

He nods, hearing the question she doesn’t ask - are you sure this is a good idea - and clears his throat before he answers, “I’m sure.”

She blows out a long breath and nods, “Then I guess we’re going on a date.”

JJ smirks at her from across the room, “Will your boyfriend mind when he finds out you’ve had to be all over Hotch for an evening?”

She’s proud of herself for not smiling at JJ’s question, or for not immediately looking over at Aaron and giving the game away. JJ and Penelope found out she was seeing someone a couple of months ago after they saw a man’s shirt in her pile of freshly washed laundry. She hadn’t been able to come up with a lie fast enough, Aaron’s ability to fluster her even when he wasn’t present second to none, and she admitted she was seeing someone. She’d refused then and ever since to give any more details but they teased her relentlessly whenever they got together for girls night, her love for her boyfriend clear to her friends even though she’d barely told them anything about him.

“He’ll be fine,” she says her gaze flicking over to the man in question, “He’s a grown-up,” she smiles, unable to resist teasing Aaron when he was clearly already a little uncomfortable, “Plus, Hotch is a gentleman. He’ll keep his hands to himself. Right, Sir?”

He stares at her, and it’s strange to think that a year ago she wouldn’t see the spark in his eyes. That she wouldn’t have seen past the glare he wore as a mask and see the mix of adoration and fake irritation lying beneath. It makes her grateful that he’s hers, that she had the privilege of being allowed to see what he hid from everyone else, and she knows she wants to see it for the rest of her life.

“Of course, I will, Prentiss,” he says, giving as good as he gets in the way he says her name, an inflexion in it that makes her press her lips together to stop herself from smiling. The dangerous line of giving themselves away that they had walked like a tightrope for months getting thinner by the day.

They go back to the hotel to get ready after they’ve figured out the plan for the evening. Emily looks at herself in the mirror, her chest tight as she feels herself slipping into a role she’d played countless times before. She’s still messing with her hair and plucking at the material of her dress when there is a light knock on the door before Aaron uses his card key to let himself in. She smiles when she sees he’s followed her instructions to remove his tie and undo a couple of the buttons on his shirt.

“You look handsome,” she says, smiling softly before she looks at her reflection again, blowing out a slow breath as he steps towards her, his arms tight around her middle. It’s a reminder of the moment they’d had together in her kitchen before they were pulled onto this case. She leans into it, into him, seeking the comfort she never quite found the words to ask for.

“You look beautiful,” he says, kissing her cheek before he turns her in his arms, his hands on her hips before they slide to her back. He watches her carefully, sees the tightness to her smile that usually only the memories of the things she’d endured, or her mother, could bring out of her. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? We’ll come up with another plan.”

She shakes her head as she links her arms around his neck. She runs her fingers through the short hairs at the back of his head, “I’m okay,” she says automatically, shrugging before she continues, “We both know I’ve done worse, honey.”

He presses her closer, his palms wide and firm on her back as she tries to laugh it off, a coping mechanism she’d had for as long as he’d known her, “Em, sweetheart, you don’t have to do that with me.”

It disarms her, her shoulders slumping with it, but she nods, her lips pressed together as she shifts closer to him, “Someone needs to do it, I’ll be fine,” she smiles softly, her focus on the lapel of his jacket as she picks off a piece of lint, sure if she let her eyes meet his she’d lose her bravado entirely, “Besides, you’ll be there with me. I can just pretend we’re on a date,” she smiles wryly when she finally looks up at him, “But with all of our friends watching us thinking we’re faking being together whilst we’re trying to lure out an unsub.”

He smiles and reaches out to tuck some of her hair behind her ear, “It is getting a little hard to keep track of isn’t it?”

She chuckles and nods, stamping her lips against his, “It is,” she says, kissing him once more before she pulls back, “But, if we catch the unsub tonight we can go home and everything will be simpler again.”

He kisses her forehead and then reaches for her hand, linking their fingers together and squeezing, “In that case, we’d better get going Agent Prentiss.”

She shakes her head at him, her lips pressed together to try to contain her smile, “Lead the way, Agent Hotchner.”

___

She can almost pretend they are on a normal date. That it’s just the two of them focused only on each other and that they aren’t there to try and lure a killer out of his nest.

She makes a point of holding Aaron’s hand over the table, of leaning in and whispering things to him and laughing at his responses, acting the part of the loved-up couple that they actually were in full sight of their co-workers. JJ and Derek were sitting at the bar keeping watch, and Spencer and Dave were sitting in a van outside with the lead detective. Every now and again she’d look up and see Derek smirking from behind his alcohol-free beer, his amusement clear as he exchanged comments she couldn’t hear with JJ. Emily avoids the gaze of her best friend, the curiosity in her eyes that looked a little too close to realisation for her liking, and continues to focus on Aaron, on the feel of his hand heavy on her thigh.

As the evening drags on she starts to feel someone watching them, the familiar prickling on the back of her neck that had been almost permanent when Ian was hunting her down. She casts a glance at a man a few tables over. He looks away, but not before she can see how he’s looking at her, a way she’s been looked at since long before she understood its meaning, and she turns back to Aaron. She leans in close, her lips against his ear, “I’ve spotted someone who might be our guy.”

Aaron looks over too, his grip on her tightening when he spots the man looking at her like she’s a piece of meat, like she’s there just for him to look at. “I see him.”

She places her hand on his cheek and makes him look at her, her eyes firm but tender as they meet his, a subtle shaking of her head that lets him know she has all but read his mind. That she knows exactly what he wants to do to the man they’d come here to find for even just looking at her. She loves him for it, for wanting to protect her from something that was truly nothing in comparison to everything else, and she can’t help but wonder when the idea of him protecting her stopped annoying her, when she started to want him to do it.

“This is what we came here for, honey,” she says, the gaze of the man in question burning the back of her neck whilst Derek’s and JJ’s burn into her cheek. She lets her hand drop to his shoulder, “We should go outside. See if he follows.”

He nods, squeezing her hand once more before he gets the waiter's attention and asks for the bill. Aaron catches Derek’s eye on the way out, his hand on Emily’s back as they nod at each other, a silent agreement he and JJ would only be a few minutes behind them. When the cool air wraps around them Emily shivers, leaning into Aaron’s side on instinct, chasing the warmth he always had an abundance of. She wraps her hand around his and tugs him into the opening of the alley, smiling as she pulls him close. She boxes herself in between him and the wall, the brick rough and cold against her back contrasting the warm softness of him against her front.

“What are we doing?” He asks, unable to stop himself from smiling, something about her presence that always brought it out of him. A balm to his soul that he thinks he must have always been looking for. She shrugs, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as she pulls him closer, smiling when he instinctively puts his hands on her waist. She nods towards the other end of the alley, at the man who’d followed them out and looped around the restaurant to try to cut them off.

“Putting on a show,” she whispers just before her lips touch his, sighing at the familiarity of it, the comfort it brought despite the reason they were doing it. They lose themselves in it, his grip on her waist tightening as she sighs, her nails scratching at his scalp as she pulls him impossibly closer. They’d shared all kinds of kisses in the last ten months. Passionate. Soft. All consuming. Gentle and comforting and everything in between, but she thinks this might be her favourite type. Familiar. Loving. The kind of kiss she can see herself sharing with him every day for the rest of her life.

She’s pulled from it at the sound of Derek shouting, announcing himself and JJ as FBI as they pull their guns on the man in the alley with them, still far enough away that they were never in any danger, his own gun dropped to the floor.

Aaron steps away from her as Derek handles the arrest, clearing his throat as he tries to act as if they hadn’t just been caught making out by the team, even though it was part of the plan. Emily reaches out and wipes her lipstick from his lips without thinking about it, a habit she only realises she’s doing until she’s pulling her hand back. They both look towards the end of the alley when they hear someone clearing their throat, and Emily sighs as her eyes meet Dave’s, knowing they are caught simply by the look on their friend's faces. The varying degrees of confusion and knowing smirks painted across them.

“Looks like our couple here has a little explaining to do,” Dave says, his smirk only getting wider as Emily glares at him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Emily says, running her hands down her dress to smooth it down, the material creased at her hips where Aaron had been manhandling her.

“Come on, Princess,” Derek says, his eyebrow raised as he puts the unsubs cuffs on a little tighter than necessary, “Even Reid could tell that wasn’t a first kiss.”

“Hey,” Spencer says, his arms crossed, “I’ve kissed people before.”

Dave turns to JJ, “I think we solved the mystery of who Emily’s boyfriend is.”

JJ hums, pulling her phone out of her pocket, “Pen will be delighted.”

“Can I please remind everyone we are still on a case,” Aaron says, finally snapping back into Unit Chief mode, clearing his throat to try and distract himself from the embarrassment burning in his cheeks, “We still have work to do.”

“Fine,” Derek says, cutting over the conversation, smiling as he hands off the unsub to the local cops, “But if you think we’re staying quiet on the jet home you’ve got another thing coming.”

Emily sighs, her arms tight over her chest as she watches the rest of them leave, grateful they at least had the decency to give them a few seconds alone, “It just had to be Idaho,” she grumbles, “Couldn’t have been somewhere closer to home just an hour flight away,” she looks up at Aaron, smiling softly at the slightly shellshocked expression on his face, “This is going to be a long flight home. Think you can scare them into not asking any questions?”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he laughs and shakes his head, wrapping his arm around her to pull her close to stamp a kiss against her forehead, “But I don’t think I’d be able to stop them even if I threatened to fire them.”

#aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotchniss fanfic #emily prentiss fanfiction #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #aaron x emily #hotchniss fanfiction #hotchniss fan fic #hotchniss

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haveyoureadthisfanfic · 6 days

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i see there's shipping discussion occurring in your ask box so i figure i'll throw in my two cents as well!

i used to be a REALLY heavy shipper, in exactly that shallow "reduce their personalities to the concept of kissing each other" way that tons of people are complaining about. i wouldn't get into ship wars or harass people or anything, but i was totally the kind of person who you couldn't just have a level character discussion with— because i would be pretty intent on just going through the motions with whatever best friend or acquaintance I'd decided they had a huge crush on.

by contrast now my biggest most important "ships" end up all being somewhere between 3-5 people with a lot of care put into the nuances of each connection on the relationship chart— i still refer to them as poly ships (as a shorthand mostly), but of the 3 to 10 different relationships between the characters, i usually only see a few of them as romantic or sexual, with the majority a lot closer to a found family or queerplatonic sort of vibe

honestly i think the biggest reason for the reductive style of shipping was that 1) i wasn't as skilled a writer then as i am now, so i wasn't really sure how to really retain all of the features of a character that i liked, and 2) i wanted the biggest feelings IMMEDIATELY and there's some kind of instant gratification to shipping where the end goal is for them to kiss and you can just draw/write/think about them kissing and you're done.

it's kind of like the instant ramen of fictional relationships to me. it's kind of "one size fits all", low writing skill requirement, low effort, really really fast and easy, and ultimately not really that rewarding at the end of it. and just like how real actual ramen exists separately from instant noodle cups, it IS possible to write a really amazing and beautiful and deep romantic ship fic that successfully plays off of the kinds of people these characters are, but ramen still isn't the end-all be-all of relationships! there are so many different hypothetical dishes that could be made with the same characters!

and my personal favorite is polyqueerplatonic ships for this very reason, because with just a few characters you can get a whole diverse array of interactions and dynamics!!

anyway tldr; i think romantic shipping is fun, and even "cheap" reductive romantic shipping can be fun, but (to return to my instant noodles metaphor) it would be reasonably upsetting to attend an awesome community potluck only to find like 90% cup noodles. and the people serving the cup noodles frown at you whenever you ask if anyone's serving like, gourmet spaghetti or dumplings or something.

so just know that if you're bringing your silly "ouhhh they should kiss" fan works to the fandom, you're appreciated and I'm glad you're having fun, and if you're bringing the super precisely thought-out nuanced relationship fan works to the fandom, you are ALSO so appreciated and additionally i really wish there were more of you in my own fandoms.

flashbacks to the time i looked up a ship that i THOUGHT was pretty popular but it only had like 230 works on AO3 at the time and basically all of them were romantic instead of my hyper-specific one-sided queerplatonic one-sided fully platonic thing i had pictured in my mind....

Okay, as someone who has tried their hand at writing slow burn in the past, I totally get the instant gratification thing. "You know when would be a good time for them to kiss? NOW"

I'd get frustrated at my own characters for not just making out already and I was the one writing them not making out lmao

#fic asks #haveyoureadthisfic #pollblr #internet culture #fandom culture #fanfic

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gourmet-trash · 2 years

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Chapters: 4/? Fandom:Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Earthspark (Cartoon) Rating: Teen Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Breakdown/Knock Out (Transformers) Characters: Thundercracker (Transformers), Optimus Prime, Megatron (Transformers), Ratchet (Transformers), Twitch (Transformers), Robby Malto (Transformers), Mo Malto (Transformers), Thrash (Transformers), Knock Out (Transformers), Breakdown (Transformers), Bumblebee (Transformers) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Sickfic, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Optimus absuses emojis Series: Part 3 of IDK My BFF Thundercracker? Summary: "Distantly, he became aware of a pathetic, whining noise coming from somewhere nearby, and it took longer than it should have for Thundercracker to realize it was coming from him. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t see, and he was having a fragging panic attack. Way to go, TC! That would definitely help the situation!"

AKA what do you do when your friendly neighborhood ex-con gets sick and nobody seems capable of fixing it?

–

behold. the chapter with entirely too many fucking characters and ALSO where i start pushing my "tfe breakdown has two hands" agenda!

#seriously tho #kobdbee got a nice ring to it i'm just saying #i am also TERRIBLE at medical talk so i can't believe i let myself include this much of it #transformers #fanfic #transformers earthspark #tfe #gourmet ao3

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bapple117 · 6 months

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Chapter 9 of Bluest Monday is live!

A Radiostatic fic set in the 80s ~ AO3 Link! 18+

Here's a snippet!

One night, Vox orders an obscenely expensive meal to be delivered to them from a local restaurant; showing off his influence. They eat it, spread out and sat on Vox’s living room floor, the coffee table once again cast aside. Surrounded by trays of overpriced gourmet dishes, both demons feel like wealthy delinquents, revelling in fine gluttony. When the meal is finished, Alastor assaults Vox with a pounce, pinning him down. Grinning above him, his red hair falling forward, hands at Vox’s wrists, Alastor is captivating; the TV Demon thinks this is how he’d like to spend his life forever.

“I’ve got you now,” Alastor says, fuelled by wine and joy. “What will you do?”

Alastor means this as play only; he’s not thinking as far ahead as sex. Alastor simply desires to frolic with Vox, a little this-way-that-way. Vox picks up on the vibe; he’s happy to do whatever Alastor wants. Truthfully, he’s quite happy just to mess around, too.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ get you,” Vox grins back, his hands at Alastor’s sides, tickling him.

The Radio Demon’s expression darkens, eyes blackening; but he laughs, delighted, and they tousle together on the floor. Play fighting. Vox manages, somehow, to turn them around; Alastor pinned under him for a moment. Alastor conjures a black, creeping tentacle with his powers; it distracts Vox and confuses him for a moment, giving Alastor an in to get the upper hand. He shifts them so that he is once again back on top.

“That was dirty,” Vox says, amused but breathing heavily.

“I know,” Alastor says, smug, collapsing into Vox’s chest.

Game over. Vox happily welcomes the end of the skirmish, spent from the exertion of it. He pulls Alastor into him; they lay together on the living room floor.

Read the full story here!

#bluest monday #bapple writes #bapple's art #voxal #radiostatic #mutual radiostatic #staticlovetune #staticradio #alastor x vox #vox x alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin #vox hazbin #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin hotel fanfic #radiostatic fanfic #radiostatic fanfiction #bapple

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senselessviolets · 8 days

Text

“dream a little dream of me”

Roman Roy x Fem. Reader

Rating E

Word Count: 2.3k

AO3 Link

WARNINGS:

EXTREMELY dubious consent, somnophilia (reader is in and out of sleep), sleep/drunk sex (both Roman and Reader are drunk but Roman is more active/the one initiating during encounter), smut, alcohol, language, implied Roman eating disorder, erectile dysfunction mention, pervert!Roman, needy Roman, no uses of Y/N

Author's Notes:

A oneshot by @cum-a-calla opened my eyes recently and I realized “Roman + somno” might be my peanut butter & jelly. Like wow. What a concept. Jokes aside, this fic is dark so PLEASE be wary of the warnings above. <3

Summary:

Post-S4, Roman and Reader begin to date after working at Waystar Studios together. While they bond and flirt more and more, he continues to keep her at bay. One night, the two get extremely drunk at his apartment and suffice it to say—they both wind up getting what they want.

This was maybe your third or fourth time sleeping over. You honest to god never thought you’d make it this far. For all of his gross jokes and sexual provocations, Roman reviled intimacy.

It’s why when he first started to court you; you were so taken aback. You’d been around; you knew what the mumblings were about his ‘eccentricities’. You were the Director of Creative Affairs at the Waystar Studios L.A headquarters. A position you were remarkably young to have; your famous two-time Oscar-award-winning actress mother and prominent movie producer father having nothing to do with it at all.

Following the Gojo acquisition, Roman withdrew from executive operations, accepting the fact he no longer had a place there. That and he outright refused to be in the same room with Lukas Mattsson.

As such, he returned to the entertainment side of things (this time with no Frank to boss him around) and went back to living in L.A around the clock. Things hadn’t changed much in the three-year hiatus he had from working at Studios.

Well, except for you.

It was only in his absence that you got your job. You wondered had he been around during that time, if he would’ve made a stink over your dad pulling the strings and landing you the job. A practice that was completely foreign to him, no doubt. Of course with it being Roman, you knew with full certainty the answer—yes. Because who was he if not the world’s biggest hypocrite/walking contradiction?

You found this to be even more apparent after your first date. Roman made a point of booking the two of you a reservation for the most high-end, gourmet French restaurant in the city. Even though when the waiter came around to your secluded table with the 16 oz beef ribeye he’d ordered, Roman did no more than fidget with the garnish on the plate.

While on that same date, though he’d surprised you at the beginning of the evening with an ornate bouquet of red roses and white orchids—he didn’t deign to even so much as hold your hand the rest of that night.

Three months later, you and Rome had exchanged a myriad of kisses and flirtatious squeezes around the office. The suggestive texts the two of you exchanged, making tempting offers and filthy propositions. All of that build-up only to result in chaste nights in at his flat, eating takeout and bitching about the latest tentpole flop your studio was in the midst of developing. It could be worse, you thought. To say your needs were being met, though, would be a lie.

Tonight was different. Tonight was heavy.

The two of you had spent a good portion of the night sprawled out on the wooden floors of his living room, talking about nothing and downing a Japanese whisky neither of you could pronounce. The taste hadn’t left your mouths. You wondered if his would taste the same.

After deciding to turn in for the night, you gradually make your way toward the master bedroom, stumbling over yourself. He stops you from colliding into the wall several times. You and Roman make the most obnoxious-sounding cackles as the both of you hap-heartedly flop onto his Hastens Superia bed. You let yourself fall deep into the cotton wool mattress, landing somewhere between sleep and a drunken haze.

You feel yourself be pried out of this state as a force slowly turns you so you’re on your back. You can tell by the faint outline of his fluffy hair that it’s him. In this lighting or lack thereof, you don’t really know for sure. You give a weak smile, maybe even whisper a small “hi”. He waits to proceed until the expression has fully faded from your face and the heaviness in your eyelids takes over. His lips made rough with the scratch from his beard, are forcefully pressed onto yours. Once again, you are ripped out of the peaceful purgatory between awareness and slumber you’d just been slipping into. It’s hard to not liven up at the wet sensation of his tongue slipping past your lips.

Roman hadn’t ever kissed you like this.

Using your chin, he pries your mouth with his index finger so it's more open to him. Briefly, you consider gliding your tongue along his own, to reciprocate the motions, to achieve the taste you yourself so desperately craved. But you didn’t want him to stop.

To get in his head like he had a tendency to. To sever himself from you yet again.

So you remain still. Pliant. His.

Meanwhile, his one free hand has wandered elsewhere. Roman’s fully straddling you at this point so you can feel a firmness in between his thighs that hadn’t been present before. The hand alternates from palming himself to cupping your bare mound. The chill of his fingers causes you to flinch. You suppose in the arduous journey to get to his bedroom, you must have lost your bottoms. You don’t entirely remember having ever taken them off yourself.

It would remain a mystery.

The oversized white button-up blouse of yours has opened itself to Roman and his gaze. He moves the opposing sides of the fabric so they’re no longer covering your chest. Roman dives face first, smushing his face against the warm pillowy flesh of your breasts, inhaling deeply. He kneads them with his fingers and takes them into his mouth, sucking more gently than he wishes to. It’s clear Roman wishes not to disturb your ‘slumber’.

