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mypoisonedvine · 1 year

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𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘧𝘶𝘭 || joel miller x reader

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 || joel wasn't looking for a follower, or a protégé, or an employee— whatever you're supposed to be— when he saved some dumbass kid from a couple runners. but he ended up with you anyways, and you swore to always be faithful to him... in every way.

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 || 9.2k

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 || smut (18+ only; oral f receiving, unprotected sex, very slight dacryphilia kinda?, a touch of degradation and dumbification in there, and virginity loss with some pain and one mention of blood), heavy age gap (not specified but the reader is absolutely an adult), insecure crybaby reader, unrequited love/pining, reader wants to fuck joel so bad it makes her look stupid (and we love that for her cause same), angst, tess getting kinda screwed over but only because it's absolutely necessary for the plot, emotionally repressed joel, mention of reader's parents being deceased (implied to be infected)

this fic does not contain spoilers for anything but minor details from episode one!

They were doing that thing again— where they talked in front of you, as if you weren’t there.

“So we make the run tonight,” Tess decided, standing while Joel sat on the worn-out sofa with his hands clasped and his elbows resting on his knees. “We should be back by four, that’s when the FEDRA boys have their shift change, so we can avoid too much risk of getting caught.”

“What should I do?” you piped up. They both looked at you with that oh yeah, she’s here glare and Tess sighed; she didn’t try very hard to hide her frustration with you, but at the same time, she was actually nice to you when she was in a good mood (which was rare). Joel was less mean but also less nice— he stayed steady in his neutral-to-mildly-irritated state, and you figured if he wanted you to fuck off, he would’ve said so (probably in those exact words, too).

At the same time, they both instructed you flatly: “Keep watch.”

You sighed, shoulders sinking. “Again? Can’t I at least—?”

“You’re safer here,” Joel insisted.

“Yeah, and your gun is safer in the box under the bed, but it’s not gonna do shit to protect you if you never take it out,” you countered.

Tess scoffed. “And what are you gonna do to protect us?”

“I wasn’t,” you admitted. “You know I’m a great shot, but I wasn’t gonna try to shoot anybody. I’m quieter than both of you. I can get in and out better— and nobody’s looking for me. Everybody knows you’re smuggling—”

“Not everybody,” Joel defended himself in a mumble.

“ — so if I do get caught, I can probably get out of a search,” you bargained.

“And what are you gonna do to get out of a search?” Tess smirked. “Bat your eyelashes?”

That did sting, but you rolled your eyes and hoped you had effectively looked like it didn’t affect you at all. “If implying that I’m pretty enough to get out of a search is supposed to be an insult, I can’t wait to hear one of your compliments, Tess,” you replied— but your voice was soft and almost shaky, not as confident as the comeback merited. That summarized you pretty well: you had the will to be tough, but when it was time to really go for it, your body failed you and your hands got shaky and your eyes watered. Almost anything could make you cry, Tess had already made fun of you for it; Joel just seemed to get really uncomfortable when you started crying, but you always did your best to hide it from him. It just didn’t usually work.

Your whole face probably lit up when you caught Joel’s suppressed smile— did he think your joke was funny? He hadn’t been smiling when Tess made fun of you, so it had to be what you said— or maybe he was thinking of something he would say if he cared enough to say it, some comment about how you could do more than that to get out of being searched. He didn’t seem the type to make comments like that, but he was well aware what guards might let (or make) a girl do to avoid punishment.

“Whatever,” Tess decided, shaking her head, “you’re not coming with us, that’s the point.”

“Joel gets a say, too!” you blurted out. “You can’t just pick for him that I’m not coming, he has to—”

“You’ll stay here,” he interrupted. So much for getting Joel to let you go— you thought maybe he would side with you, for once. Deflating, you nodded, and they stopped paying attention to you at the same time that you stopped paying attention to them.

Your mind wandered in times like this, when they were talking and it was clear that it didn’t concern you; Tess said once that you had an ‘overactive imagination’, but she hadn’t said it in a really mean way (like she said most things). You didn’t want Joel to think that you were always daydreaming, but you couldn’t help it sometimes— you really just hoped that he didn’t know he was the subject of so many of your thoughts.

Truth was, he’d caught your eye long before he even knew you existed. You’d seen him around, doing all those odd jobs he did to make ends meet, and thought he was… well, handsome, but not just that. Mysterious. Intimidating, though he didn’t exactly intimidate you— okay, he did, but not like he did everybody else. He intimidated others because they were afraid he would hurt them; he intimidated you because you kind of wanted him to hurt you. Not, you know, bad, just… maybe a hand around the neck or pinning you to a wall or something?

It wasn’t in spite of your inexperience that you had thoughts like that— it was because of it; you had been lonely for a long, long time, and maybe it was just fantasy, but you always wanted someone like Joel. You wanted someone to take care of you, protect you. You were just guessing that he was capable of that, but he proved it when you met for the first time.

It wasn’t exactly a meet-cute, or even just a pleasant way to meet; you were short on rations, because you’d given most of yours away to Mrs. Davis who was too old and weak now to earn any extra for herself, and someone offered to pay you ten if you snuck something they could sell out of the old mall in the QZ… well, that went about as poorly as anyone would’ve expected.

You asked Joel what he was doing there, after he’d saved you from the runners, but he refused to tell you. Either way, it was the best luck you ever had that he showed up and fought them off. For a moment, he’d held you close to him as he pulled you away from the Infected; you wished, later, that you hadn’t been too terrified to appreciate that.

Ever since, you’d sworn yourself to him— in more ways than one, but he only knew about the main one: you wanted to assist him however you could, figuring after he saved your life that you should dedicate it to his service. Well, Joel had never been interested in your assistance, or anything else about you. It was actually Tess' idea to let you stay: "if she wants to help, let her do it for free," she whispered to Joel, and he shrugged, and he did. That was how it ended up like this: you were the squeaky, wobbly third wheel of Joel and Tess’ operation, more often than not doing the least important work if not filling your time with essentially goose-chase tasks they invented to keep you occupied. Keep watch and listen to the radio were your biggest assignments; just wait here was another common one, when they were too lazy to call it one of the other two.

Tess left a little while later, and Joel laid down on the sofa. You broke away from your thoughts and tried to make yourself useful— you got up to rinse the dishes, humming a random tune to yourself as you worked. You were already back inside your head, wondering if you should tell Joel it was a song you’d heard on his radio and had stuck in your head ever since. Probably not worth it; it usually didn’t go well when you tried to talk about things like that. Joel and Tess talked about before a lot— well, it wasn't that often, because it wasn't very productive to talk about it. But they talked about it occasionally and you never had anything to say. Once, you tried to weigh in: they were reminiscing on concerts before the outbreak, bands and artists they remembered, and you chirped about how "I read about that in a book once!"

They both glared at you, and you didn't say anything else. But you didn’t take it too personally, they just didn’t want to feel old— but you didn’t think either of them were old! These days, old wasn’t a matter of years, it was really just about usefulness— like poor Mrs. Davis, she was old, she couldn’t do much for herself anymore— and they were both… actually, they were both significantly more useful than you. That made you sad. But at least Joel had helped you get better with guns— not that he ever let you carry one.

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” Joel broke the silence as you washed his favorite mug.

“I know,” you said back, voice light and chipper. “You don’t have to.”

You felt his eyes linger on you for a moment after that, but he didn’t say anything else.

Though they had decided already that you weren’t joining them on the run, you ended up there— mostly by happenstance— when Joel and Tess met with the buyer who wanted half of what they managed to bring back. Not many people in the QZ could afford that kind of contraband, so it made sense that it was one of the FEDRA soldier’s bankrolling this. They were by no means rich, but they had a lot of pull and could provide all sorts of ration cards and promises to look the other way if future issues arose. He couldn’t guarantee safe movement out and back in through the boundaries of the city, but he at least promised to look the other way in any future run-ins with the law.

“So that’s it: you’ll leave at eleven, you’re back by four, and you bring me my share the next day during my break?” the soldier confirmed.

“Yep,” Tess agreed. “Quick and painless. Hopefully.”

You didn’t expect the man’s eyes to land on you, but you didn’t particularly care for it. "Is your little lap dog coming, too?" he smirked, glancing at Joel after he was finished raking his stare over you.

Your face got hot instantly, with shame and confusion. "I— I'm not in his lap," you denied, "that's not— we don't—"

“No,” Joel interrupted firmly, “she’s not coming.”

There was an awkward silence, the place where he might’ve said and she’s not my lap dog, if he cared much about the accusation. Tess seemed to be hanging onto that silence nearly as tightly as you were.

“Whatever,” the soldier finally brought everyone’s attention back to the conversation, “just meet me here tomorrow at half past one, and we’ll see what you’ve got.”

You were still thinking about that conversation that night— while you were keeping watch, like Joel had asked you to. It was really boring; you spent most of the time on the couch, reading a book you’d bought off someone for a few rations. After a while, your curiosity got the better of you, and you started snooping around Joel’s apartment. There wasn’t much to look at… he didn’t own much, just a few shirts— actually, you thought those jeans he always wore might be his only pair…

Your search led you to his bed. Even with no one here to see you do it, you were a little embarrassed to lean in and take a whiff of his pillow— but it was totally worth it. It smelled just like him, that warm piney kind of scent he had; in times like this, not many people could afford to smell nice, but Joel could. Not to say that he was the type to splurge on all the nicest stuff, you were pretty sure he didn’t even own cologne, but he owned shampoo and deodorant, so that put him in the 80th percentile for hygiene in the Boston QZ.

But it wasn’t just those products you smelled on his sheets— there was something quintessentially Joel to it all, something impossible to define but incredibly addictive. It was instinctual, the way you got in his bed and curled up in those sheets, burying yourself in the comfort of him. It was so easy to imagine how he might hold you, now that you were here— all you were missing was his strength, his weight, slow and steady breaths behind you as he drifted to sleep…

You woke up when you heard the door shut. Startled into sitting up, you were hoping you’d have time to get out of his bed before he saw you— but he was already standing there, staring at you. He was just a shape in the dark, so you couldn’t see his face, but you heard the exasperated sigh.

“I thought I told you to sleep on the couch,” he said.

“R-right, sorry,” you coughed, recalling last time this happened with a pained wince.

“Better yet, I thought I told you to keep watch!”

“You know you just say that,” you mumbled, “so you can keep me away from the real work.”

He didn’t say anything, probably because he knew you were right— but even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t, because Tess walked in a second later. “Can’t believe he tried to stiff us,” she was saying as she walked in, half-laughing in frustration. “Well, yeah I can,” she added a second later.

Her attitude changed when she saw you in the bed. “I— I’ll go back to my—” you started, but you ended up just getting up and leaving in a hurry before you could really finish your thought.

Wiping a small tear from under your eye quickly, you walked out of Joel’s apartment and started for your own bunk across the city— even though it was more likely than not that somebody would hassle you for walking around during curfew.

Yes, if you had a little more self-respect, you would just stop hanging around those two and find some other work to do, but Joel had done something for you that you could never repay and never forget. He didn’t have to love you the way you loved him— and you’d been sure for a while that he never would— but couldn’t he at least be a little nicer? You wouldn’t feel right being anywhere but at his side, no matter how much he made it seem like he never wanted you there at all.

Honestly, you did consider not going back the next morning— but you figured they might actually need you for the next part. Okay, not need, but they could at least use you for something: after smuggling anything in, you need a fence, someone to pawn this stuff off. Joel and Tess did a decent job of keeping a low profile, but it was even easier to do so when they had someone like you moving contraband around Boston’s population.

So, after a few hours of sleep on that radically uncomfortable cot, you decided to head back to Joel’s place. The sun was just above the horizon by this time, but only the people working early shifts for their rations were up now; you liked the city best when it was quiet like this, but then again, you liked almost everything better quiet.

Usually, Joel’s apartment was the same way. But when you walked in, the energy was completely different than you were used to. Where you’d normally find Tess counting up the score while Joel sipped on coffee (or liquor, depending most on the hour), instead you walked in on what was clearly a lover’s quarrel.

The thing was, this was not your typical argument— they were doing it Joel and Tess style, which is to say, as repressed as possible. In fact, they weren’t even talking when you walked in, but just the way they were standing was indicative of the discomfort they were clearly trying not to acknowledge.

Tess was at the window, arms crossed, looking at the view; and you knew that was a bad sign, because there was no view to be had, the QZ was an eyesore and she complained about it all the time. Joel was sitting at the table, facing the other way, his hand squeezing his own fist instead of the handle of his mug— it didn’t look injured, but his face still had a hint of pain on it.

“I’m sorry—” you mumbled, not sure what you were apologizing for yet, but Tess interrupted you.

“I’ll go,” she decided, walking over to the table.

“Okay,” Joel agreed, not looking at her.

Well, you were no relationship expert, and you didn’t even know what they were arguing about… but you knew that was pretty cold. “So that’s all you’re gonna say to me?” Tess prompted him, her tone tight and her eyes red.

You kept your head low, as if that would hide the fact that you could clearly see and hear all this.

“Yeah,” Joel decided, not as aloof as usual; it reminded you of how he usually spoke to you, that frustration, but it was definitely different. More… exhausted. “Yeah, it is.”

Tess put her weight predominantly on one leg, her hips shifting, as she let out a scoffing sort of breath. For a moment, she looked at you; you looked back at her shyly from beneath your brows before looking away. Why would she look at me right now?

Shaking her head, she left, mumbling to herself but you couldn’t make it out. The door slammed behind her. Joel sighed next.

“Everything okay?” you asked sheepishly, twisting your boot on the floor to watch the shapes it made in the thin layer of dust.

“Clearly,” he insisted, and the sarcasm was obvious though his voice was neutral. You could tell he didn’t want you to prod more— anyone who knew Joel for two minutes would know that— but you still chewed your lip as you wondered what you should do.

Your attention turned to the stacks of contraband on the table; most of it was perfectly legal material to own, just not legal to acquire from outside the city’s perimeter. “Looks like a good haul this time,” you noticed, hoping a change of subject would soothe him a little. Maybe it did, but he didn’t show it. He just kept squeezing his fist, and you gently sat down across from him at the table— and you started doing what you figured you should, going through what they’d brought back and starting to figure how much you could get for it.

For a while, he entertained that conversation, though with as short of responses as possible. Not even a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’, just hums and grunts that got the point across. You could tell he was thinking, but you could also tell he didn’t want to be— that he’d rather forget about all that. For once, he was struggling to do that.

It scared you to imagine doing something he so obviously didn’t want you to do, but you knew you couldn’t ignore it forever. “What made her so upset?” you asked softly, finally.

He paused for so long that you thought he was just ignoring your question, but he did eventually say something. “She told me something I wasn’t ready to hear,” he answered, “and… and I guess I said the wrong thing.”

“What did you say?”

“Actually, I didn’t say anything,” he admitted with a thin laugh. “But, I said nothing in the wrong way.”

"... Do you think she'll come back?" you pressed, and his sigh was answer enough.

You had to wonder if he'd make you a real partner in all this now. Probably not, right? He thought so little of you before, that wouldn't change just because Tess was out.

“I’m sorry,” you decided.

“It’s not your fault,” he promised. “It was me.”

You didn’t press on that, already thankful and pleasantly surprised by how much he’d shared. He stood up a moment later, leaving the table and moving to the kitchenette so he could make some coffee; oddly, that comforted you. Like things were going to go forward now, like life could be normal again and he would still drink his coffee.

For a while, it was quiet— just how you liked it, and how you figured he liked it, too. He was humming a song at one point but you didn’t think he realized he was doing it.

It was so quiet, in fact, that when you went to lay on the sofa later, you ended up accidentally dozing off. You couldn’t say how long you were asleep— you were pretty underslept, but it didn’t feel like more than an hour— just that you were awoken to the sound of movement in the kitchen area.

Sitting up, you tilted your head when you saw Joel had begun packing up the contraband haul— well, half of it. “What are you—?” you began to ask, but then you saw the time, and you remembered; but he answered you anyways.

“Our buyer’s on his break now,” Joel announced as he stuffed a pack of bandages into his bag. “I said I would meet him to show him what we got.”

“I can go with you!” you announced. “You know, if Tess isn’t—”

“It’s fine,” he insisted, “I can do it myself.”

“Joel, please,” you pressed, “I promise I’ll do whatever you need me to, I just wanna help—”

“I need you to stay here,” he frowned.

Some things never change, huh? “Why don’t you just let me go? Let me help you?” you whimpered, lip shaking as you started to cry. You hated yourself for it, but you knew you couldn’t stop it.

There was a pause before he responded. “I don’t like the way he looks at you,” Joel explained, but you doubted that was the real reason he didn’t want you to come. “It only takes one of us, you’re better off here.”

“Tess was gonna go!” you reminded him, getting more upset. "I know I'm not…" you trailed off as you tried not to cry too much or too loudly. "I can't do what she can— I'm not strong…"

He sighed as he knelt down in front of you, resting his hand on your knee. You peeked out from behind your fingers, but looked down again.

"I'm not— I'm not smart, either," you whimpered. "I don't know anything, about before, about now—"

"That's not true," he mumbled, but you weren't finished yet.

"Nobody knows why you even keep me around, I sure don't," you shrugged, dropping your hands defeatedly, hot tears running faster down your face and dripping onto your pants; his hand reached up and wiped your cheeks with a gentleness you never knew he had. “M’not… I’m not tough, like you guys…”

"You know what you are, little girl?" he replied quietly. "You're good. You're sweet. Me an' Tess, we need someone like you to keep us from bein' sad old assholes all the time…"

He sighed, and you thought was done talking, until he spoke again, softer.

"I need someone like you."

Your heart swelled, and light filled your chest, until you had just enough confidence to finally blurt out what you'd been holding in for months: "Joel, you should know that I always—"

"Shh," he soothed, nodding. "I know."

Your face got hot instantly again, and your heart sank. "I think everybody knows," you mumbled awkwardly, giving him a half-smile through the drying tears. "But I thought— it's just that you never—"

“I couldn’t,” he insisted. “You understand that? I couldn’t, not with you—”

“Why not?” you snapped. “Why can’t you?”

“If you don’t know why, you’re more hopeless than I thought,” he frowned.

“I know— I know I’m… a lot younger than you…” you mumbled, almost not wanting to say it in case he actually hadn’t noticed that. “I know you think I’m not very mature and stuff… but that shouldn’t matter when you really love someone—”

“Woah, hey,” he coughed, “love? Sweetheart, you’ve got a crush—”

“No! Don’t tell me how I feel,” you snapped, surprising both of you with your sudden ability to stand up to him. “You can tell me what to do but not what to feel.”

“Okay,” he softened up, “fine. That’s fair. But it’ll pass—”

"I've never loved anybody before," you whimpered, "and I'm never gonna love anybody like I love you. I know that! I know you think I'm just a stupid kid who doesn't understand love, but I know that I really love you! Okay? So just… just stop talking! Doesn’t need to take this long for you to reject me, geez…”

There was a pregnant pause, you were too caught up in your own frustration to really notice it: the way he looked to the side, chewing on the inside of his cheek for a moment. You weren’t expecting him to say anything after that, so it nearly startled you when he spoke. “It was last night, after you left,” he explained. “I— I thought about telling you to come back, figured you’d be safer on the couch than walking back across the city at that time…”

Wrapping your arms around your chest, you smiled a little imagining that, but you knew you couldn’t have taken him up on that offer: it would’ve killed you, trying to sleep on that sofa while Joel and Tess shared the bed.

“She told me not to,” Joel continued. “That’s… that’s how it started, I guess…”

“That girl’s so obsessed with you,” Tess laughed lightly, toying with Joel’s lapel. “It’s cute, really. I mean, it’s sad— but it’s cute.”

“Hm,” Joel said first, not really listening— it took him a second to properly react. “Why is it sad?” he asked when her words processed completely.

“‘Cause she thinks she might actually have a chance,” Tess explained.

That was it, what he did wrong; he sees it now, in retrospect, but at the time he figured saying nothing was his safest bet. Apparently, he didn’t have to say anything.

“Shit,” Tess said suddenly, moving instantly from shock to anger. “Are you fucking serious?”

“What?” Joel spat.

“You know fucking what,” she returned sharply. “That look— you looked away.”

“Okay? So?” Joel tried to defend himself, but he knew that she knew now— believe it or not, he really wasn’t much of a liar. Especially with her.

“She’s a goddamn fetus, Joel,” Tess reminded him. “She hasn’t seen a hundredth of the shit we’ve seen, she hasn’t lost anyone—”

“Lost her parents,” Joel corrected.

“Well, we all lose our parents,” Tess rolled her eyes, “that’s part of life.”

Not the way she lost them, Joel wanted to add, but he was going back to his original plan of saying nothing.

“She’s not like us,” Tess insisted.

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Joel decided.

That was the point of no return; because Tess had never thought of you as competition, she barely even thought of you at all, but if innocence was something he wanted… then the competition was already over before it even started. The silence was heavy, more sad than angry, and Joel knew he really fucked up because he’d never really seen Tess speechless before. Is it bad that he didn’t regret it, though? Maybe he could’ve handled things better, but telling her the truth couldn’t be wrong. It’s not like he’d been hiding it, really— he never even acknowledged it himself, not often.

“I can’t believe you,” she shook her head, and shame twisted in his gut. “Part of me always— not always, I guess, but part of me wondered. Sometimes the way you looked at her…”

As she trailed off, Joel looked down, too afraid for her to look in his eyes now.

“You’d do anything to keep her safe,” she said instead of finishing that last thought. “I told myself you didn’t look at me like that because you knew I could protect myself.”

