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ddarker-dreams · 1 year

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Redamancy.

Yan Scaramouche x F Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes and unhealthy relationships. Word count: 1k.

“You scowl too much.”

If anyone else were to speak to Scaramouche, Sixth of the Eleven Fatui Harbinger in this way, they’d certainly be reduced to a pitiful pile of ash on the ground. Perhaps he’s thought about subjecting you to this fate, once or twice. That number could very well have been bumped up to three times if the indignant air he currently regards you with is to be considered.

Then again, no one aside from you would get to experience this deceptively domestic scene. You sit beneath a canopy, branches free from winter’s thaw hastily preparing buds to herald in spring. Scaramouche holds your thighs captive, the soft flesh serving as his pillow. Indigo locks splay out against and tickle your skin.

“There’s a lot to scowl about,” he replies, though he makes an effort to relax his tense facial muscles. The contemptuous smile he gives makes his previous expression look benevolent in comparison. “I’m stuck dealing with a fool of a woman who’d probably wander off a cliff because she was too busy admiring the clouds.”

“Clouds are meant to be admired.”

“Case in point.”

“You make it sound like I’m chained to you with iron shackles, though,” you raise your ankle (notably shackle free, imagine that), drawing his attention and ire. Your sarcasm never fails to rile him up. He never seriously tries to put a stop to it, however. Such is his capricious nature. “If I’m such a bother, why not let me wander off the cliff?”

Scaramouche grits his teeth. “Because…”

There’s a pause, then, weighty and tangible. You know what he both wants and fears to say. If he were any less of a coward, he’d fill the aromatic air with truth, rather than engaging in his usual sidestepping. He’s so proficient at the act you swear he could moonlight as a crab. This mental image earns a barely contained giggle from you, one that further sours his mood, if such a thing were possible.

Knowing you as intimately as he does, he correctly assumes that he’s the unwitting source of your amusement.

“I can’t stand you,” he grumbles. Whether it’s to you or himself, you can’t decide. “Truly, I can't.”

“Then hand me over to someone who can.”

There’s a flash in his eyes then — otherworldly, malicious — he disregards composure like a snake abandons shed skin. He rises in a flash. Inhumanly cold fingers take your chin captive, bringing you closer to him, his delight in the ease with which he can manhandle you evident. Always the type to go for grand gestures, this one. His theatrical outbursts befit his moniker.

Scaramouche grins, beset with an onslaught of bitterness akin to a black hole. It draws in and swallows anything unfortunate enough to be nearby.

“You just love testing my patience, don’t you?”

If you feared him, maybe you’d tremble, but you don’t, so you are still. It’s likely that you should fear him. He is volatile, a mess of contradictions too complicated to untangle, a vessel who fills himself with acrimony, the same way humans must with air. He delights in it and considers it his birthright.

Your smile is not without kindness and that’s what bothers him most.

“Come, don’t pout. I have no intentions of being complicit in whatever havoc you'd wreak if I was with another.”

His eye twitches at the pesky word ‘another’. The mere thought of this faceless, nonexistent being having the audacity to lay claim to you, even in the land of fantasy, has his nostrils flaring and jaw tightening. You can see the ripple of muscles beneath his synthetic skin. He’s a wonder, this proprietorial doll, who can exalt and condemn you in the same breath.

You are mine, and mine alone, his eyes seem to scream, and I’d sooner end the world than exist in it without having you for myself.

“You really do scowl too much,” you reiterate your opinion from earlier, gently, almost sweetly. Whatever spell Scaramouche was under temporarily breaks, or perhaps he’s held prisoner to a new one, far more agreeable if not equally dangerous. “Your face is too pretty to always be frowning.”

You enchant him by running your finger over his lower lip. It trembles by your command. His eyes go lidded, a lovelorn haze obscuring the former tempest. He can never decide if he wants to destroy or devour you. For someone like him, he can’t do one without the other. His love for you is a death sentence, despite the immortality that should’ve never belonged to your mortal body.

It’s you who kisses him.

He temporarily forgets himself. The arrogance, the hurt, the fear that you might slip between his fingers should he ever relax his hold. You find him foolish in that regard. He can have you in the palm of his hand if he likes, and you know he’d like that very much. There’s nowhere else for you to be. Not when he’s seen to the fact himself.

Scaramouche melts into your person, returning your kiss with rapture, drunk on the way you offer yourself to him. He makes a deep, breathy noise, willing you closer, demanding total subservience. You let him have his way. Civilizations could rise and fall in the seconds that follow, and he’d pay them no mind, too absorbed with savoring your temporary connection.