He shows you a devotion other men had hardly shown you when you were fully awake. It was all a jumbled mess in your head. Due to the surrealness of the whole situation but also the liquor as well.

Instead of working his way downwards like most guys naturally would, Roman instead makes his way up to your neck, burrowing his head in the crook near your shoulder. He takes a deeper inhale of the tender flesh there. Eventually his nose prods into your hair which was strewn all over the pillow your head rests on. There were times at the office when you could’ve sworn he took a brief inhale of your hair when sneaking past you. You didn’t say anything. Even after you two had begun ‘dating’, you still didn’t question it.

While Roman halts his movements and lies on top of you, your mind drifts, thinking something to the effect of, ‘if he’s this much of a pervert when I’m asleep at night, what kind of disgusting shit does he get up to in the daytime behind my back’?

You have no time to dwell on the thought because something cold and slender traces your opening. Due to its tensility, you’re able to make out that its his finger that now fumbles around your entrance. There’s no foreplay, no crescendo because in an instant, Roman is inside of you. You can’t help but mumble a whimper at the sudden intrusion. He freezes, keeping the tip of his finger in you. When he sees you don’t stir and go back to sleep, he plunges what feels like his index finger deeper into you. So deep, you fear he’ll run out of space to fill. He stops just before it becomes too uncomfortable. Not that the interaction was all that pleasant.

Mentally, you were aroused but physically, your body had yet to catch up.

“...not wet,” he says to himself.

He withdraws his hand quickly, spitting multiple times on his now two fingers, and wedges them both inside of you. The lube of his saliva provides some slick but it’s still making you sore.

“That better…? Hm…? Yeah…?” he coos, watching your emotionless face, “That what you need..?”

He smirks briefly when he sees your eyes flutter.

“Oh…you dreamin’, baby? Hm, you dreaming about me?” Roman taunts, in a shrill soft voice, “You better be. You better fuckin’ be.”

You clench reflexively as he says it. Roman drags his lower teeth against the smooth skin of your arm as he continues to pump his fingers into you rapidly. Fast enough that your increasing wetness is audible in the still silence of his bedroom. Roman ceases all of his movements at once, letting out a sharp exhale. Gradually, he removes his fingers from your pussy and a moment passes before you begin to feel something warm and moist being smeared across your lips. You realize it's your own fluids. The notion makes your stomach flip.

Roman proceeds to lick it off your lips. His tongue becomes more and more greedy and taking the opportunity to drag along the sides of your full cheeks. You get the impression this is something he’d thought about doing before, if not entirely because of how slowly he does it.

He’s fucking savoring it.

‘This’ll be it. He’ll just continue to fuck around a little more and use it as spank bait later,’ you predict.

The thought of Roman penetrating you with anything more than his fingers was truly unfathomable. There’d always been the rumor at work about him having ED (though the type of ED varied depending on who you were talking to) and needing the little blue pill to so much as jerk off. You never knew what to make of those claims. You disregarded them. But the stiffness that has been rutting against your hips and waist and thigh for the past half hour had you now wondering; ‘was he gonna go all the way?’.

A few more moments of nothingness pass. Then the metallic sound of a zipper being undone overwhelms your senses—the sonority soon replaced with dread. Even if he did position himself between your legs and bury himself fully inside of your unaroused cunt; ‘what would it really change?’

It wouldn’t suddenly make it ‘rape’.

That ship had sailed several digits ago.

You were on the pill if he decided to be lazy. You were clean and he had assured you many times he was as well—and you chose to believe him. The answer to your self-questioning was that it would simultaneously change ‘nothing’ and ‘everything’.

So you brace yourself for his full weight on top of you once more along with the new sensation of being stretched open on his cock.

But it doesn’t come.

Roman rolls off of you completely, laying adjacent to you on the mattress. There’s the rustling of fabric as he shimmies his slacks down his thighs. Roman’s hand flies to your wrist as he slides his dick into your relaxed grasp. Spitting into his palm and gliding the wet over the head of his cock, he begins to fuck your own fist in earnest.

The most pitiful, squeaky boyish moans leave his lips and he pants them into your shoulder, hot from the heat of his breath.

“F-f-fuck…oh f-ff…I…I fuckin’ need this, need this,” Roman whines into your hair, “Oh…oh…ohhh…needed this, need this, fuckin’ need this,”

His hips continue ramming into your hand at the same relentless pace. He’s clearly pent-up. Probably from the months of emotional anguish, familial turmoil, betrayal—with a dollop of grief on top. Small dabs of wetness is felt on your skin. At first, you think he’s drooling from arousal but you later realize those were tears.

It doesn’t deter from his sheer desperation, his uninhibited need, all on display.

You had been the one submitting yourself to him but somewhere along the way, the roles seemingly had become inverted. You hold back from biting your own lip. You had made it this far. You couldn’t fuck it up now. Not for him. If he stopped, you felt like you’d die a small death then and there.

“Oh, please, my sweet. Sweet little thing, please be sweet. Please be good. Please take what you need. What you’ve earned,” you’d chant, if you were even capable of speech, “Please cum. Please cum now.”

There’s no humanly possible way he could’ve heard your inner dialogue but his hips buck wildly and he unloads into your palm like he did.

“Thank you, thank you, I needed it, I needed it, baby…oh, I fuckin’...I fuckin’ needed …,” he trails off.

His vibrating body eventually after a long while goes still. You’re able to unravel your hand off of his softening cock. The stickiness between your fingers is still lukewarm. If you had the strength or the agency, you might wipe it off with a Kleenex or onto the sheets or the perv in you may try to sneak a sniff or a lick. But you like him are beyond spent. He stays facing you, laying on his side, now sound asleep with a gentle snore. You remain on your back, shirt ripped open, naked from the lower half, face staring deep, deep into the void of the ceiling.

It was this empty blackness—this dark—that you slowly felt yourself being compelled to. It’s where your darkest urges liked to dwell. The desires you never felt the courage to voice, even to those you trusted the most. It felt cliche to say you often saw Roman on the other side of this void. You got the impression it’s an island he’d marooned himself on for a long time. Every partner that tried to swim out to him sunk to the bottom of the ocean floor. And there they stayed in the depths of his subconscious. Submerged, sodden, drowned memory of a person that for years would continue to be buried by guilt. By shame. Fear. You refused to succumb to that same fate.

As you let the sleep overtake your tired limbs and melt into oblivion, you swear you see him in that void. Expressionless. He’s numb, like you. He’s scared, like you. He doesn’t know what he wants, much less what he needs. And neither do you. So in the meantime, you silently agree to meet him there in that void. In that black. Again and again.

As long as you found each other in the end.

{ Feedback is welcome! }

Follow me on twt: @endlessviolets

#roman roy x reader #roman roy angst #roman roy fluff #roman roy smut #roman roy x you #roman roy imagine #roman roy succession #succession fanfic #succession x reader #succession hbo #succession #roman roy

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shhtickerbook · 8 months

Text

Little Chocolatier

Finally finished my Wonka agere fic!

tw: crying, nightmares, bedwetting, hurt / comfort

also posted this on Ao3

Willy Wonka came tumbling down the laundry chute, a pile of sheets piled over him like a stereotypical ghoul. It had been a very long day selling chocolate around the city, his pouch of sovereigns jingled like an instrument as he walked.

Lugging himself out of the laundry cart, Willy smiled weakly up at his friends who were finishing up for the day. Placing down the pocketful of coins on abacus’ table, who picked up his spectacles from his desk.

“Let me get these counted up for you Mr Wonka, I’d say we’re making more and more money each day”

The man spoke as he counted out his coins, Willy nodding. His head was feeling a little odd, like he hadn’t had the best sleep for a while. His days revolved around chocolate and chocolate only, and of course still trying to catch that little orange man. Willys body ached from running from police all day, and for once it was hard to keep his usual chipper and positive energy. His head just felt a little out of gear.

“You okay Willy?”

Piper was hanging up sheets, but had noticed the slight change in the chocolatiers body language. He quickly jumped in reply, putting on his smile and charm.

“Of course! Just a little fatigued. I better head to bed”

He chirpily replied, before making a quick exit to head up to his room. An early night was what probably he needed, to clear the cobwebs from his mind. It was always strange when he felt like this, like a fog overcame his senses. Things just seemed louder, too bright. He just needed some time to rest. The sight of his room wasn’t exactly warming, the metal framed bed teetering on edge, with a yellowing sheet and thin mattress. It wasn’t pretty, but it was the only home he had right now. At least until he made enough money to open his store. Then he could purchase his own house, with enough room for all his friends to move in.

Humming softly as he got changed into his nightclothes, he watched the rain beginning to drop from the sky and glittering against the oil streetlights. This was the only good part of the room, able to see all the way down to the glowing light of the gallery gourmet.

“One day Mamma….”

A young Willy wonka awoke in a fright, feeling his centre of gravity tilt for a moment before being thrown from his bed. He had been flung to wooden floorboards, swaying back and forth. It was his canal boat home, but there were no lights, and the once comfortable and cosy furniture was decrepit and molding.

There was a huge roar from outside, howling wind and torrential rain pour. Willy tried to get to his feet, stumbling from the imbalance. What had happened, where was his mother?

“Mamma? Where are you?”

He called out, managing to find the shape of the ladder in the dark. It was incredibly difficult to try and ascend it with the boat rocking back and forth. The boy was immediately hit by a spray of water when he opened the hatch. The canal boat was racing down the water, a terrible storm hitting in every direction.

“Mamma!”

Willy sheltered his face with his elbow, a gust of cold wind causing his favourite scarf unravel and be sucked away. Usually they tied the boat up when bad weather came, he couldn’t even recognise where the boat had been blown to. A sudden flash of light flashed in front of his eyes, disorienting him before a gigantic bang threw him back. Thunder and lightning, it was one of the very few things that frightened him. Usually his mother would hold him close when it thundered, humming a soft tune to drown out the bangs. He wanted nothing more than to find her, where in earth had she gone, why had she left him alone?

His threadbare boots skidded against the wet floorboards, the boat bowing up high in the water. Scrambling he attempted to hold on to anything, but it was no use. In one awful weightless sensation, the boy was thrown from the boat and plunged deep into the choppy freezing water.

“Mamma!”

Willy jerked up from bed, clutching at his chest as he began to hyperventilate. His room was filled with darkness, his oil lamp had long burned itself out. But the darkness was quickly replaced with a flash of light from outside, followed by a bang. Flinching violently at the noise, still disoriented from waking up. The dream had felt so real, like he could still feel the cold water he’d been plunged into…

Oh dear.