“I do,” he promised.

“So what do you want?” she asked point-blank. “Something you can protect, or something you don’t have to?”

“And what did you say?” you asked hurriedly.

“I told her what I wanted,” was all he replied, and your heart skipped. “And that’s… that’s why she left.”

Joel nodded slightly, looking away. But you reached out and touched his face, turning it back towards you. Impulsively, you leaned forward and kissed him; it took all the courage you had, and a hand on his shoulder for balance, but you felt him kiss you back after a moment. It was gentle, for how sudden it was, and you sighed as his hand moved higher up your leg.

You were still crying, because of course you were, but he didn’t mind as much as you’d worried: he only wiped your tears away, holding onto your face, standing up and pulling you with him.

“I love you,” you whispered as he embraced you, wanting to say it a thousand times now that it wasn’t the worst-kept secret in Boston. “I love you, Joel—”

“I know,” he promised, whispering back into the kiss which got deeper with each passing moment. “I know, darlin’.”

That was enough for you— that was plenty: the way he kissed you, and held you, calling you darlin’ in that rough-yet-gentle voice… you were weak already, melting into his touch, ready to give him anything.

In fact, he had to put a hand on your shoulder and gently push you away to get you to calm down, and your face heated up as you realized how eager you’d been. “Don’t need to get so worked up, m’gonna take care of you now, okay?”

“You always take care of me,” you noticed.

“A different way,” he explained.

Just the way those brown eyes darkened, just the way he said that made your thighs clench against each other. “Y-you’ll miss the meeting with the buyer,” you realized.

“Fuck,” Joel grumbled, and you smiled a bit. “Waited this long and now I’ve gotta fuckin’ leave you again.”

Your hand rested on his chest, the soft flannel of his shirt transmitting some of the warmth of his body, and you looked up with him with wide, wet eyes.

“I know you hate waitin’ here, but… I always liked it,” he admitted, his voice softer yet deeper. “I always liked knowing you were here, waiting for me…”

Your heart swelled. “Y-yeah— I didn’t mind waiting for you so much,” you admitted in return, “just didn’t want you to think that’s all I was good for.”

He kissed your temple, making your chest flood with warmth. “I know,” he promised. “You’ll be here when I get back, won’tcha? Can’t disappear on me now.”

“I won’t, I’ll be here,” you assured, turning your face to peck his cheek in return. It seemed to surprise him, like he hadn’t had tenderness of that sort in a long time.

Funny how you’d waited for him all night before, but that half hour felt longer than all of them combined. You were quite sure you knew what he meant before— about how he would take care of you in a different way— and it put you on edge all afternoon.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d kissed you, about his hands pulling you closer. Or his eyes: if he’d ever looked at you like that before, you hadn’t noticed (which was probably what he intended).

For how much time you spent wondering what you would do, what you would say, when he returned, you ended up not doing much of either: he was on you the moment he stepped in the door, though that was sort of what you’d been betting on when you decided to strip down to just your underwear and wait for him like that. Not that you minded the idea of him, you know, tearing your clothes off like one of those romance novels— you just didn’t like the idea of having to wait any longer than you already had and this shirt had way too many buttons.

He did take a moment to stare you down when he came back, to appreciate your nakedness, and despite imagining showing yourself to him many times before, you felt a little self-conscious with his eyes just piercing through you like that: you didn’t cover yourself, ignoring a slight instinct to do so, but you did wrap your arms over your stomach and cross your legs as you sat on his bed.

Waiting for him to say something— or, possibly, waiting for yourself to find some courage to speak— you were a little taken aback when he grabbed you and kissed you. And you realized, as his lips moved with yours even harder, deeper, needier than before, that there was nothing else to say.

He climbed on top of you on that bed, laid you down on it gently, as his weight pressed you down into the mattress. You could've sworn you heard him growl when he rocked his hips against yours, a firm bulge in his jeans pressing right up to where heat had gathered between your legs.

Fingers weaving in his hair, you hummed as you did all you could to keep him close, as if he might just disappear if you didn’t hold him near to you. But he didn’t seem like much of a flight risk, considering his tight grip on you— so tight it could leave marks, which you hoped it would. You needed more than just memories of this.

“Tell me this is what you want,” he demanded, his voice breathless yet somehow not weak at all. “Need to know you want this.”

“Fuck, Joel, f’course,” you promised— wasn’t it obvious? It probably was. But you could understand if he was still fighting back some guilt; you just wanted to do everything you could to help him forget about that. “So bad,” you continued, “for so long…”

“Since I saved you?” he assumed, his teeth grazing your lip like a threat to bite down harder— a threat that made you throb from the inside out.

“Before,” you admitted, smiling sheepishly.

“Didn’t even know me before,” he noticed, raising an eyebrow.

“Saw you around sometimes—” god, am I blushing as hard as it feels like I am? — “thought maybe you could… you know…”

Protect me. Hold me. Take care of me. And fuck me like the world is ending even though it already did.

He smirked at you proudly, leaning in to kiss your neck this time, following some invisible trail that made you even more sensitive to the touch of his lips; after he kissed right under your ear, he whispered to you.

“Then just go ahead and take what you want, darlin’.”

After a shiver ran over you, so strong you thought it might never end, your hands shot down between you so you could get to work on his belt and fly; you felt his smile against your skin, then his teeth a moment later, as his hand rubbed the curve of your waist gently.

Both of you gasped when your fingers wrapped gently around his cock, for different reasons. The skin was so smooth, it was hard to believe something this soft and silky was part of Joel— and it was hot, or maybe your fingers were just cold, but you hoped that didn't bother him.

He was already starting to move his hips just a bit, rocking into your touch, and you hummed when he suddenly grabbed your hand to force it to press firmer against himself. "You thought about touchin' me like this before?" he asked in a voice that was breathy and low— you loved hearing the pleasure in his voice.

"Y-yeah," you admitted shyly; when he let your hand go, your touch wandered, your hands sliding up under the bottom of his shirt so you could feel the skin there— the firm muscle, the thin scars, the graying hairs that formed a trail down his stomach…

Grabbing your wrists, he pinned them down above your head, and you let out a joyful whine. "Keep those there," he ordered, and you nodded as you watched him intently.

His hands traced down your body, making shivers run all over your skin; how could a man with so much strength touch you so delicately?

He purred as his fingers ran down to your panties, toying with the edge of the fabric before carefully pulling them down your legs. You tried not to wiggle too much, but your hips were desperate for some friction, for some attention from him— they didn't have to wait long, though. He groaned at the sight as he parted your legs, grabbing himself to rub his fat head through your folds. "Fuck," he mumbled, your channel clenching on nothing as you saw how far apart his tip forced your swollen lips, "so wet for me already, bet I'll slide right in…"

Your back arched with a moan just imagining that, and he pushed your stomach down flat with his free hand so you wouldn't angle too far away from him, laying his body atop yours. Though you tried to stay still, you couldn’t stop shaking as he lined himself up; it felt surreal, it felt hyperreal— his skin against yours was unlike anything you could’ve imagined.

You’d sort of wondered if he’d say something before he put it in, maybe a quick you ready? or even here it comes which would’ve been stupid but an appreciated warning nonetheless. Instead, he just looked at your face carefully, and pushed inside. It was sudden, sharp; your whole body tensed up and you sucked in a breath before biting your lip.

He only made it halfway in, struggling against how tight you were. You were doing everything you could not to give away your pain, but he must've seen it in your expression.

"What's wrong?" he asked in a hoarse whisper. "I'm hurting you…"

"No— Joel, please don't stop—"

You wrapped your legs around his hips to try to keep him inside, but he pulled out most of the way and looked down— and you winced when he saw the blood. "Baby, you… are you— is this your—? Fuck, why didn't you say something?"

"You wouldn't have done it with me if you knew it was my first time," you explained with a whimper.

"No, baby— I just would've taken my time with you, s'all," he sighed, "would've helped you— sweetie, it didn't need to hurt like that…"

Clutching tighter at his shirt, you pulled him down into a needy kiss. "Hurt me more, Joel," you pleaded into it with a breathy whisper, "do whatever you want to me. I'm yours— that's all I want, just to be yours."

He kissed you back, slow but passionate; but, much to your dismay, he pulled out and sat up.

"No, Joel, I'm sorry," you whined, "I'm sorry— I didn't mean to lie, I'm so sorry, I promise I can be good! M'gonna be really good for you!"

But he just shook his head, and you bit your quivering lip as tears ran down your temples. He smiled, just a little. "Such a crybaby," he scolded you softly. "What am I gonna do with you, little girl? You can't even keep yourself together."

He leaned down again, but he slid his knees down on the bed so he could position his face between your legs. He kissed your inner thigh first, and you jumped because it tickled.

Then he held your hips, running his thumbs over your skin soothingly, and you tried not to squirm too much as he looked up at you with those dark eyes— much darker than before. “You want me to taste you?” he asked, like it was your idea or something.

“Uh, yeah,” you mumbled sheepishly, and he actually laughed for a moment.

“Yeah?” he repeated. “Could you be a little more specific?”

Oh— he wants me to beg. “Um— please? Taste me, Joel…”

He smiled, but not like a haha funny smile or an oh that’s nice smile— a really dirty kind of smile, even though his teeth were actually in better condition than most out here. “Okay, baby,” he agreed.

He was subtle about it at first, just giving gentle kisses all around; you felt… exposed, even more than you had with his face between your legs before.

“Is that alright?” he asked, his voice rougher than the last time you heard it.

“Y-yeah,” you choked, clearing your throat. “Don’t… don’t stop, please…”

When he got back to it, he was much more aggressive— long, slow licks between your lips, sloppy kisses with his eyes shut tight; and you whined as you held on tighter to the sheets. You didn’t realize how hard you were shaking until his grip on your thighs was bruisingly tight. And as he held you down, he just dug in deeper: every time you thought he’d stop escalating the intensity of it all, he just did it more— he just did everything more— until you couldn’t control your moans and gasps anymore.

His tongue was the fucking devil; he slid it inside you and your eyes rolled back. He sucked greedily on your clit until your hips bucked uncontrollably, moaning against your skin just enough that you could hear it over your own shameless cries.

"Joel, fuck, how are you—? Oh god—"

"Mm?" he encouraged you to finish your thought without breaking away from you.

"How does that feel so good?" you sobbed. "Oh my god— please don't stop, never stop, oh fuck!"

All he was doing was flicking his tongue over your bud, such a small interaction with a tiny little organ, and your whole body was shaking. Reaching down and grabbing his hair, you didn't mean to tug on it so hard but you also didn't expect him to moan deeply when you did.

His mouth moved a little higher, focusing on the bud you were sure had never been this swollen or this sensitive. Doing so freed your opening, and one of his thick fingers prodded at it. "Please," you panted, wanting any part of him to be inside you again.

He pushed it in, the roughness of his skin creating the perfect friction on your delicate walls. You were waiting to feel his knuckle against you, but instead he only put it in maybe halfway, not very far at all. It didn’t make much sense to you, until he started to rub one place just inside and a gasp instantly inflated your chest.

“Oh—” you choked, and he was licking harder on your clit at the same time that he added a second finger; you’d never felt anything like it before. “Joel!” you squealed, hating how girlish it sounded but helpless to the control he had over your body with just two fingers and his tongue.

His rhythm wasn’t all that fast but it was relentless, the exact tempo you needed for that pleasure to build and build, toes curling and vision getting all spotty— you tried to look down at him sometimes, but your head wanted so badly to tilt back and let everything go black.

“I— oh, fuck— I’m gonna— fuck, Joel!” you sobbed, grabbing on tighter to his hair; you took one glimpse at it, and when you saw the scattered silver hairs peeking out from between your fingers, it just made you even more overwhelmed.

He hummed and looked up at you, encouraging you— his fingers pumped faster and faster suddenly, and when it hit, you felt like your whole body was going numb. It started where he was touching you, but then a moment later it was in your head, then it was just running all over and you were too weak to do anything but give into it.

Suddenly it became too much, and the hand that had been holding him down by his hair was suddenly pushing him away; you blinked away the spots in your vision to catch a glimpse of him with that beard soaked in you, but his fingers hadn’t stopped yet. “Oh… ohhh my god…” you whined, breathing harder than you could ever remember breathing before, your head getting all dizzy and cloudy as he smirked up at you and continued fucking you with his hand.

Your hole was pulsing, flexing over and over, waves of slick leaking out until you could feel the puddle spreading under you. Your cheeks burned with humiliation, even though he kept praising you as his fingers milked everything from your swollen spot. "Good girl, good girl," he said over and over, "fuck, good job, soak the sheets, baby— soak my fingers, keep going…"

"Joel," you sobbed, desperate for some relief from the overwhelming sensation. He didn't really stop, just slowed down a lot, but he kept twisting his fingers and rubbing that one place until your quivering body collapsed completely onto his mattress. And then he went on for just a little bit longer after that.

Then he stopped. When you thought you might fucking pass out.

He climbed up your body and brought his two soaked fingers to your slack lips.

"You want a taste, too, baby?" he purred.

You dutifully opened your mouth and did your best to clean his fingers off, sucking and licking as he hummed a bit; his eyes got a little darker as he felt your tongue run all over his rough fingers.

"What do you think?" he prompted when he pulled his fingers away, and you swallowed as you made a little face.

"I dunno if I like it," you admitted nervously. "Kinda sour."

"Really? I think your pussy's fuckin' delicious."

Your face flushed, but you didn't say anything else because he was reaching down to hold his cock again— and your heart started racing.

"Ready to do this the right way?" he prompted, and you nodded eagerly. "S'gonna feel so much better, now you're all ready for me. Ready for something this big inside ya— but it might still sting at first, okay? Just hold onto me tight."

That you did, tighter than you thought you could— apparently you were stronger than you realized, especially considering that orgasm nearly took you out a minute ago. But you had to hold on that tight as he began to push that fat head inside you, stretching you so wide before he'd even gotten the ridge of it past your opening. It didn't sting like before, or at least not as much, but it was still completely overwhelming. You forgot to breathe until he was halfway in: you gasped out his name, reminding yourself he was inside you and above you and everywhere, everything.

"See how much— fuck— how much easier it is now?" he grunted, sliding into you slowly until his hips met yours. "See how you're takin' all'a me? God damn, still tight as hell, though."

You were delirious already, he hadn't even moved yet. You didn't think it could get much better than his mouth on you, than coming because of him, but this? This perfect stretch, this addictive friction, knowing he was completely inside you and that he liked how you felt? This was ecstasy, bliss. And he hadn't even fucking moved yet.

"Gonna have a hard time being gentle with you now," he admitted with a growl beside your ear. "You've got one of those perfect little pussies that just needs to be fucked hard— suckin' me in, just beggin' for it rough and fast."

"Joel," you whined, "fuck me however you want, please… I can take it, I swear, I want you so bad…"

Still, when he moved, it was slow and patient. Too goddamn slow.

"Fuck," you sobbed, back arching up off the bed as he carefully savored every detail of you. "Fuck, Joel, I can't— I can't believe you're— I can't believe it's you. I wanted you so much I couldn't fucking breathe."

He smiled at you, and leaned in to kiss your neck; you let out what could only be described as a joyful whimper. “Wanted you too,” he finally admitted. “Tried not to, you’re so young… jus’ couldn’t help it after a while.”

"Faster," you whined, "please, fuck, please please—"

"You are so goddamn spoiled, you know that?" Joel grunted— but then he did it, he fucked you even faster than you'd imagined. His thrusts were still deep and long, but they came at you quicker than you could process and you nearly screamed.

You were even more sensitive after he’d made you come the first time; it was just overwhelming, the feeling of him, and you felt like your mind had left your body— like your mind had left you entirely.

“Y’feel fuckin’ perfect, darlin’,” he praised lowly, kissing your neck with all the gentleness and patience his thrusts lacked. “So good for me.”

Maybe it was pathetic, but being good for him felt fucking amazing— not just physically, obviously. It felt like having a purpose; you’d never really felt that before.

You lost track of time; honestly, you lost track of everything. Everything that wasn’t this had fallen away, and it was just you holding on for dear life as Joel wrecked you all over again with every motion. "Hear that? How wet you are for me?" he groaned, and yes, there was a squishy-wet sound that filled the room with each thrust. You tried to answer him, say something witty about how he made you that wet so many times, but only moans came when you opened your mouth. "I asked you a question," he reminded you. "Can you fuckin' hear it?"

Whimpering, you could only bite your lip and nod.

"Oh," he smiled, "I see— you get stupid with cock in you, huh? Get fucked right and that silly brain just turns off?"

You nodded again— wasn’t much else for you to do.

"Just gonna be a dumb whore for me now?" he asked. "Just kidding, I know you already were."

“Fuck— Joel—” you choked.

"No no, it's okay— it's good,” he soothed you, kissing a tear from your temple that you hadn’t even realized was there. “You don't need to think. I don't need you to think. You can just be my fucktoy, okay? You can just be my slut. Say it."

"I-I'm your slut, Joel…"

He hummed appreciatively; your moan caught in your throat, and you tried to hide your face in his shoulder— you couldn’t believe he was still dressed, for all you knew he still had his boots on, and meanwhile you were stripped of everything. Not just your clothes: you were stripped of all pretense (didn’t need it) and dignity (didn’t want it). You’d thought of yourself as his for quite some time now, but now that he’d really made you his, it was more than you could’ve imagined.

When you came with him inside you, it wasn’t like how it was before— definitely similar, obviously the same thing at the core of it, but very different. Before it was so… sudden, like a firework going off and then glittering into darkness (at least, that was how you understood fireworks to be, you’d only ever had them explained to you). This was more like a deep pressure that just built and built and built, and then at some point you’d crossed that threshold and you were there but it didn’t go away, it just stayed at the peak while he kept moving inside you.

He grunted as your walls beared down on him, watching the tears of ecstasy stream down your face. “Tryin’ to milk my cock, huh?” he accused with a snarl to his tone. “S’that what you want?”

You weren’t really paying attention, you couldn’t while he was fucking you like that. Digging your fingers into his shoulders through the flannel shirt, you just whimpered and nodded.

“S’workin’, baby,” he smiled, “little pussy’s got me so tight— is it a little too much, honey? You’re cryin’...”

“I— I always cry,” you sniffled.

“M’not gonna make you take too much more,” he promised, “doin’ so good honey— gonna let you rest soon—”

“No, d-don’t stop,” you begged, and he laughed a little.

“I’m close,” he explained, and even though that should’ve been obvious, it made you feel better. “Normally takes me a little longer, but… never had a pussy like this.”

That was probably just flattery, but you were happy to believe it. Happy enough to just lay back and let that pleasure wash over you, but of course, he expected more of you than that.

"Tell me where I can come," he ordered.

"Fuck, Joel— anywhere you want, anywhere," you pleaded, struggling to keep your train of thought but desperate to appease him as best you could.

"Inside you?" he pressed.

"Yeah, fuck, anywhere," you insisted.

"I bet that's what you want— you want it inside. You want this cunt full and dripping."

“Fuck— yeah,” you agreed, “s’what I want— please, please—”

“Shh, don’t need to beg,” he assured sweetly, kissing your neck again— burying his face in the crook of your shoulder, until his panting breaths echoed on your skin. “Don’t need to beg, darlin’, gonna fill you nice and deep—”

“Please,” you said again, ignoring his assurances.

“Just like you need it—”

“Please, Joel— love you so much,” you sobbed, your thighs starting to go a little numb where his jeans were rubbing against them and your clit getting sore from the way he stayed deep inside and grinded himself against you.

“I know,” he promised again, “jus’ say it one more time.”

“I love you, Joel,” you cried, and it was over somewhat suddenly: he stayed still, and you could feel his grip on you tighten, and you heard that sound that was like a groan and a sigh at the same time. You’d hoped you’d be able to really feel it inside you, the warmth of his come, but everything was so hot that it was all the same— what you did feel was full, even more than you had just from his cock in you, and it was enough to make you clutch at his shoulders again despite having almost no energy left in you.

Though he stayed inside for a little while after, he did eventually have to pull out; you were too exhausted to even think about trying to close your legs when he stared down at you— at his come leaking slowly from your hole.

You knew there would need to be a conversation soon about what this all meant— what should happen now with the business, with your relationship, even just what should happen tomorrow morning since you’d both given in to instinct rather than take the safer route and have Joel pull out…

But that would have to wait; you still couldn’t think straight, you couldn’t think about anything but him in fact.

Thankfully, Joel was just fine with the silence. He just held you, let you wander between sleep and wakefulness, and wiped that last stray tear away from your face.

“I’m sorry I keep crying,” you offered quietly, breaking a long silence.

“I don’t mind,” he promised.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller hbo x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n

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yuri-is-online · 4 months

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Grim being greedy with Yuu's attention and love is pretty cute and very cat of him. Though it would be funny if the guys are the ones getting jealous/are envious of Grim. Image one of them seeing Grim getting held, smooched on his cute little face, and being told what a handsome little man he is. The boy wants that to be him so bad. 🥲

I love the misplaced jealousy trope so much. It's about the contempt, embarrassment, and guilt all rolled up into one package. Anyway have a list:

Not Jealous

Kalim- the only thing he is jealous of is that he is not the one spoiling Grim, he wants to let him know what a special little boy he is too! Look he even brought some crackers-

Trey- has kid siblings, knows how fun they can be to spoil so he doesn't mind. He saves his actual jealousy for other people that try to monopolize your time and assume that since he is so laid back he will just be ok with it.

