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marypaol · 5 months

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Hogwarts Express [H.P]

Harry James Potter x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader is right by Harry’s side providing comfort when the Dementor pays a visit. (Based on book)

Warnings: Dementor of course, mention of never being happy again, mention of murder and death, fainting, twitching? I think that’s it let me know if there’s any others!

Author’s Note: This is my first ever Harry story, he’s my favorite character in the series and I’m so glad I’m writing for him! Also, I know the poll results said 6th Year, but 3rd was a very close second and it’s fresh in my mind because I’m currently reading the book. Sorry!

Reader is nicknamed “Flower” sometimes so no use of Y/N

Masterlist

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Requests closed until further notice

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“I need to talk to you guys. Alone.” Harry muttered to his three friends, engine of the Hogwarts Express rumbling beneath them.

Ron looked eager to know, and turning to his red-headed sister, ordered “Go away Ginny.” as a way to politely ask her to leave. The sister replied with an eye roll and walked away.

“Let’s find an empty compartment.” Hermione suggested, stroking the hair ball of a cat in her arms as they soon made their way down the corridor. They didn’t seem to be having any luck with finding any one that wasn’t full except for one at the end of the train.

A man was sleeping by the window, soft snores escaping him. He was wearing torn up robes, grey streaks in his hair despite him looking youngish.

“Who do you think he is?” Ron asked.

“Professor R. J. Lupin.” The girl replied, reading his suitcase that was pealing, showing its age.

“How’d you know that?” Ron asked, searching her face with confusion written all over his. She pointed to the case, all three of them taking a look as they sat down.

“Wonder what he teaches.” Ron said, already looking down the corridor for any sign of the women walking around with snacks.

Hermonie rolled her eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“Well he looks like he’s in rough shape; one hex would take him out for sure.” Ron said, adjusting Scabbers in his robe pocket when his tail peeked out. “Anyway, what is it you wanted to tell us?” He said, turning to Harry.

The rest of them did the same, all paying attention to what the boy had to say.

Harry then explained what he overhead Mr. And Mrs. Weasley talking about, as well as what Mr. Weasley made him promise.

The girl’s eyebrows shot up, hand covering her mouth, mimicking Hermione’s reaction. Ron’s mouth was open.

“He escaped to come after you?” Hermiome said in disbelief from beside Ron. The girl seated next to Harry was still trying to register the information.

“Harry you have to be really careful.” The girl said, just about the same time as Hermione added, “Now don’t chase after trouble, Harry.”

Harry seemed slightly annoyed. “I don’t find trouble, Hermione. Trouble usually finds me.”

Ron scoffed at the two girls worries. “Plus, why would he go off and chase someone who wants to kill him?”

“True, but we have to be cautious.” Hermione advised.

“Who knows how he escaped.” Ron said, looking uncomfortable all of the sudden. “No one’s done it before, and he was under high security too.”

“But they will catch him, won’t they?” The girl said, trying to look at Ron and Hermione in assurance. “I mean, they’ve got Muggles looking for him-”

“What’s that noise?” Ron said, head swerving around as he tried to find the purpose. All of them did the same, the whistling noise getting irritating.

“Coming from your trunk, Harry.” Ron said, red head now dug in the luggage rack, hands snapping open the trunk as he brought out the reason for the noise.

“Oh! Is that a Sneakoscope?” The girl said, leaning forward so she could get a better look a the item.

“A very cheap one, mind you; went crazy when I attached it to my owl’s leg.” He said, shaking his head.

“Put it away,” Harry advises, eyes nervously glancing at the sleeping Professor. “It’ll wake him.”

Ron stuffed it in an old sock he found in Harry’s trunk which stopped the noise and snapped the trunk shut once he put it back.

“We got it in Hogsmeade.” Ron explained as he sat down. “The shop was full of all sorts of things. Fred and George told me about-”

“What’s it like there?” Hermione interrupted. “I heard it’s a place in Britain that doesn’t have any Muggles-”

“Sure it is,” Ron said hurriedly, being the one interrupting this time. “But that’s not why I want to go. I wanna go to Honeydukes!”

“What’s that?” The girl asked in wonder, curiosity shining in her eyes.

“It’s a shop that sells just sweets.” Ron gladly answered, sinking into his chair with a dreamlike expression on his face. “Like Pepper Imps that make you smoke at the mouth, or large sherbet balls that make you float a few inches off the ground when you suck on them.” Ron ended his sentence with a demonstration of the size of the sherbets, his hands making a giant circle to mimic their size.

“Oh I’m sure they’re much bigger than that.” The girl informed, holding up her own hands and trying to figure out how to make a bigger circle than Ron’s, just to get him riled up.

“No, mom told me they were like this.” He said, doing the same thing with his hands again.

“Yeah right! And I’m Volde-”

The sarcastic remark was interrupted when Hermione looked over at Harry curiously.

“Wouldn’t Hogsmeade be a fun place to walk around, Harry?” She asked.

Harry rolled his eyes, his arms were crossed and a small annoyed pout was on his lips. The girl couldn’t help but admire him despite his irritation, his green eyes twitching with annoyance.

“I’d like to know. Reckon you’d tell me all about it when you get back?”

The girl snapped out of it. “Why, can’t you come?”

Harry shook his head, untidy hair waving in the process. “No, Uncle Vernon didn’t sign my slip, and Fudge didn’t either.”

The girl slumped in her chair a little, bumped out being an understatement.

Ron looked mortified. “You can’t come? McGonagall or someone will grant you permission-”

Harry laughed disbelievingly, knowing all too well that the Professor mentioned was known to be quite strict.

“Or Fred and George will do something about it, one quick ask and they’ll sneak you right in.”

“Ron, no! Harry can’t be running around risking trouble when Black is wandering about!”

“But he’ll be with us, no one’s gonna-”

“Oh don’t speak rubbish, Ron. Black won’t hold back on attacking Harry just because we’re with him, he’s committed a murder in front of dozens of people.” The girl jumped in.

They’ve settled in a nice little stage of normal discussion while they enjoyed their snacks one the women came (apparently Ron avoided death because he claimed he was dying of starvation) and they ate contently until a certain Slytherin decided to show up to the door with his minions that too far behind him.

“Malfoy.” Harry scolded.

“Pottah.” Draco replied right back, scanning him with irritation in his eyes before turning to Ron. The girl nibbled on her lip on habit, knowing how short Ron’s temper was when Malfoy mentioned his family in any way.

“Heard your father finally got some hands on some gold, Weasley. What’d your mother do? Die of shock?”

Ron stood up abruptly, knocking over Hermione’s cat’s basket in the process.

The sleeping Professor snorted at the disturbance. Malfoy’s eyes snapped to the figure deep in slumber.

“Who’s that?” He asked, taking a cautious step back while pointing a skinny finger at the young man.

“New Professor.” Harry answered, standing up as well in case he needed to prevent Ron from lashing at the Slytherin. The girl, not knowing Harry’s purpose of standing up, misunderstood and thought he was gonna try to fight too, and her hands subconsciously went to the boy’s robes, holding tight just in case.

“You were saying, Malfoy?” Harry said, eyebrow raising in question. Malfoy scoffed, knowing he shouldn’t start something in front of a teacher, and whispered to his minions the plan to depart, and so they did.

The two boys sat down, the girl’s hands staying on Harry’s robes but not as tight; she felt safe knowing he was right there but thankfully the robes are big and Harry didn’t notice her grip.

“I’ve had enough of him making comments.” Ron snarled, face dark. “I’ve had it this year; one more comment on my family and I’ll get a hold his head and-”

Ron did something with his hands in the air, the motion not nice enough to explain.

The girl stiffed a laugh with Harry at the action. Hermione on the other hand wasn’t amused.

“Careful Ron. A Professor is right there!” She reminded, but the future Hogwarts teacher was still fast asleep.

Outside it started to rain, the droplets running down the window satisfyingly. The girl watched as the rain poured down and the sky became grey.

“It’s rough out there, I must tell you.” Ron complained, taking Scabbers at of his pocket but stuffed him right back in once Crookshanks gave a soft hiss.

The train gave a rattle, shaking slightly but hard enough to shake the girl into Harry, her cheek coming in contact with his shoulder.

She leaned back as soon as the force of the train was over, cheeks flushed.

“Sorry.” She mumbled embarrassed.

Harry gave a reassuring smile. “Quite alright.” He said, pushing his glasses up his nose since they fell down a little.

She turned back towards the window to hide her face, watching the rain hammer to the ground. (She would lean forward to get a closer look but the Professor was right there, still deep in sleep despite the practical storm occurring outside.)

All seemed well until the train started to slow, the rain becoming more visible as the thick drops landed to the ground.

“Great, we’re here. I’m starving and dying for the feast.” Ron said, getting up and stretching before looking outside.

“What? We can’t be there quite yet.” Hermione said confused, glancing at her watch.

“Then what’s happened?”

“Well don’t look at me, I don’t know.”

“Flower, let’s look outside.” Harry said, pointing to the door. She nodded, getting up on wobbly legs from sitting down for far too long and walking towards the door.

Both their heads peaked out the open door, many students copying them out of confusion.

The lights suddenly went out, leaving the whole train in darkness.

“Woah! What’s happened?” Ron’s voice said behind them, Harry and the girl still standing by the door.

“Don’t know…” Hermione mumbled.

Harry held onto the girl as they felt their way to their seats. “Do you think we broke down?”

“Don’t know.” Hermione repeated.

The previously open door burst open suddenly, someone making quite a loud entrance before they tripped on something and fell forward right on top of Harry.

“Hello, Neville.”

“Harry? That you?” The boy asked confused as the girl heard him getting up.

“Who’s there?” Ron asked the new voice, only for another one to arrive.

“Ginny? What are you doing here?”

“Looking for Ron-”

“Nevermind come sit.”

“Quiet!!” A third new voice broke out, the Professor finally waking. He lit a fire (in his hands?) and started to walk out the compartment to see what the trouble was.

But someone something arrived before Lupin could leave.

A creature of some sort stood covered in a black cloak from floor to ceiling. Whatever was hidden under the cloak sucked in a sharp breath, and that’s when it happened.

A cold chill came through the air, chilling them to the bone. The girl felt hallow, like every speck of life was sucked out and she felt a flick of sadness; like she’d never be happy again. The cold went beneath her skin and traveled to her chest. She shivered uncontrollably.

A hand appeared from under the cloak, shriveled and pale, only for it to go back under.

The girl reached for Harry subconsciously, seeking for comfort only to feel his body board stiff. She turned to him, eyes wide, watching as his once sparkling eyes behind his glasses roll back in an unpleasant way.

His body twitched as he fell to the floor and off his seat, back on the ground.

“Harry!” The girl yelled, worry brewing in her chest. She knelt down beside him, hand lightly slapping his pale cheek nervously as she brought his head to her lap. So many things were happening around her but she didn’t take the time to notice, for his didn’t care. All she really did notice was that the lights flickered back on again. But all she cared about at the moment was Harry and if he was okay.

His eyes fluttered open, looking at her then looking at all the people around him.

“W-what?” He croaked, neck leaning up and the girl helped him sit up, his back leaning against the seat he was previously sitting in.

“Are you okay, Harry?” She asked, anxiety bending her brows. Harry didn’t answer, swallowing thickly.