It is what he lives for; what he'd kill for.

His fair skin is flushed when you part. From the apple of his cheeks to the tip of his ears, he’s painted in a color from your palette. The pigmentation suits him. Red is the color around his eyes, of his longing for you, and of what would spill across the land should you ever part.

“There,” you whisper, as if it were a secret meant for him alone, “That look suits you far better.”

He wants to deny it — you can tell by how his grip tightens — but he remains uncharacteristically quiet. If he gets to delight in you, it’s only fair that you can occasionally delight in him, he supposes.

Such is your capricious nature.

#i wanna chew on him #yandere scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x reader #yandere genshin impact x raeder #yandere genshin impact x reader #scaramouche brainrot #genshin impact x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #reader insert #my stuff

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devilfic · 1 year

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❝right place, right time❞

II. of niceties and awkward second meetings.

parts: previously / next plot: bruce makes an offer you actually can refuse... at first.pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, bruce wayne is still a masochist, bruce wayne is ALSO reckless :). words: 3.5k. edited: 2/28/24.

After every surgery—good or not so good—when you’re rinsing off and getting patted on the back for a job well done, you elect to feel hope. And then you hurry to lock yourself in your office and try to catch your breath.

The weight of a life on your hands follows you from room to room, from work to bed, from daydreams to night terrors. Even when it’s good, it rarely ever feels good. Questions bloat your brain: what if there’s something you missed? What if, despite it all, it’s not enough? Is the blood on your hands, then? Is the life yours to save or the patient’s to endure?

There was no solid answer. All you could do was wait for full recovery and try not to let it consume you.

Maybe tonight was a night for Thai. Maybe you’d call up your old roommates and get together at your place. Maybe you could finally tell them about the night Batman broke into your house, and how you stitched up his bullet wound, and then fell asleep 20 feet away because you had to meet Bruce fucking Wayne the very next morning and God help you if you embarrassed your boss by being late. So far, the only person who’d heard about it was the old lady who lived in the apartment below you, and all she’d done is pray for you.

You’d assured her you were fine, but she’d insisted on anointing your doors and windows before you left for work. The “demon of Gotham” she’d called him, herald of vengeance. The fact that you’d saved his life meant that you’d be spared in the reckoning... or whatever little old ladies learned in Sunday school.

Whatever she believed, you had no reason to think you’d be struck by lightning twice. Batman would not be returning to your home any time soon.

The thought almost made you sad.

There was no reason for him to return. Batman probably had a team of doctors waiting to tend to him if his arsenal of weaponry was any indicator of wealth. He wasn’t just any ol’ run of the mill vigilante, that was for certain.

You were just a blip. A freak accident. A glitch in the matrix. The chance that you’d been in the right place at the right time when Batman needed you most was just that: chance. And you were no gambler, but you could bet on your license that that man would never darken your doorstep (or window sill) again.

Maybe you’d stop by the liquor store too on your way home.

You’re rounding the corner when you collide with your boss, frantic as usual.

“Oh! Finally, there you are,” he grips your upper arms like a vice, eyes frenzied as they look you over, “why do you look like that?”

You imagine he’s referencing the dew of sweat on your skin and your scrubs out of whack. “I finished an operation fifteen minutes ago.” You answer, unimpressed. “I was just heading back to my office.”

Your attempt to sidestep him—to free yourself of the shackles that were his hands—proves useless. He spins to keep you in his grip, “You can’t! Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“You have a visitor.”

You frown, “A patient? No one’s on my schedule.”

“I’d like you to make an exception for this one.” His voice drops to a whisper. He readjusts your shirt sleeves as if dressing you up, prettying you for the highest bidder, and that sets you on edge, “Just trust me.”

You almost (almost) flinch away when he pushes you to your office door—now, a looming boulder instead of a gateway to your safe haven. Before you can even ask just who is waiting for you on the other side, your boss is rushing off down the hallway to do God knows what.

As if disarming a bomb, you slowly open the door to peek inside.

It scares the both of you, clearly, if the wide-eyed look he gives you says anything.

It’s like it hasn’t been a week since you’d last seen him. Bruce Wayne is wearing what looks like the same suit he’d worn last time, tie and collar stiff, jacket open underneath his billowy coat. But he looks awkward standing in your modest little office. He looks like he’s not supposed to be here, or at least not without his right hand man and the fanfare to follow.

He keeps his hands in front of him to show you he means no harm, “Your boss said it was okay to wait here for you.”

You’re still bracing yourself against the door, trying to figure out what he could possibly be doing in your office, what he’d possibly be waiting around for you for.