Lilia- he is too old to be jealous of a practical child, but he is a bit hurt Grim won't let him spoil either of you with some food. He worked really hard on it ˙∧˙

Rook- watching you interact with Grim is truly beautiful, he has so many pictures of the two of you together from different angles in different light and he loves them all. Also I feel like he would be the type to actually like feeling jealous? Like he would write excessively about how beautiful he finds his feelings for you to the point you wonder if he is actually jealous or just... really extra with his obsessions.

Rollo- he doesn't see Grim as competition. Point, blank, period, there is no reason to be jealous of a monster because he doesn't want you to see him as someone who needs babying. If you are going to pepper his face with kisses and tell him he is handsome he wants that to be for other reasons (and hopefully in private he isn't big on pda.)

Deuce- he has this little game with Grim where Grim tries to get him jealous but Deuce waits his turn like a good little boy and gets twice as many kisses and compliments as Grim does. Idiot falls for it every time and Deuce is way to smug about it for Yuu not to notice.

Only a Little Jealous

Ruggie- is aware enough of himself to know he has no reason to see Grim as competition. Everyone likes spoiling kids, even bratty ones, but hey. Ruggie is a greedy guy and he wants to be spoiled by you, even if he is a bit too shy to admit it.

Cater- you spoiling Grim is very camable and Cater loves taking pictures of it; even if he doesn't have your permission to post them he just likes to have them to look at. But on days where Cater is a bit more depressed it can be hard to watch, he needs some tlc to recharge and he will never say he hates seeing it go to Grim- he does hate seeing it go to Grim.

Epel- really wishes Yuu would hang out with him because they think he is cool... but cool guys like being told they're handsome and getting kisses too... right? Well doesn't matter because he does and he is torn between playing cute to get it and hoping he wakes up buff enough to flirt with Yuu the way he wants.

Silver- he isn't aware that he is jealous because he knows why he shouldn't be, he has animals following him around everywhere so it would be hypocritical of him to be jealous of the attention you give Grim. But he is, he really likes your affection and is jealous for it.

In Denial

Vil- world famous super model Vil Schoenheit does not get jealous, people get jealous of him. And he certainly does NOT get jealous of monsters who aren't real rivals for your attention and he does not look at how you spoil Grim and think to himself how nice it would be to be able to be that free with his affection. On a completely unrelated note are you free in about an hour? He has some lipsticks he needs to swatch.

Jade- let's get one thing straight, Jade never gets actually jealous he just pretends to be because it's funny. He definitely is not watching you kiss Grim's little face and actually think of throwing him halfway across campus. Now if you could just look the other way for a second- oh why are you looking at him like that he would never actually hurt Grim. But just to make sure maybe you could buy him off with a kiss? Pretty please?

Sebek- thinks that he is above being jealous but has that ruffled wet cat look complete with the trembling lower lip as soon as he sees you and Grim. He isn't fooling anyone, please also spoil the croco he will call you an idiot but he is only doing that because he is too flustered to talk properly.

Jack- you are his mate, his one and only, the moon in the sky that is his life so why oh why does watching you spoil Grim make him want to die? Maybe it's because it is a bit hard for him to admit when he wants your affection so seeing you be so free with Grim makes those same words bubble up in his throat. Thank goodness he has a tail, otherwise you would never know when he wants a smooch.

Riddle- touch starved? Check. Proud? Check. Obsessed with rules to the point that it makes him a bit stiff when it comes to how he rationalizes his desires for affection? Oh you don't even know. He doesn't realize what he is feeling is jealousy and just assumes Yuu is breaking some sort of rule of social etiquette and that's why he is so mad at Grim. If he gets a kiss out of this he will probably pass out.

Visibly Seething

LEONA- is a petty bitch. He needs to feel like he is in charge and has a weird sort of competition with Grim because of how vaguely feline he is. Leona is the bigger cat so he should be the one Yuu is kissing on and not the whiny baby. leona says fuck them kids

Floyd- Floyd isn't always jealous. Sometimes he thinks watching Yuu spoil Grim is really funny! Just look at baby seal, all whiny and spoiled just like a real baby, so cute ♡ But when he has decided that he, Floyd, is the one who should be receiving kisses the eel is an absolute menace. Running won't help you.

Azul- he is touch starved and repressed and while it should be cute watching you spoil Grim... he doesn't think it is. Or rather he can't, he is too caught up in white knuckling his grip on his cane because oh seas he wishes that were him, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE LET THAT BE HIM

Jamil- thinks he is playing it smooth and isn't coming off as jealous at all but he is. I once wrote that he would be jealous of the air you breathe and Grim is much more solid than that. He tries to play off his interruption as him just having had a rough day but Grim knows what he is and is not impressed. he totally sticks his tongue out at grim when yuu isn't looking what a loser

Ace- Grim has this weird game he plays with Ace where he behaves extremely well and gets a bunch of kisses and praise while Ace seethes in the corner until he finally snaps and whines for your attention. Ace does not wait his turn like a good boy and he and Grim are constantly competing for who gets the most kisses.

Malleus- Mal Mal is a bit of a spoiled brat. He hasn't had a lot of friends, so him wanting to be around Yuu and have their attention whenever he wants is natural but... he really isn't the best at sharing. But never mind that isn't his face much more kissable than Grim's child of man? (￣��￣)

C-c-combo

Idia- no I didn't forget hims shut up. He goes through all four stages in that exact order. Not jealous because Mr. Grim is so cute he deserves all the kissies in the world, to a little jealous because he wishes Grim would let him spoil him too, to in denial because pssh there's no waaay you would ever want to give a weeb like him kisses or think he was handsome, to outright seething because Grim starts making fun of him. He is too brave enough to handle Yuu's affection! He instantly passes out after he gets one kiss

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #<3 asks #gah i needed this break #working on some requests and fried my brain #my goal is to have a full fic before my next drs app but we shall see

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one-idea · 5 months

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Can someone please do a retelling of one piece from Wado Ichimonji’s perspective.

Because Zoro talks to his swords and whenever someone gives them personality I love it.

For generations Wado was stuck at a dojo as a guard and that’s great but then Kuina comes around and starts dreaming of more. She has the skill to becomes something more then a dojo owner and Wado can feel it. Adventure is coming.

But then Kuina dies.

And the dream is over. Wado is going to stay as a guard for this dojo for years to come.

Except that crazy kid, the one who liked to fight Kuina. The one whose first day at the dojo grabbed as many swords as he could hold because THAT was a good fighting style. Is begging Wado’s old master to GIVE him Wado Ichimonji. And there is a prideful part of Wado that wonders how the kid dares because she belongs to the Shimotsuki clan. Not this no name orphan. But then Zoro declares his dream.

To become the worlds strongest swordsman and make the heaven know his AND Kuina’s name.

And ya he’s crazy but in the best way. And Wado Ichimonji decides it wants to go with him. She wants to see what this little no name can become. Because in the moment he declares his dream she believes him.

So there partnership starts but Zoro still needs to prove himself. Wado never fails him as a blade and Zoro grows stronger developing his skill. By the time Zoro sets out Wado adores her idiot son.

Now if only he could get her some appropriate company. If he’s going to insist on using three blades (she is more then enough and could bring him to the top on her own just fine thank you very much) he could at least get her some higher grade swords to talk to. But so far they are so low level they can’t even communicate with her.

But that will come with time. At least they’ve left the dojo.

But Zoro, despite his skill and passion, is terrible at directions and they are lost. (It takes her a long time to admit to herself that her son is directionless, she is a prideful sword and she is very proud of him)

And then comes their lowest moment. When that sniveling brat stole her and her companions from Zoro and tied her boy up in the yard like a dog. How dare he! How dare he attempt to wield her (I love Helmeppo trying to wield Wado in opla) this is degrading, where is Zoro!?!

Then this kid comes in. And at first she ignores him because, he’s not Zoro😠 but then the boy is grabbing her and her companions, and how dare he! But then he says something about Zoro, but there’s no way Zoro sent this boy to come get them. And now they boy is taking them somewhere and Wado’s not sure what is worst, the blond who doesn’t know how to wield them or this boy who barly knows how to carry them.

But the kid takes her back to Zoro! The kid saves Zoro’s life! And for that she can be thankful. Except the kid instantly turns around and blackmails Zoro. And how dare he! Zoro is her swordsman. They will not bow to such a boy. But Zoro agrees.

Wado knows Zoro is an honorable swordsman and won’t go back on his word. But really, this boy is their captain?

And sure it’s fun to fight next to him. And he believes in Zoro’s dream, in their goal. (And has anyone ever believed in Zoro besides her?) and he’s got his own crazy dream. Maybe, the boy isn’t so bad. He did return her to Zoro, and saved her boy. Maybe having this boy as their captain will be a good thing?

Zoro seems to like him. And the captain has done what she couldn’t for Zoro. He put him on a path to his dream. So ya Wado decides pretty quickly that she likes the captain.

The navigator is obviously hiding something. Wado’s been around for a long time and she knows the girl is hiding something from the boys. Zoro knows to but he’s not willing to push, not when the captain isn’t.

The sniper is silly. Wado likes him. She hopes he becomes stronger soon but she like him. The captain smiles around him and he makes Zoro laugh. Nothing else matters.

At the Baratie they met Mihawk. And Wado is ready. She knows her master is strong. This is their goal. Their dream. And while she didn’t think they would get here so soon, she’ll have to thank Captain for that, she’s ready to face their destiny.

The captain doesn’t stop them, and for that he earns her loyalty because he believes in Zoro just as much as she does.

But the unthinkable happens. They lose. And Zoro is hurt. (Never mind the death of her two companions they weren’t talkers anyhow, her boy is hurt!)

But then Zoro his drawling her again. And for a moment she fears her idiot will try to fight again. Instead he makes and oath upon her blade. To never lose again until he becomes the world’s greatest swordsman. And he makes this oath to the king of the pirates. Their captain.

And from that moment Wado knows two things, they will defeat Mihawk, and Monkey D. Luffy is their king. And Zoro and Wado will defend him like one. What ever he needs his swords will do. For Zoro is the sword of the pirate king and Wado Ichimonji is Zoro’s sword.

The first test is Arlong park. Wado Ichimonji enjoys cutting the fish man down. They hurt the navigator. Zoro cares for the navigator. And their king wants her own their crew. So they will remove any obstacle in the way of what their king wants.

She meets the cook for the first time at Arlong park. At least it’s the first time she’s paid attention to him. She can admit he’s an excellent fighter. But something about him grates on her. And she can tell that Zoro feels much the same as her. There’s nothing wrong with him per say. She’s just can’t wrap her head around the idea of a human not fighting with their hands.

Making it to Lodgetown brings with it the opportunity for new swords (because Zoro still insists on using three) and this is where Wado meets her worst nightmare.

Sandai Kitetsu.

#wado ichimonji #shimotsuki kuina #monkey d. luffy #one piece #straw hat pirates #roronoa zoro #one piece zolu #zolu #Sandai Kitetsu #Wado Ichimonji’s pov au

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pwurrz · 1 year

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yeah, miguel is fucked up. he’s hypocritical and rash and obsessive and angry and mean and goes too far and doesn’t know when to stop. he’s not supposed to be a good guy.

his motivations make sense. his intensity and insistence on keeping things canon and not interfering with events that are ‘destined’ to happen makes sense. he knows first hand what will happen if canon events are changed or prevented. he’s a deeply unstable man due to trauma that he inadvertently caused and he’s taking his emotions out on a 15 year old kid, and that makes perfect sense.

he’s the villain. his purpose in the story is to be an antagonist to miles and the other spider people. and he fills that role in the story perfectly. he’s the direct antithesis to miles. he’s convinced himself that the rules need to be followed, no matter what. he believes people have to die. in every universe. that’s just the way things need to be. and he thinks he has a very good reason for thinking and acting this way.

miles, on the other hand, is a firm believer in deciding your own destiny. he doesn’t listen to miguel’s rules because he’s not convinced that bad things need to happen. he’s convinced that he can save everyone, and if it doesn’t seem possible, he’ll find a way to make it possible. he’s not like the other spider people, and he never really has been. he’s his own unique individual, even among the other spider people. doing things his way has always been his style.

they’re polar opposites of each other and it’s great. it’s wonderful storytelling. miguel, a man hardened by witnessing tragedy over and over, helpless to stop it. a man who’s seen enough to know that being spiderman means losing people close to you. he lost his entire family trying desperately to fix a mistake, and caused more damage in the long run, and he’s not going to let anyone else make the same mistakes that he did.

and miles, a boy who ended up as spiderman by complete accident, who firmly believes in making the most of that accident. he’s young, and his heart is big. he’s a true hero who just wants to save everyone. and he has the determination to potentially bend the universe itself to his will just so that no one else has to die.

#this got. way longer than it was supposed to but yknow #i have a lot to say about sexy villains apparently #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miles morales #atsv spoilers

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dotster001 · 8 months

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Could i request the twst earth thing except they get isekaid in the reader world? How would they act? Or interact with them? You choose the characters!

Summary: Floyd/Jade/Vil/Rook/Lilia

A/N: we'll just say that each one is a separate universe for simplicity's sake. Special thanks to @irrelevantlight @giuliap17 and @fishisahappydog for choosing the characters for me.

To the anon: your idea is really good! And I'm gonna save it for later to make it it's own post

3k followers masterlist

Hopefully Jade gets isekaid with him. If he is, he will pretend to have a leash on his wild brother. I say pretend, because the moment Floyd sees you, Jade will suddenly stop caring about restraining him, and will decide to explore this world's flora and fauna instead.

Floyd gives zero shits about this world. All he knows is that he can feel you in it, and he has to find you. He'll run the whole way, no matter where he spawns in. He'll sprint towards you, and your poor, human self isn't gonna know what hit you when a wall of man bowls you over.

Stop screaming! He's trying to love you!

If he spawns in with Floyd, half of his time is going to be spent being angry. He knows you're here, but he also has to keep track of his brother who couldn't care less about finding his twins favorite "fictional" character. It's slow progress and it may take him a couple weeks to finally reach you.

Whether he spawns in with Floyd or not, he's going to orchestrate a meet cute between you two. He can't expect you to be thrilled if he swooped in and knew everything about you. So he waits.

One day some asshole accidentally knocks into you, and you nearly fall into the busy street. Luckily two strong arms wrap around your middle and drag you to safety. He asks if you're alright, and insists on taking you for a tea to calm your nerves…and the rest is history.

How interesting….this must be your world! There is no need for him to even process the move. He's traveled many places in his lifetime. This is just a new place to add to his scrapbook!

He also isn't going to rush into a relationship with you. Once he finds you, he's going to make you fall for him. He'll play off his delightful scamp tendencies, and his charming character, and make yu head over heels.

One day you'll confess your feelings for him, and he'll act all surprised. But deep inside he's celebrating another victory for General Lilia, mastermind of the King's army.

You won't even know he's here for a while. He can't be sure if this "move" is permanent or not, so he's going to establish himself. It won't be very hard with his unearthly looks, and winning charisma.

By the time he comes to find you, you'll know who he is. He'll befriend you, and perhaps you'll even confess to him.

And of course he'll say yes. He feels a little bad that he knows everything about you, and you just think he's some random guy who got famous overnight, but it's easier to believe than the truth. Maybe he'll tell you someday. But only if he figures a way back to Twisted Wonderland.

He is in no hurry to find you. Yet. First he wants to explore your environment, figure out how his prey's your environment is so he can understand the survival tactics you use. Once he has those, he can ignore them all.

Now, just because he waited, doesn't mean he's going to do what some of these boys do, and get to know you so you don't freak out.

Nah. What you get is a man in a hat spouting a speech at you about soulmates and true love, and how he can provide for your future life living in a mansion in the woods, with a farm, and ten dogs, and thirteen kids that he just found somewhere….

#twisted wonderland #3k followers #twisted wonderland x reader #floyd leech x reader #floyd leech #jade leech #jade leech x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit #rook hunt #rook hunt x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge

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cherizzx · 2 months

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Miles 42 Headcannons ( We got a man yall 🤭🤭

Miles 42x Black Reader

OK first off, THIS IS A 15/16 YEAR OLD CHILD HE BROKE AS HELL

Like he not broke broke but, hell shadow box for $5 and win ts. To me I feel he got a little money saved form how his dad taught his savings, and he got a back account because remember he's like a hitman he gets paid, but he's not like rich enough to the point he buys you like Rolex watches, Catier, Dior vintage bags from the 70's spring collection.

Next, I feel like to me evry says hes like some bad boy to me i just think hes troubled but, hes a good kid. In the first movie Miles acted the same way and in the second movie he's more mature I feel like Miles-42 matured faster since his dad died; he could never play with action figures when no action was taken to save his dad

It very sad how they describe him in fics as like a drug dealer bad kid when really, I think he's just a matured yet still goofy version of Miles like imagine Hobie attitude with miles it practically the same!

Also, more on the dating side of things Miles-42 I believe would not trust his s/o til 3 months later or even more. Miles-42 is a hitman, and he may have been taught people are going to burn your bridge when they have the chance so, Miles stays clear of really revealing his inner turmoil's til he can fully trust you.

But, when Miles does open up he's like a little flower all nice and smells good yet can still have you in the bed sick and tired if tried hard enough, I feel like his emotions would turn more gentler like he wasn't neglecting you but he kind of was condescending when you show a lot of affection and until you prove your real, hell just make the relationship picture worthy and not living worthy.

But an opinion I know people would say is true is that Miles both of them cannot flirt. Remember than most likely Miles-42 dad and Miles-1160 uncle died at or around the same time which means they both experienced the same ' I almost messed up my chances with this cool girl because my uncle/dad didn't teach me how to be a smooth criminal' but to me with how he put his hand on Miles-1160 shoulder..that man had one girlfriend in the 5th grade and he's been feelin himself since then.

Now before you two started dating you have crushes, Miles didn't have many crushes to my idea. I feel like he didn't see it like he thought of kids as friends and if he did like smb it would be like quick and over with simply because he would try to be friends more.

Like imagine you tryna shoot your shot with him and he just asks you what your favorite power ranger...that what I mage would happen but he's 15/16 so instead it him saying ' cool but, not interested' like he's not rude about it but, you would feel he not messin with you,

Buttt if he does have like a real crush on you, I feel like he would try to get to know you by socials than irl, like asking Ganke can he ask for your socials and then following you and from there trying bag you by cheesy but smooth texts. He would ask about your day, what was the homework, what clubs you do ask a conversation starter but, if you feelin him hell asking about music because I feel like Miles-42 and Miles-1160 both have a music bone in them, and you know Miles-42 listens to good music (won't ever catch him listening to mf Lil Pump ass) I also feel like Miles would ask about pop culture opinions to see how you are as a person like do you watch any popular tv shows? Ohhhh your favorite is Greys Anatomy... so you have nothing to do in your time? That what hell thinks.

My last little head cannon is more of what he would do if Ms. Rio liked you, which because he respectful baddies she likes us quickly, so What would miles do if Rio likes us 🧐

First, Miles wouldn't tell but shell know simply because Miles never smiles at a text, it doesn't matter if he won $128302 million, he not smiling until he met our lovely baddie reader now, he is giggling and kicking his feet. To Ms. Rio that's not normal, it gives her a sense of his old self and she doesn't pry into his social like a helicopter parent but, she doesn't take a peek over his shoulder and when Miles does get the courage to tell her she just smiling acting like she aint know.

Miles seeing his mom like would take a big relief off his shoulders because he thought about the reddit stories where the mom is crazy and now, he thinks his momma gonna run us over with a truck and blame it on the next-door neighbor (true miles fashion)

His mom liking you also lets him know he picked the right one, mothers know best when it comes to fake people for some odd reason and if Rio didn't side-eye you when she met you then your good and he's inviting you to his house more often. I'm not going to talking about Uncle Aaron because I feel like they not as close like that but that a head cannon for a sad day.

But, at the end of the day Miles wants us bad 🤭🤭

#black reader #black fem reader #atsv x reader #miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #headcanon #miles morales #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles x you #CherrixCore

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ronwestbreeze · 6 months

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take a bow

pairing: geto suguru x non-sorcerer!reader warnings: gore and maybe a little bit of angst summary: you smell like coffee...and geto can't seem to shake it. word count: 6.7k author's note: hiiii ;) as you can tell there will be about five parts to this mini series. nothing more and nothing less. i'm kind of excited for this and i've been really wanting to write for my husband so, i hope ya'll enjoy it! and i will not be doing a taglist for this one. sorry guys!

part 2 | read on AO3

There was a cute customer today.

And you were also sure you hadn’t seen him around before. Then again, you moved to this village two weeks ago, and you weren’t too familiar with the regulars yet. Perhaps he was just one you hadn’t seen until now.

You leaned over the front counter a bit, trying to get a better look at him as he moved down one of the aisles to the far left of the store.

He wore what looked like a school uniform, his dark hair tied up with a few strands framing one side of his face. Even though he was further away from you, you could see he was on the younger side, maybe around your age. Possibly older.

You hadn’t met many boys in your life—attractive ones especially—mostly because you were sheltered for half of your childhood and didn’t go outside. So when you did happen to stumble upon a few of them, you were left wondering what to do or say around them. They were almost alien to you.

It was the same with people in general your age. While you weren’t bad at socializing, you still adapted the best way you knew how.

“You’re being creepy.” Your co-worker, Tohru, said passively while scrolling through her phone. A very busy activity she had been at for an hour now.

“I’m not.” You cleared your throat, quickly looking away from the otherwise oblivious customer. “But you can’t deny that he’s pretty cute.”

Tohru drew her eyes from her phone and glanced toward the newcomer who was now in the snack section. Now it was her turn to lean over the counter, a look of interest inching onto her usual bored mask.