“What happened? What’s that- that thing?” He said, eyes scanning the room for an answer. “Someone was screaming, who was-”

“No one was screaming, Harry.” Ron said, his face startled but confused.

There was a moment of silence before they heard a snapping sound, and, swerving their heads in the direction of the noise, saw Lupin breaking chocolate into pieces.

“Eat it, it will help, I assure you.” He spoke, looking at them. “Dementors, am I right?” He said, but no one laughed. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’m going to talk to the driver.”

Lupin left, and the girl guided the chocolate to Harry’s lips once she helped him sit down.

“Eat Harry, he said it will make you feel better.” She said gently.

Harry took a nibble, and he visibly relaxed as warmth traveled from the tips of his hair to his toes.

Harry looked around then, rubbing his eyes. “I still don’t understand, what happened?”

The girl was half listening to what the person said as they explained what occurred, her hand going to Harry’s as she gripped his fingers. He looked over at her, lips turning into a soft grateful smile. She smiled back but halfway since she was still worried, and she reached up and fixed Harry’s glasses on his face since they were crooked. He gave her another smile, one better than the last.

@idkkkkk1111 @iambored24601 @amayaaaxx@brok3nlegs @capsicle115 @buttersuaa @ghostyluvsyou @thisismyacc11 @cvmtitss @bitchycheesecakecat @earlymorninglow @mariit @iambored24601

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wriothesleybear · 9 months

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Can you please write a wrio reader fic where reader is just absolutely exhausted from a long day of work? like right when they walk in the door eyes are heavy, zombie, practically ready to pass out from exhaustion, sore back, just wants to cry to be honest. even more since they hate their job.

Damn, I feel this with my job. And if I had wrio to come home to, I'd die a happy woman. I hope Wrio doesnt seem oc in this. This is just what I think he'd be like as a comforting boyfriend cuz he is the best boyfriend. I also hope this isn't cringy. Ngl, I sorta got a bit teary eyed writing this cuz it made me think about how stressed I get from my own job and college classes and I would love to have Wrio comfort me when I come home ;-;

~warnings: comfort, a bit of angst, mentions of crying, Wrio calls reader 'dear, love', gn!reader.

The door of Wriothesley's office creaks open and slams shut. Slow, heavy footsteps tread up the stairs. Turning his head towards the stairs, he sees you. He notices the exhausted look on your face, too tired to even bother greeting him. He can tell from that that you had a bad day. You trudge over to the couch in his office, drop your items on the floor and fall on the cushions below, face first. He stifles a chuckle from watching your adorable actions.

He quietly scoots his chair back and walks over to the couch to check up on you. Taking a seat on the table in front of the couch, he places a hand on the back of your head, stroking your hair to comfort you. "Bad day?" You don't even have the energy to answer. All you can do is slightly nod your head. He continues to stroke your hair, knowing that's one of your favorite ways to feel better. "Want to talk about it?"

You take a second to respond, debating whether or not you really want to talk about it. It'll just be the same old rant about how you hate your job, how customers suck, how your back hurts, and all those negative things in your life. You feel guilty for always complaining your boyfriend's ear off, thinking he probably gets tired of it. Not wanting to burden him anymore, you shake your head no. "You sure? I'm always happy to listen to your worries and problems." He says as his hand moves down to rub your back in comfort.

His kind nature makes your heart skip a beat, so grateful to have someone like him in your life. Although, it makes you happy, you just want to cry. The stress from work and your worries of being a bad s/o to your wonderful boyfriend is what causes you to just break down and cry. You quietly cry but he can feel your body slighty shake. "What's wrong my love?" You don't reply. All you do is shake your head and cry.

"Come here." He gently grabs a hold of you, urging you to get up and sit on his lap so he can hold you. He effortlessly picks you up and has you straddle his lap. He holds your head to his chest, rubbing your back as he tries to shush you. "Shh, it's okay. Let it out if you need to." His shirt gets soaked from your tears, but he doesn't care. He just wants you to feel better and if letting you cry into his shirt helps you, then he'd let you ruin all of his shirts.

After a while, you begin to calm down, the sound of your sniffles and cries decreasing. "Did that help?" You nod your head while still keeping your face in his chest. "Sorry Wrio." He cups your face and moves it away from his chest so he can see your face. "You have nothing to apologize for. I'm always here for you." He says as he looks deeply into your eyes, thumb stroking your cheek. You give him a small smile which he returns with his own gentle smile.

"So. Is there anyone I need to 'talk' to?" You recognize his implication and chuckle a bit. "No, just a stressful day. Just being here with you as you hold me is good enough for me." You lean your forehead against his and give him a eskimo kiss. "I'm glad. Now, how about I make you some tea?"

"In a bit. I just want you to keep holding me and stay like this for a while longer. Please."

"Of course my love." He gives you a short, sweet kiss on your lips. You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, getting comfortable on his lap. His arms wrap around you, holding you tight and leaves a kiss on your head. "Um Wrio." He hums in response, acknowledging you. "Can you..stroke my hair again, please?" You ask shyly, blush covering your cheeks. He chuckles. "Of course my dear."

Keeping one arm wrapped tightly around your waist, he brings the other one up to your hair, stroking and combing his fingers through the soft strands. "Thank you Wrio." You say into his neck, leaving a little kiss on his skin. "I love you."

"Anything for you. I love you too. Rest now. I'll make you tea when you wake up." You smile, grateful to have a wonderful, loving boyfriend. Your eyes close as you get sleepy from his comforting touches. You soon fall asleep.

#wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley headcanons #wriothesley fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact headcanons

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scarlett-or-wtv · 2 months

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Stupid Letters, Stupid Flowers.

A Chris Sturniolo X Reader Fanfiction

In which: Chris broke up with y/n over something stupid. Months later, she’s cleaning out her closet to move when she finds a shoebox filled with things he had given her over the years. Stupid Letters, Stupid Flowers.

Warnings: angst, crying

A/N: I asked you guys if I should write this on a poll and you said yes so here it is, Stupid Letters, Stupid Flowers.

I was honestly glad about moving. New state, new start. Thats what I told myself.

My floor was riddled with random items, boxes stacked in the corner as I packed my room. I was gonna miss my room, it was my comfort place after all.

I picked through the last items in my closet, my clothes already packed away into various suitcases and boxes.

My eyes landed on a shoebox in the back corner. I looked at it confused for a second before getting onto my tippy toes to grab it. I slid it off the shelf and and almost fell trying to catch it. The box fell to the floor, the lid sliding partially off.

My heart sank as I saw what was under the lid. Of course. I had forgotten all about that. I hesitantly picked up the box before carrying it over to my bed. I sat down and took the lid completely off. I sifted through the contents, nothing but Stupid Letters and Stupid Flowers. Full of broken promises.

A tear fell from my cheek, landing on one of said letters, the words at the bottom of the paper caught my eye. “Ill love you, always and forever.” A lie, of course. Because Chris had broken up with me for the stupidest of reasons.

Rain poured over me as I knocked on his door, when he finally answered, he didn’t look happy to see me.

“Im sorry. Im so sorry. My car broke down on the way and my phone died and I couldn’t text you. Please let me make it up to you.” I rambled desperately.

“Its our 3 year anniversary and you didn’t even show up.” He said angrily. His tone made me shiver more then the cold rain.

“I had to walk all the way here. Im sorry I really tried to be here on time.” I apologized again.

“Just go home. Its done, we’re done.” He muttered. My heart sank.

“Don’t say that. I really am sorry, okay? Just let me fix it.” I begged as a tear on my cheek mixed with the rain.

“No. Just go home y/n.” He repeated.

“Please don’t do this. I love you.” I sobbed out my words as I pleaded with him.

“Go.” He said before shutting the door in my face.

It wasn’t until later that I found out the real reason he had broken up with me, someone new. He was just looking for any excuse to break up with me so he could be with her, what was her name again? Oh right, Hannah.

If she wasn’t absolutely gorgeous I would say it was his loss, unfortunately, she’s much prettier than me. Her long straight brown hair and her perfect body, perfect teeth, she was simply, perfect. In a way I could never be.

He wanted her, I should accept that. But then again, if he really loved me those 3 years, he wouldn’t have replaced me.

I walked over to my desk again and pulled out the drawer. I picked up the small velvet box that rested in the very back. My promise ring, yet another lie. I opened up the box and watched as the ring sparkled in the faint light that crept through the blinds of my window.

I walked back over to the shoebox and stuck it inside, letting out a sigh as I lifted the it up and carried it downstairs and out to my car.

I got into the driver seat and placed it in the seat next to me before starting the engine. I pulled out my phone and clicked on his contact, each dial tone made me more nervous. Then he picked it up.

“Hello?” He questioned, his words falling through the speaker of the phone in my hand.

“I uh… have some of your stuff. My plane leaves tomorrow, can I bring it by your house?” I asked nervously.

I heard him sigh through the phone. “Yeah sure.” He said sounding a little annoyed.

“Okay, sorry I just wanted to ask first. I know you don’t wanna see me.” The last part came out as a whisper.

“Just come over y/n.” He said.

“Be there in 10. Bye.” I said before hanging up. Why do I feel like crying right now? We talked for 30 seconds and I wanna cry. Pathetic.

After a while I pulled up to his house, parking across the street. I slowly and hesitantly stepped onto his porch. My hand shook as I pressed the doorbell with my free hand.

After what felt like eternity the door opened, it was Matt. He gave me a confused look.

“Chris said I could come drop of the last of his things.” I explained looking at the box then back at him.

“Okay.” He said stepping aside and letting me walk in. He closed the door behind us and I walked down the stairs. I stood outside of his room for a moment before clenching my eyes shut and knocking, as if the simple action was deadly.

“Come in.” He said from inside, i slowly turned the handle, stepping inside. I nervously met his eyes, my mouth suddenly going dry.

“Here.” I said, my hands shaking as I extended the box to him. He picked it up with a questioning look before setting it down on the bed and opening it. I watched as his expression dropped, his eyes raking over the contents of the box. Then his gaze landed on the small velvet box under a few letters.

He picked it up, opening it with an expression as if he hoped it wasn’t what he thought.

“You don’t wanna keep it?” He asked quietly, his gaze turning to me.

“Why would I?” I whispered with a shrug. “Give it to Hannah, im sure she’d love it.” I said with a sad smile.

“Y/n. I broke up with Hannah weeks ago.” He whispered.

“Oh, im sorry I didn’t know.” I muttered looking at my feet. I really didn’t know, if I did, honestly, I would have celebrated.

“Its okay. You didn’t know. Thanks for the stuff.” He said looking back down and sifting through the letters. “Maybe Ill send you a new letter when you get settled in at your new house.” He said with a sad smile.

“Maybe.” I whispered, my expression matching his. He suddenly stepped toward me, his movements cautious. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me into a hug.

“Ill miss you. Even if you think I wont.” He muttered into my hair. I found myself melting into his touch, no matter how hard I tried to resist it.

“I think I should go.” I say pulling away from him. “I have to finish packing.” I explained, not meeting his gaze.

“Okay.” He nodded understandingly. “Bye y/n.”

“Bye Chris.”

So I left. The next day I would be on a plane, and I those letters and flowers would all be a distant memory of what used to be, and it wouldn’t be till I was going through airport security that I would find that Chris had slipped the ring into my purse during that hug. Of course.

A/N: Do yall fw this? Idk i lowk rushed it and wrote it in like 30 minutes? Lmk!!