Frantically he felt around his sheets, sighing out in despair when finding them cold and sopping wet. This was a problem of which that had only happened from time to time, and up until this point it hadn’t occurred whilst he’d been saying at Scrubbits. Willy felt his eyes watering, Mama always helped him when he was young and this happened. It had happened once or twice on the ship, but thankfully there was a very kindly second mate with the same problem who had caught him one evening hunting for sheets.

Sheets… that’s it. He was literally living at Scrubbit and Bleachers, all he had to do was sneak down and wash them, dry and make it back to his room. Although when he stood up and felt the cold breeze through the warped window, all his confidence disappeared and all he wanted to do was curl up and cry. Willy didn’t think he’d ever wanted his mother more in his life, he certainly didn’t want to deal with this.

His head felt fuzzy and strange, vulnerable even. Thankfully a small stuffed creature had been spared from the mess, a floppy knitted bird was strewn against his pillow. Willy picked up the ratty bird, his name was Chester the toucan. Mama had made him when he was a baby, told him stories about where the flocks of birds lived. They even cracked open cocoa beans for food, not the bitter nibs, but the soft sweet flesh surrounding them. Chester was his most loyal companion, so with a deep breath, he tucked the bird under his arm and gathered up the soaked sheets, carefully tiptoeing out of his room.

The creaking floorboards didn’t help his attempt of stealth, but he managed to make his way down the hall and down the stairs. The freezing cold rain and wind felt agonising in just his damp pajamas when he made it outside, the silly man completely forgetting to slip on shoes or any kind of coat on beforehand. The rain was getting torrential, with a deep rumbling in the distance. Willy managing to sprint across the cobblestones to the laundry room just before another bang rang out.

Abacus Crunch was a very light sleeper, so when the thunder and lightning began, he resolved to just sit and read for a while until it had passed. He quite enjoyed this kind of weather, he’d read in a book that the sound of thunder created a kind of “white noise” that helped one relax. And his keen hearing picked up on the sound of somebody getting up, but he thought nothing of it. But then he heard the sound of a door loudly open outside, and couldn’t help but stand up to investigate. His pocket watch read that it was 12:35 in the morning, so nobody should be outside at this time. Mrs Scrubbit and Bleacher had threatened any fool who left the building out of hours with multiple gruesome punishments.

So when he peered through the window to see what looked like Willy Wonka darting into the washhouse, he couldn’t help but be curious. What on earth was Mr Wonka doing at this time of night, and in his pajamas of all things?Too peculiar to ignore, the man stood up and put some sensible clothes on to investigate further.

Willy really wished he had brought some kind of light with him, the inside of the washhouse looked rather unnerving with only the moonlight and flash of thunder illuminating the interior. He felt around the walls until he found a shelf, scrambling until he found the shape of a candle, box of matches not far behind.

It took a few attempts to strike the match, his shivering hands struggling to get the damn candle lit. But on the fourth attempt he got the old stub of candle alight, having to settle with the puny flame to guide him. He couldn’t just throw the soiled sheets in the hamper, someone for sure would find them tomorrow and question. There was no choice but to wash them, dry and redress his bed. A bitterly cold draft swept through the building, his wet pajamas feeling icy against his skin. With his precious candle being snuffed out in one single breeze.

He groaned in defeat, swallowing anxiously. Wondering just how he was going to do this on his own, he wanted to go back to bed but his bed was now wet and ruined. What was even wrong with him right now? Willy Wonka was the most independent, confident person you could know, why was something as silly as a bad dream and thunder making him feel so unsettled. The knitted toucan in his arm was the only thing he could find some comfort in right now, his button eyes glinting in the moonlight. Holding the bird close to his face, it’s very faint chocolate smell still there from years past.

Taking a deep breath he walked in further, trying to find a washtub. Eventually feeling around to find a large wooden vat. As he was about to dump the sheets inside, to his horror he heard the door loudly creaking open, a yellow light appearing from atop the stairs.

In a panic Willy grabbed at his curls, breathing beginning to hitch. Heavy footsteps echoing down the stairs, the possibilities of who it could be racing through his brain, before coming to a horrifying conclusion. Bleacher. If he found him like this he would never ever hear the end of it, he’d be humiliated beyond belief. The terrible man would probably parade his sodden sheets like a flag to everybody, laughing at stupid Willy Wonka bedwetter.

Willy didn’t know what to do, sliding down to the floor behind the washtub. The steps continued down, watching the warm light fill up the room. In a few moments his hiding spot would be for sure revealed.

“Mr Wonka?”

It was a deep voice, but not gravelly and sinister. A gentle baritone rumble, sounding kind. Although feeling relief that it wasn’t Bleacher, the panic still remained of being caught. He stayed silent, hopeful he would leave. But as Abacus walked further, there was no place left to hide, the man turning a corner to see the chocolatier doing his best to stay in the shadows.

“Oh I’m fine- please just go back to bed”

He squeaked out, but his tone only concerned the other man further. Abacus approaching further with his lamp, illuminating the boy in its shine. In the warm light there was no way to hide his predicament, a terrible silence between the two. Abacus had been concerned as to what on earth was going on, but his expression softened when seeing the chocolatier clutching a handful of sheets in his wet pyjamas.

“Ohh”

Abacus breathed out sympathetically, watching as the Willy Wonkas face crumpled before he looked away with tears in his eyes. A huge lump had formed in his throat, everything felt like it was closing in on him. He couldn’t help but hold onto the silly little bird for security as he felt tears fill his eyes.

“Oh dear boy, it’s quite alright”

Abacus placed the lamp on a table before approaching, his heartstrings being pulled at the sight of the poor boy. He looked so very vulnerable and afraid.

“I’m so sorry”

Wonka admitted quietly, feeling so ashamed. But the kind tone of the older gentleman was weakening his defences. Unable to hold back a small sob, as his body folded in on itself. Abacus was certainly shocked by the reaction, having never seen the man so emotional. Of course he had every reason to feel embarrassed, but it wasn’t something Abacus hadn’t seen before being both a father and grandfather.

“There’s nothing to apologise for, it happens to the best of us”

He spoke gently, putting an arm around the chocolatier. It was the straw the broke the camels back for Willy, the comforting voice and affection only making him think of his mother. More tears bubbling over as he couldn’t hold it back anymore. The fuzzy feeling in his head felt even stronger, all he wanted was to be held and to be secure.

Abacus knew that this situation was probably very embarrassing for him, but this kind of breakdown made him think that there was more going on in his head than the accident.

He felt Willy Wonkas knees buckle underneath him, so he held him up before guiding the pair over to a bench. It was clear he needed to get whatever this was out of his system, the mathematician holding an arm over his frame and allowing him to whimper into his shoulder. Although feeling so very embarrassed, Willy couldn’t help but cling to the man, especially when another crack of lightning rung out.

“Ah I see, I gather you’re not a fan of fulgur tempestas”

Abacus had begun to rub small circles into his back, remembering how his Sons were very comforted by the simple gesture. Willy looked up in mild confusion between his tears, not understanding what word was said. Perhaps it was made up, like he usually did when he couldn’t find a rhyme for something. Abacus just chuckled softly.

“Lightning, you’re afraid of it?”

Willy just hunched up a little and quickly nodded with his head turned away, it was a very silly thing to feel so afraid of. It was odd to see Willy Wonka seeming so.. small? Even with his tall lanky frame it felt as if he was holding a scared little boy.

“Now, it’s quite late and getting very chilly. How about we get you more comfortable? You’re shivering”

He patted him on the back, but Willy just looked down anxiously at the sheets still clutched in his hands.

“No need to worry about those, I’ll take them personally and get them cleaned. Nobody has to know”

Standing up, he pulled the damp sheets from his grasp before carefully folding them and placing them in an old washtub behind his desk. Sighing sympathetically at the boys forlorn expression, but gave a small smile when seeing a little creature tucked away under an arm.

“Is that your companion?”

He gestured at the knitted toy, Willy blushing at first and trying to hide it. But Abacus sounded nice about him, not like he was going to poke fun. Hesitantly he presented the bird, his bean filled head sloping to the left. Abacus chuckled as he saw it clearly, it was a very charming little toy.

“Chester.”

Willy spoke extremely quietly, chin to his chest selfconsciously.

“Hm? What was that?”

He leant in closer, holding a hand to his ear.

“Chester, his name”

His voice was so very small, not his usual confident chirpy tone. Yet again Abacus felt his heartstrings being pulled upon, the fatherly instincts in him taking over when he heard that little voice.

“That’s a very good name.”

For the first time that night Abacus caught a small smile from the boy, but it disappeared when a low rumble from outside growled ominously. He held the bird close to him again for comfort, which was a very sweet sight. It truly was as if Willy Wonka had transformed into a small child, his entire body language and demeanour seemed different. Abacus took a step further and bent down a little to his sitting level, holding out his large hand.

“How about we head back to your room and I help you get sorted, you’ll catch your death in those wet things”

His tearstained face looked up, not seeming quite sure. A part of him wanted to stand up straight and assure he was completely alright, he could take care of himself. But when he saw the kind expression on the older man, all he yearned for was his comfort and security. So he accepted the offer, holding onto his hand tight as he stood up.

Abacus couldn’t hold back the sympathetic smile as he guided the boy out of the washhouse, the desperate grip in his grasp reminded him so of his son many years ago. When they made it back outside, he handed Wonka the oil lamp whilst he pulled out his umbrella.

“Now, only a quick walk back inside, could you carry the lamp for me?”

The pair briskly walked through the rain to their accommodation, Willy holding on for dear life throughout the thunder. He’d been so afraid of being caught, but right now he couldn’t feel more grateful to be with in the man’s protection. His head was feeling at its fuzziest. Thankfully it only took a few seconds, Abacus folding up the umbrella once they had made it back inside. Willy had his hands full with the oil lamp and knitted toy, Abacus taking the oil lamp back from his grasp.

“Well done, thank you.”

The simple praise made Wonka glow inside, feeling genuinely proud of such a simple simple task. As quietly as they both could, they ascended the creaking stairs together until they came into Willy’s room. Once they entered the room, Abacus immediately noticed the stain across the mattress. The sight of it making Willys face burn red in embarrassment, but the older man was completely unbothered.

“Alright then, have you got a spare nightclothes?”