“Damn.”

“Told ya.”

“He’s definitely new. No guy that fine lives in a boring ass town like this.”

You hummed, “I wouldn’t exactly call this town boring—but you’ve been here longer than me so I suppose you have the better judgment over that.” Carefully, you snuck another peek at the customer who was studying the back of a bag of chips. “And if he’s that fine, no doubt someone already bagged him.”

“Ugh,” Tohru grumbled with a defeated expression on her face, “you’re probably right. The hotter ones are always taken.”

“Or they end up being a douchebag.” You added with a snort as you organized the stack of gums on the counter.

“Amen to that.”

“Newbie!”

You jumped with a yelp at the loud voice filling the otherwise quiet store. Glancing over your shoulder, you found your manager, a very old and impatient man, stomping over with a toothpick dangling from his mouth, “Are you pullin’ one on me, kid?!”

After getting over your short shock, you furrow your brows, “Um, pulling what, sir?”

“Where the hell is the leftover food from last week?! I told you to save it in the back storage!”

You gave a sheepish smile and rubbed the back of your neck, “Oh yeah, some of it went bad so I had to throw it out.”

“We don’t even do anything with them anyway,” Tohru grumbled under her breath which you tried not to acknowledge.

He eats all the leftovers. Despite his shop advertisement promising to send any leftover food to orphanages and charities.

“Look, newbie, I’ve been real lenient because you’re new. And I get it, you're in a tough spot but I ain’t pityin’ you no more! I have no problem tossin’ you the curb, you hear me?”

Your face burned in embarrassment, especially when his loud ass voice carried throughout the store. No doubt the hot guy heard every word by now. “Yessir.”

The old man huffed, “Good. Now stop messin’ around and help the damn customer! Poor boy’s been waiting for you to notice him!”

God, please don’t be him. Please let it be another boy who's been waiting for a while.

You chanced a glance over your shoulder, only to shrivel up when you found the hot customer standing at the counter, watching your interaction with a small absent frown.

Fuck.

“Someone’s gonna be on dishes tonight.” Tohru sang with a snicker as she disappeared in the back along with your manager.

With your face on fire, you went toward the cash register. You cleared your throat and gestured to the pack of cigarettes and the bag of chips, “Will that be all for you today?”

He seemed to have been lost in thought as it took a beat for him to reply, “Sorry, yes, that’s it.”

You nodded, trying not to look him in the eyes. God, even his voice was attractive.

After giving him the price, you began bagging his items while he fished into his pockets to grab his wallet.

You still had yet to look at him.

The last thing you wanted was to get chewed out by your bum boss in front of a guy that you’d possibly never see again. Before you had been dying to have a quick conversation with him, just to keep looking at him for a little longer. Now all you wanted to do was get him out of the store as soon as possible and hide away in a hole, never to be found again.

“Is he always like that?”

You placed his cigarettes in the bag before you realized he was talking to you. Which only made your cheeks even hotter.

“Uh, yeah, he’s usually getting high in the back, or napping.” You shrugged, glancing up at him every now and then, only to find him directly staring at you. Fuck, you were awful at this. “Only ever out front when the shop closes. He’s always the first out the door before anyone else.”

“Mmm,” By then you looked up to find him not too happy about that piece of information. “And he gives you a hard time to add onto that. Don’t you want to quit?”

At that, you smile, “It would be easy, wouldn’t it? I don’t know if you already heard—probably the whole block had heard him—but I’m not really in the best situation to be quitting a job just cuz I hate my bum ass boss.”

This time he looked sheepish, “Yeah, I wanted to pretend that I didn’t hear him, but I guess there’s no point in that. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” You chuckled before handing him his bag. “It’s life, you know? I just have to brave it out until I have a stable income of money. Then maybe I can consider the option of kicking myself to the curb from this trash can of a place.”

The male stared at you curiously, the disinterest that he had worn before was now long gone. He searched your face—for what, you didn’t know.

And then he smiled, “You seem to have it all figured out.”

It was infectious, his smile. Even though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I wouldn’t say all that.” You returned the smile, anyway, hoping it appeared real enough for the both of you. “But I think it’s going to work out for me in the long run. That I can say.”

The male chuckled as he walked toward the store entrance, “I wish you luck then.”

He waved with another smile which took you off guard a bit. You didn’t have much of a chance to respond back to his wave, nor tell him to enjoy his time in town before he was already long gone.

It was now just you and your blushing face.

The back door opened, “Aw, you didn’t even get his number, did you?”

You glanced over your shoulder to find Tohru pouting at you. You grinned sheepishly, “Oops, guess I didn’t.”

“Tsk, tsk,” Tohru sighed, “You really need to learn how to flirt.”

The rest of the day was pretty uneventful. Regulars came and went. Your manager was passed out in the back. Tohru’s shift ended sometime before you and booked it out the front door before you had the chance to say goodbye.

Essentially, you had the shop all to yourself. And it was unfortunately horribly boring.

Later in the day is when fewer and fewer customers start coming in. Apparently, many of the people in the village were too cautious about going out once the sun started setting. There were a few rumors here and there, about mysterious deaths all over the village. You weren’t exactly sure how much truth there was to those rumors, all you could do was clock in and clock out and go straight home.

Just because you doubted the stories didn’t mean you weren’t going to be stupid.

You wondered if that hot guy knew about the rumors. It probably would’ve been neighborly to try and warn him.

The sky was filled with oranges and purples as the sun was slinking behind one of the mountains. The evening glow made the shop look almost ominous, especially with the indoor lights off.

You should probably turn those on by now. They would’ve been on throughout the whole day like regular shops but your boss was such a cheap stake with the light bill you had to keep it off until evening fell and you practically couldn’t see in the dark.

Just as you stepped away to turn the shop lights on, the bell above the door rang. You glanced toward the clock and grinned.

You moved back to the front counter and grinned at the familiar newcomers. Two young girls, who looked no older than five, stood at the entrance. “Right on time! Looks like someone’s excited for today’s batch.”

The brown-haired girl—you knew as Mimiko—with the stuffed doll approached the counter first. Standing on her tippy toes enough for her chin to rest on top of the counter, “Do you have any more rice balls?”

“You bet.” You gestured toward the two chairs next to the counter. “Why don’t you guys take a seat over there and I’ll go get the food. It’s a real treat this time.”

“Okay.” Mimiko nodded before grabbing her sister’s hand to drag her over toward the chairs.

“Thank you!” The blonde-haired, Nanako, called.

You sent her an adoring smile, “Of course, hon!”

You moved to the back, passing your knocked-out manager, as you grabbed the box of food in your locker and brought it back to the front counter. Mimiko and Nanako got up from their chairs and bounced over to get a better look, “I actually got these rice balls from this place in the city during the weekend. It’s way better than the crap here.”

“Really?” Nanako looked into the box, her eyes widening, “Wow! Those look really good!”

“Anything for my best customers.” You winked and allowed them to grab what they wanted from the box.

Both girls giggled as they grabbed rice balls and ramen from the box. You smiled and patted both their heads before allowing them to sit back down in the chairs and eat.

You hadn’t known the twins for very long. Actually, you met them on your first day at the store two weeks ago. They had been attempting to steal a few snacks when you discovered them. You couldn’t shake the way they were looking at you when you found them. Scared yet desperate for some food. Mimiko had been clutching her stuffed doll tightly in her hands as if she were about to tear its head off at that moment.

They were expecting you to berate them and kick them out of the store. Maybe your manager or Tohru would’ve done that, but you just couldn’t find it in you to turn them away. They were obviously hungry, so what else could you do but feed them?

So you took the leftover food from the storage and gave it to them. They were pretty tight-lipped about their home situation so you didn’t push. But it was pretty clear that they didn’t have a lot to eat, wherever they lived.

“Let’s make a deal.” You had said to them that day. “You guys come back at around five o’clock every day and I will feed you some stuff we don’t need. Hell, I’ll probably even cook and bring it over every now and then. As long as the two of you eat.”

They looked hesitant. The brown-haired girl—she told you her name was Mimiko—spoke first, “Will you really do that for us?”

You smiled softly at her, “Of course. You guys are hungry, right? Why wouldn’t I want to feed you?”

Her twin, Nanako spoke next, eyes cast down, “Most of the people here are scared of us. Because we’re different. So they ignore us whenever we do ask for food.”

You frowned, your heart breaking at the time. Of course, you had some questions about why a bunch of adults would turn a blind eye to two little girls who looked no older than five. You seethed at the thought that the only one willing to help them was a barely surviving sixteen-year-old, who couldn’t even make minimum wage.

Instead of crying for them—which you were definitely close to doing—you patted their heads, “Well, I’m not scared of you. And I don’t care if you’re different. Come back tomorrow and there will be food for you guys. Okay?”

The two girls were stunned at your kindness like it was foreign to them. But they both nodded, hints of a smile making its way to their lips. “Okay!”

“But you also have to promise not to steal anymore so you don’t get in trouble.” Mimiko pouted but you attempted a stern look. “I’m serious, girls. And we’re going to pinky promise on it.”

You held out your pinky. Reluctantly, the two girls took it. Giggling when they fought to cover your own pinky with their little ones.

After your pinky promise, Nanako’s nose scrunched, “You smell like coffee.”

You laughed and cleaned up the trash from their meal, “I get that a lot.”

And since then, the twins have kept coming back every day, after five o’clock. Sometimes you wonder where they went before that. Did they go to school? Did they have any parents taking care of them? Did they even have a home?

You supposed none of that was any of your business in the end. But sometimes you couldn’t help but worry.

If you had a big enough space that wasn’t one small box, then you’d take the girls home with you in a heartbeat.

Once Mimiko was finished with her rice ball, she walked over to you as you were counting through the cash in the register from today’s productivity. “Can I help?”

“Sure,” You hummed trying to find something for her to do. “Do you think you could stack those new packets of gum for me and place them in this small box?” You handed the little box which she took instantly. “Go get your sister to help if she wants, okay?”

Mimiko nodded and took the gum packets and the box back to her sister who was just finishing up her rice ball. You made a mental note to buy some coloring books for them in case they got bored. Sometimes they like to stay a little bit longer after they finish eating, to keep you company. And you enjoyed their presence. It was better than staring at the ceiling for hours on end, waiting for a customer to enter even though you knew they wouldn’t come. And then got done with their little task quite fast. Yeah, you definitely need to get those coloring books.

Thankfully, just in time as you heard your manager shift in the back, the two girls made their leave. Waving goodbye to you with the promise of returning tomorrow.

Sometime later your manager came from the back and left the shop, grumbling about you closing up.

And another hour after that, you leave the shop. Hoping to see the twins again. And maybe—even though it was probably impossible—you hoped to see that hot customer again.

It was delusional, you knew this.

But it didn’t hurt to hope.

“Ugh, why are you eating that shit?” Tohru made a look of disgust at your bag of coffee beans. “Now the whole place is gonna smell.”

That was what you were greeted with upon entering the shop the next morning, “Good morning to you too, Ru. And don’t you think it’s a lot better than cigarettes and booze?”

Surprisingly, it was pretty crowded which was a first for you ever since you started working at the shop. Of course, it was a bunch of older people—middle-aged to elderly—but it was busy, nonetheless.

You went around the counter as an older woman locked Tohru into a conversation, “Did you hear what happened to that little boy? Oh, what an awful thing, I can only imagine what his parents must be feeling right now.”

“It’s that demon terrorizing our home again.” An elderly woman standing in line shivered

A man huffed, “I tell you exactly what’s causing all of this. Those no good—”

You didn’t bother to stay and hear the rest as you made your way to the back to throw your bag into one of the lockers. It was the same old thing. A horrible incident happens at night—a few people die—and people are going on and on about the town being haunted. Something about some demon going on a killing spree in the dead of night. To be honest, you thought it was some sick weirdo having the time of his life and the people haven’t realized it yet.

“Gotta buy some new locks.” You mumbled to yourself as you shrugged off your jacket.

“How was your night?” You glanced over your shoulder to find your manager sitting in the office, the door wide open as he smoked.

“Good, sir!” You offered a friendly smile as you closed your locker. “My mattress was uncomfortable but all in all, I can’t necessarily complain! And what about you, sir? How was your night?”

He grunted but never gave a response, which wasn’t unusual. He never offered to talk about himself, even on his good days.

You nodded, took your bag of coffee beans, and joined Tohru back at the front.

“—This is the fifth incident this week! When will enough be enough?!” This was an older man scowling this time. Next to him was a woman—whom you had to guess was his wife—trying to push him out of the shop as he began his rant. “We need to hunt those monsters down! How many more have to die?!”

You watched the couple leave with a small frown, “Wow, it’s never been this bad before.”

Tohru sighed tiredly, “Yeah, they’re pretty fired up this time around. I wonder how much of this is gonna mess with my precious sleep schedule.”

You hummed, noticing the usual dark bags under her eyes.

“Hi.”

A bag of chips was placed on the counter. Both you and Tohru looked up to find the hot customer from yesterday standing at the counter with a friendly smile sent your way.

Your face both burned with being taken off guard and the fact that he was addressing you directly, “Oh—Hi! Welcome back!” Quickly, you manned the second register while Tohru sent you a side glare. You returned his smile, “To be honest, I didn’t think you were still here.”

“Really?” He raised a brow as you checked his item out. “How come?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed but the town’s kind of haunted.” You chuckled as you stuffed his chips into a grocery bag, giving him a sheepish smile, “Scares the tourists away. I should’ve probably warned you about it yesterday, sorry about that.”

He chuckled as you handed him his bag. This time he wasn’t wearing the black top he had on yesterday. The baggy pants were the same, just this time around he wore a white button-up. “Fortunately, I’m not afraid of many scary stories, but I appreciate the warning.”

“How brave of you.” You chuckled, ignoring the subtle glances Tohru kept sending you while attending to her own customer. “I can’t necessarily say the same for myself.”

“Don’t you live here?” His eyes twinkled as he tilted his head, “I’d say you’re a lot braver than me, you know. Tonight’s my last night here.”

You shook your head, ignoring how your chest fell slightly in disappointment at the new piece of information, “Then many would say you’re one of the lucky ones.”

“Oh yeah?” He hummed, his eyes never wavering from yours. Wow, he really loved making eye contact. You couldn’t figure out if that made him even hotter or a bit intimidating. And he was so nonchalant about it too, hand in pocket, stance somewhat relaxed. “What would you say? You count yourself unlucky then?”

The bell above the door rang, “Welcome in!” You called the new customer before replying to him. “Well, to be honest with you, I feel like I’m the luckiest girl alive. It’s not so bad here, you know, despite the obvious flaws of the shop and this town. I’m just grateful to at least have a job and a roof over my head. It’s not perfect but it’s everything I need right now.”

He was observing you again. Tohru was far too distracted with the other customers to notice and make fun of your bashful facial expressions. Or how you were practically malfunctioning on the spot from the way he kept looking at you.

“You know,” He leaned on the counter with a smile turning into somewhat of a smirk, “I’ve never met someone as optimistic as you. I almost think you’re unreal.”

“Don’t we all,” Tohru commented as she made her way to the back. “Your turn to man the front counter, newbie. The last customer nearly made me pop a vein.”

“Sure thing, Ru!” You called, trying to ignore how hot your face was at the moment.

Of course, the hot customer saw this and gave a soft laugh, “I didn’t mean to sound like I’m making fun of you, I promise. It’s endearing. You wouldn’t have a hard time finding someone to marry, that’s for sure.”

Steam was probably coming out of your ears at this point.

“I-I-uh, thanks?” You searched the store to try and distract yourself and prevent further embarrassment. Only when you didn’t find anything, you smile sheepishly, “I-uh, I think it’s a little too soon to be thinking about marriage—uh but thanks for the compliment?”

You watched as his nose twitched, raising a brow, “You smell like coffee. Like a lot.”

“Yeah,” You gulped with a nervous smile, “I get that a lot.”

Another laugh left his lips. He was far too amused now. Meanie. “I’ll see you around.”

With that, he left the store. The bell rang in his wake. You watched him go through the window. He waved to you as he passed. And you waved back.

Once he was finally out of your sight and you out of his, you groaned and dropped your head onto the counter, “I’m such a loser.”

The back door opened and Tohru poked her head out, shaking her head disapprovingly, “Yeah, you can’t handle all that man.”

“Shut up, Ru.”

You were the exception, not the rule, Geto Suguru realized a block away from the store.

He’d never really met anyone like you. It was so rare. Pure. So unheard of in this world.

But it didn’t change how the world was. A bright light like that would be snuffed, almost instantly. You would become exhausted at some point, smiling so genuinely like that.

It would make your fall much harder. Much, much worse.

More curses wreaking havoc through villages. More curses to swallow down, leaving the bitter taste of vomit in his wake.

You, Geto decided, were just like everyone else in the end.

Applause.

He wondered if he would ever stop hearing them clap.

Around the late afternoon, your manager sent you out to pick up a delivery of chips that apparently couldn’t make it. Something about a mix-up with the trucks—you weren’t entirely clear on the details. But your boss was pissed about it and you were left with driving to the city to retrieve the box of chips. The only thing you didn’t like about it was the fact that the drive to the city took almost two hours.

You just hoped you’d make it back in time to meet up with the twins.

So half your day was spent rushing through the city, trying to track down that missing shipment of chips, bringing it back to your car which was almost towed because you happened to park in the wrong place, and then driving back to the village while the sun was beginning to set.

The drive back wasn’t as bad as the drive to the city. But you arrived back at the shop twenty minutes past five. Which wasn’t too bad but you were still late, nonetheless.

“Sorry, I’m late!” You called as you entered the store from the back with the box still in your hands. “I got coloring books this time, hope you guys like to draw!” You brought the box to the front, expecting to find the twins.

Only you stop and find Tohru and your manager there instead. Tohru stared at you in confusion, “Who are you talking to?”

You blushed in embarrassment, “Um, sorry, I thought you were…” Quickly, your mind raced. “Did you guys happen to see two girls walk in at around five—that’s what the coloring books were for, yeah, yeah, that makes sense.”

“Two girls?” Tohru frowned, appearing even more confused. “Did you hit your head or something?”

Just as you were about to quickly explain what you meant, your manager blew out another puff of smoke, “She means those unlucky twins.” At this, you furrowed your brows, opening your mouth to ask what he meant, only for him to continue as if you had already asked the question. “Those two have been poisoning our town ever since they killed their parents. It’s about time they get what they deserve.”

Your eyes widened, heart, falling to your feet, “W-What does…what happened to them? What do you mean get what they deserve?”

“Oh yeah,” Tohru said while hoisting herself up to sit on the counter, “now that you mention it, there were two girls that came in here. They didn’t stay for long, some of the villagers barged in and took them. I think they mentioned taking her to the old temple or something like that, I don’t know, I had a headache and they were all being annoying. They went on about them being the cause of all the deaths happening in town—whatever that meant—”

The box fell from your hands onto the floor, spilling the bag of chips. Your heart thundered with panic and disbelief, “You…You just let them take them?” Surprisingly, your voice wasn’t quivering like the rest of your body. Instead, it was full and firm with distraught. “They didn’t even do anything! They’re children! They’re—oh my god, they’re just babies!”

Tohru rolled her eyes as if you were the one being dramatic and unreasonable, “Dude, relax, they’re probably not going to do anything that bad to them. Maybe send them off to another village. Look, who cares? At least there won’t be any more deaths—hey, where are you going?”

You ignored her, threw off your work apron, and jumped over the counter. “This isn’t right! None of this is fucking right!”

“Hey, you still need to clean your mess up—hey!” Tohru’s voice became further and further away as you bolted out of the shop and ran through the street, heading further into the village.

Tohru had mentioned something about an old temple. You quickly searched your mind until you remembered there was a temple on one of the hills. You always passed it whenever you went jogging on your days off. Yes, you knew exactly where they were.

Running wouldn’t get you there fast enough, you soon realized. So you thought quickly. In front of a flower shop, you spotted a bicycle sitting at the front. Quietly apologizing to whomever this belonged to, you took the bike, got on, and pedaled your way up the hill.

In your haste, the world was silent to you.

All you could think about was those poor girls. All you were worried about was saving them before the townsfolk did something that no one could possibly come back from.

The world was silent to you.

You didn’t see the people running by in terror, even when you nearly ran into an older man who had dashed out into the street in a fit of panic. You didn’t see the smoke in the part of the village you biked through. You didn’t see the blue flames consuming the houses and the people around you until there was nothing but burnt ash left.

This chaos was nothing but white noise.

The world was silent to you.

You ignored the large shape flying over you, spewing the blue flames onto another part of the village.

All you cared about were those girls. Mimiko and Nanako.

You should’ve brought them back to your home. You should’ve taken them in. You should’ve pressed for more information about them. You should’ve known that they didn’t have anyone taking care of them.

You should’ve known. You should’ve done more.

“My god,” You gasped, fear tearing at your heart as the temple finally came into view. “have I failed them?” There were no flames consuming the temple. Strangely enough, it was the only place that wasn’t on fire.

When you were close enough, you jumped off the bike and dashed for the entrance. You slammed into the double doors, attempting to pull it open. Only they were locked and wouldn’t budge.

You backed up, not willing to give up. Not willing to let those two die for this fucked up town. And with all your might, you kicked the doors open, causing them to slam against the walls inside the temple.

“Mimiko! Nanako!” You called as you entered, searching around for the two girls.

Smoke filled your nose and caused you to cough just as small voices responded back to you. Calling your name with childlike desperation. It sounded like it was coming from above you. Like there was a second floor.