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo

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onlybeeewrites · 3 months

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A Toast

Requested: no, but I had a rare inspo with my favorite Bridgerton Boy

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Warnings: angst, no happy ending for you (sorry Queen )

Word count: 1.3k

"Must you go?” The young man whined, rolling in the tangle of soft bedsheets and downed blankets. His hair unruly and all over the place from your night spent together. Your clothes strewn all over the fire-lit room.

The evening was already late, the spring air getting cold as the hours without the sun cooled the streets outside, making a soft chill in the air. You had climbed off the bed, clutching one of the many blankets around you for some sort of decency. Though as you stood beside the bed, you turned and grin at the man in the bed. Though he was not your husband, but someone you certainly wished to be. He instead was simply someone you had spent endless hours with, wanting a shared bed together every few nights when you could find time to escape. “I must,” you say with a sigh, “you know I must,” you remind him, walking back over to his side.

“I would spend the entire night with you if I could. But if I am caught coming home late, my father with put bars my windows,” you teased, pressing a kiss to Benedict’s lips.

Though that was the first mistake because his arms worked his way around you and pulled you back down to bed, “and I shall come to your rescue,” he announced, keeping you close. His hands running down your bare back, making shapes and such on the warmth of your skin.

A smile grew on your face, moving your hair out of your face to get a better look at him. “Sure you would,” you said, sarcasm practically dripping from your words. The idea of Benedict coming to your rescue was amusing, mainly because it never would really happen. “But I really must go!” You insist, pulling away from his arms. From there you moved around the room, collecting your clothing items, getting redressed. All while Benedict watched from the comfort of the bed you both shared.

“It really is a shame you must go. When may I see you again?” He asked eagerly, his arm resting against the back of his head as he watched in the dim light. He allowed his eyes to rake over your form up until you had clasped the dark cloak around you. The only thing that allowed you to come to these secret meetings of passion.

You gave him a look, walking back over. Your small heels muffled by the soft carpet beneath your feet, “I shall let you know,” you say, pressing one last kiss to his lips. “Goodnight, Lord Bridgerton,” you say teasingly against his lips. With that, you pull away and slipping out of his room, out of the apartment, and into the night as you had done almost a hundred times before. Though unaware of the last time.

The thought of your last meeting with Benedict lingers in your mind while the candle light glimmered against the sharp crystal that decorated the home. The sweet smell of cakes and other sweets filled the air. The sweet memories flooded back to your mind so quickly it had only made you dizzy. Or perhaps that was the heat of the summer night. Or perhaps it was the one too many drinks you had consumed that night.

Though one thing you couldn’t shake was the eyes. All the eyes that were upon you. And it was like you remembered where you were. What you were doing. What was happening. What you are supposed to do.

The crowd of people was filled with what was almost a hundreds of eyes. The room almost filled to the brim. Full of your family, close and distant, friends, and other respected members and families of the Ton. And you cleared your throat, lifting your glass to the gathered crowd, all adorned in their nicest clothing. You remembered what you were standing at the top of the staircase for, holding your glad of champagne.

“A toast to the groom,” you say, your speech starting. And your eyes flickered over to Benedict. Standing tall, an expression of fondness on his handsome, clean shaven face. He looked as handsome as ever, adorned in a new black suit, fitting him like a glove. There was a wash of happiness over him. And the entire room smiled, glancing over to the Bridgerton with fondness.

You remembered all the times you had spent with him. At balls, in the art galleries, in the twisted sheets, rather improper of you, but the things that Benedict had lured you too. Though sworn to secrecy, your little meetings were something you had looked forward to. Something you had not experienced in months even though you’ve seen him almost every day in your tea room.

“To the bride,” you then say, the smile coming to your face. The bride. Your dearest, older sister. Who had been smitten by Benedict the moment she had seen him. She had been speaking with some friends at the hall of the beginning of the season when she had seen him. Having been away studying in Paris, your sister was freshly returned.

And perhaps that is what drew Benedict back to her. Perhaps it was your older sister’s charm, beauty, cleverness and education you never would have gotten. Or would get. She had gotten very lucky in that department. Brains and beauty.

You remember her speaking with Benedict for the first time. How her eyes lit up. How his eyes lit up too. Those beautiful blue eyes that you had spent hours staring into. Falling for. Speaking to about nonsense until the dead hours of the night. But it seems your sister did too. The only difference was that his eyes didn��t light up with you. Perhaps lit up with mischief, excitement for what the night would bring. But not this kind of intrigue. And that was the night you knew your little rendezvous with Benedict were over.

You couldn’t do it.

Not with how your sister had been looking at him. Not with how he was looking at her. And so you stopped. But he didn’t seem to really mind. Because he started showing up at your home. Not for you, but for her. Calling upon her with different sorts of gifts. Flowers, paintings, jewelry. Everything that she would adore, while you had to sit aside with your parents and watch as their bond only grew, and your bond ever slimmer.

You knew if you told your sister of your feelings of him that she would give him to you in a heartbeat. But you couldn’t do that to her. Not with how her face lit up when he would come in. So you’d be silent, watch as their love and happiness grew as your own ache did.

And grow it did. After weeks and weeks and month of courting. He proposed. You remember it all happening. The excitement on your sister’s face, the disbelief and joy. The relief and excitement in Bendict’s. It was surprising considering he had told you so many times that he wasn’t one to marry, to settle. Your sister must have been something special to change his mind.

Shaking from your thoughts, you focused again. Your smile grew again, though a bit forced. You were happy for your sister, you truly were. But it also hurt to see the very man who you spent hourless nights with, talking about what you’d both do; the possibilities of the future. But you realized then that the two of you had no future, not in the way that you had hoped.

“From your sister,” you continued, “who will forever be by your side. No matter what. And I wish you both the upmost happiness.” You finish, “congratulations,” you add as the glasses clinking could be heard before everyone took a drink.

Though you had allowed your sister this happiness, you’d struggle to cope. Knowing she was at the end of Benedict’s love, something that you would never feel or properly know of.

But that was okay. Because as long as your sister was happy and in love, you would be satisfied, even if you were not.

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year

Note

Imagine Miller doing a subbathon with yan chat except instead of donating bits to keep the stream going, they’re donating bits to see Y/n. Y/n is just sitting there next to Miller reading a book or something whilst they play a game and anytime the counter runs out because chat didn’t donate Miller juts kinda, throws a blanket over them or something until someone donates

A shadow appears outside your tent.

"Mind if I come in? Looks so cozy from here I might not leave.. Ow, ow, shit- not again." Setting up for the stream, Miller pokes their head through the curtains of your enclosure to attach a mic piece to a hanging frame, cerulean dreads snagging on the velcro latch in the midst of their playful banter. They mutter expletives, since as they tear their locks free. They crawl inside the tent and tap the mic overhead where you lay with a book in your lap and surrounded by a small library filled with more novels and other items needed for the duration of your stay. When Miller told you they'd be pulling out all the stops for your new corner - they meant it.

The whole idea for the space came when they discovered the very foundation for it online. They had mindlessly scrolling through various forums looking for ideas to make their room feel more of a home for you when they came across a frame for a floor bed fashioned in the design of a small house. It went in their cart that second and on their doorstep a day later. After gutting one side of their floor and setting the bed up, Miller fit it with your favorite sheets and pillows. They strung up mood lights and installed shelves into the walls for your trinkets. By the time they were done, the area was more decked out than their entire apartment. A fair act given who it was for. You warmed up to it well enough and that's all they could ever ask.

Miller grabs the remote for the lights and turns them up. "Quiet read in the dark unless you want eyesight somehow worse than mine." Their voice softens the closer they get until their lips graze your cheek. "You good to start?"

"Mmm...." You pull the blanket trapped beneath their knees over your lap. "Now I am."

Miller smiles. "Good. Remember, just turn off the cameras if you can't handle the attention. There's one there, there, and obviously here-" They point around the room, stopping on the front facing camera of your laptop. "And you have my card if you want order something to eat while we're live. I'll check on you in about an hour. Be good."

Miller nabs the pillow cushioning your elbow and lightly smacks your knee with it before backing out of the tent. They place it behind their neck as they sit down at their desk and adjust their headphones over their ears. Waking their monitors up, they find the feeds from your cameras on one and the scheduled stream on the other. Right before they tune in, Miller presses a kiss to the pads of their fingers and places it on the screen where you sat. The curtains draw back.

"Saw that!"

Miller hushes you, wiping the snicker off their face as the stream goes live. "Hey, guys. As some of you may know if you follow the community page, we have a special stream today."

They eyes the chat as you get comfortable. You yawn, laying on your side with your book in hand.

[I'll take your entire stock.]

[So glad I got paid yesterday. How are they so freaking cute?!]

[If someone gives a certain amount can they read to us too???]

[Alexa, what's my location]

"Your first mistake is thinking I'd have one of those things. Your second is not realizing we plan on moving every two years. You can watch them all you want, but it's best you remember Y/n is my partner. Cross any boundaries and I will take them away just as easily as I have shown them off to you.... but I'll still send pictures from the wedding!... Baby, you doing okay?

You hold your finger over your laptop's camera, reading the flood of messages and donations from your phone. "They absolutely hate when I do this.... but I think it works in our favor."

#yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #yandere headcanons #yandere x you #yandere blurb #yandere drabble #Yandere streamer #yandere oneshot #Miller my oc

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lacontroller1991 · 11 months

Text

Baths and Tea (Jonathan Crane x GN!Reader)

Main Master List || MISC Master List

Requested by anon: I wish you would write a fic where Crane takes care of reader when they have a stressful day and he sees they are a bit on edge, I need comfort sorry u.u....

-- Anya 🍓

Author's Note: SO THIS IS MY FIRST CRANE FIC I HOPE I DO HIM JUSTICE

Warnings: just a really really shitty day, mentions of nudity/undressing, language

Word Count: 1.1k

----------

It all started with a cold bed. You woke up at around 7:30, expecting to cuddle into the side of your boyfriend and go back to sleep only to feel no body presence by your side. You initially shrugged it off and still got out of bed to grab coffee. When you got to the coffee pot you thought it would be hot, but when you took a sip, it was cold.

“You gotta be kidding me.” You had murmured to yourself, eyes rolling at how thoughtful your boyfriend is.

When you managed to get to your class, after missing the bus, you found out that it was canceled and this pissed you off. Normally, professors would send courtesy emails to let students know if the class is canceled but apparently not.

By the time lunch had come around you were already done with the day. To try and lift up your spirits, you decided to go to your favorite lunch spot by campus, hoping that they would have your favorite item on the menu, but just your luck, they didn’t. “This day literally couldn’t get any worse.”

It did. And by the time you got home for the day, you were ready to cry and just bury yourself underneath a pile of blankets. Which is how your boyfriend finds you.

Jonathan typically isn’t the affectionate type. You would even go as far as saying that he doesn’t know what the word affection means. He sometimes wonders why you haven’t left him for someone a little more…warm. Finding you underneath a pile of blankets though? It raises concern in him.

Moving to your side of the bed, he sits on the edge, trying to find your face under the mound but failing to do so. Instead, he pulls back the covers only to find your eyes puffy and tears running down your face.

“Dove? What’s wrong?” Despite the words of concern, they sound apathetic, and you instantly notice.