You think about the last time you’d seen him, when you’d grabbed him out of nowhere and his companion (Alfred, was it?) looked like he would have no problem breaking your spine if you dared manhandle him again. Oh God, he wasn’t going to sue, was he?

You swallow, “Uh, right. Can I help you?”

Bruce straightens up. His hands fall to his sides. You search his face to predict his next move but you’re puzzled to find that he’s just as clueless as you.

You didn’t know much about Bruce Wayne, that much had been established. What little you did know was some amorphous figure of nobility, the “prince of Gotham” as the press dubbed him.

Yet, standing before you in your simple little office, Bruce Wayne feels less like nobility and more like a stranger in foreign land. He keeps his hands in front of him and you’re able to make out purple dusting his knuckles. Bruised. Not bloody. Not recently. This piques your interest.

“How long have you been a surgeon?” Is his first question.

You slink into the room and debate on shutting the door, deciding to leave it open a crack; whether it is so you can escape or for him to feel unwelcome, you’re not entirely sure. “Four years. Not including the 12 years of school and residency.”

Bruce perks up just a tad to your bewilderment. “Did you study here in Gotham?”

“I did. I considered Metropolis.”

“What changed your mind?”

“Cheaper tuition.”

“Do you like it here in Gotham?”

“I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Wayne,” your voice comes out clipped—nervous—all the same, “I just got out of a surgery and I didn’t even know you’d be here so I haven’t got the faintest clue what you want-”

“I’m sorry.” Bruce apologizes, “I can come back another time.”

Come back? You assess his face once more, double checking for any sign of where this conversation is going, “Come back for what?”

For the first time since you entered the room, Bruce takes a step forward. A few, actually, ‘til he’s standing only a foot away and his whole deer-in-headlights deal is on full display. “A proposition.” Your head swims with big ideas. You’re thankful you’re still standing still. “I’d like to hire you.”

If Em could see you, she’d be laughing her head off at the look on your face. The emotions you're hit with are akin to blunt force trauma.

Bruce catches onto your distress and begins to explain, glancing away from your eyes to give you room to breathe, “Due to the nature of my job and the... events that transpired last November, I’m careful about my position in the public eye. I’ve decided to have a doctor on call, someone I can rely on in the event that something drastic happens again. It would be more menial work, but you would, of course, be greatly compensated: full benefits, triple your salary here. Nothing is out of the question.”

As the last word melts in the air, he finally locks eyes with you. Less deer-in-headlights now, more spotlight. More "I eagerly await your response".

You couldn’t even fathom the price point: triple your salary? You already made good money here, any more would be excessive. And then there’s the reality of the situation. You would be employed, solely, by Bruce Wayne. At his beck and call—perhaps moved into a nicer place within chauffeur distance of Wayne Tower—the support staff of the upper echelon.

Your mom wouldn’t bug you about moving out of Gotham ever again.

This all felt too good to be true. So good that your intuitive pendulum swung violently in warning. Bruce awaits your reply, wringing his hands before him and those glaring purple knuckles catch your attention again. How a CEO had managed those was a question you hesitated to entertain. Something else was going on here.

You knew Gotham was a corrupt city. It festered with crime in every aspect, that much the Riddler had made clear last Halloween. The late mayor, the DA, the police commissioner... and amongst his targets, Bruce Wayne had survived. Something else was definitely going on here.

“...I serve the public, Mr. Wayne. I reserve my skill for the citizens of Gotham without the... ability to seek better. I’m flattered you would consider me and I would be more than happy to point one of my talented colleagues your way in my stead. But I’m sorry, I can’t accept your offer.”

Bruce’s face falls for just a second. After all, if he were to wear his emotions on his face all the time, you doubted he’d be much of a successful businessman.

You’re thankful that he takes a step out of your personal space and doesn’t fuss, doesn’t try to shove a wad of cash at you, doesn’t throw more offers at you until you concede. “I appreciate your consideration, but that won’t be necessary. I should let you return to your work. Thank you for your time.”

You nod a little dumbly, the weight of what has just transpired starting to settle fully on you. Em would be far too angry at you to laugh, now.

With the grace of his pedigree, Bruce Wayne nods silently to you and leaves.

You notice once the muscles in your shoulders stop shaking that there’s something in your office that wasn’t there before. There, on the loveseat where Bruce Wayne had waited for you, was a business card.

You shakily approach the seat and collapse beside it, reaching out to read what adorns the back of the Wayne Enterprises logo.