Abacus turned as he rubbed his hands together, Willy just standing there with a shrug. He hadn’t brought many clothes with him here, just his signature velvet outfit, a few shirts and only one pair of pyjamas. The other man just sighed in amusement, especially when noting the large amount of chocolate related instruments and inventions in comparison to how little clothes he owned.

“Well, you sit there and I’ll be back in just a moment”

Obediently he sat down on the stool, feeling a little worried about him leaving even if for a few moments. Sqomething about him taking control made him feel wonderfully secure. After Mamma died he had nobody to care for him, no one to tell him what to do. It strangely felt quite good for somebody else to take control. When Abacus returned, it looked to be a large pinstriped sheet in his hands.

“Now this will likely be a bit large on you, but it’ll have to do for now.”

He unfurled the fabric, revealing a white and pale blue pinstripe nightgown. One that would certainly go past Wonkas feet, but the gesture was very touching. Everything abacus was doing for him right now was just.. so kind? Why was he doing this for him? Once again his face screwed up, softly crying as fat tears spilled over.

“Ahh”

Abacus placed the gown on his lap before kneeling to the ground. (With some difficulty with his aching joints) Pulling out a cotton handkerchief from his pocket before dabbing at his cheeks.

“You’re feeling right out of sorts aren’t you?”

The chocolatier just nodded tearfully, allowing his hot teary face be mopped up so carefully. Abacus even getting him a glass of cold water, even if it tasted rather metallic from the Scrubbit plumbing.

“Now I’ll sponge your mattress out, then we can just turn it over for tonight.”

His deep voice narrated, making it his responsibility to make sure the boy could sleep comfortably tonight. Meanwhile Willy changed from the damp clothes into the large nightgown. It smelled softly of lavender soap, much nicer than the usual musty odour of his old pyjamas. Although It came far past his feet, even trailing down like a brides train. When abacus turned from the now turned over and fresh bed, he couldn’t hold back the chuckle at the sight of him.

“Certainly is rather big on you, but it will have to do for tonight.”

He spoke with a smile, guiding a hand on his shoulder towards the bed. He had stripped it and replaced it with fresh smelling sheets. Just before hopping into bed, Willy turned to his case on the desk. It was busy at work pumping out chocolates, but his goal was to turn a little golden handle a few times. It wound for a few moments before a series of notes began to play, a music box tune. A familiar song that always brought him comfort, the exact one his mother would hum under her breath.

“It’s getting late Mr Wonka, perhaps it’s time for you to get settled in bed”

Giving a tap on his shoulder, Willy turned to see his kind expression, holding open the blanket. With a nod he followed, climbing into the now clean and dry bed. For the first time since his mamma was around, he found himself being tucked into the bed. For a moment Abacus wondered what he was doing, bearing in mind that Mr Wonka was indeed a young adult. But there was something about his behaviour right now that didn’t seem usual.

Willy stretched out in bed, pulling the knitted toucan out with his beak poking over the blanket. When Abacus went to leave up though, Willy sat right up in bed with a concerned expression. Upon seeing the reaction to the idea of his departure, Abacus paused for a moment.

“How about I stay for a little while?”

His body relaxed at the statement. Willy didn’t quite know why, but he really really did not want to be away from Abacus right now. Pulling up a stool next to the bed, he noted how Willy began to settle at his presence. Thinking for a moment, he asked the question that had been brewing in his mind for the past hour.

“Im not saying this to offend- Willy, but would you say that you sometimes have a little trouble.. staying grown?”

The question startled Willy at first, trying to process what Abacus had just asked him. He thought for a little while, so much so that Abacus could practically hear the cogs turning round and round in his head. That fuzzy feeling in his head, how sometimes everything around him felt so overwhelming. The overstimulating sensation of feeling so vulnerable. He pulled both his knees up to his chin, finding himself chewing on his thumbnail.

“Maybe..”

Abacus put an arm around the boy, who leant into his shoulder. Perhaps this was simply an outlet that he needed, from what he knew about the chocolatier he had to raise himself after his mother died. He also vaguely remembered from reading from an old psychology textbook that this kind of behaviour could be a result of trauma too. A kind of mental regression response.

“Well i don’t see any problem here, it’s okay to need some extra help and support at times.”

Abacus felt an overwhelming urge to take care of this little boy, especially when seeing the way he held onto the little knitted bird. If this was what he required, he was happy to oblige if he needed him. Then he had a thought, remembering what he was doing before all of this.

“Would you like it if I read you a story? I was in the middle of re-reading an old favourite of mine earlier.”

Willy perked up a little, he couldn’t read books very well. Even with Noodles current teachings, he had vague memories of his mother reading to him, so he nodded furiously. With a smile, Abacus rose up from the stool to return to his room, finding the discarded book lying face down on his desk.

Willy was still tucked beneath the covers, waiting in anticipation. With the book tucked under his arm, Abacus took his place on the stool beside.

“Now this is a very good story, it’s called the Wizard of Oz”

So Abacus began to read the story aloud, Willy taking his place by leaning into his shoulder. Feeling the rumble of the man’s chest as his deep baritone voice narrated the book. At first he tried to follow the words with his voice, like how Noodle taught him so. But it became too muddled for him to follow, all the letters seeming to dance around. Instead he focused on the small inked in illustrations, tracing them gently with his fingertip. He paid attention to the story though for as long as he could, but he couldn’t feel his eyelids drooping. He hadn’t even gotten to the second chapter when he could feel himself drifting off, but he felt a sense of peace that he hadn’t felt in quite a while.

Once the chocolatier was well and truly out of the count, Abacus gently closed the book as to not awaken him. Not before tucking the sheet around his sleeping frame, the boys thumb discreetly tucked away in his mouth. With a smile he crept away, deciding to leave the oil lamp to burn itself out Incase he awoke.

“Goodnight dear Wonka.”

#agere fic #agere fanfic #little! wonka #wonka 2023 #wonka agere #fandom agere #fandom agere art #agere art #age regression #age regressor #age dreaming #agere blog #agere community #safe agere #agere little #sfw agere #sfw interaction only #sfw littlespace

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whump-tr0pes · 6 months

Text

Honor Bound 6 - 26

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, Honor Bound 4, Honor Bound 5, and the prequel Vera.

AO3

Masterlist

Contents: PTSD, past captivity, references to being unsure of reality, thoughts of murder, self-harm themes, bad reaction to discovering self-harm, harm reduction, recovery

Isaac felt better already, knowing there was a locked door between him and the rest of the world. He had locked it behind Vera and Tori as they came in with tonight’s dinner: a hearty shepherd’s pie with rich bites of tender chicken, carrots, and potatoes all in a mouthwatering gravy. Once he had locked the front door, he had walked to the back door and made sure – for the second or third time since he’d gotten home – that it was still locked. It was, but it didn’t hurt to be so sure.

Edrissa had gotten into the house through the unlocked back door and then held a knife to Gavin’s throat. Isaac would have to be stupid to not check, and recheck, and check again.

Isaac sat on one side of Gavin on the couch, and Gray sat on the other. Vera, Sam, and Tori sat sandwiched on the other couch. Now that everyone was finished with dinner, Gavin leaned against Isaac’s side, and Isaac’s arm was slung over his shoulders. Gavin wasn’t shivering for the first time since they’d left the house that morning. Isaac was sated on two large slices of shepherd’s pie.

And yet, he ached to be holding his gun. The concerned glances Vera was throwing him weren’t helping.

“Thank you so much for bringing dinner,” Gray said, finally breaking the silence. “Did you make the pie, or buy it in town?”

“Bought it,” Vera said with a chuckle. “I appreciate your faith in us, but after everything… um. Recently.” She gave a stiff shrug. “Neither of us have felt like cooking.” She smiled tiredly at Tori over Sam’s head.

Gray let out a huff. “Same here,” they said gently. “But we’ve all been… through a lot. I don’t think anyone’s expecting anyone else to be out there crafting gourmet meals.”

“Except Edrissa,” Vera said tightly. “Apparently she’s been, uh… helping Meredith out. With the pies at the general store. Spending most of her time there, actually.”

“Really,” Gray said. Their tone was perfectly even.

Isaac’s hand tightened into a fist as the image of her flashed through his mind – cowering behind Gavin in that bathroom, eyes wild and streaming, clutching herself, looking terrified, as if she was the fucking victim and not the one pressing a knife to a man’s throat hard enough to draw blood just seconds before.

To Gavin’s throat.

His jaw ached and he swallowed hard. He forced himself to release his fist and brushed his lips to Gavin’s temple instead. He felt Vera’s eyes on him the whole time. He cleared his throat.

Sam wet their lips and leaned forward, seeming to sense the tension. “We’ve been keeping things as calm as possible here,” they said with a glance at Isaac. “Mostly just… sleeping.” They laughed. “All of us. Mostly Gray.”

“I don’t appreciate the accusation,” Gray said good-naturedly. “Although, god, I’ve never slept so much in my life.”

“What about you, Gavin?” Tori said softly. She reached over the back of the couch and rested a hand on Vera’s shoulder. “How are you sleeping?”

Gavin relaxed further against Isaac’s side and drew in a deep breath, thinking. “Well,” he murmured. “Better than in… than with Schiester. That’s definitely for sure. But…” Isaac bit his lip and waited for the second shoe to drop. “…it’s… sometimes hard to tell where I am. When I wake up.”

Isaac’s heart twisted. He knew all too well the things Gavin said, and fucking believed, when he wasn’t sure if he was staring at Isaac himself or merely a figment of his own imagination.

“D-don’t you want to… to punish me? …you want to, right? It’s… Isaac, it’s… it’s okay. It’s not… real, I know that. You can do… whatever you want. I can give that to you… if you want. I know it doesn’t really help you… But it’s what I have. P-please don’t stop touching me. Please… Isaac… please, this… this feels better than… a-anything he does to me.”

Shame clogged Isaac’s throat. His fingers itched for his knife. Fuck.

“Yeah,” Vera was saying. “Yeah, that’s… that’s the hardest part, I think. After. The waking up and not knowing, for a while.”

Isaac’s head snapped up. Vera held Gavin’s gaze, and he stared at her with an understanding that Isaac had never shared. Even though everyone except for Gray had been held captive, tortured, collared – what Gavin and Vera shared now was different. They had both been taken, punished by a sadist, had their minds broken down by pain and time – and drugs, in Gavin’s case. They had been kept in a basement, shackled for use because it brought a madman pleasure.

And they had both been alone.

Isaac’s hand shook as he slid it into Gavin’s and squeezed.

“Does that ever go away?” Gavin murmured, as if he had forgotten anyone else was there. Tears shone in his eyes.