“Why do you even care?” The abrasiveness of your comment causes him to jolt back. He definitely did not expect that from you. He tries to think of what to do. It’s clear that you’ve had a rough day and he wants to make it better. Nodding his head tersely, he leaves your side and goes to the kitchen.

Not even 5 minutes later he's walking back into the room, a cup of hot tea in his hands. Taking a seat on the edge of the bed again, he lightly nudges you causing you to push the blankets away and look up at him through tear soaked lashes.

“I made you your favorite tea.” He offers the tea to you and you take it from him, savoring the warmth that the cup provides, eyeing him suspiciously.

“What did you put in it?”

“Nothing that I wanted to,” he tries to make a joke about his work, but he gathers it’s not the right crowd right now. “Do you want to talk about your day?”

You take a sip of the tea, letting the warm drink soothe your throat and warm your body. You can’t deny that him making you tea did boost your mood slightly. People often ask you why you’re with Jonathan Crane of all people. He’s cold. Calculative. Creepy. Apathetic. But none of those things really bother you. You try to focus on the good in him, and it’s moments like this that make you glad that you’ve stayed with him, even if he is a challenge.

“It’s just you weren’t here this morning and didn’t bother heating up some coffee. Then I was late to class because the bus system fucking sucks and it was all a mute point because class was cancelled anyways. I tried getting my favorite lunch but they were out of it, and when I chose another option, my card declined. Then when I went to my other class we got our exams back and I didn’t do as well as I wanted to. When I got home I got an email saying that the job I had applied for was now occupied and they don’t need me. To make matters worse, the same asshole professor that randomly canceled class just posted a new assignment that’s due tomorrow and it’s supposed to be 8 pages long. A research paper. Due tomorrow.” You start to cry again and Jonathan takes the drink out of your hands, setting it to the side before pulling you into his arms as best as he can. Even though he is a trained psychologist and an active psychiatrist, he doesn’t know what to do.

“That sounds horrible. I’m sorry.” He comments nonchalantly while stroking your hair softly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as you begin to calm down, nuzzling into him lightly.

“It is horrible. I just want today to be over.” Jonathan pulls away and hands you back your drink before standing to his full height and disappearing into the bathroom. You try to move your head and see what he’s doing, but it becomes obvious when you hear the bathtub faucet running. Jonathan appears a second later and offers you a hand. Taking his hand, he pulls you out of bed and towards the bathroom where you see the tub being filled with water and bubbles? “Jonathan?”

“Why don’t you get in the bath and I’ll run down to that Chinese place you like to grab some dinner. Does that work?” He stands slightly awkwardly as a smile creeps its way onto your face. Again, it’s moments like these where you really love him.

“Can you stay with me? I really want some physical affection.” He nods his head and begins to strip while you watch with a smirk on your face. Upon realizing that you’re staring at him, he looks at you through his glasses.

“Aren’t you going to get undressed?”

“Mmhmm I’m just enjoying the view.” He doesn’t make a comment as he watches you undress and slip into the tub before joining you, awkwardly positioning himself behind you as you lean back into him. “This is really nice.”

“I’m sorry you had a bad day,” he comments more sincerely this time, pushing your hair aside and pressing a soft kiss against your shoulder, causing you to shiver.

“You’re making it better.” He smiles against your skin as his arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against him.

“I’m glad to hear that. Do you want me to kill the professor?” He’s 98% serious and you know it.

“Jonathan,” you warn as he lets out a chortle.

“What? I was only kidding.” A moment of silence. “Partially.”

#jonathan crane #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane x you #scarecrow #scarecrow x reader #Cillian Murphy #batman begins #dr jonathan crane #dc movies #why is Jonathan crane so hot #jonathan crane fanfic #reader insert

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tobesolonely · 2 years

Text

thank you for showing ceorry part 1 so much love!! I wanna give this series a name but I’m not very creative so if anyone has any ideas pls lmk 🫶🏾

harry is y/n’s boss, and he’s also a super rich ceo, and he thinks she’s so pretty :)

warnings: harry being super flirty and a nice kiss

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

“Mr. Styles?”

The low voices Y/N hears through the door abruptly stop. "Y/N, come in." Upon entering her boss's office, she sees Mitch, the accountant from yesterday, sitting at Harry's desk, charts and spreadsheets spread out. He looks proper annoyed by the intrusion, but Harry could not seem to care less. He looks at her intently while he waits for her to speak.

“I’m ready to work,” Y/N lifts up her laptop and notebook and Harry’s eyes land on the items. “I really had a chance to get lots done this morning. I usually take Fridays to sleep in, but not today sir!”

“Ah, you’re ready to get started?” His desk is already cleared of documents to make room for her. “I’m glad you had a chance to really use it. It was useful, I’m hoping?”

Y/N nods quickly. “I did! It helped me actually knock out, like, half of my report.”

“That’s good to hear,” Harry’s positively beaming at her, and it makes Y/N flush. “I knew you could do it. You jus’ needed a little bit of help. Why don’t you come and sit? Mitch was just leaving.”

“We’re not done reviewing-”

“We are,” Harry picks up the now neat stack of papers and hands it to him. “Miss Y/L/N needs my help, so we’re done. We’ll pick back up another day.”

“But it’s all due by-”

“I said we’re done for today, Mr. Rowland.” The tone in his voice is final and stern and that familiar tingling sensation is back in the pit of her tummy. Mitch gives a dejected sigh and accepts the stack of papers from Harry, standing up from the desk in resignation.

“You know sir, it’s very hard for me to do my job correctly when you’re giving your assistant special treatment.” Mitch’s tone is sharp and Y/N can’t help but flinch.

“Perhaps if you did your job as well as Miss Y/L/N you’d get special treatment too. Now leave, please.”

Mitch looks between Y/N and Harry before exiting the office, shutting the door a bit too harshly. If Harry’s bothered by the interaction that just went on, she can’t tell. He’s giving her a big dimpled grin as soon as they’re alone, telling her to sit at his desk and get comfortable.

“Or you can sit on the couch if you’d like?” he points to the big olive green suede sofa pushed up against the wall adjacent to his desk. “Between you and me, I’ve gotten some of the best sleep of m’life on that thing. It really is quite comfortable.”

If people were already beginning to think Y/N received special treatment from Mr. Styles, she’d hate for someone to enter his office and see her all cozied up on his couch. They’d probably think she never did any work at all! “The desk is fine, thank you, sir.”

“Okay then,” Harry clasps his hands together, placing them on top of his desk. “Are y’gonna let me take a look at what you put together?”

She suddenly remembers that she’s in Harry’s office for the sole purpose of him helping her. She sits down and opens up her laptop, shaking the mousepad to bring it to life. The first thing that pops up is the draft she’d been working on.

“It might not be great yet, but I think it’s a good start,” she plays with her hands in her lap while Harry squints at the screen in concentration. “I mean, it’s more than I had yesterday.”

Harry looks up and into Y/N’s eyes. “It is more than you had yesterday. That’s good. Let’s not worry about the quality of anything right now - which by the way, doesn’t seem like something you need to worry about. This is very good so far.”

Y/N’s eyes light up at her boss’s praise. “Do you really think so? That’s a relief, Mr. Styles. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You could’ve,” he answers simply. “Just needed a little help organizing your thoughts. Now, get to work. I don't wanna hear a peep out of you until at least two more paragraphs are written.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Y/N isn’t sure how long she's been at Mr. Styles’ desk.

He long ago retired from helping her, instead deciding to do some work of his own (and Y/N’s. She noticed him emailing to confirm the details of an upcoming event, and that's her job!) She almost feels bad, but when she realizes she’s nearly done with both her research paper and infographic, well…it cheers her up. Y/N thinks she deserves a little reward for this and allows her head to rest on her chin. She’d just take a quick little break, just close her eyes for a teeny tiny second, and then she’d get right back to it. Not ten seconds after she allows her eyes to flutter closed, Harry’s voice causes them to snap back open.

“Are y’tired? Wanna take a rest on the couch, sweet girl?”

Her heart starts beating twice as fast at the term of endearment her boss just called her, but she tries to keep her cool. “No thank you, sir. I was just restin’ my eyes for a second - I swear! I wasn’t actually gonna fall asleep.”

“Resting your eyes, you say?” Harry’s plush bottom lip is tucked between his teeth as he tries to suppress a grin. “I think that’s code for ‘sleeping’, hm?”

“Well I did go to bed pretty late last night…or at least I think I did.”

“What do you mean you think?”

“I woke up this morning with my laptop in my lap and all my papers still on my bed.”

Harry furrows his brows. “You’ve gotta make sure you’re getting enough sleep, sweet girl. You’re just too pretty to not be well-rested.”

Y/N’s little crush on Harry is absolutely solidified at that moment. He just called her pretty! And so casually too, as if it was a known fact! “You think I’m pretty?”

“Of course I do,” Harry pauses, smirking. “It’s why you get special treatment. Now, go rest for a little bit. I’ll wake you up if you fall asleep.”

Y/N gives her boss a weary look, choosing to ignore his comment. “Do you promise?”

“Sure,” there’s an unmistakable glint of mischief in his eyes, and something tells her there's a chance he's lying. “Go on, sweetheart.”

Y/N complies, wordlessly standing up from his desk and walking across his office to the couch. Her body relaxed as she sank into the firm-but-soft couch. Harry wasn't kidding - his couch was comfortable. It was very nice, and it makes her think about how nice Harry is. He cares about her so much and she thinks it’s really cute and sweet. Plus, she couldn’t get the way he looked and sounded when he called her pretty! It makes her feel so mushy and giddy. With these gooey thoughts of her boss in her mind, Y/N allows her eyes to flutter shut. Besides, Harry promised he’d wake her up. It’d be fine!

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Y/N wakes up hours later, covered up with a yellow fuzzy blanket and a tiny pillow under her head.

Her eyebrows furrow in confusion as she sits up, the once light-filled office now dark aside from the dimmed lamp in the corner beside Harry’s desk. He looks up from the book he’s reading and at her once he notices she’s awake, a grin overcoming his features.

“Good evening, Sleeping Beauty.”

“Hi,” she rubs the sleep out of her eyes. “What time is it?”

Harry lazily looks down at his Rolex and then back up at her. “A quarter til 6. Y’hungry?”

He let her sleep for nearly three hours? “Not really, sir.”

“Are you sure,” he raises a brow. “It must take a lot of energy to sit there and look that pretty. You’re sure you’re not hungry, sweetheart?”

Y/N can’t hide how flustered Harry’s shameless flirting makes her, and she’s sure he knows exactly what he’s doing to her. “I, sir-”

”Sirrrrrr,” Harry drags the last sound of the word out, imitating her. “Let me feed you dinner. It’s the least I can do after all you’ve done for me.”

“But Mr. Styles,” Y/N can’t help the way her lower lip juts out in a pout. “I haven’t actually done anything for you lately! Every day I’ve just been coming here and working on this stupid assignment while you do my job for me. I don’t even want to see what my paycheck will look like this time around!”

Harry gives her a genuine look of confusion. “What would be wrong with your paycheck?”

“There’s no way you’re going to pay me for coming in to do my homework, is there?”

“Of course I am,” Harry replies. He sounds almost offended that she’d think otherwise. “You’re still comin’ in and staying here all day, aren’t you?”

“I mean, yeah, but-”

“Then your paycheck will reflect that, sweet girl,” he tugs on his lower lip with his fingers, appearing deep in thought. “I don’t want you to worry about things like that.”