Bruce Wayne CEO P: 212-XXX-XXXX

It takes the clatter of ceramic to pull you out of your reverie.

Beside you, Em hovers, “And here I thought you weren’t a fan.”

At the puzzled look you give her, Em jerks her head toward where your eyes had been focusing, mindlessly stirring in the events of the afternoon. At some point, the TV’s channel had changed from Days of our Lives to the Gotham News. They were running a story on a charity event downtown. Bruce Wayne was shaking hands on camera, the tagline “Bruce Wayne makes dazzling appearance alongside controversial mayor”. How fitting.

“‘m not,” you grumble, pushing your lunch around in yellowed Tupperware, “just thinking.”

“About?”

You glance at Em. Too little too late, your boss had clambered into your office shortly after Bruce left, pestering you about the conversation you’d had, disappointed when you’d told him you’d turned down the offer. “Imagine the press we’d get, one of our very own working for the CEO of Wayne Enterprises,” he’d argued, “you’ve got to reconsider.”

You hesitated to tell your tale again, fearful that you’d suffer the same reaction, but Em was not your boss. She would never let the topic rest. And it wasn’t like you signed an NDA, a truth that had only hit you hours after the fact, “I got a job offer today.”

Em’s eyebrows shoot up, “From West Mercy? Arkham?”

The very thought of working in Arkham Asylum had you abandoning your lunch altogether, “God, no. It was more like... on-demand. Concierge. A very rich patient wanted to hire me as their private doctor.”

“Wow... was it one of your patients?”

“No, I’ve never examined him in my life.”

“Him?” You recognized that tone of voice. A slew of questions were on the way if you didn’t elaborate fast enough.

Besides yourself and Em huddled in a corner, the break room was relatively empty. One of the ER nurses was napping, another engrossed in a game of Sudoku on their phone. You doubted they would hear even if you raised your voice above a whisper.

Quietly, because you clam up at the thought of saying his name out loud, you fish out his business card and slide it across the table to her.

It takes her but a moment to process. First a deep inhale, then her hand slaps the table (the Sudoku nurse glances up at you both and then changes his mind), then she’s gripping at your scrubs and shaking you violently in your chair, “Shut the front door! Please tell me you said yes!”

You frown, “No, I didn’t.”

“Why the hell not? I know you don’t keep up with the times in this city, but this guy is loaded!”

“I do keep up with the times. I just don’t give a rat’s ass about Bruce Wayne. A crime punishable by death, apparently.”

“But why in the world would you want to keep working here when you could be... having lunch on a terrace? Discussing lab results over Pinot Grigio? Jetting off to the Bahamas to check his vitals on vacation?”

You snort, “Exactly what I told him: I serve the public. I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Could always do both.”

You tried to imagine it, for Em’s sake. The terrace lunches, the Pinot Grigio. You imagined the nice apartment from before and the esteem that your boss was sure you could bring the hospital.

And you imagined Bruce Wayne, with a limp. With bruised knuckles. Always looking at you with those big eyes that somehow told you everything and nothing at the same time. Like an open book in a dead language. You thought about the night that Wayne Tower caught fire and the world that had been crumbling down in Gotham had started to feel truly broken. Politicians die all the time, but the uber rich? Even you had watched the sky in horror.

And now that same man had asked you—you, of all people—to be there in case there was a next time.

You thought about the Batman. Would you say yes if he asked you the exact same question?

You hadn’t considered both.

You’re unaware that Em is leaving until her chair scoots loudly across the laminate, “Think on it. Seriously. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime.” Her hand brushes your shoulder fleetingly. Then she’s leaving and you’re left to think again.

It was a bit ironic that his next visit took place as you were perusing apartment listings.

You hadn't seen him get inside your home the first time. He’d just been there, as if he’d always been there and you just never noticed. This time, he doesn’t have the urgency to break in. He waits at your window… staring in at you. No knocking. Not even a muffled “Can I come in?”

You don’t know how he expects anyone to invite him inside their home with those kinds of manners. You set your laptop aside and walk over to the curtains, his figure becoming clearer, more menacing as eyes silently follow you. By the time you reach the window, your heart is beating at an unhealthy pace. You had been able to get that adrenaline down before. How did you manage that again?

Batman waits patiently. Your hand presses to the glass, the warmth of it leaving behind a visible print as you push up on the glass, “Don’t tell me,” his head cocks to the side as you begin, “another bullet?”

If he is suffering from a wound like the last, he doesn’t look it. He’s crouched on your fire escape with his cape billowing behind him and the light of your apartment giving off just enough of an ominous glow.