The stairs were on your right. You dashed for them, skipping two steps at a time until you made it to the second floor. Until you made it into the first room you spotted. Until you found them both locked in a cage together. Beaten and bruised and scared out of their minds. Until you found the two bodies lying in a puddle of scarlet right in front of the cage.

You didn’t rush toward the cage right away. Struck frozen at the sight of the blood. At the sight of the two bodies. It made the once quiet world around suddenly become loud.

There were screams outside of the temple. There was smoke, so much smoke.

Then there was the blood.

Blood.

There was a small call of your name, snapping you out of your frozen shock. The two girls were pressed against the cages, Nanako reaching through the bars for you…

“I’m coming, it’s okay.” You said, finally snapping out of your shock before rushing over toward the cage. You ignored how your shoes were stained with scarlet as you walked through the puddle.

You tried at the cage for a bit until you roughly yanked it open, breaking the lock that kept it closed. Both girls ran out of the cage and hugged your waist, nearly knocking you over. Their sniffles were muffled in your sweater as you ran your hand through their hair in an attempt to comfort them.

“It’s okay, I’m gonna get you out of here.” You promised while glancing over your shoulder at the bodies. “Nanako. Mimiko. What happened to them?”

Mimiko buried her face further into your waist while Nanako spoke, “Everyone thought we were the ones behind the deaths so they took us and tried to make the man kill us. But he didn’t, he saved us!”

You nodded as you both listened and led them out of the horrific room. The three of you went down the steps. Just from looking through the wide open doorway of the temple, you saw the flames hitting the village had gotten so much worse. What had caused this, you had no clue, nor did you have time to stop and wonder where it all had come from.

Mimiko tightened her hold on your hand, forcing you to stop, dozens of steps away from the front door, “The man told us to stay put and that he would take us away from here.”

On your right, Nanako nodded, “He said the curses won’t hurt us and that we’re special.”

You let go of their hands and turned to face them, your back to the entrance. Carefully you knelt down in front of them, “Okay, slow down. Before I even think about touching the curses part, I just need to know what man are you guys talking about. There wasn’t a third body in that room.”

“They mean me.”

At the sudden voice, you spun around to find standing at the entrance a male. A familiar one at that.

The same male who had bought chips from your store. The same male who had that gentle smile on his face—similar to the one he wore now but colder. The same male who had laughed at your fumbling and embarrassment just a few hours earlier.

“You.” Was the whisper that fell from your lips.

He stepped forward and instinctively pushed the girls behind you protectively. His brows raised at this and he chuckled.

“Mimiko. Nanako.” His voice was slow, silky, and calculated. “It’s time to go. Those people won’t hurt you anymore. Just as I promised.”

You watched him warily but the girls after a beat started toward him, surprising you. Mimiko was the one who stopped while Nanako went to the male’s side and grabbed his hand. She looked at you and then the male. She then grabbed your hand and tried tugging you forward, “Can’t she come with us?”

Something flickered across his face and instantly disappeared in the next second as he smiled, “Why don’t you two wait for me while I talk to the nice lady?”

You didn’t let go of her hand right away, “Mimiko.”

She looked at you and smiled reassuringly despite one of her eyes being swollen shut, “It’s okay. He’s a nice man. He saved us, remember?”

With that, she followed her sister out of the temple. The male didn’t move from the doorway. The blue flames were menacing in the night, his shadow tall. The heat was just as overwhelming as the smoke.

“Who the hell are you?” You finally muttered.

He started walking toward in slow leisurely steps, “A sorcerer.”

Instinctively, you wanted to back away as he got closer. But you stood firm, “And you were the one that killed those two people upstairs?”

“Yes.” He was now in front of you with very little space left between the two of you. The obvious question was at the tip of your tongue but you never voiced it. Yet he replied anyway, “I’ve decided it’s time I’ve stopped serving non-sorcerers. All they’ve done is create more problems for people like me. I figured I cut the problem down from the roots. For all of us.”

There was no smile on his face now. No traces of the friendly face, of the sheepish boy you met back at the shop. Just someone else entirely.

He leaned forward, staring at you with that same look he had back at the shop. Like he was trying to see right through you. Accusatory. Blame.

“What good are you to me?”

You glared now, clenching your hands into tight fists, “It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind. I don’t see a point in proving a damn thing to you.”

He stared at you for a moment longer and then smirked. “Too bad you’re human.” He turned and walked back to the entrance. “I would’ve liked you a lot. I do like you a lot. But if my new world is going to be without non-sorcerers…”

The curse flew past Geto and into the temple. It was large enough to cause irreparable damage to the temple. It was deadly enough to crush any target in sight. Even your screams were swallowed whole in seconds. That’s how efficient it was. That’s how easy it all became.

Geto didn’t look back at your body. Nor did he watch you get killed by his curse. Instead, he continued out of the temple with a few more curses following him at his tail.

“There are no exceptions.” He muttered to himself.

Applause.

He wondered if he would ever forget that coffee smell.

Applause.

Hours later, once the flames had long settled, you sat up in the rubble. Some of the most severe wounds were nearly done healing. But the only pain you felt was the tight twists in your stomach.

You were starving.

Applause.

Your sweater had been burned off and your skirt was ripped as you dragged yourself away from the ruins of the temple. Saliva dripping from your mouth that you tried to ignore.

For a while, you kept going. Pushing yourself through what used to be a lively village. But now it was filled with ruins and dead bodies alike.

You kept your composure thought. Especially when you pass fallen body parts, scattered along the streets.

Applause.

Eventually, you made it to the store, just on the outskirts of the village. The same one you worked at. The one place that had your coffee beans.

The bell above your head rang as you lugged your way over to the aisle where you knew the coffee beans were. Ignoring the calls of your name—which was just background noise to you.

You were hungry. Really, really hungry.

Just as you found the coffee beans, you grabbed one of the bags and tore it open.

“You know you’ve been fired, right?”

For some reason, your hand never reached into the bag to grab a mouthful of beans and tossed it in your mouth. Instead, you just stared down into it, saliva dripping from your mouth as Tohru continued her taunt.

“Boss’ pretty pissed with you taking off like that. And now I’ve gotta miss my concert because of you.” In the corner of your eye, she sneered, “I hope it was all worth it.”

Applause.

“Risking your job for a bunch of girls you don’t even know. What did you even try to do?”

Applause.

“Hmm, judging how quiet everything is, my guess is they probably finished the job.” Tohru sighed and leaned against the shelf, “Well, at least I can get better sleep.”

The bag of coffee beans fell from your grasp and spilled onto the floor.

Tohru gasped, looking down at the mess, “Hey! You fucking idiot! How many more messes are you going to leave for me to clean?! Ugh, you’re such a brat—hey, what the hell is wrong with your eyes?”

Applause.

Fuck it.

Applause.

The next morning, the shopkeeper was found dead in his office. Half of his face was gone, along with a gaping hole in his chest, where his heart should’ve been.

The girl was behind the front counter. Missing a leg, her organs spilling out of her abdomen. Blood everywhere.

It was a horrid sight.

At least, that’s what you heard.

Applause.

You wiped the blood from your mouth.

“I’m done lying to myself.” You mumbled. A giggle left your lips. “What the hell is the point?”

Applause.

With that, you took your final bow.

“Things will be different this time.”

#jujutsu kaisen #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru #suguru geto #getou suguru #jjk geto #jjk imagines #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk headcanons #jjk season 2 #tokyo ghoul #geto suguru x you #[ *take a bow ]

331 notes · View notes

jamneuromain · 3 months

Note

Hii!!! I just read A Whiff of Blood and it was amazing!!! Omg its been a while since I read Lloyd being caring without having another motive. This is pure goodness 😍

I was wondering if there could be a scene where y/n asks to leave work early bc she has a date. Lloyd says fine but ends up at the same restaurant as her with Danny to spy🤣 and y/n saw them and this will be the first time she yells at her boss. how would the boss react? falling for her even more or trying to save his dignity and ego 😎

Hi babe! So sorry that this one-shot is taking forever to come out (and I've made a little adjustment to it :3 hope you don't mind

A Rush of Blood

Lloyd Hansen x You

Warning: Mob AU, Mob!Lloyd, Secretary!Reader, Lloyd is being a (surprisingly) softie(?

Summary: You asked whether you could leave early for a date, while Lloyd decided not to keep his feelings bottled up any more.

W/C: ~4.5k

A/N: This is the final sequel to A Whiff of Blood, Thank you for all your love for Mob!Lloyd<333

Lloyd can’t help but look at your empty seat for the fifth time in a row. The boring-ass meeting for the quarterly revenue of his properties drags on, yet you haven’t returned for a while now.

Lloyd checks his watch.

It’s been fucking two minutes and forty-two seconds since you excused yourself with your phone buzzing in hand.

The ticking watch gets him more annoyed and impatient by the second. Two minutes and forty-four seconds, two minutes and forty-five seconds, two minutes and forty-six - where the heck are you?

You pick up the call as soon as you reach your desk, “Allie?”

“Hey hon. Bad news, I’m stuck at the airport. There has been a huge blizzard here in Alaska and all flights are banned from taking off.” Allie remains her chirpy sound, but a hit of restraint peeks from her words.

Allie has been your friend since high school. You’ve bonded over the mutual love of boy bands during your teen years. Though you have moved on from your love of pop singers/bands, Allie maintains her enthusiasm for K-pop idols.

“I’m in the middle of a conference, so, sorry about making this short,” you sigh, “I assume they can’t get any plane in or out for today?”

You scheduled for fine dining with Allie at one of Lloyd’s restaurants later this evening. At this rate, you are no longer surprised if he owns the Hollywood landmark too.

“Not in this damn weather, no.” She curses under her breath, “Not for three days as far as I’m aware.”

“Jesus.” You rub your temple as it is throbbing, “Sorry about the weather. I’ll reschedule the dinner.”

“No… don’t be.” Her hesitation on the phone sounds slightly suspicious.

“Allie?” You raise your voice dangerously, “What did you do?”

“Don’t be mad,” she holds a pregnant pause, “I’ve got this really cute boy – he’s a year behind us, by the way – and he’s working now in LA, Scott McCall – that’s double C in McCall, and I planned to introduce you two during dinner.”

“The fu- Allie!” You whisper-yell in the phone, “You’re gonna dump me and let me have dinner with a completely random person?”

Allie squeezes a few dry laughs over the speaker, “Eh- Sorry?”

“You better pray there’s no plane in three days because I’m going to crawl through the phone lines and strangle you if I have the chance.” You sputter a curse, “And burn all your K-pop albums.”

She gasps, “NOT THE ALBUMS!”

Typical Allie.

“Seriously though, you had the chance of meeting him two months ago... at an exhibition. The gallery downtown near the bakery? The Retro-modern Exhibition? The one you left early? It took him a lot of strength to get to me and then to you, so … just try, okay? If it doesn’t work out, it’s fine.” Allie sounds unlike her usual self, “If it works out … I guess you’d have a great story to tell your kids.” She can’t help but joke at the end.

“Yeah yeah, ha-ha, very funny.” With a sigh, you agree to her match-making plan, “Fine. But I really have to go back to work now, ‘kay?” You roll your eyes instinctively when the other end of the phone passes a squeaky “yes” to your ears, “I’ll be there on time. Dinner, six thirty, he’d better not be late.”

“You’re my life-saver. Mwah! Love ya’ bye!” After blowing a kiss via mid-air, Allie hangs up the phone as if fearing you will regret your decision in less than a second.

You end the call at the same moment the door to the conference room swings open, and out came a few executives for his real estate.

“Sorry, Mr. Hansen,” you put your phone into your pocket, straightening your shirt because you have been leaning on your desk. You know how much Lloyd hates disturbance, and creases on a shirt.

Lloyd purses his lips with a frown, an expression he wears often to indicate he’s not happy.

“If it’s okay for you, Mr. Hansen, I’d like to leave early today.” You request rather boldly.

For three years of your work as a secretary, the only other time you left early was a medical emergency of your mother. She fell down the stairs, hit her head, and had a broken femur. Though it wasn’t much of a big deal when she was transferred to a ward later, it scared the hell out of you to take the call from the local hospital, telling you your mother was sent to the ER in an ambulance.

Lloyd was generous enough to grant you a week of leave, but you got back on Day 5 after making sure your mother was well and taken care of.

“Is your family alright?” He asks, clearly still remembering the last time when you got kidnapped on the street, for which he had to assign Claire – a bright young lady, whom you’ve grown fond of over these past weeks – to act as your bodyguard and occasionally your assistant. Under Lloyd’s orders, she went to oversee the security cam installation at your apartment door.

“They are fine.” You suppose it’s better to tell him the truth regarding your leave, rather than having him meet you in his restaurant a few hours later, “I uh… have a date tonight.”

“A date?” He raises his eyebrows, repeating syllable by syllable, “A date, you say?”

“Yes, a date.” It feels like a betrayal all of a sudden, a betrayal of your work ethic. Your throat tightens, “Ahem, I’ll be leaving at five, if that’s alright with you, Mr. Hansen.”

Lloyd studies you for a moment.

“Okay.” He shrugs, sounding carelessly, “If you finish the work for today.”

You are pretty sure that there’s no more itinerary for either Hansen or you after this meeting, but you still play your role as a dutiful secretary and ask, “Anything else you would like me to do?”

“Call James and tell him to pick up the loan I gave out to the Dawson scum, five mil’ in cash or non-bearer bonds. If Dawson returns even one dime short, I want his arm broken. And deliver the drycleaning to my place by five tonight. Tell my butler, while you’re at it, he can hold off the repair down at the basement, this can wait till January. And,” he pauses, “I want you to tell Dani, head to her place personally, and tell her that I’m cancelling the Cuban appointment.”

“Yes, Mr. Hansen.” You pick up the landline straight away, ready to dial James’ number.

“You are not taking any notes whatsoever.” Lloyd narrows his eyes, “What are the tasks I just gave you?”

Lloyd seems extra grumpy today, plus you are not a note-taker anyway. You cover the speaker with your palm, though puzzled as to why he’s moody all of a sudden, but comply with his demands, “Call James, collect the debt from Dawson; get the drycleaning to your house by five, and tell your butler Marlin not to rush on the basement repair; and lastly, tell Dani you’re cancelling the Cuban appointment.” And you have no clue what this “Cuban” appointment is. Darn, Lloyd does keep a whole lot of secrets from you, “Anything else, Mr. Hansen?”

Fuck.

He sounds like fucking Cinderella’s stepmom dumping beans into the fireplace. Since when did he get off on ordering you around doing meaningless chores? He could perfectly do them himself, not to mention some of the biddings he has just told you were unnecessary – the basement repair? It was a damn doorknob getting stuck, not a pipeline that leaks like a faucet.

“Claire’s not here, take Avik with you.” He grumbles, returning to his office and slamming the door shut.

Avik is a silent, tanned man who often acts as Lloyd’s muscle. He emerges from thin air – or probably from some corner, standing rigidly behind you like a statue.

“Hey Avik, mind if I drive?” You put a warm smile on your face, swinging the car key on your finger.

Avik merely nods, gesturing that he’ll walk in front of you.

After picking up Lloyd’s drycleaning and telling Marlin the exact words from Lloyd's mouth, you head off to your next assignment.

Dani.

Dani is a woman approximately your age, speaks fluent Spanish, English, and Italian, probably a couple of other languages that you couldn’t understand too, and rumored to be Lloyd’s ex.

She is a charming lady living in a mansion away from the glamourous nightlife of LA, but not shy of parties. In fact, you’ve accompanied Lloyd to a few that she hosts, and if you ever need a party planner, she would be your No. 1 choice – if you can afford it.

You tap on the steering wheel somewhat anxiously, checking your watch. It’s five to six, and Dani’s residence is halfway across the city, and you have yet to finish the job that Lloyd told you to.

It feels like double standards when you explicitly told Allie that your date cannot be late.

Dani’s lovely butler, Mrs. Santos invited you in, leading you to the guest room.

“To what do I own this honor of having Lloyd’s personal assistant arriving at my place?” Dani flips her hair and giggles.

“Lloyd has sent me to tell you that,” you still remember the strange code phrase word by word, “He’s cancelling the Cuban appointment.”

Dani carefully studies you for a moment, before bursting out laughter, “He… He said that? The Cuban appointment?”

Darn, even when she’s laughing, she’s charming as always.

“Yes.” You answer her question, “If there’s no message you want me to forward to him, I’ll be out of your hair.”

Dani hangs a mysterious smile on the corner of her lips, her honey-toned skin practically gleaming as she speaks, “None. But if you don’t mind me asking, do you have any plans for tonight? I want to borrow you for one of my parties – you know,” she shrugs, “connections and all that.”

Dani’s parties are always filled with delightful cocktails and exquisite people she knows from all over the world. It’s a perfect chance to refresh your connections with all sorts of people – thieves, CEOs, fences, politicians - part of the reason why she asked you to stay.

Yet, you were already booked for tonight.

“Sorry,” you politely rejected, “I’d love to, but I have a date tonight.”

“Well, you-” Dani points at you with her perfectly manicured finger, sounding cheerful, “are welcome at my place, anytime. You can bring your date here even, if you need a place to chill.”

“Thank you, Dani.” You respond, “Have fun at your party.”

Dani cocks her head to the side. The bright flashy diamond earrings peek from under her hair, swaying as if they were about to fall. She hums thoughtfully before wishing you a pleasant evening.

As soon as you step out of her estate, Dani picks up her phone and dials Lloyd’s number, “I recall a certain someone claims that he needs absolutely no help landing a girl,” She twirls her hair around her fingertips, chuckling, “the Cuban appointment, Lloyd? Wow, you must be really desperate. Now, you want me to help you sabotage her date? That I can do...”

With Lady Luck by your side, you’ve successfully reached the restaurant five minutes early with someone already at your table, while Avik sits at a table on the other side of the aisle, keeping an eye on you.

“You must be Scott.” You pull your chair to sit, trying your best to ignore the bulk of muscles on your righthand-side, watching as the young man across the table hastily puts down his water glass and stands abruptly with his face flushed.

“H… Hi.” He can barely stop the grin on his face, “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

Allie is right. He is cute.

Scott scratches the back of his head, plopping down on his seat, asking hesitantly, “If this is not too intrusive, how did you get a reservation? My friend has been dying to try this place for a week and the nearest spot available is three months later.”

“My boss is a close friend of the restaurant manager.” Lloyd practically runs this place. The manager gets scared shitless every time he needs to deliver the quarterly books to Lloyd and he asks you to do it in his place. Hence, he’s greatly in your debt. But you are not going to tell Scott you work for the largest gang in the city, so you feign your interest and ask, “What about you? Allie didn’t tell me what you do for a living.”

His face goes flushed pink again, “I uh… I work as an assistant curator,” he adds, “but I paint.”

“Oh really? That sounds fun. What do you paint?”

Scott chats on and on about his love for contemporary art and various ways of making a beautiful moment permanent when you notice Avik stands up and leaves.

“… sorry,” you apologize to Scott, for you have missed the question he asks, having paid too much attention to the bodyguard Avik who doesn’t seem like returning, “what was that again?”

Scott shuts his mouth momentarily before managing a small smile, “I was just thinking that we should get the waiter. Is there anything you like on the menu?”

The food was divine, and the wine was savory too. Though the waiters seemed a little distracted – you guessed it was probably their boss telling them to stay away from your table for you to enjoy your date. After exchanging pleasant conversations, you know it’s time to end this lovely date.

Before getting the check and leaving, you excuse yourself to freshen up.

Scott nods with his curls bouncing.

Scott is nice.

He is smart, funny, and cute with his untamed curls.

You put on a thin layer of lipstick. Looking into the mirror, the polite smile breaks away when you watch your reflection.

Scott is a decent guy. Why don’t you like him?

A vague outline rises in your head, before evaporating.

Stop it. You tell yourself. Scott is a nice guy. You should enjoy this date.

Only when your figure disappears behind a few tables, did someone sit on your spot.

“Evening.” A moustache man traces his finger on the cup from which you drank, crossing his legs, “Scotty, right?”

Scott clenches his hand on the arm of his chair, but Avik appears quietly behind him, grabbing his shoulders to have him sit down. A hard piece of metal is pressed to the back of his head. It doesn’t take much common sense to understand that Avik has a gun pointing at him.

“Don’t get all flustered,” Lloyd pours some wine into both glasses, “I’m just here to… be nice.” A wicked grin creeps up his lips as Lloyd continues, “The woman who you’re dating tonight?”

Scott gulps, squeezing a “yeah” out of his teeth.

“That’s my girl.” Lloyd dead-pans, massaging the light smudge of your lipstick on the glass, “So, if you have any wrong idea, or any thoughts about her…” Lloyd has a cold gleam in his eyes, shakes his head and tuts, “Don’t.”

Poor Scott has his face drained of colors. His lips quivering, “I-I’m not- I don’t want to be part of this…”

“Good.” Lloyd smirks. Drinking from your glass, he licks his lips to savour the sweet honey taste of your lipstick, before giving his final order, “Now be a good boy, say your ‘nighty night’s, and get the fuck out of my turf.”

“Boss.” Avik’s eyes dart to the lavatory, signalling that you are approaching this table.

“Aaaand that’s my cue.” Lloyd stands up from the chair, looking content, “Keep this little interaction between us, will ya’?” He pouts, “I’d hate if she gets upset.”

By the time you reach this table, Scott sweats in buckets like he has just been to a sauna.

“Is everything alright?” You can’t help but ask.

“Yeah… yeah.” Scott could barely mask his trembling voice, or keep his eye contact, “I’m … feeling uncomfortable… right now.”