“I’m always gonna worry about things like that,” she stares owlishly at him. “I mean, at least until I’m a rich CEO like you.”

Harry lets out a little chuckle at this and gets up from behind his desk. He makes his way across the office towards Y/N and stops when he’s right in front of her. She’s still sitting, so he kneels down so he’s face-to-face with her. He doesn’t seem to mind getting dust bunnies on his Gucci trousers at all.

“You’re right. That was a silly request,” he cocks his head slightly to the side, not breaking eye contact. “But please rest assured I will never be the reason you worry about money. Understood?” Y/N nods her head in response, but Harry shakes his head.

“I want to hear you tell me you understand. Tell me.”

“I understand.”

“Hm,” Harry splays his palm out on her knee causing a shiver to run down her spine. “You understand who?”

Oh. Y/N knew what he wanted. “I understand, sir.”

While she’s addressed Harry by the title many, many times she can’t deny how differently it slips off her tongue this time. She nearly doesn’t recognize the sound of her own voice saying the word, her tone subconsciously taking on a sultry and smooth nature. As quickly as Harry kneels before her he stands up, a pleased look on his face.

“I’m glad to hear that. Now, I don’t know about you but I’m starving and quite honestly want to get the hell out of this office. Do you have any dinner plans?”

“No, but I was going to study.”

Harry’s already walking back towards his desk to shut off his devices, mind already made up that he was leaving work one way or another. “While I usually am a big proponent of studying, ‘specially when it comes to you,” he slams his briefcase shut and she hears the latches snap. “I’m an even bigger proponent of taking care of yourself physically so you have the power to excel mentally. How does Italian sound?”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Y/N’s sitting across from Harry in a dimly lit booth not forty minutes later, the smell of garlic bread and marinara sauce overwhelming her nostrils. If she wasn’t so fixated on her food (turns out she was starving, but she wasn’t going to admit that to Harry) she might've noticed that he's hardly touched his own food. He was too focused on admiring her, and how cute basically everything she did was. When she does finally look up, the expression on her face goes from one of delight and contentment to confusion and concern.

“Why aren't you eating your food, sir? Is something wrong with it?”

Harry audibly coos at Y/N’s concern. “Nothing like that. I’ve had this dish several times actually,” he stabs his fork into a cherry tomato. It bursts next to a well-seasoned piece of chicken breast. “I just think you’re so pretty. It’s a little distracting, sweetheart.”

“Why do you keep saying things you know will make me feel all shy?” Y/N presses, taking a quick glance at her hands in her lap. “I’m terrible at accepting compliments!”

He frowns at this. “Can’t imagine why. You deserve all the compliments in the world and then some, I think.”

Y/N’s skin is on fire and she’s not sure how to respond to Harry so she doesn’t, instead she goes back to eating her plate of chicken parmesan and gushing over how flavorful the sauce is. Still, his food remains in front of him hardly untouched and his gaze remains on her.

“You know I can feel you staring at me from across the table,” Y/N says after a brief moment of silence. “Even though I’m looking down, Mr. Styles.”

“I’m not trying to hide the fact that I am. Why don’t you call me ‘Harry’ when we’re outside of work? Mr. Styles makes me sound old.”

Y/N sets her fork down and then looks back up at him, her head cocked curiously to the side. “I think Mitch was right when he said you gave me special treatment.”

Harry has an amused look on his face as he hums in acknowledgment, deciding to humor her. “What makes you think that?”

“I want to base it on just these past few shifts alone, but it’s more than that,” Y/N replies thoughtfully. “You literally let me come into work whenever I want. What type of boss does that?”

Harry can’t hide the delight on his face any longer. “You don’t think I offer my other employees flexibility? You’re not the only one that has a life, Y/N.”

“Okay yeah,” she raises an eyebrow. “But you still pay me for my entire shift even when I only go in for like, three hours.”

“I’m fair, if nothing else.”

“Sometimes when I come in I don’t even do work. We just talk.”

“I can find more work for you to do, if you’d like.”

Y/N narrows her eyes at her boss. “I just don’t know what I did to deserve this treatment. This ‘special treatment’.”

Harry takes a sip of his own water before he looks in close to the center of the table, beckoning Y/N toward him. “Can I tell you a little secret?”

Y/N’s so close to him that she can see the different colored specks within his irises, even in the dim lighting of the Italian restaurant. Not trusting her voice to not betray her, she simply nods.

“You get special treatment because I like you. A lot. I thought it was obvious.” He leans back in his chair after revealing his secret and begins eating his food again like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just drop a bombshell on Y/N.

“Really?” Y/N like how quiet and unsure her voice is, but Harry has her brain feeling like mush and she can hardly think straight. “I think you’re so cute, sir, and so kind-”

“Awww,” Harry repeats, tone mocking. “You think I’m cute, sweet girl?”

“Yes, sir, sooo-”

“Harry outside of work, yes?”

“Sorry Harry, I forgot.” Y/N can’t help the flush that floods her body at the act of calling Mr. Styles ‘Harry’ to his face, but he said it was okay!

If Y/N didn’t know better she would say a small blush crept over the apples of Harry’s cheeks after she addressed him by his first name, but she decided not to dwell on it. He looks at her nearly completed entree and his own, hardly touched. He looks around for the waiter and wordlessly flags him down, mouthing for the check.

“I think you’re cute, too,” Harry finally says as they’re waiting for their waiter to come with the bill. “Cute might be an understatement actually.”

Y/N’s noticed that Harry’s already started to develop this pesky habit of saying things for the sole purpose of flustering her (or so it seems) and she opens her mouth to respond but then closes it, unsure of what to say. Harry chuckles and pulls out his wallet just as the waiter comes back with the bill. He looks down at Harry’s nearly untouched plate of food and a look of worry fills his face.

“Was the food not to your liking this evening, Mr. Styles? Will you be needing to speak with the chef?”

Harry shakes his head quickly, and a stray curl falls down over his left eye. “Everything was perfect as always. Jus’ a little distracted, makes it hard to eat.” He quickly looks up and across the table as he’s signing his signature on the receipt but Y/N pretends not to see.

“I’m glad to hear it. Will you be needing change or a to-go box, sir?”

“Nope. We’re all set?” the waiter nods, to which Harry flashes him a big smile. “Perfect. See you next week, sir.”

The waiter nods his head at Harry, then at Y/N before turning to leave. Harry stands up and pushes his chair in, quickly moving to the other side of the table to pull Y/N’s out for her. He grabs her coat off the back of her chair and holds it up for her to slip her arms into.

“Thank you, Mr - Harry,” she plays with the sleeves of her coat once comfortably on her body. “This was really good.”

“The least I can do is keep you fed when you’re such a good little worker, hmm?”

Y/N gives him a bashful look before giving a small nod of agreement, playing along with Harry. He holds his left hand out at his side and Y/N only hesitates briefly before reaching down to grab it, allowing him to lead her out of the restaurant.

Harry doesn’t drop her hand even when they’re out of the restaurant, even when they walk across the parking lot to their cars parked next to each other. He doesn’t let go of her hand when he tells her what a good time he had at dinner. He doesn’t let go of her hand when he reminds her to work hard on her project over the weekend (but not too hard).

He definitely doesn’t let go of her hand when he leans down and gently presses their lips together, smiling into the kiss.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

I hope you enjoyed part 2!!! please let me know what you think!

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles fic #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles oneshot

545 notes · View notes

bbykento · 1 year

Text

I’ll make it up to you - gojo x gn! reader

wc. 1.1k | NOT proofread

contents! angst to fluff, comfort, gojo calls you clingy, neglect, cute nicknames, he does everything to make your anger gone, crying, overthinking, negative thoughts, praise.

you missed gojo so bad.

right now, you were just watching a movie or whatever you could do to occupy yourself. while gojo is out there hanging out with his friends, it’s been awhile since they’ve seen each other. you thought this wouldn’t change anything in your daily life.

but after a few weeks, it’s all he’s been doing. he’s always outside with his friends, barely acknowledging your presence. you get that it’s been quite awhile, but you’ve been feeling neglected.

You weren’t clingy whatsoever (maybe you were) but you missed him so bad. every damn time he came home he’d either be too tired and sleep right away or he’d play video games… with his friends again.

it was the same process all over again. you were getting tired, you were already having a rough week. you needed your boyfriend…

at the moment, it was currently 12:59 am. Where the fuck was your boyfriend?? you decided to text him, worried about his being.

You

baby, where are you? it’s 1 am already, you okay?

baby?

can you come home already? its kinda late

baby answer me

you were worried, he usually came home from their hangout by 7 pm or even earlier. though why was he taking longer? yes he’s the strongest he can take care of himself yeah yeah but it was your boyfriend. finally after a few minutes (it took 30 minutes) before he responded.

Gojo

js out w my bros dw

wow. he finally responded, in like one of the worst ways ever. he would usually reassure you sweetly that he’s okay and he’d be back quickly in 50+ messages, whenever he’d went out longer than usual. but this? its not him. it was a dry response, maybe someone took his phone?

You

when r u coming home?

baby?

Gojo

can you like stop?

stop being so clingy it’s annoying

im just hanging out w my bros

and im not gonna come home till for a little while

the reason why i hung out with them was to escape your clingy ass

so stfu for a moment

… what the fuck? im clingy? when im just worrying about your wellbeing?? you already had a bad day and just wanna cuddle with your boyfriend but he adds to the stress.

like the petty person you are, you take your things and leave his apartment with teary eyes. if he calls you clingy, might as well distance yourself from him. nobody to wake him up, take care of his drunken state, cook him breakfast, and all that.

….

a week passes by and not a single sign from him. he didn’t bother to text you, call you, go to your apartment, whatsoever. you guys don’t usually fight, and when you do it doesn’t last this long. he would always be to go to you first and apologize.

you were overthinking, maybe you were a burden to him? was he cheating on you? will he break up with you? negative thoughts clouded your mind as you cry your heart out and cuddle your pillow.

before suddenly, a ding comes from your door. was that finally gojo? was he here to apologize and comfort me? you fixed yourself before opening the door, the moment you opened the door it all answered your questions.

Oh. it was just a delivery man…..with a bouquet but instead it was filled with money shaped into flowers, a cute basket filled to the brim with your favorite snacks and food. Till you realize the “delivery man” had snow-white hair..

“gojo..?”

“baby..I’m sorry please? I know it’s not enough but fuck.. im sorry, im sorry…can we talk?” he looks up, finally letting you see his eyes. he looked, tired. and so did you.

“okay…” you say. you were glad he was back, you missed his touch, his face, his everything.

he gets inside and you close the door behind him. when he lands the items on a table, he suddenly hugs you.

“Baby i’m sorry I don’t know what i fucking said I didn’t mean any of that you know that right? please im sorry ill make it up to you… I just- I just..”

“Baby calm down, we’ll talk about it after you collect all your thoughts.”

he nods in agreement, before he nuzzles his head deeper into your neck taking in your scent. oh how he missed you, how bad he fucked up to the. point you guys haven’t interacted each other for a week.

“I’m sorry… I was just in a bad mood after my friends made a joke about hitting on you… I poured my anger on you, nothing was your fault. It’s all mine.. please forgive me baby I’ll do anything to make up to you..” he started to kiss your neck.

God did you want to cry again.

“don’t you know how much that hurt me?” tears started to roll down your cheeks.