“Yes,” Vera answered immediately. Then, she said, “Mostly. Months or years go by, and then you’ll have a shitty day or a bad nightmare and you’ll wake up not knowing where you are again. But the thing that matters is, it passes. And you’re always, always out once it passes.”

“Unless I get taken again,” Gavin whispered as the tears spilled over. “Like you did. Twice.” He shuddered and muffled a sob against Isaac’s shoulder.

Isaac’s arms wound around him in a trembling embrace, pulling Gavin into his lap. Vera stared at the floor, chewing on her lip.

She was taken again three times, if you count the time she went in to save Tori and killed Joseph Stormbeck to escape.

Isaac bit his tongue and shook his head to clear the thought.

“Alright, scootch over,” Tori mumbled as she crossed the living room to drop into the spot where Gavin had been sitting, gently laying a hand on Gavin where he now sat shivering on Isaac’s lap. She pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and draped it across Gavin’s shoulders. “There, better?”

Gavin nodded with his face pressed to Isaac’s neck. His tears streamed into the neckline of Isaac’s shirt. He wrapped Gavin up again, carefully tucking him in, and glanced at Tori inquisitively.

Tori nodded at Vera. “She’s a lot more sensitive to cold when she’s in the thick of it,” she said gently. “And he’s got goosebumps.”

“No shit?” Vera said. “Is that why you always get a blanket when I’m having a bad day?”

The corner of Tori’s mouth curved up. “Yes, dear, that’s why I always get a blanket when you’re having a bad day.”

Vera raised her eyebrows. “No shit,” she mumbled.

“Schiester k-kept the basement cold,” Gavin muttered into Isaac’s neck. “If I wanted blankets I had to… t-tell him things.”

All the blood drained from Isaac’s face. “What… kinds of things?” he croaked.

“Confessions,” Gavin whimpered. “I… I don’t think most of them were true. I don’t remember. I didn’t care. I was cold. Ziegler told me most of the things I admitted to weren’t true.”

“Who the fuck is Ziegler and are we killing them?” Vera said, sitting up straight and staring at Isaac. “Someone who knew you were down there?”

“Y-yes,” Gavin managed through a particularly violent shudder. “He… he didn’t… hurt me as much. And he… let me go.”

Vera’s eyes went wide. “Like—”

“Not like Ryan,” Isaac said sternly. Tears glittered on Vera’s eyelashes. “Just a guard who decided not to kill me when I was pulling Gavin out.”

“He didn’t hurt me,” Gavin said in a small voice. “He… he could have but he… didn’t.”

“But—”

“Fair enough, Gavin,” Vera interrupted. She shot Isaac a glare. “I get it. That can be enough to keep you sane. Just one person who doesn’t want to hurt you as much as the others.”

Gavin nodded weakly against Isaac’s neck. Isaac tried to meet Vera’s glare, but she shot daggers at him and he faltered. Tori’s hand moved in small, gentle circles on Gavin’s back.

“No one’s taking you again,” Isaac whispered against Gavin’s hair. His arms shook with how hard he squeezed Gavin. “No one. You’re safe, alright? You’re… you’re safe.”

As soon as Edrissa is dealt with—

I wonder if I could get to her before anyone realizes what I’ve done—

“You’re okay, Gavin,” Tori said gently, her hair mingling with his as she leaned in close. “We’ve got you.”

“Y-yeah,” Gavin heaved, and shuddered violently. His hand wrapped around Isaac’s wrist. “Yeah. I’m out.”

Edrissa’s the one who last made him question where he was. I’m going to fucking—

“What the fuck is that?” Vera snapped from her place on the couch.

Isaac’s head shot up and he glanced around the room, ready to neutralize the threat. He met Vera’s eyes and realized she was looking at him – no, not at him.

At his arm.

The sleeve was pulled up slightly on his forearm, exposing a scar left by Gavin’s knife – and the cut he himself had made over it, not five days ago. The angry line flared red in the dim light, and it was devastatingly obvious what it was.

Isaac dragged the sleeve down over the cut, obscuring his entire hand. “Nothing,” he growled.

“Isaac, fuck,” Vera breathed. She rose from the couch and stood over Isaac, staring down at him, looking stricken. “That…” Her hand shot out and she grabbed his wrist, pulling the sleeve up to reveal the line of cuts up and down Isaac’s arm.

Isaac yanked his arm out of Vera’s grasp, cringing back into the couch. Gavin slid off his lap and partially onto Tori. Isaac couldn’t even look at Tori; he could barely bring himself to look at Vera, who stared down at him in horror.

“It’s nothing,” Isaac pleaded with a broken voice.

“Vera, let’s respect Isaac’s desire for privacy,” Gray said, a little weakly.

Isaac could feel Gavin’s gaze drilling holes into the side of his head. He blinked back tears and swallowed hard against the shame strangling him. Slowly, he opened his mouth to speak.

Vera beat him to it. “I… told you not to punish yourself,” she said. She held her hands lamely out to her sides. “You said you wouldn’t—”

“No, I didn’t,” Isaac said through his teeth. “I never said that.”

Vera shook her head. “But—”

“I wouldn’t have said that,” Isaac said. His voice was fading, cracking under the pressure of Vera’s gaze. Having Gavin so close to him, feeling all eyes in the room on him, on his arms, safely hidden again under his long sleeves, was too much to bear. He swallowed again, hoping his dinner would stay down. “I never lied to you.”

“I n-never said you did,” Vera croaked. Her hands were in fists at her sides now. “I… how long?”

Isaac shook his head. He glanced at Sam, who stared right back at him. A quiet sort of pain pinched their mouth. “I… would really rather not have this conversation,” he said thickly.

“Yeah, I bet you wouldn’t,” Vera breathed. She sniffed and lifted her chin against the tears that glittered in her eyes. “Isaac… why didn’t you tell me?”

“What, and have you react like this?” He meant to snarl the words, but they came out weak and pathetic sounding.

She nodded slowly. “You’re right,” she murmured. “That’s… that’s fair. I’m sorry, I… This isn’t… how I should be reacting.”

“Let’s everyone take a breath,” Gray said softly. “Vera, do you want to sit down?”

Vera returned to her couch on stiff legs and fell to her seat beside Sam. Isaac could breathe a little easier, without her standing over him. Gavin crawled back onto his lap and wrapped his arms around Isaac’s neck.

“Sorry,” Vera said flatly. She drew in a deep inhale and let it out in a gusty breath. “Sorry. That’s… probably the last fucking thing you needed.”

“Yeah,” Isaac said. He shrank as Gavin laid his head on his shoulder.

“Isaac, can I touch you?” Tori said. Isaac jumped, but relaxed a little when he met her eyes. Her gaze was soft, sad, but not filled with horror. Not like Vera’s. He nodded, and she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I’m really sorry,” Vera whispered. “That was… I wish I could take that back.” She wiped her eyes and sat up, taking another deep breath. “That was shitty of me.”

“No,” Isaac grumbled. His arms stung as if all the cuts were brand new. He longed to scratch at the ones that itched, but he couldn’t bear to draw any more attention to them. He swallowed tightly. “I should never have…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

“No.” Vera held up a shaking hand. “Don’t… don’t do that.” She raked her fingers through her hair and stared at the floor. “Um…”

Isaac couldn’t bring himself to say any of the things that were echoing through his head:

I know this hurts you. I know I did it because I’m weak. I know I would never have had to do it if I had just kept my family safe in the first place. I know…

He knew right where his knife was, too. Gray had taken the one he usually used, but he had another in his pack. All he would have to do is—

“Boy I wish someone else would say something,” Vera said with a broken laugh.

Gray leaned forward with a warm glance toward Isaac. “Did you hear Sam is going to be staying with us?” they said, without missing a beat. Isaac could have cried with gratitude at no longer being the subject of discussion.

Tori beamed and glanced at Sam. “I didn’t hear that! That’s so great.” Her voice was tighter than Gray’s, but it was still light. Isaac felt a wash of gratitude for her, too.

“Yeah,” Sam said. They sounded so tired. But happy, too. “Yeah, I talked to Zachariah about it and… I’m going to be staying here for a while.” They grinned at Isaac. “The foreseeable future.”

“That’s awesome,” Vera said, with only a little flatness to her voice.

“We’re definitely happy about it,” Gray said with a smile.

“It’ll be really nice to… to have you here, Sam,” Isaac croaked. He rearranged his face into what was probably a smile and willed the darkness in his chest to dissipate. “It’ll be nice to be together.” His arms tightened around Gavin as he said it.

Sam nodded, their expression brightening further. “We were worried about where I was going to sleep, but…” They patted the couch cushion next to them. “Turns out this couch is extremely comfortable. After how long we spent on the road, just about anything feels good.”

“You slept on my floor on an air mattress for months,” Tori said with a laugh. “Anything is better than that.”

“Even sleeping on the ground during winter?” Sam said with a mischievous smile. All at once, the exhaustion around their eyes faded away, and they looked like themself again. They looked like the Sam Isaac had always known.

“Depends on the winter,” Tori said. “In the south it wasn’t bad.”

“I’ll take the air mattress,” Vera interjected, raising her hand. “If I get a say.”

“Yeah, because it was on my floor,” Tori shot back with a conspiratory grin.

Everyone laughed at that, even Isaac. He felt the cold fist around his heart loosen a bit, then fall away entirely. As he looked around at the people he loved, feeling Gavin’s warm weight in his lap and Gray’s shoulder brushing his, he could breathe a little easier. He could survive another few minutes without his knife.

Perhaps he could go without it entirely, tonight. It would still be there in the morning if he needed it, and he figured he would. But… maybe then he could just hold some ice instead, if he didn’t need it too badly. What he knew for sure, though, was that he didn’t need the knife tonight.

With his family around him, alive, safe… he could go without the knife for a little longer.