After last time, you’d sneaked some extra supplies back to your place under the paranoia that something might happen again. And, let’s be honest, no one would raise a brow at having everything you need to clean a gunshot wound in this city. You couldn’t say it was entirely just for him, though.

The silence goes on uncomfortably long. You start to wonder if he even heard you, the way he stares you down, unmoving. He resembles a stray caught stealing from a trashcan, seconds from sprinting in the opposite direction to avoid being caught.

Eventually, your heartbeat spikes again. What had he told you last time? To run if someone tried to break in? Maybe he had wanted you to sprint the second you saw a human looming on your fire escape, regardless of their vague bat shape. Was he angry? He kind of always looked angry.

“Have you noticed anyone following you?” His question causes just the briefest alarm.

Living on the not-greatest side of Gotham, you had learned how to keep your head down but your eyes everywhere. If some mugger were looking to jump you as you got out of your car, you’d know. You shake your head, palms beginning to sweat.

Batman assesses you for a bit longer. You can’t tell if he’s reading you for a lie or if his instincts are just telling him otherwise, but eventually, he accepts your answer.

And begins to leave.

“Wait,” you stutter out against your better judgement, when he’s already stood to his full height, one boot positioned on the railing to propel himself below. He looks over his shoulder at you very slowly, “how’s your... side? Wound heal okay?

He looks down to where you’d stitched him, where his armor had been mended. “It’s better.”

You sigh, relieved. “You’ve gotten it looked at, then.”

“Someone looked at it.”

His wording gives you pause. “What about your stitches? Did you get them redone?” He hesitates. “You... did get them redone, right? Better. Preferably by someone who wasn’t worried about you dying on their living room floor.” Your skin prickles when you see his guilty look. “Batman, if you’ve been fighting crime every night for the past week with the same stitches I put in you days ago-”

“I’ve been through worse.”

“So you keep saying.” You really don’t mean to grit your teeth at him, practically stomping your foot because you’d, at the very least, expected him to be a bit smart about a bullet wound.

But, then again, you were talking to a man dressed as a bat.

You crawl out onto the fire escape, chilly and biting and unforgiving as the night may be, and watch Batman turn halfway toward you. You have to resist the urge to brush your hand against his side, an act far too intimate with Kevlar in the way. You look up at him, “Don’t suppose you’d let me take another look at it?”

The first time, sure, he let you because he was close to dying. With a motto of “I’ve been through worse” at his disposal, you doubted he would let you do it again unless the circumstances were dire.

Sure enough, he moves defensively away from you. You take heart in that it seems less like he distrusts you and more like he’s got a bravado issue. Not great, but better. Easier to fix.

You think of the medical supplies in your apartment and wonder if you’ve got what it takes to coax him inside. “I thought that you might not come again. Guy like you fighting crime every night must have people on hand for stuff like this, right? You’re not just any vigilante. Couldn’t be.” His unsettling glare makes the cold seep into you just a little bit more, “You don’t. Do you?”

He doesn’t answer you. His eyes shift from yours to the cityscape. Looking for a way out, maybe.

But if he wanted to leave, he would leave. Why would he hesitate?

“I just want to look. Make sure it’s not infected. No poking or prodding, I promise.”

“It’s not. I had someone look at it.”

“A doctor?”

“...No.”

“Someone who knows what they’re looking at, at least?”

He looks down at you. There’s something there that he’s keeping close to his chest, too much information for a stranger (even one who’s saved his life). You wait to see what his decision will be. “You work at Gotham General.” Batman states, matter-of-factly.

“...I know you were bleeding to death when I told you, but you’ve got to keep up in this city.” You see a hint of a smile on his mouth that is just as easily written off as a scowl. “What about it?”

Again, that look.

Just as you’re certain that you’re about to break through to something, a siren goes off in the distance. Sure enough, when the both of you look to the sky, his emblem is carved out in the clouds, beckoning him down to the streets once more. Your heart sinks. You were so close.

Batman waits a beat, positioning himself on the railing again. His eyes find yours over his shoulder, cape fluttering with the promise of taking flight, “They’re lucky to have you.”

He leaves. It feels even colder when he does.

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne scenarios #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne #batman x reader #batman scenarios #batman imagine #batman fic #the batman #battinson x reader #battinson #dc #mjwrites #bw; rprt

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fandomfiish · 1 year

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I am too much in Herald, Daniel Sullivan and Fallen Hero brain rot right now, so here ya go folks. My OC x Herald shenanigans

"It has always been black and white out there, if you're a villain you're evil, and good if you're a hero. That's what it's always been."