“I know baby.. it’s all my fault blame it on me. I’ve been neglecting my cute and beautiful baby.. you don’t deserve it please don’t cry..” he wipes your tears and cups your face before kissing you all over your face

“Please just don’t do that ever again..” you hug him tightly. you were so happy and sad at the same time. after all those overthinking… his reassurance was what you needed the most.

“Of course, my love. please remember I don’t find you clingy or annoying, even if you were clingy I love every second of it. I love every bit of you. please don’t stop loving me like that, im an asshole fuck me. im sorry you had to deal with this asshole but this asshole loves you very much.” with every sentence, he gave a kiss on your face.

“I love how you make me breakfast everyday, the way you wake me up so sweetly, the way you text me to see how I’m doing, how you clean my clothes for me when I’m too tired, draw doodles on my chest with your fingers when im asleep, kiss me and put a blanket over me when you see me shiver, I love all of you and the things you do.” he continued.

He kisses you long and deep. you couldn’t stop the ecstatic feeling in you when he said all of those words. oh did you love him so much, and so did he.

Safe to say, you guys spent the night in each other’s arms. he spoiled you a lot the very next day, or rather for the past few weeks.

note: this would’ve been better if I havent fucking accidentally exited the draft without saving the work in progress 🫠 AAAAA

#x reader #reader insert #gn reader #gender neutral #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #angst #fluff #comfort

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miveras · 3 months

Text

Drabble: Locked Away with You | JJK

Pairing: jungkook x reader Word count: 1.7k Warnings/tags: strangers to lovers, 100% fluff, story of how they met basically (i wrote this in one sitting)

masterlist

You carefully step inside of the dimly lit room, trying your best not to trip over the rug on the ground. The clock ticks right above the desk, adding onto your anxiety of being here alone without your friend. You came here to go to an escape room with your friend along with her boyfriend, but you were forced into the escape room alone– the people in charge did not care that you were getting separated from your group.

The microphone beeps. “We have prepared for you an escape room. Puzzles are scattered around all rooms, and be sure to look for items that connect to the puzzles. Hints are available after 15 minutes of searching, just ask. And lastly, have fun!” It beeps again to symbolize the end of the introduction speech.

Thankfully, there were three others in the room with you that could possibly help get you out of there quickly. It was a bit awkward, more than you’re comfortable with, but it makes sense after remembering that one of them got separated from their group as well, and the other two didn’t care enough to talk to you both.

You reached for the paper stacked inside the typewriter for a clue. When you find that it’s blank, you start typing on the keys knowing that there won’t be anything there. You were determined to just get out of there as fast as possible. You scramble through literally everything in your sight, and you are almost certain that everyone in that room knew you didn’t want to be there.

You sit in silence once you find out that nothing on the table is useful. As you turn around, you find a man near your age reaching for one of the papers you scrapped on the side. He glances at you shortly and conjures up a small grin before turning the page, revealing a few familiar pictures with names you’ve seen before. You remember that you passed through those pictures when you entered the room– it was on the wall. At that same moment, the other girl walks up to the table and points at the paper he was looking at.

“I think we have to match those names to the portraits on the wall,” she reveals, “four names for four people right?” Her boyfriend shortly appears behind, following her as he places an arm on her shoulder.

You nod, and all of you try changing the letters underneath the portraits with buttons corresponding to each letter of their name. It was still awkward and practically silent aside from the clicky noise that the buttons make.

Apparently, you weren’t the only one feeling the awkwardness and you were glad that someone spoke up about it because you definitely weren’t going to.

He clears his throat, “I’m Jimin and this is my girlfriend, Lyn. So, what are yall’s names?” He acknowledges that it is awkward how you both got separated from your friends and that he feels bad about the situation, considering that he and his girlfriend were supposed to go with another couple to ease up the mood.

“Jungkook.” the other guy that was with you at the table replied and was now staring at you, expecting you to answer the question as well.

“Y/N. I like your necklace, Lyn.”

“Thank you.”

You were feeling a bit nervous since you weren’t one to start or even continue conversations. You liked to keep your circle small, and you kind of felt resentful towards the escape room managers for doing this to you though you know it was just a simple mistake out of stress. You notice Jungkook and Jimin starting to warm up to each other– they already seemed like they’ve been friends for a while. You felt a bit left out since they were already becoming friends but you didn’t let it get to you.

One of the doors on your left creaks open slowly, indicating that you all just finished the first part of the puzzle. One step closer to getting out of here.

You were the first to go in the next room. You figured that you were placed in the ‘Train Through Time’ edition since the room resembled one that you’d already looked through online. This was only your friend group’s second choice, so you assumed they were in the ‘Prison Break’ escape room. Sounds fun. You nearly chuckled out of awkwardness.

“Looks like this one’s harder than the previous,” Jimin looks around.

“Yeah, look at all of the locked boxes and missing pieces. So many,” you added. You all gather in front of the large puzzle on the wall. This time, there were four colors displayed on the wall along with four numbers that we obviously had to unlock and match.

Jimin and his girlfriend split up to find some clues on the bookshelf, which was classic for every escape room. You weren’t sure what to work on first– searching clues on the mugs that were proportionally spaced out or the TV that seemed to be flashing a pattern.

“Y/N, do you wanna help me on this one?” He offers you headphones that are connected to the TV. It was beeping the same time as the lights were flashing which was obviously a clue.

“Morse code?”

“Yeah. The problem is that I have no idea how to read morse code, do you?” he bites his lip in confusion.

You shake your head no, and you both laugh at how horrible you guys are at these puzzles.

“To be fair, they said we didn’t need to know morse code or anything like that. It should’ve been given to us,” you say.

“We don’t,” Lyn butts in, “I found something useful!” She opens one of the dark green books she was searching through and points at the writing. “Morse code, see! Perfect timing.” She smiles, proud of herself for contributing. She reaches for the TV’s off button to restart the code and hands you a pen laying near her hand.

“Okay, so two short beeps, one long, and another short. F. I. V. E, then it repeats. First number is five,” you state. Jimin heads to the puzzle board to change the second color’s number to five. You all assumed that since the TV is red, it corresponds to the number it displays.

He pats your shoulder with two fingers, grinning at you sweetly when you turn around as he tells you good job.

Next, Jimin and Lyn figure out the third number’s color from a rotating sphere on the wall, which is seven. You were unsure how they did that since you found that to be the hardest puzzle in the room. Meanwhile, Jungkook and you are stuck on finding a clue.

“I bet the security guards are laughing at us right now pathetically trying to find a clue that’s probably right next to us,” he chuckles, mindlessly rummaging through the items on the desk.

“I know. We might as well stop making a fool of ourselves and just talk.”

He sits down on the floor beside you, leaning in when you talk. You both were about to get up and help them but they had already solved the number puzzle.

“It’s okay,” she laughs, “it was fun. Glad to see you two getting along,” she adds, smiling at the both of you. “You two look cute together.” She says it so casually that you don’t react immediately.

You glanced up at him, quite embarrassed, and it was clear he was just as flustered as you. His cheeks flash red and he avoids eye contact with you, instead opting to look down at the floor. He scratches his neck nervously but doesn’t reply to disregard or shut down her comment.

He was quite cute actually.

When you all step into the next room, which you know is the last room according to their website, you hear the speaker beep. There is a short silence until the speaker starts once again. “Hello, all participants. It appears that there has been a slight miscommunication with the different escape rooms. Sorry to cut this experience short, but please head to the exit so we can sort this all out for you guys. We apologize for our mistake and thank you for visiting us.”

You and Jungkook looked at each other at the unexpected message. You were actually looking forward to spending time with him in the next room, maybe even getting to know him better. It was a shame that neither of you will see each other again after this, and it disappoints you. You know that you just met him today but it was fun spending time with him and you wished you had just a little more time.

“Aww man, I wanted to stay here with you guys,” Jimin pouts and Lyn agrees.

You all start walking towards the exit shortly after the doors open. You step over the stool on the floor, trying not to trip on your way out. You immediately see your friends in the corner huddled up, and you were glad to see them. They fill you in on how they contacted the manager so that they could transfer you to their escape room. You find this flattering knowing that you wanted to get out of there badly– but not after meeting Jungkook.

They had it all sorted and they even offered you all free tickets for the next time you decide to come there. You all gladly accepted.

You looked back just to see if he was still there, but you didn’t find anyone. You were so close to walking away with your friends.

“Y/N!” you hear from behind, and he gradually catches up to you. He smiles nervously at you and hesitates before speaking to you even though he was the one that called you. “Uh, can I ask you out? I-I mean, do you want to go out someday?”

You could tell he was nervous by the way he held his breath at your reaction. You didn’t even know why he was scared since you made it obvious you liked him too.

“Yes,” you chuckle, “of course. Number?”

He gladly gives it to you, feeling giddy about successfully getting your number.

“Text me, Jungkook. I’ll be waiting,” you smile widely at him– equally feeling excited. You both exchange a look before walking away with your friends.

#bts fanfic #bts x reader #jimin fluff #jungkook fanfic #jungkook ff #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #jimin fanfic #jimin ff #taehyung fluff #taehyung ff #taehyung x reader #bts jimin #jungkook fic #jjk fluff #jjk x reader

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bloodyinkandquill · 21 days

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Biograft x Reader

again like before this will be a specific biograft that has gained consciousness somehow and again, i will use he/it on it and call it zeta for clarification purposes b

- Metal was cold and unfeeling, everyone knew that, but though thought they were wrong, if robots didn’t have emotions or thoughts then your lover sure has some strange coding

- Zeta was so interesting, a good interesting, but interesting and strange nonetheless, a robot only made to kill, mass produced, but somehow, he had come to gain consciousness, he had emotions, opinions, ideas, things Biograft’s shouldn’t, neither of you knew how or why he had come to be like this but neither of you really cared all that much, all that mattered was that it led to you two catching feelings, which was very confusing for Zeta who was experiencing emotions for the first time

- It was odd having a robot for a boyfriend, you had to teach it so many things about, well everything frankly, demons, emotions, existing, relationships, all of it was new to it so that led to many conversations where you’d explain concepts that were things very difficult to explain because it was just sort of something demons knew

- That’s not to say the relationship was bad by any means, absolutely not, even if not conventional you two made it work, figuring out how to show each other love, kissing, dates, the whole shebang

- For kissing it was easy enough, your lips to his metal, or him pressing his facial plate to your face, usually mouth, cheek, or forehead, even if he couldn’t actually feel it he knew what it represented and you could feel it, so he was content with it

- Seeing as he was a robot with no job and no money he couldn’t really buy you things, he could make you things here and there but you guys usually never got each other gifts, for the reason he can’t really and he also doesn’t have much use for most usual gift items, he can’t smell flowers, he cannot eat, jewelry is usually too small to fit on him etc, and you guys didn’t usually go on dates, most date activities include eating of some kind and when only one of you can eat it’s odd, but you guys would go on mock picnics, he always though nature was super pretty so you’d prepare yourself a bit of food and then just lay on a blanket together looking at a meadow or whatever nice spot you had found

- Zeta does not get the idea of pet names, like they make absolutely no sense to him, so you two just call each other by your names, you don’t mind much, if your lover doesn’t wanna use pet names you’ll honor that to make him more comfortable

- He worries about your health, sickness is one of the only ways demons can die so he is very fearful over your wellbeing, to ridiculous extremes honestly, if he sees you eating junk food or having a energy drink, or overall just consuming something unhealthy, he’ll tell you in greta detail how that thing is unhealthy and you should stop consuming it, if you ignore him and keep doing so he gets a little annoyed and starts listing the full ingredient list stating the dangers of each one either until you stop eating it, finish eating it; he gets angy, or somehow get him to stop it

- He feels oddly about seeing other Biografts out around, he knows only he is like this, no other Biograft so far has been able to think and feel, it’s lonely for him sometimes, when he knows the others of his basically species are emotionless husks, you do your best to comfort him but for someone experiencing these sad feeling for the first time he’s not good about how to deal with them

yippee!! i had one of these ideas in my head since the first biograft request because i thought it was pretty funny so glad i can finally share it, also if you guys didn’t notice my requests are closed just for a little bit, again i just need to catch up because i don’t wanna have too many requests and stress myself out

#x reader #phighting #phighting x reader #phighting!#phighting biograft x reader #biograft x reader phighting #biograft x reader #phighting biograft #biograft phighting

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brooks-corner · 2 months

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It Was Always You - Jacob x reader fic

Chapter 2 - Hello Jacob Black

Thank you to those who reblogged my story I appreciate it :) I honestly didn't think anyone would see it so I'm glad it's getting some attention even if it's just a little. Feel free to give me any critiques regarding my writing!