“Is it the food? Do you need to go to the bathroom?”

“No… I mean, I think so. The asparagus was raw.” Scott wipes the sweat off his pale face, “It’s been lovely, but …”

Your eyes dart to the table where Avik was sitting. Nope, he isn’t there. For a second you thought that Avik might have terrorized Scott into backing out. Such a stupid idea, why would Avik do that? You throw this thought to the back of your head, before suggesting if Scott needs a lift home, or to the hospital.

Scott nearly jumps from his spot upon hearing the offer, which confuses you as he avoids speaking or looking at you, as if you were a plague.

He takes his belongings, bids you good night before sprinting out of the restaurant.

What the fuck have you done???

You trouble yourself with the question when Avik returns to your side without a single sound, “Avik, I was wondering where you’ve been.”

“The backroom where I can observe the surveillance footage, ma’am.” His voice booms, “Shall I drive you home?”

“Yes, I suppose.” You sigh.

Avik gestures for you to walk, but you stop in your tracks.

“Avik?”

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“Did you have any food yet?”

You did not see him ordering anything when he was sitting across the aisle, nor do you believe that he’d risk losing his job over some half-cooked asparagus.

“… No Ma’am.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. The exhaustion of trying to satisfy Lloyd’s tasks and doubting whether he’s being paranoid again takes over you for so long, you seem to lose a little bit of human emotions – neglecting dutiful Avik, as a result.

“Sorry about that, Avik.” You apologize, feeling slightly better that you’ve come to your senses after a long day, “I’ll have them prepare something vegan for takeaway.”

“…thank you, Ma’am.”

Grabbing a waiter passing by, you tell him about your request, before resting on your chair.

Out of sheer boredom, you tap on your glass, scraping the lipstick smudge off the crystal-clear surface with a used napkin.

Avik coughs as if he has just choked on his own spit.

“Everything alright, Avik?”

It seems like you’ve said this for the second time tonight.

“Yes. Ahem. Yes, all is well.” Avik clears his throat uncomfortably.

“Because you can totally have tonight off. I’m more than capable of driving home myself.” You offer sweetly, expecting him to take the suggestion and leave you here.

“Thank you, Ma’am.” Avik replies rigidly, his shirt collar tightening around his tanned skin as he speaks, “Thank you, but your safety is my priority.”

You should have known better than to negotiate with Lloyd’s muscle. They follow his orders like workers around a queen bee. Pursing your lips together, you decide not to spend time bargaining with Avik, but scroll on social media to distract yourself.

Avik lets out a long, slow exhale when you are focusing on your phone. He’s great at bodyguarding, but terrible at being a double agent.

The takeaway package arrives shortly – or it could be you are too tied up in the TikTok drama to notice time slipping away from the tip of your fingers. Avik takes the wheel while you sit in the back, trying hard not to think about the sudden change in Scott’s attitude.

It’s not like you don’t enjoy Scott’s company. You do. But Scott’s dashing out of the restaurant leaves a certain impression that you don’t think you’d forget anytime soon. Maybe the food was raw. Or burned. Or he had some pills. Still, it doesn’t explain why he ran out of the place like a bloodhound was chasing him.

Or is there something wrong with you? Something he’d grow repulsive of?

“Stop the car, please.” The thoughts in your head are preventing you from breathing. With Avik’s puzzled frown in the rearview mirror, you shrug, “You can go park the car. I want to have a little walk and some fresh air.”

After what must be an internal debate in Avik’s silence, he slowly stops at the curb, agreeing for you to have your fresh air.

The street is silent, not a living soul in sight. You close your eyes and breathe in the fresh air.

Oh well, maybe the air is not so fresh after all, with the smell of gasoline and dust and … smoke?

You turn around.

Lloyd’s Rolls-Royce follows you like a toddler in small steps, with a hand outstretched from the window that flicks his cigarette stub to the curb.

“Mr. Hansen?” You could’ve been dreaming. Why would Lloyd’s car follow you? Why – “What are you doing here?”

Lloyd steps out of the vehicle, popping a peppermint into his mouth. Crushing the candy with his jaw, he mumbles, “Just having a late-night stroll.”

A ridiculous idea comes into mind, and you ask in disbelief: “Are you following me?”

“No.” Lloyd stares at you straight into your eyes, but you’ve seen him lie better, “This is my turf. And you can’t ban me from patrolling my own territory.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes.

Sure. Patrolling. Very convincing. He just happened to stumble in front of your apartment building among hundreds of thousands of streets.

“Of course.” Maybe it’s the wine, because for crying out loud you would be tongue-tied if you were to say this at work, but the sarcasm drips out of your tone like water out of a broken faucet, because you are not in the mood. At all. “Good night, Mr. Hansen.”

“I had a great night.” Since he counts the scurrying of one horny young man as a win, Lloyd casually drops, “Can’t say the same about you.”

What the heck is wrong with him?

Now it’s definitely the wine that does the talking, as you poke him square in the chest with your index finger, your voice littered with fury, “It’s after-hours, and you don’t own my after-hours, in case you don’t have a watch, okay?”

Lloyd offers his characteristic lop-sided smile, “What - you’re gonna buy me one?”

“No?!” You huff out in disbelief. Has he taken hallucinating drugs? Why on earth is he acting funny? “This is not - look, Mr. Hansen-”

Lloyd steps closer. You get that whiff of smoke from his body, and the musky cologne that he occasionally uses in rare circumstances, and your words somehow get stuck in your throat.

“Lloyd.” He pronounces his name, loud and clear, “C’mon sunshine, lllllloyd.”

Lloyd. The name rolls to the tip of your tongue. It feels natural and soft, unlike Lloyd Hansen himself. But the syllable drives your heartbeat wild. He is your boss. You are obligated to call him Mr. Hansen.

Well, maybe not obligated. But you would feel more comfortable calling him Mr. Hansen. The name Lloyd sounds like an over-step of your work relationship.

Your work. Your beloved secretary job. Which is fine. Which you enjoy, as you handle his affairs with some effort. But the name. He’s asking you to call him Lloyd and that sounds more intimate than what you should be calling your boss.

“I- ” You are at a loss of words. What does he want? Does he want you to be his mistress? Which is ridiculous, because you don’t want to be the type of canary living in a birdcage and sing for him whenever he pleases. More importantly, he cannot be having thoughts about you – or does he want this to be a one-night thing where he could pull up his pants and comment on how long since he had a good fuck?

-stop it. It’s an insane thought. He’s not interested. So are you.

You accidentally look at his eyes, and you recognize the burning desire rooting deep down. It scorches you instantly as your eyes meet, before you lower your head to avoid the demanding gaze.

“You’re my boss…” You mutter weakly, knowing well that this stupid excuse does not prevent you from enjoying (or feeling safe at) Lloyd’s presence – most of the time, when he’s not bloody or throwing punches – or from the plain fact that maybe, just maybe that you feel a little different towards him, and that for the briefest of moments, you wished that he was sitting across the dinner table tonight, taking you out on a date.

Lloyd’s expression goes still for a second.

You can’t tell whether he’s mad or upset.

He sighs, taking a step towards you to close the space between you two, before framing your face in his hands and whispering in frustration, “God, you’re so dumb.”

His lips are soft, contrary to his mean words. They land on you with a bitter taste of burned tobacco, as his tongue swipes the seam of your lips, forcing an embarrassing mewl out of you.

It felt like Lloyd and his roughness. It felt like an iceberg breaking into chucks, whales lifting their head to breathe and the dam that withholds feelings inside your head cracks. It felt … right.

He slowly breaks away the kiss, sighing again, right next to your lips, his moustache making your cheek itch.

“Am I about to get a kick in the balls?” He asks softly, nose gently rubbing on yours.

“No…no.” Not that you don’t want to, because how dares he! Following you and kissing you like that! But because your head turning into a warm mush.

“Good.” He nibbles on your lips, you can feel his lips curving into a smile, “ ’cause I kinda like them.”

“Hmm?”

“Never mind.” He lands another kiss on you before pulling away. The bad-boy grin visible on his face.

You feel like you need to say something. Anything. So, you open your mouth and: “Do you want … a cup of coffee at my place?”

Lloyd cocks his eyebrows in surprise, but there’s no way he’d let slip of this chance, “Sure, why not.”

The mush in your brain refuses to leave. Your body acts on auto-pilot, leading you away from him.

You don’t even notice that he’s not following you this time, until he calls your name out of the blue, with a hint of amusement in his tone.

“Yes, Mr. Hansen?”

Lloyd decides to let slip of your poor choice of words this time, simply pointing his thumb in the other direction: “Your home is this way.”

Taglist (Also tagging those who might be interested): @stargazingfangirl18 @sarahdonald87 @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @magnificentsaladllama @biteofcherry @petalj @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @thezombieprostitute @yiiiikesmish @warriorblu @vonalyn @notathingjustthere @lokislady82 @irishhappiness @toozmanykids @alicedopey @cakesandtom @universitypenguin @openup-yourmind @helenaeisenhower @wilsons-striped-ties @tittittoee @bean-is-reading @yearningforsappho @esposadomd @salvatoreitmeanssaviour

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starry-bi-sky · 3 months

Text

show me how to lay my sword down long enough to let you through - clone^2 ch1

A little boy has landed in Amity Park, and he looks suspiciously like the 13-year-old Damian Wayne living in Gotham. Good news: he landed in front of Danny just as he was finishing up his fight with a ghost. Bad news: the little Damian-look-alike doesn't speak a lick of english, has a sword, and seems very keen on using it whenever he can. Against Danny specifically.

Danny already has his own issues to deal with -- like how it's not even been a year since he found out he was a clone of Bruce Wayne specifically, with all the identity issues that come with such a revelation -- and a stab-happy six year old that was very obviously a clone of Damian Wayne was not one of them. However, the kid was alone in a foreign country, and despite his hostility, it's very clear that he's terrified.

Call him a bleeding heart, but Danny takes him home.

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womp i wrote it and posted it. truly, it was only a matter of time before i did. my clone^2 au except now it's a fic! Here is the humble beginnings of this au if anyone is interested. The full thing is also posted below the read more if you want to read it here instead.

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Danny knows more than he probably should about ghosts, ectoplasm, and all things relating to it — courtesy only in partial credit to his parents and largely to every ghost, spirit, mythological creature, and conceptual entity taken sentient form he’s ever come across in the last two years of his run as Phantom.

For example: he’s learned how to classify the difference between a ghost and a spirit when the words are synonymous with each other. He knows that ghosts cannot pass into the Realm of the Living without a naturally-made or manmade portal that splits the seams between dimensions like holes being chewed through a shirt.

He knows that spirits are just weaker could-be ghosts that are trapped in the Living Realm, unseen by the Living, with unfinished business until someone can come along to help them move on. He’s helped quite a handful of them in the last two years thanks to his clairvoyance, but the city has more spirits than he could possibly know how to deal with. So his efforts are like trying to empty a pond with a bucket.

Danny still tries, anyway. One afterlife saved is one afterlife saved, right?

What he also knows is that natural made portals are exceedingly rare. That they occur when ectoplasm in any given area for some reason or another currents against each other, condensing and building in energy and density until eventually something gives and like snow on top of a roof it caves in and creates a portal.

He knows that these natural made portals typically only last a few seconds at a time, and vary between the size of a rodent and a marsupial no bigger than a wallaby. He knows that most natural portals only last from a few seconds to a few minutes, with the record-holder being five minutes from a portal that was the size of a toddler.

And the reason they never last so long is because ectoplasm is an energy, like most energy, it usually has somewhere to go. It cycles through plants, through the animals, through the ground, anywhere it can reach. It’s cousins with solar energy in that sense. Meaning it, usually, has little opportunity to clash and current with the rest of the ambient ectoplasm in the area.

But it does happen, albeit rarely, and only for a few seconds. Like the equivalent of a static shock; it’s only there for a moment before it collapses in on itself and disappears.

So with that being said, Danny likes to think he’s — maybe not an expert — but fairly knowledgeable about the existence of natural made portals. The Ever-Infinite Bridge Between Realms is ever-expanding, ever-growing, and with it so is the information he has on it. Anything could become obsolete in a moment.

And the only reason he’s thinking about it is because his parents were talking about portals in the kitchen earlier that evening, talking about their portal specifically, but Danny latched onto it, and his mind wanders. He’s not sure why they were talking about it, the portal has been running, unfortunately smoothly for the last two years. He has the scars and eyebags (and trauma) to prove it.

Besides, his mind should be on other things.

Like the goddamn flying snake he’s been chasing across the city skyline for the last thirty minutes. An amphiptere his mind unhelpfully supplies, a word he grabbed nearly two years ago when he first started out as Phantom and was desperately looking up the various ectoplasmic creatures slipping through his parents’ portal.

Some of them didn’t have proper names — like a three-eyed fox he once saw with the tail of a peacock and hooves of a goat. He managed to lure it out of the alleyway it backed itself into with a nasty burger. It tore into it with the fervor of a starving coyote and Danny let it finish eviscerating the burger before sucking it into his thermos.

It was incredibly disturbing to watch at the time, since the thing had an almost beak-shaped muzzle, but now he wishes he was back in the alleyway trying to coax out a ecto-fox-griffin thing rather than chase after what was basically a dragon with no legs — it doesn’t even have the decency to be a wyvern.

He’s only keeping up with the stupid snake due to his grappling hook, something Danny made a year ago in order to keep up with the ghosts flying around the city, and his best fucking self-made invention yet — made from the discarded inventions from his parents’ lab — with his jawbreaker gloves coming in at close second, if only because he gets to call them his jawbreakers.

(It was remarkably simpler than the grappling hook — he just reinforced the knuckles on his gloves.)

Because as much as he likes running, he was going to give himself a heart attack if he chased every ghost he came across on foot. It’d take him all night just to find one. And there was something inherently freeing in the terrifying, adrenaline-rushing sensation of soaring through the air with nothing but hard ground below and endless sky above.

The amphiptere twists its head and looks behind it, and Danny gives it a little shit-eating grin from behind his mask and a small, two fingered salute. The mane of feathers behind the snake’s head puffs up like a frilled lizard, and it opens its maw to hiss — this distorted, almost screeching sound — at him menacingly.

Danny, in response, scoffs under his breath and waves a hand in front of his nose. “Ugh.” he mutters, scrunching up his nose as the snake’s hot breath hits him square in the face. “Someone should throw you one of those dental doggie treats.”

The snake, of course, doesn’t hear him over the sound of its shrieking and the wind. When it twists back around, it dives to the ground, flicking its tail harshly like it’s hoping to hit him as it goes down.

Finally, Danny thinks, dodging out of the way with a twist of his body, and follows it down into the factorial district of Amity Park. It’s already disappeared somewhere when his feet hit the sidewalk, but the buzzing of his ghost sense still tingles on the back of his neck like a seventh sense. So it’s still nearby.

Danny’s grappling hook retracts with a quiet, zipping noise. He hooks it onto the loop of his jeans, and stalks down the side of the road.

Spirits linger beside the buildings. Men, women, and kids wearing clothes from all different time periods congregating in groups and conversing with one another, playing, watching him. Cities never sleep, they doze, and the dead come out at night when the living aren’t there to wake it up. Danny’s spoken to them many, many times.

“Excuse me.” He murmurs, tapping a man in overalls and a railroad cap on the arm. If it weren’t for his faint green glow and how he wisps at the edges, the man would almost look alive. The man turns to him, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead when he sees Danny. “Have you seen a flying snake coming through here?”

The man blinks at him, “As a matter o’ fact,” he says, adjusting the cap on his head, “I have. Flew down the road like a bat out of hell.” The man points down the street, and Danny leans around him to see. “Thought it was gonna knock me righ’ out my work boots.”

Danny presses his mouth into a thin line, making a low ‘hn’ sound in the back of his throat. “Did you see if it went into one of the buildings?” He almost hopes it did, he could probably try and sneak up on it that way. Man, he needs some kind of stunner or something.

“Right in there.” The man tells him, pointing to an old brick factory with the windows grimy and cracked. Of course, Danny sighs out of his nose. If he squints, he can see a green glow coming through the glass.

If he’s lucky, he won’t run into the Box Ghost while he’s in there. He turns to the man and nods politely, “Thank you.” And when the man nods back, Danny turns and hurries down the street. He weaves around the spirits congregating around him, he’s heard from one-too-many spirits how irritating it is to be walked through by the Living.

The door is rusted and locked when he finds an entrance, only made worse by the chain wrapped around the door for good measure, with a padlock. Of course. Rolling his eyes, Danny reaches for his pocket and pulls out a lockpick — too many times doing this has taught him to bring one along, just in case.

(Man, he was envious of ghosts’ abilities to just phase through things. It would save him a lot of trouble. And roadburns, bruises, broken bones, and every other injury known to man.)

He jams the lockpick into the padlock, jiggles it roughly, and unlocks it with a soft click. “They need better locks.” Danny mutters, pulling off the chain carefully with quiet, metallic clattering, and putting it on the ground. He jams the lockpick into the door lock, and with a little more finesse, unlocks that one too.

The door opens with a heavy creak that has Danny scrunching his shoulders up to his ears and his mouth pulling back with a sharp inhale. Shit, he freezes in place, darting his eyes around for the amphiptere.

He sees its glow off in the corner, stark ectoplasm green against the red brick walls, half hidden behind empty conveyor belts and forgotten, empty metal barrels. It doesn’t notice him, with the door open he can hear a loud crrrchk-ing followed by intermittent bangs.

It’s chewing on something, wriggling around like a cat playing with a toy mouse. Danny silently creeps in and slips through the gap between the door, closing the door behind him slowly. His eyes never leave the amphiptere. It still doesn’t notice him.

Two years isn’t that long to teach yourself how to be stealthy, but when you’re doing it every night, you learn quickly. Danny keeps himself low to the ground and his footsteps light. The amphiptere is oblivious to him; its clanging, hissing, snarling drowns out the room to any other noise.

As he gets closer, Danny unhooks his thermos again. There’s a quiet click as he opens the lid with a press of a button, and the thermos hums to life in his hand, warming up against his palm. He creeps around the conveyor belt, his breathing slow and steady.

When he reaches the amphiptere, its back is facing him. It coiled itself close to the ground, its jaw clamped around a metal barrel that’s been crushed like a tin can down the middle. Danny clenches his teeth, discomfort shivering down his spine. That could’ve been his arm had it decided to fight back.

Silently, he raises his thermos at the snake, and with his arm steady, his thumb slams one of the buttons. There’s a recoil like he’s firing a gun, and Danny finds his purchase on the ground as a beam of light lashes out and hits the snake.

The reaction is immediate. The amphiptere drops the barrel with a hideous, furious shriek and lashes out, trying to escape from the beam dragging it towards the thermos. But Danny’s long since learned that the pull of the thermos is much stronger than most ghosts, so long as he doesn’t disturb the tractor beam.

One thing is for certain — keeping the damn thing steady is one hell of a forearm workout. His arms used to shake after a fight, and they’d feel sore in the morning. Not so much anymore since Danny started working out with Sam.

(Tucker declined when they asked him if he wanted to join — he’ll stick with his tech and walking on the treadmill.)

When the amphiptere disappears inside the thermos, Danny slams the lid back on and slumps with relief. Finally, he groans quietly, clipping the thermos onto his belt and pressing his hand to his lower back to stretch. There’s a satisfying pop-pop-pop, and Danny sighs from his nose. He’s calling it a night.

He glances at the time on his phone. It was three am, fantastic. He has school in four hours.

Other than the snake, tonight had been blessedly quiet. Danny spoke to some of the spirits lingering around Third and Main downtown, got some of their information so he could start helping them with moving on — two murders and then a simple fetch quest, — chased down a few other ghosts — most of them just ecto-entities, but there was a young ghost child who he had to play hide and seek with before she would agree to be taken home in the thermos.

He also got into a fight with a fellow teen ghost who wanted to see the “Death-Touched” and if Phantom was as good a fighter as the rumors say he was. Danny’s been called “Death-Touched” since the night he snuck into the lab and released every single ghost his parents had trapped in cages, that wasn’t unsurprising. A little a lot ominous at first, but Danny is nothing if not adaptive.

He’d kicked the other teen’s ass, dragged him into the thermos, and moved on.

But other than that, tonight had been tame. So before Murphy can come and kick him in the teeth, Danny’s calling it a night.

Danny is one step towards the exit when he hears a loud, suctioning noise followed by something akin to a glacier cracking down the middle. His heart sinks instantly to his feet, and the chill of his ghost sense crawls up his throat and freezes the back of his teeth. No mist spills out, yet.

Ah, fuck. Danny stifles a groan, turning back around. There goes the rest of his night.

A portal the size of an acorn swirls into existence right before his eyes, and then rapidly grows. Swirling like a whirlpool, it grows bigger and bigger until it’s half the size of him. The bigger it gets, the tenser Danny becomes — the bigger the portal is, the bigger the ghost that can slip through gets.

Please don’t make him face the snake’s fucking cousin. Danny prays, rapidly scurrying back with his hands raised defensively. He scowls under his mask, and waits tersely for something to fall through. Whatever comes through, he hopes it’s friendly. Or slow. Or maybe both.

Danny doesn’t get another winged snake.

Instead, a child stumbles out of the portal. A non-glowing, living-colored child who couldn’t be any older than six, and who rapidly spits out a phrase in a language Danny doesn’t catch. Danny’s hands drop slightly from his side, bewilderment settling in the back of his throat.

As the child rights himself, the portal dissipates behind him with a hissing sigh. It takes Danny’s ghost sense with it, and the chill evaporates from his mouth.