Daniel looked below the busy streets of the place he now calls home. Los Diabolos, the only place he could go after taking the hero serum and moving away from his parents after what happened with his brother, the place where he'll get a new start and get a name for himself by saving people, and the place where his hero Sidestep resides.

No … not Sidestep, he goes by Von now.

An hour ago, Wei dismissed Daniel and told him to go rest and be ready for tomorrow. Daniel took the command with no question as he felt both physically and mentally tired. Today was a shitty day there was no sugarcoating from the normally positive Ranger. With a nod from Wei, he leaves the building and flew up to the rooftop entrance of his own abode.

He really needed rest, he can feel it in his bones, maybe a drink or two as well but as he enters his room before he could do anything of what he was planning his thoughts stop when he sees it. The lone folded sweater that Von left the night he slept here, Daniel was supposed to give it back to him today before he got the text of Ortega being in an accident. And then everything else about Von comes to focus on Daniel's mind, the way their skins have touched as they made love, the way Von told him that he loved him, and the room started to feel suffocating as he could swear he could still smell him, this was supposed to be his place to rest, to feel safe and yet his bedroom reeks of Von and he needed to get away, Daniel didn't even notice he was already hovering until he made the move himself to get as far away from his own room. Flying from his rooftop entrance to god knows where just somewhere where he can breathe and think. He needs to rest, he needs to stop thinking about what happened today, and he needs to stop thinking of Von.

But that's the problem because Daniel never stopped thinking about Von.

It all started when Von agreed to start training with him, sure he was already attracted to Von at that time but his intention was always wanting him to help him train in combat, he knew he needed it, and he couldn't make the same mistake again, and Von might be his best bet in helping him get the upper hand against K.

But during their training, Daniel never went intentionally hurt Von despite the other not pulling any punches, he just thinks that Von has already been hurt so much before, so much so that the secrecy behind whatever happened during Heartbreak is well kept to themselves by the three remaining people who were involved fateful day. Daniel tried to respect their want to keep it to themselves but he can't help it, a part of him wants to help Von, he doesn't know how but he just wants to help. And seeing Von look so tired and hurt, and fight like he can't afford to lose makes him hope that one day Von will trust him enough to confide in him.

Maybe it was his want to care for Von that urged him to ask Von to have coffee with him, but he knew it was more than that, at that point he already liked Von, and he was ecstatic when Von accepts the invitation and flirts back with him. He felt like a high schooler asking his crush again, and he couldn't deny how handsome Von was when he actually smiles.

Then it was the night of their date, and Von dressed for the occasion and it stirred something inside him, Von looked at him with the smile he's grown to love, although he looked quite troubled and more tired than usual. The night went as smoothly as Daniel could get when it comes to Von, what he didn't expect was taking him home back to his own place, nor the fact that Von will confide to him that he was a Re-gene, it was a surprise but the fact that Von trusted him enough to tell him was telling to him how much Von felt for him, he hated how Von talked about himself like he's something that can be thrown away after he's been used, it caused rage inside him to those who made Von think like that, but he cast those feelings away to tell Von how much human he is then he thinks, and maybe his speech was more grandiose than he though from the way Von looked at him in awe, and when his lips met Daniel's, he thinks he said the right words. The kiss was perfect, Von was perfect and everything about him is perfect, and as they make love that night he made sure that Von knew that to him he was perfect his heart swell when Von told him how much he loved him, and Daniel told him how he loves him back, and as they lay there together under his sheets, tired but satisfied Daniel was ecstatic with how things are going and he was looking forward to his future with Von.

Then the message from his phone arrives as he folds the sweater that Von left on his house, telling him that Ortega was injured.

And that Von is K.

And Daniel's life starts to fall apart.

K, the villain who decides to show up uninvited, decides to cause mayhem and steal from the museum, the same K who he fought and lost to, the reason he was in rehab, the same K who gave him nightmares as he tries to forget how he completely lost to him, the same K he was afraid of because he knew where to hit on their weaknesses. Daniel quickly flew to the headquarters, hoping this is just some kind of sick joke but it isn't, Von was there talking to Ortega and everything hit all at once.

He felt angry, betrayed, and most of all hurt. How can Von do this to him? To them? Daniel couldn't help but feel like he's been played, the person who was training him was the person he wanted to defeat, the person he talked to every day was the person he fucking feared, and the person he fell in love was the villain was supposed to fall apart. Was everything they had a lie? Just a way for Von to get info about them? Was he just a pawn in his plans? Was anything they had even real?

He should hate Von, he really should.

He can't.