Enjoy

When you wake up, the first thing that you notice is that these aren't your sheets. Your eyes flutter open and confirm that this is indeed not your room. There is a window to your left and it tells you from the lack of light that it is still nighttime. You sit up from the sheets and try to remember what happened to you.

You remember the wedding. But was that all a dream? You're still wearing the silk wedding guest dress so that tells you that it did indeed happen. What did you do after the reception though? You remember how you felt flushed and stuffy around the guests, something about a red bird? Now it is all coming back. The tree branch, the wolf. You wished animals could talk. You wanted to know why the scary creature helped you. Because you are sure it did. It freed you. It cleaned your wounds... or you guess licked the blood off. Now that you think about it, wolf saliva being slathered onto your gash doesn't sound all that sanitary.

You remove the camo blanket that was draped over you so you could examine your leg and see what the damage was but, surprisingly, you find it all bandaged up with gauze and everything. Who helped you? Whoever found you in the woods you would need to thank because you could have been seriously injured. Making it back to your house would have been a pain in the ass with your leg.

You get up cautiously, being careful to not putt any weight on your bad leg and look around the room to find the door. As your eyes scan the room, you can see various items. Straight ahead of you is a poster on the wall with a flowing river and mountains in the background. Out of the window is a beautiful field followed by a lush forest. You figure that whoever own this house sure does have a gorgeous property.

Now that you are a little more awake, and your eyes have adjusted to the dark, you can clearly tell that this is a boy's room. All of the color in here is predominantly green paired with the various clothing items on the ground screams teenage male.

Above the bed you can see a dream catcher. You always had bad dreams. Violent ones at that. You would wake up in the middle of the night with a cold sweat after someone would stab you or punch you in your dreams. You always hated that. They come sporadically but you definitely wish you had a dream catcher. Even if they don't really work it would be comforting to you. The boy which the trinket belongs to is really lucky or really crafty because you have never seen a dream catcher like this one. You can tell someone spent a lot of time on it. The design in the middle is very intricate for one this small. The diameter of it would be comparable to your palm but there are a couple of things hanging down from it that makes the piece of art stand out. Hanging from the inside are various tiny rocks with one carved into a wolf howling in the middle. You really like this dream catcher. You admire the boy who has it, as he must have some good taste.

The sound of hushed shouting brings you out of your state of admiration for the trinket. You look towards the source of the arguing which is the door that leads out of the room. A warm light is coming from the bottom of the door, and you decide to head out into it. You realize that you should be heading home now so your dad doesn't get too worried. While figuring out a hop and drag method to get you through the door on your bad foot, you manage to make it through and go down the hallway towards the people you were hearing.

You hope that you don't get them mad for interrupting anything, especially if it was a fight. That would be awkward. However, you really do need to be heading home. If it was late at night when the wedding ended, it would definitely be late at night now.

You follow the sound of people, and it gets louder and louder until you finally make it to its source. Although it took a while, you managed to hobble over and peer over the wall to see what the group was doing.

The very first thing you notice is that everyone there is shirtless. Except for the girl but regardless. All of the guys were in just shorts. Granted there were just two boys but still. It made your cheeks turn bright red. It wasn't like you hadn't seen a shirtless guy before, but you were never really good at talking to boys. You would always end up stuttering of sorts or embarrassing yourself one way or another. You thought it would be best just to avoid boys if you could help it. Although, it kind of seems unavoidable now.

Through the hushed arguing you can make out a couple of words.

"...and how could you have let this happen? We talked about this. What if she wasn't someone important?!"

You can tell it was a very angry girl who had said that part.

"I was upset Leah. And who was going to be out there in the middle of nowhere anyways?"

A boy with a low voice responded defensively.

"Well obviously someone Jacob!"

Jacob. The boy's name is Jacob.

"Who Leah? Say it. My imprint. Not just anyone. It was meant to be that I was out there when it happened. Then maybe we never would have met."

"Yeah, right after you finished crying about your unrequited love. Give me a break."

"Okay break it up you two," The voice was a mans and much lower than the other boys.

"Ahem."

Your voice cut through the fighting. You felt bad about listening in on their conversation and you wanted to go home anyways.

Everyone's attention was on you now. Including the shirtless men.

"H-hi um." You advert to not stare and continue, "I uh really appreciate you guys letting me stay here. I really do. Whoever found me in the woods I owe you one. Same to the person who patched me up. But I should really head home soon my dad is going to be worried and-" The blush on your cheeks made you want to die. Why did you have to be like this? Thankfully you did not have to continue your flustered plea because one of the boys spoke up.

"Hey yeah I get it uh is your leg, okay?" He made a move to get closer to you. You recognize his voice to be Jacob's. If he was a teenager he was definitely the most jacked you've ever seen. He had a black shoulder tattoo that contrasted against his tan skin nicely.

The only girl, who you can only assume is Leah, scoffs. "She's fine Jacob." You guessed correctly.

"Uh y-yeah it is a lot of b-better thank you. Um do I know you?" You ask the boy with a strong blush filling your cheeks.

Jacob notices and smiles but thankfully doesn't say anything about your flushed face. "No, you don't know me, but I am friends with your sister."

Leah bursts out into a laughter and the other man snickers.

"Ignore her, that is just Leah. Nobody likes her." He whispers in your ear which makes you laugh and helps you calm down a bit. The man starts to talk to Leah about calming down, and they go off on their own mini fight.

Meanwhile, you copy how Jacob whispered to you and got on your tippy toes to return you conversation, "So how do you know Bella?" This brings a grin to Jacob's face.

"We grew up together before she moved down with your mom. When she moved back here, we kind of reunited for a while since her shithead boyfriend left for a couple of months.

"You didn't like him either?" You said more happily than you'd like to admit.

"Wait you don't like him?" Jacob looks taken aback but you didn't miss the grin that was across his face either.

"I always thought he was creepy. I am not going to lie I loathed the fact that they got together but I guess it all worked out in the end." You shrugged.

" I can already tell that I am going to like you." Jacob responded with a smile.

With the conversation over, yours and Jacob's attention return to Leah and the man's conversation, or rather, argument.

Jacob took one look at it and decided that he was not going to deal with it right that second. "Come with me." he said. And so, you followed.

Jacob took you to his car and drove you back to your dad's place. The ride there were filled with conversations about the hatred for Edward, the introduction to who the man was, Sam Ulley, and your guys' full names. Thomas Jacob Black (who is indeed 17, the same as you) and (your full name) got along really well during the ride home and you would be lying if you said you weren't sad that the car ride ended too soon.

Per usual, dad was worried about you but at least he didn't call his troops in when like Bella went missing for the night. He almost went bezerk when he saw your beat-up leg but when you explained that it was your fault, he calmed down a lot and called you a clumsy idiot.

Your dad thanked Jacob for looking after me and when I went inside, I noticed that Jacob watched me until I got home safe, but not before we exchanged numbers.

Going to bed that night all you could think of was how everything is so natural when it comes to talking to Jacob. And how thankful you are that he helped you. And if you were being completely honest, how excited you are to see him again.

#twilight #jacob black #jacob #jacob x reader #jacob black x reader #jacob x reader insert #jacob black x reader insert #twilight saga #romance #romantic #reader is bellas sister

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foreverrandomwritings · 1 year

Note

happy pride cutie💗💜💙

i was curious if you could write, someone being mean to reader for being bi, saying they’re faking it, them just being biphobic.

and from a character of your choice, have them be all protective, and comforting the reader while they’re upset. i’m a sucker for hurt/comfort 🥴

Summary: The moon boys are amazing boyfriends to their bisexual girlfriend.

Pairings: Steven Grant x afab!Reader Marc Spector x afab!Reader Jake Lockley x afab!Reader

Warnings: harassment, blood, insecurity. Thats it?

Word count: 1397

Masterlist M's PMC Masterlist

~I love me some bi pride. Also really want someone to protect and comfort me.

~I’m gonna do MoonKnight mostly because I want an excuse to write for all the boys.

~We’ll start with Steven first. I know he’s not very confrontational but I think that after everything happened that completely changed.

~He’s the one to use words to protect you. Even though he’s shy and pretty reserved anytime someone comes after you he becomes bold and confident. This had been shown on many occasions.

~You had come in to visit him at work one day. He was on lunch so you guys walked through the exhibits with you asking him occasional questions about them. Which he did gleefully.

~You had just asked him the name of one of the statutes when you felt a tug in your backpack. You turned around and saw one of your pins in a middle aged woman’s hand.

~She had a scowl on her face and gave you a disgusted look as she looked over you, head to toe.

~You squirmed a little under her gaze, quickly growing uncomfortable with the way she was glaring at you.

~ “Can we help you?” Your boyfriend pipped up, looking at the pin he had gifted you clutched inside the woman’s fist. You were glad he spoke up because your voice was gone as you looked at the women.

~ “I don’t think it’s appropriate to show something like this in public. Let alone somewhere that has so many children present.” She spat out.

~ “Well, I don't think that’s any of your business and I think you need to return the item before I go and get security.” His hand extended towards her expectantly. You knew that Marc and Jake had to have been fighting to front as Steven shook his head glancing at his reflection in a shiny statue momentarily.

~ “Being a part of that community isn’t something that needs to be displayed.” Her voice had venom in it.

~ “Don’t worry lady, I'm definitely not interested in you.” You told her, finally finding your voice.

~ “I was not worried about that.” And for some reason she sounded offended at the fact you weren’t attracted to her.

~ “This is your last chance to give her back her pin before I get security.” He said more sternly, his accent thick as his glare darkened. She handed him the pin with a huff before turning around and running away.

~ “Thank you, Steven.” You told him as he pinned the object back in place.

~ “It’s alright love. No one deserves to be treated like that. I really don’t understand why people are twisted up by people in the lgbtq+ community.” He was standing in front of you now. Looking at the ground sheepishly. You kissed his cheek in a thank you causing a blush to bloom along his cheeks. Then you both continued on your walk.

~Now for Marc.