Oh, oh no.

Danny’s heart drops from his feet straight into the ground. Six feet into the ground. Oh, fuck.

That was a living child. That was a living child. That was a whole-ass living child.

If natural portals were rare, then whatever the hell this was — teleportals, Vlad’s teleports, whatever — was unheard of. The only time he’s seen a portal that transported someone from one place to another on the same plane of existence was Vlad. His man-made teleportals.

Natural portals between one place to another? He’s never heard of such a thing. And one just opened in front of him and spat out a child. A human, living child. A portal just kidnapped a child.

A child who, Danny realizes, is holding a sword. A katana, of all things. One that was designed to match his size. A child who was, for a lack of better words, wearing something Danny would expect a ninja to wear. A child who was dressed from head to toe in black.

A child who looks suspiciously like a baby-faced Damian Wayne. Brown skin and green eyes and all, but with youth still clinging to his cheeks. It couldn’t be Damian Wayne himself — that boy was thirteen, and Danny would’ve heard from Sam if something happened to him.

So this meant either two things: Damian Wayne was just now turned into a child and dropped into Danny’s lap, or this was a clone of Damian Wayne. Danny was thinking it might’ve been the latter.

Fuck you, Murphy, he thinks instantly, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. This was mean.

He stares, uncertainty — and perhaps a little bit of nausea — forming a pit in his chest, as the child makes eye contact with him. The air is silent and thick — with dust, asbestos, or just the silence, Danny isn’t sure. Maybe all three. But they stare at each other for a long, suffocating moment.

Then the kid — Damian — lunges at him, his sword quickly unsheathed.

“Shit!” Danny dives back, just barely dodging being grazed by the gleaming blade. That was fast. Danny isn’t around living kids often but that was too fast, that much he knows. Kids don’t move that fast on their own. Not without being taught.

Damian spits something at him in that foreign language, his face twisting with anger, and the kid turns himself and lunges once again. Danny dodges again, swatting the sword away reflexively with the side of his gloved hand.

“I can’t understand you.” He tells him, his voice comes out rougher than he meant it to, and it comes out muffled from his mask. Please tell me you know English, he hopes, hopping up onto the old conveyor belt.

“'Akhbirni 'ayn 'ana walan 'aqtulak.” Damian snarls, chasing up after him with worrying ease. Danny swats away another stab at him, frowning when the blade leaves a cut in his leather glove. It doesn’t reach skin, but the fact of the matter is that Damian still cut his glove.

He doesn’t know English either, great. Perfect. Fantastic, even. Danny backs up on the conveyor belt, twisting away from Damian’s attacks with… well, not relative ease, the kid is faster than Danny’s expecting, but he’s not getting hits in. So some ease.

But Danny’s been fighting ghosts for the last two years. Fighting entities capable of moving at the speed of light leaves you with quick reflexes and even quicker eyes. Damian jumps up to try and kick him in the face, and Danny ducks down and dashes off the conveyor belt, hopping to the next one over.

When his feet hit the belt, he uses the momentum to leap up onto a rusty shelf. His fingers dig into the sides, and he climbs, vaulting his legs up to the top once he’s high enough. He twists around and stares down at Damian, instinctively crouched on his fours. “I’m not fighting you.” Danny says sternly, watching the kid hop after him. “I don’t fight the living, and I don’t fight kids.” Living ones, that is. Youngblood was fair game.

Damian scowls, pointing his sword at him accusingly from the conveyor below. “Tawaqaf ean alrakd wawajahani 'ayuha aljaban!” Then he’s jumping up after him, doing an impressive flip in the air before latching onto the lower shelves and climbing up.

Admittedly, Danny is rooted to his spot with disbelief. What the fuck? “Who taught you that?” He says unwittingly, bewilderment slipping into his voice. Seriously — who taught him that? What six year old knows how to do a backflip at this age? Who made you, kid?

Naturally, Damian doesn’t answer him, and Danny grabs his grappling gun and aims it at the rafters. With a quick pull of the trigger, the hook shoots out and wraps around one of the beams. Danny yanks back, and he braces as the cord yanks him forward in return. When he reaches the beam, he pulls himself up as the cord unravels itself and retracts back into the gun.

Danny shoves his gun back onto his belt, and disappears into the shadows of the ceiling.

Just in time, Damian was at the top of the shelving unit he was just on, and the kid stomps his foot angrily. Briefly, a smile tugs at the corner of Danny’s mouth, amusement fizzing out in his lungs. “Tawaqaf ean alrakd!” The kid yells, his hands shaking at his sides. “'Ayn 'akhadhatni ya Lieazir!”

He swivels his head around, his face scrunched up in the dark room as he searches the rafters. Danny silently crawls across the beam, stooping low and moving slowly, and never taking his eyes off Damian.

The kid is wound up like a spring, and jumpier than a war vet on the Fourth of July. It’s a little funny, but as Danny creeps through the ceiling, the kid only grows more frantic. The only light coming through is the muffled, yellow dim of the streets, and the moonlight that was in the middle of waning from gibbous to crescent. Good enough that Danny can see the kid’s face shifting from anger to fear.

“Laeazir!” He yells again, and his voice cracks. Danny stills. “Akhruj huna Lieazir!”

Okay, it wasn’t funny anymore. Danny holds his breath, watching as Damian’s expression fluctuates between scowling fury and wild-eyed panic. He’s twisting on his feet, whatever lethal grace he had earlier from their brief fight is gone now, replaced with clumsy, fawn-like alarm.

Damian breathes in deeply, and Danny can see the whites of his eyes when he turns his head wildly in his direction. “Azhar nafsak!”

He’s scared. Danny realizes, pricking up slightly from the rafter. He’s scared. That’s why he attacked him, he’s scared. Of course he is, Danny thinks, feeling like an idiot. He crawls over the beams again, creeping around Damian, keeping his gaze sharp on the kid’s feet. With how much he was spinning, he’s a little worried he was going to fall off the shelf.

Of course he’s scared, he thinks again. He’s a kid, he doesn’t know any English, and he’s alone. Danny can’t imagine what’s going on through his head — of course he’s scared. He must be terrified. He looks terrified.

Danny raises himself up carefully, gripping onto the rafters, and dashes across quickly. Damian whirls around towards him, his hands flying to his katana at his sheathe. His fear smothers on his face, and Damian tenses up defensively.

The grappling gun finds its way back into Danny’s hands, and Danny shoots it at a beam connected to one of the pillars. When it catches, he leans to the side, and lets himself fall. The cord goes taut, and Danny flicks a small button on the side that allows him to lower to the ground with some relative ease.

With his back to Damian, he hears a quiet scuffle and the shelf creaks. When his feet touch the ground, he tugs on his gun and the cord retracts. Danny can hear quiet, rapid-approaching footsteps coming up behind him, and he shoves his grappler back into its place and whirls around.

And immediately, reflexively, catches the blade being swung at him with both hands. Shit, he wheezes out harshly, eyes widening in shock. The blade digs into his hands, but there’s no sting — his gloves had taken the brunt of the hit. They were probably ruined after this, but Danny’s less upset over that more than he is relieved.

Damian glowers up at him, and this close up, Danny can very barely see a watery sheen covering his bottom eyelashes. His heartstrings pull, but it doesn’t stop him from curling his fingers tight around his katana to prevent him from pulling away.

“Let me help you.” Danny says, rushed. He doesn’t understand him, the obvious part of his mind whispers. He needs to get him to understand him. Damian’s arms tremble slightly, he pushes down harder on Danny’s hands. But he doesn’t budge.

He tries to yank it back instead, and it gives slightly — only for Danny to readjust his grip, despite the fear spiking in his heart. Cold metal kisses at part of his palm. It’s cut through his glove more. “Put the sword down.”

“'Ayn 'ana.” Damian snarls at him, there’s still a tremble in his voice. “'Ayn 'akhadhatni.”

A low, frustrated sound emits in the back of Danny’s throat. “I can’t understand you.” He snaps, if the kid would stop trying to kill him for five seconds, maybe they’d be able to get somewhere. “And you can’t understand me.” But if you’d stop attacking me, I could figure out a way how.

Something takes mercy on Danny — because Damian gives up on trying to take back the sword. He lets go of the handle, and Danny sees an opening. Immediately, he tosses the sword off to the side, ignoring the clattering and skidding it makes against the concrete floor. The kid is fast, but Danny is faster. He wraps his hand around Damian’s forearm and yanks him forward.

Damian yells angrily, and Danny traps his arm against his chest and twists him around so that his back is to his chest. Danny is also stronger. Both as a given from his size, and what he does every night. Trapping Damian against him is easier done and said, and Danny immediately sits them both on the ground once he has a good purchase on him.

“'Utliq sarahi!” Damian yells, thrashing against him violently. Danny simply tilts his head up to prevent Damian from headbutting him in the chin, and wraps an arm around his torso tightly so he can fish for his phone. “'Ayuha alqadharatu! 'Utliq sarahi!”

Danny doesn’t know what he’s saying but he can guess, and he readjusts his arm when Damian nearly slips out. “No.” He says curtly, and when he gets out his phone, he sets it down briefly so he can pull his glove off. With his other arm preoccupied with keeping Damian still, Danny tugs it off with his teeth instead.

Silently, he inspects his palm for any injuries from the katana. He hadn’t felt anything, but it doesn’t hurt to check. He smiles faintly, relief weighting off his shoulders, when all he finds is a small cut near the meat of his palm. Not even deep enough to bleed. It stings, but it won’t even scar.

He picks up his phone again, and with his mask on he can’t use the facial recognition. Danny taps in his password with his thumb, and quickly pulls up a translator. In his arms, Damian continues to thrash around, twisting and trying to pretzel himself out of his grip.

“'Ana Damian Al Ghul, dam Ras Alshaytan!” Damian demands. Danny is a little worried that he might bite him, and he hoists him back up onto his lap when he tries to wriggle down. “Yajib 'an tastamie li'awamiri ya Lieazir!”

Al Ghul. Danny’s never heard that last name before, and he pauses from his typing to frown. “Hm.” Damian — the original, that is, not the clone in his arms, — went by his father’s surname, and Danny can’t remember if it was ever released what the mother’s last name was.

He quickly swaps the tab on his phone to a new one, and types into the search bar: ‘Damian Wayne mom last name’ and clicks enter. There’s a few seconds where his phone is loading, and then it pulls up the results. And with it, is a chunk of text from the top article: Damian’s mother was kept anonymous for her privacy’s sake. Who she was, what her name is, it’s all unknown other than that she was Chinese-Arabic. A remarkable feat of anonymity in the grand scheme of things and the all seeing eyes of the internet.

“Hn.” Danny’s mouth presses into a line, and he glances down to Damian. Original Damian’s maternal surname was unknown, and now he knows that his clone was calling himself Damian, what was the off chance that ‘Al Ghul’ was a random last name given to him, and wasn’t actually his mother’s surname?

…Not likely. Or it was a low chance.

Putting that aside, he swaps back to the translator and converts what he wrote into Arabic. Damian’s mother was Arabic-Chinese, and the language Damian was speaking didn’t sound like Chinese. So, fingers crossing, he hopes it’s Arabic.

Turning up the volume as far as it could go, he looks back at Damian, whose struggling and yelling has slowly begun to cease. Danny doesn’t trust it, and he smiles a little amusedly, that’s not going to get me to let go. He checks the translation to make sure it’s what he wants it to say, and then hits the play button.

[I can’t understand you, but my name is Danny. I want to help you.]

Damian jerks, hitting his head against Danny’s chest in surprise. “'Utliq sarahi 'ayn 'ana?” He sneers, “'Ana last bihajat limusaeadatikum.”

“I just said I can’t understand you, bud.” Danny sighs, once again adjusting his hold on Damian. The kid kicks at him and misses him entirely. His arm was starting to get tired from the strain of holding Damian on its own, so Danny puts his phone behind him and swaps them.

He honest to god gets hissed at when he has to adjust Damian as well, and Danny pauses for a moment just out of pure wonder at the boy in his arms. He was hissed at, as if he was scruffing a stray cat. He was so telling Sam about this when he gets this kid home.

Smiling faintly, Danny pulls his other glove off with his teeth, checks for injuries, and then with a little bit of contortion, grabs his phone and pulls it back up. Then his train of thought catches up to him, and he freezes just as he’s about to type into the translator again.

Take him home? The kid? Danny can’t do that. There wasn’t any room in the house, and how would he explain this to his parents?

‘Hey mom, dad, this is Damian. He’s a clone of my genetic template’s son! Yeah, yeah, that template, the one who just so happens to be the old college buddy that you accidentally cloned instead of dad? The one who just so happens to be capable of suing our family out of existence if he happened to catch wind of my existence? Oh, where did I find him? Last night while I was out. Why was I out? Oh, because I just so happen to be the Phantom, your sworn enemy and the ghost-hunting vigilante who you are convinced is also a ghost. Can we keep him?’

Yeah, yeah, he can see how well that would go down. He might as well take off his mask and tell Bruce Wayne he had a clone already. But… where else would Damian go? He doesn’t know any English, he was alone in a foreign country with no money, no way to get home, the worst thing Danny can do is abandon him right now.

Danny presses his mouth into a thin line, a frown beginning to pull at the corner of his lips.

…He could figure something out with his parents, Jazz will help him once he explains the situation. And if he can get Damian to agree to stop trying to kill him, then they can both make it back to Fenton Works before sunrise… Hopefully.

Pressing his mouth into a thin line, Danny starts typing into the translator again. [You’re in America right now. The translator doesn’t translate the name of my city well, but we’re in Illinois. You are very far from home.]

Damian jerks once again, twisting his neck to look up at Danny with disbelief. “'Amrika?” He says, the corner of his up curled up. Danny nods curtly, he doesn’t need to know Arabic to know what ‘Amrika’ means. “Hadhih Amirika?”

Danny nods again, “Yeah, America. You’re in Amity Park.” He points to the ceiling, and gestures around them slowly. Damian watches him carefully, his eyes narrowed. “Am-i-ty Park.” Danny says, enunciating the syllables slowly.

Green eyes narrow at him further. “Amity Park.” Damian says, slowly and sharp. When Danny nods, he drops his head and Danny tilts slightly in order to see as Damian casts the room a disdainful look. “Amity Park.” He repeats, voice full of enough venom to kill a full grown man.

He can’t help himself, he snorts to himself and grins underneath his mask. The sound causes Damian to snap his head back up at him, and return his glower full force. He tries to wriggle again, but, like all other times, it’s in vain.

“Sawf tutliq sarahi.” Damian orders, mouth twisting back into a scowl. Danny almost wants to tell him that his face will freeze if he keeps doing that. He’s already got his thumb hovering over the keyboard. “Yajib 'an 'aeud 'iilaa aldawrii.”

Danny types into his phone, [I want to help you. You don’t know English, so getting around on your own will be next to impossible. If you promise not to attack me, I will take you back to my home and we can figure out how to get you home.]

It’s… okay. Danny doesn’t really want to help the kid get home. Wherever that is, it’s teaching a child how to kill people, and it’s making clones of people. Statistically, that’s a bad sign. It also means that, for all intents and purposes, Danny should help the kid get home so he can find out whatever this organization is and, hopefully, put a stop to their cloning.

However, Danny has his own city to take care of. Amity Park is full from head to toe with ghosts and spirits, and with his parents playing whack-a-mole with the portal’s door controls, he doesn’t feel comfortable leaving the city for even a few days. His parents can catch a lot of ghosts in only a few days.

His parents can spill a lot of blood in only a few days.

The evil cloning organization that made Damian will just have to be something Danny can leave in the capable hands of the older, more experienced heroes. For now, he can try and stall Damian’s homecoming and also keep him safe by keeping him housed.

Damian, instead of wriggling again, slumps against him with a throaty huff. Danny peers over his head, checking to see if he was just pouting or had, somehow, passed out. Damian was scowling, his shoulders slumped up slightly, and Danny internally coos.

He’s pouting. It was adorable.

The boy is silent for a long minute, a scowl carved like marble in his face, and Danny is content — no, wait, slightly content. He still wants to get home at a semi-reasonable time, — to wait him out. He is stronger, bigger, and faster than him. Eventually, Damian makes a low grumbling noise, something Danny can almost mistake for as a groan, before the kid slumps against him.

“Hsnan, sa'abqaa maeak hataa natamakan min 'iieadati 'iilaa aldawri.” He says, sounding significantly less full of indignant rage, and more so full of indignant irritation. He also no longer wriggles, and Danny feels hope sparking low in his gut. Did he finally get through to him…?

More seconds pass by with the two of them just sitting there in silence, before Damian wriggles again — but rather than trying to escape, he twists his head to give Danny a dirty, expectant look. Danny frowns, confused, and then jerks — Oh! Oh!

He fumbles for his phone, [Was that a yes? Nod if it was a yes?]

Damian scoffs at him, looking very much like Danny was nothing more than dirt under his shoes. But he nods curtly, “Naeam sa'adhhab maeak.”

Danny cheers, loudly. The hand curled around his phone punches skyward, like a fistbump to the ceiling, and Damian drops his head away from him. He yells something at him — probably telling him not to be so loud, but Danny pays it no mind. He’s only focused on the pure, utter, relief, pouring into his lungs and trying to trick itself out of his mouth as a laugh.

Yes, yes! He convinced him! That’s one less worry to worry about, and as Danny drops his hand with his phone, his other arm starts to loosen up around Damian's waist — something Damian very much notices. As he stiffens up and is halfway through shoving himself out of his grasp.

Danny lets him go, remembering abruptly the mask on his face. He lets Damian get to his feet, but he’s quickly scrambling soon after, not to grab him again. But to scramble for the katana he’d tossed out of the kid’s reach. Damian exclaims behind him, but Danny has his fingers curled around the handle before the kid can chase after him.

When he stands and faces Damian again, the kid is all puffed up with rage again. Danny doesn’t doubt that, if the kid is trained to be some… kind of ninja…. that he has more weapons on him. But Damian looks more focused on his sword, so Danny holds up his phone-hand in a gesture to hopefully make Damian wait before he attacks him.

“Wait, wait, wait!” He cries. Damian does, fortunately, and Danny quickly types into his phone again. [I will give you back your sword, and I will show you my face when we reach my home. But you must promise you won’t attack me once I do.] He pauses for a moment, and then types in as well: [I’ll also show you how to use the translator so we can talk both ways.]

He doesn’t know if Damian even knows what his… father? Looks like, or what his feelings on him are if he does. But Danny was going to cover his bases, and if there was the off chance that Damian held negative feelings for his dad, he didn’t want the kid to attack him, again.

(It probably wasn’t a good idea to do this at home, but at this point Danny just wants to be in his room.)

Damian eyes him up suspiciously, tense as a wooden plank and hunched like he was ready to pounce anyways, but he nods curtly. “Aeidak.”

“Okay.” Danny breathes out, slowly straightening up. He’ll take that as Damian promising not to attack him. “Okay, good. Good.” Lowering his hand, he pockets his phone back into his jeans and flips the sword around so that the blade is pointing downwards. He holds it out for Damian, and the kid, quick as a whip, snatches it back from him and sheathes it into its scabbard.

Great, finally. Now he can leave. Danny’s hands drop to his sides and he wriggles his fingers at Damian, absently gesturing for him to grab his hand. He turns his head away, searching for the door. “Let’s go.”

No hand takes his, which Danny should have expected, so he drops it back to his side and leads Damian to the exit. The kid sticks close to him, but keeps just barely out of sight from his peripherals. His steps are quiet, Danny would say almost silent but that wasn’t the case. If he wasn’t paying attention, though, he probably wouldn’t have noticed. Ninja stuff, probably. Danny’s a little, no, a lot concerned that he’s so good at that.

Ancients, bud. He thinks again, disbelief returning like a hand around his throat. Danny keeps glancing back at Damian to make sure he was still there. Just who, exactly, made you?

When they get outside, the night air hits them cooler than it was inside. Spirits were still lingering around the sidewalks, chattering amongst each other and throwing him various, curious glances. Danny suppresses a frown, but can’t stop himself from making a low ‘hm.’

They probably felt the shift in the atmosphere from the portal opening. It may have dissipated, but the excess was still lingering around. Without his focus solely on Damian, Danny can feel it too. Like a fog in his chest. Or, perhaps more accurately, like going through the day in a tired glaze, only to be hit with pin-startling clarity. The spirits were probably trying to soak up as much as possible in order to gain a stronger physical form.

Which, unfortunately for them, wouldn’t happen from this portal alone. Too many spirits trying to do the same thing. Not enough ectoplasm.

He leads Damian down the steps, and over to the sidewalk. On instinct his hand reaches for his grappling hook, but Damian, still loitering in his peripherals, tenses up. Oh, right, Danny thinks, and switches for his phone instead, this is a two-person trip.

It’d probably be rude to just grab Damian and start flying. Damian might try and stab him, or worse, try and get out of his hands again. The mental image of Damian falling nearly fifty-feet in the air flashes behind Danny’s eyes, and he represses a shudder.

Yeah, let's tell him first.

His fingers fly across the screen. [I’m going to use a grappling hook to get us back to the house. It’ll be faster. I’m going to pick you up, hold on tight.]

Damian scoffs at him, but nods. Danny pockets his phone, swaps it out for his grappling hook instead, and lets Damian look at it for a minute before he crouches down and wraps his free arm around Damian’s legs and hoists him up.

Something gets said to him by Damian, harsh and scowly, probably an insult, but he wraps his arms around Danny’s neck and his legs tight around his torso. At this point Danny just rolls his eyes and adjusts his arm to hold him tight around the waist. “Hold on.” He mumbles, and points his gun to the sky.