That night was far too real for it to be fake, that night was when he saw Von fully, that Von was the one that told him he loved him, and Daniel loves him back.

It shows when he all but ran to Von's room when he saw what Angie was about to do, and he felt his blood boil when he arrived too late when the all too familiar smell permeates the room. He tells Angie to leave, he'll talk to her later but for now…

"Don't move," Daniel says as he tries not to meet Von's eyes which is almost impossible with the wound being just under it.

"Danny-"

"No." Daniel cuts him off, trying to calm his heart from Von's nickname of him. "Don't talk, please." Von listens … and as Daniel does what he can tending to what Angie did Von looked at him, and as much as Von would say he's an open book Daniel has gotten a better read on him too. There was a look of regret, of fear, and lo- He quickly moves back when the thought arrives in his head, seeing as he's done what he can he decides moves to leave, not wanting to stay there.

But when Von held his arms and called out for him, he stopped. "Please Danny we need to talk." Von's voice was desperate as he looks at him, he knew that look, it was the same look that Von did when he told him he was a re-gene, and he tries his damnest not to just rush onto Von's side and hug him, not this time. He needed to let out his frustrations, and if Von wanted to talk, then they'll talk.

"What's more to talk about, you used me, manipulated me and you think I'll listen to what you'll say?" Daniel begins. "I was scared of you, I had to go to rehab because of you, you knew all of this, you know how much you had hurt me and yet you still went on to train me, for what to know how to fight back when we inevitably fight again? Or were you just using that so you could gossip about the happenings with the Rangers?"

"I trained you because I genuinely wanted to help you, Danny."

"I needed training because of you."

"I had no choice, Danny!" Von raised his voice and Daniel couldn't but feel frustrated.

"You always have a choice, Von."

"I need to do this!" Von all but shouts, as tears fell from his eyes as his hands move to hug himself. "I don't want to go back there."

The Farm, Daniel guesses. He heard it from Von himself, and he knew how much that place has caused Von to be like this, and the logical side of himself reminds him of the pain Von has dealt him but he cared too much for Von

"You should've just let Argent kill me, at least I'll die by my choice," Von spoke, so silent and yet so loud in the room their in.

"No." Von looks up to stare at Daniel, who looked at him. "I'm not gonna let you do that."

"Why? I'm not even huma-"

"You are, you are more human than you ever think you were," Herald said as he finally lets go as he moved his hands to wipe some of the tears on Von's face.

"You told me that."

Daniel finally looks at Von. "Do you believe me?"

A beat. "I'm starting to."

Daniel smiles for the first time they've seen each other. "Good."

Daniel removes his hands from Von's face before standing up straight. "I need to go call the nurse to make sure that what Angie did to you gets fixed alright?" He spoke as he starts to move towards the door.

"Danny it's dangerous for me to stay here," Von speaks right before his hands reach the doorknob.

Danny doesn't turn but stops to answer. "We'll handle them when they arrive."

"Listen to me Danny they won't care if you can handle them, I'm their property. They can do whatever they want with you guys and would just chalk it up as an unfortunate accident that caused your deaths, I don't want them to hurt you." Von was begging, but Daniel knew it was not his call to make but Chen's.

"It's Chen's call." He says, and he could feel the other deflating behind his back.

He takes the silence as the end of their discussion, but Daniel had one more question.

"Was it real?" He asks the question that was burning in his mind, turning his head to look at Von who looked at him in confusion. "Us, you loving me, that night, was all of that real?"

Von looked at him, and they stared at each other as Daniel watches Von's eyes soften. "It's real, all of it is."