Continued here

@womping-grounds , @free-2bmee , @quirkykayleetam , @walkingchemicalfire , @inpainandsuffering , @redwingedwhump , @burtlederp , @castielamigos-whump-side-blog , @whatwhumpcomments , @whumpywhumper , @stxck-fxck , @whumps-the-word , @justplainwhump , @finder-of-rings , @inky-whump , @orchidscript , @inkyinsanity , @this-mightaswell-happen , @newandfiguringitout , @whumpkitty , @pretty-face-breaker , @pebbledriscoll , @im-just-here-for-the-whump , @endless-whump , @grizzlie70 , @oops-its-whump , @kixngiggles, @1phoenixfeather , @butwhatifyouwrite , @carnagecardinal , @whumpifi , @squishablesunbeam

#honor bound 6 #hurt/comfort #angst #whump #Isaac/Gavin #HMS ToriVera #PTSD #past captivity #unsure of reality #thoughts of murder #self-harm #harm reduction #recovery

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ovobawrites · 1 year

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𝐵𝑒𝒶𝒸𝒽: 𝐸𝓅𝒾𝓈𝑜𝒹𝑒 𝒯𝒽𝓇𝑒𝑒 ♡ 𝐹𝒷𝑜𝓎𝓈 𝒜𝓃𝑜𝓃𝓎𝓂𝑜𝓊𝓈

disclaimer: this has already been posted on ao3 and quotev, i'm just reposting this beach episode special as a promo for the fic. after this is all my previous author notes.

this is a fem!reader and also a half chinese!reader insert.

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You hung limply over Jade's shoulder as he brought you over to the table. He set you down gently and handed you a plate with a polite smile, before quickly snapping up the food he wanted. Thankfully, Jade was quick enough for you to be able to grab a sandwich you actually wanted to eat. There's no way in the cold, wet hells[1] that you'd eat any large meal before swimming. Stomachaches were already a common occurrence for you due to the curse of menstruation, why go through even more unnecessary pain?

Sadly, the boys had a completely different philosophy. Ruggie had piled a plate sky-high with varying meats and seafood, all while fiercely guarding a gourmet steak for Leona. Floyd and Jade, with you stuck between them, had also taken a large amount of food. At least they were planning on eating vegetables. Meanwhile, Riddle, Azul, Vil and Rook seemed to have prepared meals with the 'perfect' caloric intake.

And even then, they're eating so much! Though I guess the minimum calories are higher for guys? And they are younger...[2]

Leona slowly stalked over to the table, hair a mess from his nap and snatched his plate from Ruggie, sitting next to the hyena. Idia eventually got up from the pancake he made on the ground, mostly by Ortho's prompting. A plate stacked with healthy foods was handed to him by his brother and he was forced in a seat next to Silver. The Diasomnia first year had a plate with similarly healthy foods, though Idia had a smaller portion in comparison... It didn't help that every so often, Lilia would add a vegetable or cut of meat to Silver's plate.

Malleus ate silently at the head of the table with a contemplative frown, Lilia smirking and whispering in his ear while Silver just ate in silence. Trey smiled sheepishly in conversation with Cater and Riddle, the three of them seemingly somewhat pleased with their meals. Kalim and Jamil ate next to each other, food already tested for poison and picked out to be a perfect lunch.

"Koi fish~" Floyd started, leaning over your shoulder. "is that seriously all you're gonna eat?"

"Ah- well..." You trailed off. "I'm not exactly a 'growing girl' so to speak."

"Still," Jade chimed in, mirroring Floyd. "that isn't a lot of food. Are you sure you don't need to eat anymore?"

Are they... planning something? It's not my fault you boys all eat like beasts!

Trey silently spooned some pasta onto Riddle's plate. Suddenly, everyone at the table seemed extremely invested in your private conversation.

You sighed. "Yes, I'm sure."

Who are they? My mom? Please. She'd never be so smothering.

"You're already skin and bones." Leona chimed in, "A herbivore like you definitely needs to eat more. Else you'll end up like Riddle."

"WHAT'S THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN!" The redhead snapped at Leona, face matching the colour of his hair. "Though you definitely should eat more, it doesn't seem like enough food for the day." He looked over at you, now cool as a cucumber.

"I agree, I don't think a sandwich is enough for a day in the sun." Trey frowned in concern, Cater nodding emphatically next to him.

"Yeah! How are we supposed to post cute beach pics if you're fainting from a lack of food!"

Can the peanut gallery PLEASE stop offering their opinions?

You took a small bite out of your sandwich, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. A posture of steel, not a crumb falling nor a hair out of place. The essence of perfection you were taught to be. Too bad the boys were too busy worrying over your lunch to properly appreciate it.

"Are you really fine with only eating that much?" Kalim tilted his head in concern. "Shouldn't she eat more, Jamil?"

"Eh?" His vice dormleader looked over, pretending to be unaware of the conversation. "...Yes, she should be eating more."

Lilia nodded his head with a frown and a shrug. "She definitely should, humans are sooo fragile~"

Vil and Rook looked over at what you were eating, looks of disapproval obvious.

"Don't tell me you've bought into diet culture," Vil lectured, "it's been proven to be a scam that hardly works and even then-"

"Diet culture is a scam?!" Azul looked shell shocked.

"Obviously? Pressuring people into restricting what they eat so much and guilting them for even barely straying from an un-nutritious and unfulfilling diet is a binge-eating disaster waiting to happen!"

"...You guys are binge-eating?" Ruggie looked over, half a chicken wing in his mouth, curious.

Floyd poked your cheek, then attempted to place more food on your plate. A serving of calamari clashed against a spearing of mushrooms. Twins glared and started to war a silent fight while you polished off your lunch. There was no way you were gonna deal with this in-fighting when you could just find Crewel and go swimming. You put your plate in the sink and cleaned it up.

Quiet as a mouse, you left the room, boys none the wiser. Grabbing your bag off of the couch, you bid Crewel adieu and went out to the beach. Shimmering waves against the gleaming, blinding white sand enamored you as you placed your bag and towel in the shade.

A warding talisman and the removal of your sundress left you free to explore the shore to your heart's content. Wandering around, you gathered bone-bleached shells and smoothed down shards of colourful sea glass. By the time you reached rocky cliff, you had left a trail of footprints and a floating pile of your treasures following you. You smiled and took in the relaxing atmosphere.

A crash and the loud slam of the door.

A swarm of boys rushing down the hill towards the sandy beach.

"(Y/NNNNN)!!!" Floyd called out, arms waving around wildly, giant grin on his face.

Ruggie and Leona waved from where Ruggie was setting up a throne room for the king of naps. Malleus and Lilia curiously observing while being blasted with horrific UV rays. Rook had already helped Vil set up a UV-proof zone and the two were slathering on reef-safe suncream, glancing at-

Did Idia just eat sand and die?

You smiled ruefully, your boys were so stupid. And there goes Idia rolling over! Knocking over Riddle, Trey, Cater and-

Like dominoes, Idia's fall started a chain reaction ending in a dog-pile of half-naked, sweaty, flushed men. Disgusting.

You glided over gracefully, faked concern appearing on your face like a well-worn mask.

"Are you guys okay?" You asked, leaning over, hands on your knees.

For whatever reason, the boys just went even more red. You think Riddle let out a muffled shriek. The momentary confusion was replaced by disappointment.

They were looking at your cleavage. The pigs.

Yeah. There's no way you were going to go near them. You acted confused, tilting your head before walking past in a decisive moment towards Vil and Rook.

How do I bleach a memory from my brain?!

No matter. You sat in the UV-safe zone with Rook and Vil. The hunter offered you a bottle of water.

"Ah- no, thank you." With a snap of your fingers, your bag appeared next to you. "I brought my own."

A sip of water and then you gathered up the things you collected from beach-combing.

"Was that what you were doing while we had that..." Vil paused. "discussion?"

You beamed. "Yep!" That reminds you... "I founded a shell that was like you!" You told Vil with a blinding smile, rummaging through the piles for it.

You pulled out a large conch shell, spiky with streaks of purple. A shy look in your eyes and you offered it to him.

"If I remember correctly... conches follow the golden ratio, right? And well... you're the most perfect person I know, so..."

Vil sniffed and took the shell from your hands like a merciful god. "I suppose it's... nice."

"Vil, mon cher Roi du Poison, I can always take it from your hands if you do not want it!" Rook stated with a wink and a grin. "I always delight in a gift from our Reine des Cygnes[3]!"

Rook reached his hand out only to have it slapped away, Vil tucking the conch protectively into his arms.

"No, it's mine. She gave it to me, so hands off!"

You fretted over the slight fight, feeling the sparks flying between the two. Vil with a stone cold expression and Rook with his ever-present smile.

"Oh- uhm, I also brought something for you, Rook!"

It wasn't a lie, you did find a piece of glass that reminded you of your classmate, but...

"You did?!" Rook took your hands in his, stars in his eyes. "I shall cherish this for every year that goes by, ma chouette!"

...You just knew Rook was gonna get weird about it. Too late to save yourself now.

"Ah- here." You tugged your hands out of Rook's grasp and handed him an arrow-shaped shard of indigo sea glass. It sparkled against the sun, uncannily reminiscent of the shine in Rook's eyes.

"Thank you so much ma chère!" He quickly took it, handling it with the reverence of a man with an idol of his god.

"It was no problem at all..." You flushed slightly at the praise.

"No, you took the time to search for these and then give them to us." Vil gazed at you with ardent warmth. "Thank you for taking the time to find these."

You suddenly wished for a fan, hands covering your face while it rapidly heated up. You couldn't handle this! Both Vil and Rook in their purple swimwear, decorative open shirts framing their bodies with such elegance... it was too much!

A chuckle. Vil covered his laugh up with a hand over his mouth. Rook simply stayed smiling with a knowing look in his eyes. The Pomefiore Housewarden leaned in closer to you, hands brushing, as he opened his mouth to whisper something but-

"Ey, (Y/N), come here!" Leona beckoned you over and with a frown and a curious glance, you followed.

Vil looked awfully put out, but Rook seemed to be even more pleased by this outcome, taking out a pair of sun-proofed binoculars from who knows where.

You walked over to the two Savanaclaw members, Leona now lazing on a towel-bed while Ruggie set up portable fans to cool the lion down.

"Heard you were giving out gifts." Leona said with a twitch of his ears. "Where's mine?"

You fumbled for a second in slight shock, but with a quick recovery, gave him one half of an oyster shell, coated in mother of pearl.

He raised an eyebrow. "Where's the other half?"

"It's for Ruggie!" You smiled. "Who else?"

The hyena, with a bashful turn of his head, took the other half from your hands. "Wait- I can probably make a lot of money with this... Thank you!"

"Isn't it rude to sell a gift?"

"I gave it to him since I knew he probably would sell it!" You snapped back in reply.

"I don't get either of you." And with a huff, Leona lied down and took another nap.

"...Is he already asleep?" You asked Ruggie, head leaning against your hand as you watched him finish up the nap-fort.

The hyena glanced at Leona. "Probably, yeah."

"He's really good at this..." You sighed. "Now if only he'd apply this effort to his studies..."

A bark of laughter.