Flying through the city is admittedly trickier with the extra weight on his front and only one hand free, but Danny takes it as a challenge rather than a problem — if only so he doesn’t think too much on it. Damian’s fingers claw into the back of hoodie the moment his grappling hook pulls them through the air, it borderlines almost painful, and Danny doubts he could drop the kid even if he tried.

There are a few close calls where Danny nearly clips the edge of one of the skyscrapers, but it takes one easy twist and a little bit of spinning to correct the angle. The threat of it sends a rush of adrenaline through his veins, and Danny can’t say he didn’t laugh a few times. Becoming Phantom turned him into an adrenaline junkie, he thinks.

Damian doesn’t seem to be having much fun though, his grip suffocating on Danny and his face buried into his shoulder. He’s choking Danny a little, but he wouldn’t dare try and correct it while in the air, and it’s only bringing him mild discomfort.

Not fast enough but all too soon, Danny is touching down near the residential area of Amity Park where the buildings are too small for him to grapple through. He drops onto one of the apartment rooftops, and his feet are barely touching the ground before Damian clambers off him like a wet cat trying to claw its way out of a pool.

With the sound of his grappling hook receding, Danny laughs low under his breath. “Flying not for you, bud?” He asks, slightly breathless and grinning under his mask. The hook clicks into place in his palm, and Danny shoves it back onto his belt.

The kid glares at him amidst brushing off his clothes and patting at his sides. His hand brushes over his sword, and when he feels the hilt still there, Damian drops it. The kid straightens up like a soldier — immediately killing Danny’s sky-flushed mirth in the process — and stares up at him, awaiting orders.

Danny’s smile falls, and he clears his throat. Okay, he thinks, checking himself over for anything out of place, before looking back to Damian. Resolve hardens like cement in between his ribs. He’s not going back. Not if I have anything to say about it.

He moves around Damian and steps over to the roof ledge, swiveling left and right for the direction of his house. Which is unnecessary, he can see Fenton Works from a mile away, but he does it anyways. Anything to distract him from the discomfort that’s been sledgehammered at him. “This way.” He murmurs, gesturing for Damian to follow. Shuffling feet, and Danny can sense more than see the little boy at his side.

Considering the way he saw Damian hopping around earlier, Danny is confident in his ability to roof hop with him — confidence well deserved because Damian follows him with relative ease. Which is still real damn worrying, but he can dwell on it when they get to the house.

Still, he keeps a close eye on Damian the entire time they’re leaping rooftops. The boy was six, he didn’t have the same stamina nor height that Danny did — it’d be too easy for Danny to lose him on the way to the house because he couldn’t keep up, or he decided to change his mind while Danny was distracted and book it in another direction.

They reach the house in no time, and Danny’s fishing for his key from his belt the moment his feet hit the concrete of the rooftop. Damian remains behind him, an ever-constant shadow as Danny ducks under the various legs, wires, and poles of the OPPS Center and unlocks the door to the roof.

Getting to his room is a relief. The strange, buzzing sensation that settles through Danny’s eyes like a thin film whenever he’s using his ‘scary eyes’ dissipates, and he’s kicking off his boots with a low sigh before he can really think it through. He’ll put them back in their place when he’s done — but for now, he just wants them off. Damian pools in behind him, slinking off to the corner of the room as Danny shuts the door.

His room is spotless — a cleaning habit he’s kept meticulously since he wanted to be an astronaut. He had planets hanging from the ceiling, glow in the dark stars muttered against the walls, and posters of astronomy, Dumpty Humpty, and NASA plastered beside the stars. And a large corkboard hanging above his desk.

“Finally.” he groans, twisting his hips and stretching out his back before reaching over and turning on the hanging lights. A soft orange glow fills the room, and Danny turns just in time to see Damian jump in surprise. He’d moved over to Danny’s bookshelf on the opposite side of the room, his body half turned away and tilted like he’d been inspecting it.

Danny stifles a smile, and tugs off his thermos and grappling hook and places them on the desk. Damian straightens up, shuffling away from the bookshelf and back over to him, his brows beginning to furrow with a look of determination.

He marches towards him, “Laqad wasalna 'iilaa manzilika, walan ealayk 'an tafi bikalimatik watakhlae qanaeaka.”

Danny doesn’t know what he’s saying, but Damian points to his face while he’s speaking so Danny figures it out relatively quickly. Besides, it’s not like he’d forgotten either. He has to take off his mask to sleep, and it’s easier to change when he’s not wearing it. He grabs his phone from his pocket.

[I know, I’ll take off my mask. But remember: you can’t attack me.] He hits play, and watches Damian scoff for the nth time, roll his eyes, and nod. As if to reassure him, or to prove that he wasn’t going to attack him, Damian folds his arms behind his back.

Briefly, Danny feels himself nearly frown again at Damian’s almost soldier-like posture. But he has time to worry about that later, he shoves his phone back into his pocket. Danny raises his hands and curls his fingers around the bottom of his mask.

Carefully, mindful of the straps, Danny pulls it off. The cool air immediately rushes over his damp forehead, and he quickly shakes his head with bated breath to get the strands of hair plastered to his skin off. He locks eyes with Damian, tense, and with air trapped in his lungs.

Damian’s eyes widen comically, his scowl softening for a moment. For a moment, Danny thinks that maybe things will be fine…ish. But then Damian’s face is scrunching up again, his face sharpening angrily, and his hands reach for his sword.

“Dijaal!” He hisses, fire lighting in his eyes as he grabs for his katana.

Danny takes a step back and holds his hand out, narrowing his eyes defensively. “Hey, hey, hey!” He hisses back, he points a finger at Damian accusingly, arching an eyebrow. “You promised!”

Apparently, the tone of ‘no takesies-backsies!’ transcends language, because Damian freezes where he stands and simply remains glowering at him. Danny raises his eyebrow higher, locking him in a staring contest, and Damian takes his hand off the hilt.

Great. Good. Fantastic even! Crisis avoided, and no parents woken up in the process. That’s a success if Danny’s ever heard one. He keeps his eyes on Damian, before slowly reaching for his phone again. It’s like having a stand-off with a bull. A tiny, six year old-sized bull with a sword rather than horns, but a bull nonetheless.

He gets his phone out safely, and gets out the translator. Again. [I know I’m a clone of your dad. I didn’t ask to be. I still want to help you.] And he does, he so much does. Danny was a bleeding heart, forever and always. If he can help, he will. He hopes that the blood he is made from won’t stop Damian from accepting that help.

Damian stares him down, eyes narrowed like he’s trying to analyze Danny’s every move. Danny stays still and lets him, waiting for the jurisdiction of the small assassin.

Whatever it is that Damian sees, it causes him to drop his hands to his side with an irritated sigh just like before. He says nothing, but the resigned slump of his shoulders tells Danny all he needs to know, and he beams.

Success, he thinks, laughing quietly in earnest. [Stay here.] He quickly types into his phone and plays. He reaches for his thermos. [I need to release the ghosts in my device, then I’ll show you how to use the translator.]

He plucks the thermos from his desk and tosses his phone over Damian’s head and onto the bed. It bounces, Damian grumbles something under his breath, and the phone bounces again. Danny puts the mask down, and dances out the door and down into the lab with practiced ease.

When he returns, Damian is snooping around his room, looking around his desk this time around. He straightens up when Danny steps into the room, and Danny doesn’t bother addressing it — instead he grabs his phone again and gestures for Damian to sit on the bed with him.

It takes a painfully long amount of time to show Damian how to use the translator, with a ton of repetition and fiddling around. But they manage, finally, to get a system up where Danny will type something into the translator, play it back to Damian, and then hand the phone to Damian. Damian then would swap the translation, use text-to-speech, and play it in english.

Naturally, text-to-speech has its flaws, and Damian is only recently learning how to read, so Danny figures out the translation errors on his own. They don’t talk for long, Damian is shut off, snooty, and reserved to him. All Danny knows is that his name is Damian Al Ghul, and he is the blood son and second heir to something called the League of Assassins.

How cheery. “League of Assassins” sounds definitely evil. Ancients, Danny doesn’t wanna know. He’ll have to get involved if he knows any more.

He lets Damian fiddle with the translator more in regards to searching his closet for clothes for Damian to wear. He doesn’t have any shorts that will fit, but he pulls out an old NASA t-shirt that still somewhat fits him, and tosses it to Damian.

After much arguing, he gets Damian to wear it, and he gives Damian the bed. That takes less arguing — Damian is all too happy to sleep in a bed rather than the floor, and Danny pulls his beanbag chair out from its nook to shove it under his desk.

He’s still awake by the time sunlight begins peeking over the buildings, his eyelids heavy and sore with exhaustion, and his limbs feeling loose and disconnected. He’s fixed up his gloves — torn from the katana, but now half-heartedly sewn up with thread and a lot of muttered swearing on Danny’s part. His mask is shoved in a hidden pocket in his backpack along with his thermos.

Damian is fast asleep in bed, and with nothing else to do, Danny keeps his sharp eye on him. Swamped in Danny’s shirt and curled up under the covers, Damian is teeny. Well, he was small even before that, but it is even more apparent when tucked under blankets meant for people bigger than him.

And, for perhaps the third time that night, Danny is hit with just the sheer longing of how much he wants to help him. Danny is the hand that feeds, and Damian has a lot of teeth. The cut of his gloves is more than proof enough of that. But Danny wants to help him, Damian has no one else here to. Danny, so far, is the only one who can help him.

He is also hit with the sheer magnitude of what he’s just done — the terrifying revelation that Danny’s just taken in the clone of his template’s son. What the hell does that make for him and Damian’s relationship? Genetically, Danny is technically his father, but they’re complete strangers to one another.

What does that mean for Danny? It’s been four months since his parents revealed their betrayal. Their lies. Their backstabbing, earth-shattering, fifteen years of astounding— the truth to Danny about his… birth. Four months isn’t long enough to deal with something like that. He is still questioning everything he does — whether his actions belong to him, or to Bruce Wayne.

And this? This just takes the fucking cake.

Danny breathes in deeply, snapping himself out of the slow-creeping spiral threatening to drag him under the waters of his mind. His eyes flick to the window. It’s too early to think about this. Much, much too early. He slinks into his beanbag with a low groan, stifling back a groan.

He can worry about the identity crisis and his crisis of autonomy later. Later, when he’s not mind-numbingly exhausted and already mentally fragile from that alone. Not when there’s a teeny baby assassin sleeping in his bed who happens to be his son? Cousin? Brother? template’s son’s clone.

With sunlight peeking through the windows, he slinks out from under his desk to prepare for another day.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpdc #dpxdc crossover #danny fenton is a clone #clone^2 #dpdc au #dpxdc fic #dpdc fic #danny fenton is not the ghost king #starry's writing #ao3 tag highlights: Accidental Little Brother Acquisition #Cat Distribution System Except Its A Child #i crave validation and attention so whoops #danny: wow that is a child! Why Is The Child Violent #danny: ahaha i can ignore my identity crisis if i focus on Literally Anything Else

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livelaughloveloak · 1 year

Text

🐳 ᩡ WANNA C U GIRL

aonung x navi! reader oneshot

summary :: Aonung misses you dearly to the point where he starts getting into more trouble. Will you come back and be his saving grace?

author's note :: honestly this is my first Aonung fic so I'm sorry if it's bad. 2.2k Words. Use of she/her pronouns

"Of course the aliens had to ruin it." Aonung snarled with a fish spear in his dominant hand. Aonung was known to be quite rude at times but today he was even more rude, especially to the young sully boys.

"Aonung stop, they are just learning!" Tsireya shoved her brother softly, only hard enough that he stumbled back in the water. All of them were on the shore with fishing gear. Aonung and Tsireya were tasked to help the newcomers with hunting in the Metkayina ways, much to Aonung's dismay.

Of course only being new to this type of fishing they did not do well. Them missing mostly every shot would normally make Aonung burst into a comedic laughter but not this time. Instead it turned into boiling anger. By the time Lo'ak missed his 7th fish in a row Aonung had enough of fishing and told everyone to just go back to shore.

He rolled his eyes at his sister's kind behavior towards them. Tsireya saw this and snickered before turning to the sully boys. "Do not mind him, he's just grumpy because y/n isn't around" Lo'ak and Neteyam looked at eachother, they have heard about this certain Navi before, mostly from Aonung.

They knew very little but just assumed she was a special person to him. And they were right.

Aonung scoffed in annoyance and walked away from the group, towards his own little marui. Of course he missed you, considering he didn't deny it.

You left to go help another clan in their time of need almost a week ago. You were a good warrior and an even better healer so you were chosen by Tonowari to go and help the neighboring tribe that had gotten attacked by the sky people.

"Aonung I'll be fine." You said as he was behind you, attaching your necklace that happened to be a gift from him. "I'm still not sure. I mean what if the sky people come back and ambush you guys"

You rolled your eyes, you knew he was just concerned but you were still a strong warrior nonetheless. "I promise you I'll return perfectly fine."

You reassured him but only got a hum in return. You were waiting for Aonung to say something but instead you felt his breath on your neck causing the hairs to stand up. Aonung stayed like this for a while before wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and resting his head in the crook of your neck.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Aonung laid down on his hammock, swaying side to side trying to keep his mind blank from the thought of you. You alone tend to fill up his thoughts and dreams, he didn't mind though.

With a groan Aonung shifted from position to position, trying to find a more comfortable way to lay down. Soon enough he settled on laying on his side, back facing the marui opening. He closed his eyes tired from the day filled with anger and yelling.

Aonung felt himself slowly drifting into the blank void called sleep.

Waves clashed against the sea shore as the daylight slowly started to fade into navy blue. You looked up from your half weaved armband, seeing the stars that filled the night sky. Suddenly you remembered Aonung.

“My mom would take me here to go stargazing as a kid, it was only me, Tsireya wasn't born yet.”

He told you this the day you two went to that special spot on top of a small island so you could watch as the stars slowly moved and twinkled. Oh how you missed Aonung.

As the days went by it slowly turned into weeks. You were in this tribe for 3 weeks, helping them get on their feet again. You healed the wounded and hunted in place for the warriors who got too injured.

You counted the days as they went by, each day was a day closer to going back home. The people here were kind but you missed talking or more likely gossiping to Tsireya, you missed playing with the Metkayina kids, but most importantly you missed Aonung.

With a sigh you finally got out of your marui to go collect herbs since you were running low on them. You said hello to a few people on the way and smiled at the kids who waved at you.

You picked your herbs in a small farm that the locals made. Luckily the sky people didn't ruin this part of the small island because without it the people wouldn't have ointment to treat their wounded or medicine for the people who fell ill.

You filled up your basket and gently placed it against your hip so you could walk back to the healing tent.

Your walk back got interrupted by a deep voice. "Y/n" You jumped, dropping some plants from the basket. You picked them up then turned around only to see the chief, Tonowari.

You quickly bowed your head and reached your arm up to your forehead to sign a formal.

‘I see you’

Tonowari smiled at the gesture before talking. "Today you and the others are going home, I have decided to end things early since the people here seem like they can fend for their own now." Tonowari waved his stick around motioning for you to look at the people.

"Go, pack your stuff, we leave once the sun sets." And with that Tonowari turned and walked away leaving you there with the basket filled with multiple healing herbs.

You looked down and smiled before running back to your marui that the Tsahik of this clan built for you as your temporary home. You were finally going to see Aonung again.

"I'm disappointed in you Aonung." Ronal circled around the young navi that had purple bruises forming on his face. Just like yesterday, Aonung had gotten into another fight with a Metkayina boy.

"Go before I pluck your eyes out!" Ronal hissed and pointed to the Marui exit.

Aonung quickly got up from his kneeling position and hurried out with his head hanging low and tail in-between his legs. He was embarrassed, he had made a fool out of himself, at first he felt pride after winning the fight but it all went downhill once a familiar voice shouted his name. His mother.

Other Navi stared silently at Aonung's sulking frame. Ronal's yells of frustration were loud enough for people to hear. His ears pinned back in shame, all his pride was washed away by now after he felt the eyes all over him.

He scrunched his nose and finally looked up. "What are you looking at?" Aonung said with venom in his voice, it wasn't specifically to a certain person but rather everyone who acknowledged his presence. All of the other Navi quickly looked away and went to the previous task they were doing before the whole thing occurred.

Aonung grumbled and kicked the sand underneath him before continuing to walk towards his Marui. He wished nothing but to sleep the pain away even.

The sun was slowly setting as Aonung finally arrived. He didn't go inside but instead sat on the edge, dangling his feet in the lukewarm water. The water in the reef was a beautiful clear blue.

It was so clear that you can see the fish and ilu swimming around the different coral, sometimes going into the seaweed. If you were lucky you'd see a baby ilu with its mother.

Aonung stayed like this, staring into the water with his hands resting on his lap. He was never a quiet person but today he needed it more than ever.

His peace was disturbed by a loud horn made by a shell. The shell was used to warn the clan of someone's arrival. He peered out, squinting so he could get a better look at whoever was about to step onto the shore.

‘Are they back?’

He got excited for a second thinking that you were finally back from your mission.

His eyes scanned the area very carefully, he even double checked just to make sure he didn't miss you by accident. He was left with disappointment. You were nowhere in the crowd.

‘Oh right they don't come back until next week.’

The moment you stepped off of your ilu you begin to search around the crowd of cheering and welcoming Navi for a specific person. You were left confused when you found nothing, it was like everyone was there except him.

“You better be here waiting with a basket filled with delicious food once I come back” You teased Aonung, poking his chest as you were getting ready to start your journey to the other island.

“Ugh you wish” Aonung softly pushed you causing a laugh to come out of your mouth.

"Y/n!"

You turned around to find Tsireya walking towards you with open arms. You two hugged before pulling back once you saw unfamiliar faces behind her. Tsireya glanced over her shoulder and gasped, making you even more confused.

"Oh right!" Tsireya took a hold of your hand and guided you towards them.

"Y/n this is Lo'ak and Neteyam, their family has come here seeking uturu."

‘uturu?’ You thought. You heard about other clan members coming to a whole new one to seek peace and to live with them but you never actually witnessed it until now. You watched as they signed

‘i see you’

towards you. You replied with a smile, doing the gesture back.

"We have heard lots about you." The taller one said which you believe was Neteyam. You raised your eyebrows at his words and turned towards Tsireya seeking for an answer which she thankfully gave. "They mean Aonung, you know he can't keep his big mouth shut." Tsireya nudged your shoulder in a teasing way as you giggled thinking about it.

"Speaking about Aonung, where is he?”

Tsireya went silent, her mouth forming a straight line. She slowly pointed to the direction of his Marui. "Beware y/n he isn't in the best mood right now."

You nodded and quickly headed in the direction she was pointing at. Your tail was swaying anxiously. Was he perhaps mad at you?

By the time you reached his tent you froze, debating if you should enter or not. You didn't wanna face him if he was mad at you, you were scared. You wouldn't know what to say. You were so lost in thought that you didn't even see the taller figure walking towards you.

"Y/n?"

You snapped out of your trance and saw Aonung leaning against one of the support poles that keeps his Marui standing. He had cuts and bruises all over his face and body.

His knuckles were red and wounded, it seemed like he got into a fight. You covered your mouth with your hand as you stepped closer to him. "Oh Aonung" You whispered while inspecting his body closer

Once you were done looking you grabbed his hand and led him inside. You made him sit down in the far corner of the room that had medical supplies stacked up against the wall.

"When I said I promised to stay safe I meant you should too." You grabbed ointment from one of the pouches and then sat down on his lap facing him.

Aonung stayed silent watching you apply it on his knuckles until he finally spoke up. "I know."

You were the one who was silent now, you kept your questions to yourself deciding that you'd ask them another time and that you should just focus on treating his wounds.

You wrapped his hand with bandages and moved on to applying a herb that specializes in reducing swelling on his busted lip and bruised up eye. You felt his eyes staring at you, watching your every move. You tried your best to ignore it so you wouldn't get flustered and mess up on properly dressing his wounds.

Aonung kept his eyes locked onto yours as you gently tapped his lips to apply the ointment. "Please Aonung, be careful next time." You begged him. Of course you never liked it when he got into fights but at this point Aonung isn't really Aonung unless he comes to you seeking for your medical health every one in awhile.

"I was fighting for you."

"What?"

"I fought them because they were talking bad about you." Aonung watched carefully, seeing how you stopped your movements and dropped your arms to your side. He took this as his cue to continue. "They were saying how you were weird and didn't belong amongst the other girls. I couldn't just stand there and hear all of this without doing anything about it."

Of course you were upset finding out that people who you probably never even talked to had your name in their mouths, but you felt some sort of comfort knowing that Aonung stepped in for the sake of you. "My love it is okay their words won't affect me." You brushed away one of his loose locks that must've fallen from his braids.

"No it is not-"

You shushed him with a kiss on the lips that he was quick to return. "It's fine, I promise." Aonung stayed silent, continuing to stare in your eyes lovingly.

His eyebrows raised when you got up from his lap, holding his hand signaling for you to follow him. He obeyed and got up to which you started to drag him out of the Marui.

"Where are we going?"

You sarcastically gasped to tease him. "Don't you trust me?"

Aonung rolled his eyes before rushing to walk by your side so you wouldn't be dragging him behind you. You smiled and looked at him. "Come I have made something for you my love."

#atwow #avatar #avatar imagine #imagine #aonung avatar #aonung #aonung x you #aonung x reader #aonung x y/n #aonung imagine #avatar the way of water #aonung fic

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