Danny tries to calm how his heart soars at hearing it, he knows Von's mean it but he wants to make sure. "Why should I believe you?" "Because," Von begins as he takes a breath. "You got to know me when I was already a mess, unlike Ortega or Chen we don't have any past baggage to move past on." He looks at Daniel to see if he's listening, Daniel only nods, motioning him to continue. "You're a breath of fresh air, you're the only person who made me feel like I was someone, not something. You feel like the sun, it was warm and bright, and if I stay too long I might burn but the burn was worth it if it mean feeling your warmth." Von stops, and he sees Daniel staring at him agape. "You mean that?" Daniel asks. "I do," Von said, resolute. And Daniel all but grins, the usual smile he gives him when he meets him at the Ranger headquarters. "That's all I wanted to hear." he finally opens the door. "I'll see what I can do, but it's Chen's final order." He sees Von nod and he finally closes the door. Once he was out of the room he felt overwhelming emotions, the hurt and betrayal are still there, he knows it'll take time for that to be mended. But he also felt happiness, that somehow despite everything what they had was real, and if Daniel was being honest, or perhaps crazy, he was happy. But for now, he needs to look for Angie, they need to talk. Daniel takes a deep breath, he is now back in the skies. He's done reminiscing about what happened the whole day between him and Von. And what he's about to do next. It's stupid, probably the craziest idea ever in his life. Even crazier than him taking the hero pill with his brother. But he's been thinking about it for hours, and he's resolute about it. He grabs his phone as he slowly descends until he was sure he had service and pressed the number he memorized. It rang only once before the other picks up. "I told you to rest Daniel." "Chen I-" Daniel starts but finds himself not knowing what to say. Shit, I should've practiced what I wanted to say huh? He thought as he hears Chen sigh from the other line clearing his thoughts. "I'm giving you 30 minutes." Huh? Did he hear him correctly? "What?" Daniel couldn't help but ask. "I know why you called me," Chen said. "If you're going on with this you need to be quick and careful, Ortega's gonna take care of Angie, and I'm gonna make sure no one knows you're leaving." Daniel couldn't believe what he was hearing, Marshal Steel is helping him break out a villain. Though he would guess this is a very special exception, he couldn't help but ask. "Why help me?" The line went silent for a couple of seconds before Chen speaks, and Daniel might be hearing things but it sounded soft. "You're not the only one who cares about Von." Daniel smiles. "Does he know?" "No, he doesn't," Chen replies. "I thought you might like being the one to tell him." "I do," Daniel replies and he was already flying back to the headquarters, give or take within five minutes. "Thanks, Chen." "Don't thank me yet." Chen's voice was back to being the Marshal now. "I can see you approaching, remember thirty minutes, taking him to your apartment would be safer since he's been there right?" Daniel nods. "Good, you both take care. We'll try to visit later the day." "Yes Sir," Daniel replies before flying faster now ending the call with Chen and focusing on the task at hand, on the way to get Von out. He arrives two minutes later, and the place is deserted like Chen said. And he sees the door to Von's room.

He doesn't knock, and knowing that the emitters are closed then Von definitely knows it's him. And once he enters he was right, Von was already looking at him scared but also confused. "What's happening?" He asks. "I'm getting you out of here." Daniel tries to hide the grin when he sees Von look at him incredulously. "How?" "Chen and Ortega helped," Daniel replies and he could see how Von's expressions soften at the mention of the two. "They care about you too, I care about you. So don't you forget that." Daniel said and Von all but nodded, awestruck but maybe starting to believe the words that Daniel just said.

"Where are we going?" Von asks instead.

"My place," Daniel replies and Von nods. "Alright, but I just want to make sure you're okay with this. Are you sure about this?" Von asked, and as much as Daniel is committed to this, there's still a part of him that bitter and hurt, but it'll heal. "I am sure."

"Alright, then Romeo."

"Romeo?"

"Just sounded fitting."

Daniel smiles while making sure that everything has been removed so he can properly carry Von. "Wouldn't it be Sleeping Beauty instead?"

"Are you making fun of my caffeine addiction again?"

Daniel laughs. "I would never." Everything is prepared. Von looks at him with uncertainty about what will happen, but the way his hold was tight means he trusts him.

"You ready?" He asks Von before they take off.

"As I'll ever be," Von says and takes that answer and flies off the building through the window.

True to Chen's words no one saw them, and the two find themselves back in Daniel's place after ten minutes. With Von already resting on Herald's bed.

"This is…" Von trails off as he sees the neatly folded jacket. "I was gonna return it to you today," Daniel confesses, and Von nods before he looks at Daniel.

"Take it, Danny, it's yours now." Daniel's eyes widen before he smiles.

"Why?" He couldn't help but ask.

"I …" Von starts. "I want to make it up to you."

"Thank you." Is all Daniel replies, before moving to the door to let Von rest, taking the sweater with him.

"Wait, Danny." He stops and looks at Von. "Can you stay? I don't wanna sleep alone." Von looks small lying there on Daniel's bed and he couldn't but nod.

"I'll stay, I'll just do something first then join you." He said as he opens the door. "For now rest alright? I'll be back."

"I love you." Von suddenly says, soft and quiet, and if Daniel wasn't listening clearly he would've missed it, Von looks surprised himself when he said it, before looking sheepish.

Daniel smiles. "I love you too." He said and then closes the door.

#fallen hero #fallen hero retribution #fallen hero rebirth #sidestep #herald #charge #marshal steel #lady argent #Wei Chen #Ricardo Ortega #Daniel Sullivan

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