"Like he'd ever! Leona isn't Leona if he spends all his time studying!"

A fond grin and a burst of yellow roses in your heart. "Yeah... you're right."

After a while of chatting with Ruggie and a quick re-application of suncream, you went over to the waves. Floyd and Jade waved at you from where they were (most likely) torturing poor Riddle, who was fuming once again. Trey and Cater tried their best to calm him but it was a lost cause. Meanwhile, Idia was carefully watching Ortho's movements in the water, taking notes on a floating tablet. Kalim was splashing around while Jamil stayed on guard by the shore, resolutely ignoring Azul trying to talk to him.

"Koi fish! You gonna swim?" Floyd asked with a bright grin, cheeks flushing.

"Why else would I be by the waves?" You teased.

Riddle went bright red at your entrance, eyes darting to your chest and then to your face before he quickly whipped his head away from you. If he wasn't so endearing you'd have punted him into the sun already.

"Oh, (Y/N)!" Kalim waved you over. "Wanna play a game with us?"

"Sure!" You beamed. "What is it?"

Jade held a hand to his chest, a smirk on his face. "We're playing 'save the princess'. Would you like to play the part? The heroes have to rescue you from us, if they get to that tree with you, they win."

At some point I am going to murder these men. Is he seriously asking me to play the damsel in distress?

You looked at both Floyd and Jade, the two, in their true forms, were practically vibrating with excitement. You guessed they would be your captors... and even then you doubt that they'd let you go.

A sigh. "I guess..."

Floyd smiled wide and grabbed you by the waist in a second. Clawed hands almost fondling your sides.

"I've got Koi fishie~ let's swim away, Jade!" He laughed in childish glee as he quickly darted off.

"Wait, we're starting now?" Kalim called out. "Oh, then, Jamil! Help me catch those dastardly villains!"

A tilt to his head and a proud smile on his face, Kalim fell into his role as the knight-prince, your supposed saviour.

"If sea snake's joining then I want Azul!" Floyd pouted as Jade simply smiled. "Azul! Join us!"

Their Housewarden sighed, getting up from his place in the sand along with Jamil as they entered the water. For whatever reason, Azul stayed in his two-legged form, yet he still could quickly swim over.

"If we are to win," Jade said, "we should make sure to split up. Toss (Y/N) over to the person who is unswarmed by these heroes."

"But I want to spend time with (Y/N)!" Floyd frowned, hands twitching around your waist while you let him carry you, limp.

And I wanted to play a fun game of tag, but I guess we don't always get what we want!

"I agree with Jade." Azul pushed his glasses up. "We should make sure to keep (Y/N) away from these heroes."

Your captors had migrated over to the deeper waters in the ocean, powerful tails (and legs) allowing them to tread the water with ease. You shifted in Floyd's grasp, turning chest-to-chest, to peer over at your supposed heroes. The merman chirped with glee and held you even tighter to him in a pseudo-hug while he continued to discuss tactics with his dormmates.

Surprisingly, Riddle, Cater and Trey were participating in this game as well. By the looks of things, it seems they had managed to recruit Ortho too. The 'knights' were similarly congregating, thinking up a game plan. While their numbers trumped your captors, you're sure that they are the ones with the advantage.

Seriously, why are the teams like this. There's no way Kalim's team is winning against this sea-beasts.

In a flash, Azul, Jade and Floyd swam off in different directions. Floyd's powerful tail pushed the both of you through the water at a near-alarming speed, making you laugh in an adrenaline-fueled manner. You looked over Floyd's shoulder to see most of the hero team swimming towards you both at a much slower rate. Floyd soon stopped and started to float in the water, guarding you in his arms like a precious treasure.

"You'll never take Koi fishie from me!" He growled out, baring his teeth with a laugh.

"Are you sure about that?" Riddle smirked. "You're surrounded."

In a flash, Riddle, Trey, Cater and Kalim had encircled Floyd, slowly drawing closer with no escape. It's too bad that your 'captors' had planned for this. Floyd smiled even wider, lifting you up by the hips, and called out to Jade. With strong arms, he tossed you over to his brother, who caught you gently with steel cable-like arms. As you flew through the air, you couldn't help but laugh at the 'heroes' shocked faces.

"It seems you're stuck with me now." Jade smiled, quickly swimming off with Jamil and Ortho giving chase.

The merman was holding you in a bridal-style carry, whipping his tail through the water, dodging Ortho and Jamil's tries to grab and save you.

You waved lazily at them. "Oh no. I've been caught. Dear heroes, please save me." You spoke, completely deadpan.

You could hear Jade's chest vibrate from a chuckle as he continued to race through the water. A glance towards his back showed Azul setting up for a catch while Floyd taunted poor Riddle. Trey and Cater were quickly swimming over to help Jamil and Ortho, who were quickly catching up.

So they're handicapping themselves for this. Probably 'cause it wouldn't be as fun.

"Don't worry (Y/N), I'll save you!" Ortho called out, his motors whirring as he started to speed up, nearly brushing your hand as Jade quickly dodged.

"It's not polite to lie, Ortho." Jade called out as you braced yourself for another toss. "There's simply no way for you to win."

In a quick, smooth motion, you flew through the air once more to be caught by Azul. You laughed and ruffled his hair in joy, undeniably pleased from all this throwing. For whatever reason, being tossed through the air filled you with pinks and yellows of a childish happiness, making you giggle, adrenaline-drunk, with glee.

"Please don't mess up my hair." Azul sighed, resigned. He shifted you around in his arms for a better ease of movement as Riddle drew in near with a dangerous glare.

The position he landed on was you, held by the waist in one arm as you were slung over his shoulder. He then took off, not as fast as Jade or Floyd, but still faster than your supposed future saviours. Soon enough, he let them catch up, then threw you through the air to Floyd.

And so the cycle continued, you happily being thrown in the air while the hero team eventually slowed down, exhausted. Not ones' to lose, they congregated into a circle on the shore to discuss plans, while you stayed fixed in Floyd's arms. Jade and Azul soon joining you as you all watched the hero team plan.

"I wonder how they'll approach us this time." Jade simpered with an everpresent smile.

Azul scoffed. "This is such a stupid game. How on earth are they going to win?"

Unfortunately for them, Azul just jinxed the 'villain' team. Malleus, Lilia and Silver, returning from a beach combing exploration, went over to the hero team. Kalim waved his hands around and suddenly, it seemed that the Diasomnia boys joined the hero team. Their discussion continued with even more fervor, a dark shadow appearing over their group as they started to scheme.

"Wow. You really just screwed yourself over, Azul." You deadpanned, unbothered by any of this.

Floyd hugged you closer to him in glee. "Now it's gonna be super fun! Too bad none of them will steal you from me..."

A dark chuckle. "No. They won't win against us, right Azul?"

His glasses flashed. "I think it's time to think of a different plan."

You laughed as Floyd darted through the waves, waving at Malleus, Silver and Lilia who were closing in on you. Sadly for them, Floyd picked up even more speed. Beads of water flew through the air as the waves splashed into the Diasomnia group. Meanwhile, Jade tried to shake off a persistent group of Heartslabyul boys, Azul facing the same problem with Kalim and Jamil.

"Return (Y/N) to us, mortal, and your punishment will be lessened." Malleus glared, picking up speed.

"There's no way for you to win, Floyd, so just give up." Lilia added with a chuckle.

Silver stayed silent, a dark look on his face as he swam even faster, nearly managing to grab you off of Floyd. Floyd laughed in amusement and quickly changed directions. Jade and Azul started swimming towards the center of the ocean alongside you and Floyd. Though you were, of course, a limp spectator in this competition. Still, it was fun to move so quickly through the water, you giggled as Floyd started to go even faster.

The three of them met in the middle, the others not far behind. Azul scowled as Jade grabbed you from Floyd, manhandling you into his arms.

"Ready?" Azul asked, "They're closing in."

True to his statement, the group of 'heroes' were quickly getting closer. Riddle looked triumphant, while Trey and Cater's eyes shone with determination to 'save' you.

I guess it's time for my plan to come into action, too.

There was no way you were playing damsel in distress. No matter how fun it was to go fast and be thrown around, this objectification was too much to bear. Thank god for Idia, who had seen your rapid signing and silently gathered Ruggie and Rook to the shore. You smiled to yourself. This rescue plan was going to work.

"Hand (Y/N) over, criminals! We're here to save her, there's no escape!" Malleus boomed with a smirk.

"Isn't there?" Jade smiled in reply, "It seems you weren't paying enough attention."

In that quick amount of time, Azul and Floyd had tied up their legs in the seaweed from the ocean floor. They struggled, shocked.

And now it was your time to shine.

"Yeah. There's no need for you heroes!" You smiled, a steely look in your eyes. "I can save myself just fine, thanks."

In one quick motion, you grabbed Jade's arms, throwing him over your shoulder by using his body weight. The eel barreled into Floyd and Azul, knocking them out. Whip-quick, you swam off, darting through the waves with a laugh as you approached the shore.

A look over your shoulder, the boys were catching up. Floyd, Jade and Azul were closest, but the others were pulling on them to slow them down. It soon turned into an all-out war as they fought to get near to you, either to 'save' or 'capture' you. Too bad.

With a smile and a wave, you ran onto the shore. Idia and Ruggie grinned and guarded you as you approached the win-point. You hit the tree with your hand and beamed.

"I win!" You said in a sing-song tone.

The boys were stunned.

Trey laughed first. "Yeah, you did! Well done."

The others joined in, heaping you with praise as your heart fluttered in joy. Butterflies in your stomach as you all started to chat about your plan and your win. Ruggie ruffled your hair while Idia gave you a smile in support.

It was a fun day.

[1] Chinese hell is cold, dark and damp. Basically the opposite to traditional perception of Christian hell. And there are multiple hells! Lovely ^^ [2] Generally, Chinese eating tendencies is that the best and most food goes to children, then the elderly, then the adults. Portion sizes also tend to be quite small for adults/teens, at least compared to US portion sizes. MC is exaggerating when calling the boys younger tho... it's the innate mom instinct lmao [3] Queen of Swans... get it.... cuz MC's so graceful but can also be very fierce? Also cuz swans = romance and Rook is definitely noticing the reverse harem shenangians

Just a fun fact, kids/babies get so happy from being thrown because it helps strengthen their bodies against gravity. It also strengthens a kid's sense of balance and motion. I wonder why MC likes it now uwu

and here is the third part of the beach ep. if you'd like to read the rest of the fic, you can read it on ao3 here, and on quotev here.

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