~He is the one that comforts you. Reassures you constantly that you are valid, loved and supported.

~You had told him of your desire to go to pride. He had reluctantly(not that reluctantly because he was actually super excited to share this experience with you) joined you in your time there.

~He had even bought you matching shirts. Yours said I’m the bisexual girlfriend. His said I’m here with my bisexual girlfriend. The words were written in the bi pride colors.

~You were so excited the day of, you showed up to watch the parade that morning with a beaming smile on your face. A large group of people passed you by and you could see a few of them reading your shirts.

~You had always been a bit shy when around other people in the LGBTQ community. There had been many different instances that they had shamed you in the past. This time wasn’t any different. When one of the women started talking to someone else in the group.

~ “How can she even say she’s bi when she’s in a relationship with a guy.” She snickered as she passed you.

~ It didn’t seem Marc had heard, however, to focused on the parade going on in the street in front of you. No one here posed a threat to either of you in his mind so he had let loose a little.

~ He had however noticed the way your hand slipped out of his. He looked at you quickly and saw you fiddling with the ends of your shirt.

~ “What’s wrong?” He asked as he scanned the crowd to see if he could spot what happened.

~ “It’s nothing Marc. You can go back to watching the parade.” Your hands wrung together as you spoke.

~ “Tell me what happened honey. Did someone hurt you?” His eyes scanned your body looking for injuries. Though he didn’t know they could’ve laid a hand on you with him standing right there.

~ “Just someone invalidating me again. Nothing new.” He knew that you had insecurities surrounding your sexuality. Having been told many times you were faking it, that it didn’t exist or that you weren’t actually bisexual since you were with Marc.

~He had always done what he could to reassure you that you were validated and that you shouldn’t listen to what everyone said. This time was no different as he brought you into his chest squeezing you to him. Your arms came around his middle as you hugged him back.

~ “You are such an amazing and wonderful girlfriend babe. Your sexuality is valid. No matter what anyone else says you and I both know you’re bisexual. Steven and Jake know you are bisexual and we love you so much. We are comfortable with you exploring both sides of your sexuality as well. You just have to sit us down and talk about it with us.” He kissed the top of your head as you squeezed him tighter.

~It was always comforting to be in his arms. He smelled like a combination of the three of them. The three that would love and care and protect you until their last breath.

~Now onto Jakeeeeeeee.

~This man will let fists fly with no hesitation. Very very very protective.

~This one will be more violent than the other ones of course.

~It was routine for one of the boys to be standing outside of your workplace waiting for you when Jake didn’t have a mission for Konshu.

~So as you exited the building you weren’t surprised to see a familiar hat placed atop a familiar set of curls.

~ “How was work today mi amor.” Jake had asked you as he usually did. Taking your hand in his.

~ “Fine.” Was your simple answer, even though work had been super annoying due to one specific co worker.

~ “What happened?” He asked you as he scanned your face with his eyes.

~ “Why do you think something happened?” You asked him surprised.

~ “You normally won’t shut up about your work day. But today was just fine. So what happened?” His demeanor changed as he finished his sentence, now in complete protective mode.

~ “Chad from accounting was going on again about me being bi. Told me that it was a sin. That I would feel the wrath of hell. Told me I didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as him. Just the normal gist and what not.” You shrugged simply as though the words didn’t sting you. As if you didn’t feel a deep hole within your chest as though he had stabbed you repeatedly with every word he spoke.

~ “Where is Chad now?” Jake was seathing as you spoke. The boys were all talking loudly within his head wanting to find the guy and put and end to him.

~ “He’s probably out back. He takes a shortcut through the alley to get home.” You knew he was going to find him anyway so you figured you’d save him some time.

~ “Go Home. We’ll be there shortly.” You nodded your head, giving his hand a squeeze.

~ “Just don’t kill him okay?” You gave him a peck on the lips before you were slipping away.

~It was almost an hour later that Jake slipped through the doors. Hands and shirt bloodied and you knew his point had been made to Chad. You cleaned him up and thanked him for helping you.

~ “I will always protect you amor.” Was his response.

A/N:I love the moon boys with all my heart. Oscar Isaac puts me in a chokehold with every role he plays. Happy Birthday Bestie❤️

Tags(open): @wkndwlff @sylviebell

#moon boys #m's pride month celebration #steven grant x reader #steven grant headcanon #steven grant #marc spector x reader #marc spector headcanon #marc spector #jake lockley x reader #jake lockely headcanon #jake lockley #moonknight headcanon #moonknight x reader #moonknight

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abarbaricyalp · 20 days

Note

For the SamBucky prompt game - 🌹!

So sorry! I completely missed this in my inbox. I thought I had moved everything to my drafts. This is perhaps a little more bittersweet than it needs to be 🌹 -- Old fashioned romance

When there was a knock on Sam's green room door, he wasn't even surprised. He finished wiping down his face one more time, though sweat beaded up along his hairline immediately again, and he pulled open the door, face already pinched with irritation. "What are you doing here?" he asked

On the other side of the door, Bucky Barnes did this unfortunately cute squint and grin up at him, raising his unencumbered hand to block out the lights of the vanity mirror in the room. In his other hand, he had a bouquet of flowers, a bottle of wine, and a box of something that was precariously balanced in the crook of his arm and teetering on the edge of disaster.

"Wanted to come say congratulations," he said. "I was trynna catch you before you got on your plane."

"Plane isn't until the morning," Sam said, crossing his arms and eyeing the other man cautiously.

"You'll already be a star by then," Bucky teased. He held out the flowers. "Congrats, Sammy."

Sam sighed but he took the flowers and stepped back to let Bucky into the room. "Don't get comfortable. I wasn't going to stay."

Bucky nodded, adjusted the other two items in his arms so he wasn't about to drop either, and came into Sam's room. "Are you gonna miss this place?"

"Hell no," Sam scoffed. Then, as he rubbed a rose petal between his fingers, he admitted, "Yeah, a little bit. Couldn't leave without one more show here."

"Well, I'm glad you didn't. Leave without saying goodbye, I mean."

Sam kept his eyes on the bouquet but he felt his shoulders tighten anyway. "You weren't exactly on my list."

"Yeah, I figured I wasn't. But... Sam..." Suddenly Bucky was behind him, curling his arms around Sam's waist and leaning his cheek against the back of Sam's shoulder. God, Sam had missed this feeling. "You had to know I was gonna see you off."

Sam had been performing at the same bar since he was in high school. He'd had a big, black X drawn over the back of his hand so often he thought it'd be stained into his skin by the time he could drink. He'd met Bucky the night he turned 21, like it was some kind of fate that the new bartender started the same night the owner actually let Sam get close to the bar.

By virtue of being the same age in the same place all the time, he and Bucky had gotten close. And then it hadn't taken long at all for their off-and-on affair to kick into full swing. Tumultuous and passionate and fiery. Sam had fallen ass over head so fast he almost couldn't name it.

Then, just as Sam's bids for a real record deal had begun to take form, Bucky had disappeared. Back to New York without so much as a sticky note on the fridge.

And now here he was again, the night before Sam's album release, as if he'd never left. Hell, M had even let him behind the bar again. Seeing him again had distracted Sam so badly he almost forgot his own lyrics.

"I'm so proud of you," Bucky said. Maybe said again. Sam's ears were kind of fuzzed out with the sound of his own heartbeat.

"Why are you here?" Sam asked again. "How could you even think about coming back now?"

"Because I love you. I'll always love you. And I wanted to tell you one more time."

Sam broke Bucky's hold around his waist and stumbled away from him. "Bullshit, Barnes. If you loved me, you would've stayed. I don't understand how you were around for all the lean years and the supermarket jobs and the trashy bars, but you left as soon as I started making moves. Why would you do that? Why were you there for the hard work and none of the celebration? I needed someone behind me. I needed someone to tell me I was doing the right thing."

Bucky looked a little lost. He usually did. It was one of two moves he had when they argued. Either he played at the perfect angel who was just confused about the entire argument or he got so mad he couldn't even talk. Wouldn't even talk. Christ, Sam would've taken that over him disappearing in the night and calling nineteen hours later just to say not to leave the porch light on.

"You're changing your life, Sam," he said, as if that should be obvious. It was obvious. That's what made it so infuriating for him to play it like some winning hand. "You didn't need baggage hanging off of you."

"Baggage?" Sam scoffed, crossing his arms again, like he could hold himself in one piece this way. "You were my boyfriend, not leg weights in a race!"

"No. I knew you'd say something like that. I knew you'd think something like that, which is why I had to leave. You didn't need me following you around. Or, hell, making you keep one foot out here."

"We're partners!" Sam objected. "We were supposed to make those decisions together! You don't get to decide what's best for me without even asking me! I needed you! And you left me totally alone!"

"Sam..." Bucky tried again, reaching out. Sam stepped away decisively.

"You should've stayed gone, Buck. If you weren't coming back to apologize, if you don't have a plane ticket in your hand, you shouldn't have come back. I don't need a goodbye." He didn't want a goodbye.

Bucky took a few steps backwards, deliberate and slow. They both knew this room inside and out. They'd spent so many hours here, so many nights when they were between four week rentals, so many shows that ran long. They didn't need to look to see where they were going.

He picked up the box that Sam recognized now as one of his favorite pastry places. It was half an hour north and had no parking and usually you had to go through the back of another store to get into the front end. He hadn't been in ages.

First, Bucky offered out a giant beignet. Then he pulled out an envelope too. "I wasn't going to stay," he said. "I wasn't even going to tell you. I just wanted to be in the same city when you launched."

Sam wasn't sure if he was furious or elated. "What do you mean you weren't going to tell me?" he asked from between his teeth. "What is wrong with you? You need to decide right now if you want to be with me or not. You don't get to do things to give yourself comfort from me but not give me any of it back. I won't stand it, Barnes."

Bucky cringed a little, as if he hadn't considered that. He probably hadn't. He didn't think anything through. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Say it again."

"I'm sorry, Sam," Bucky repeated. "I'm sorry I thought I knew better than you. I'm sorry I didn't just trust you to make the best decision for yourself. I'm sorry I left. I'm not here to make you forgive me or let me back in. I just wanted to tell you I love you and I'm proud of you and I know that you're going to be amazing."

Sam deflated a little. His shoulders shrugged down from around his ears. He stopped digging his fingers into his ribs. "Is that really a ticket for LA?"

Bucky added the envelope to the hand with the beignet. Sam finally took both. "You were gonna fly to LA by yourself?" he asked dubiously. "You hate flying."

"I'd do it for you," he said. He had done it for Sam, with the handful of opening gigs and recording sessions Sam had managed to land over the last handful of years. "Plus I'm flying out of NOLA, which is half as long a ride as New York."

Sam snorted and shook his head. "Do you want to fly with me instead? I mean, I doubt you can get this refunded at this point, but at least you won't be by yourself."

"I'm sure I wouldn't be by myself on this flight," Bucky said. "I'm sure there'd be someone with a cough and a screaming baby in the seats next to me."

Sam smiled a little and handed Bucky back his ticket and not the beignet when Bucky reached to tear off a piece. "Well, you pick which one you'd prefer. I'm planning on having champagne though."

"At five in the morning?" Bucky asked with a raised eyebrow. "How about we just have some wine tonight and you tell me all about the music I'll get to hear when my pre-order downloads first thing tomorrow."

Sam looked over Bucky again. It felt like all the nights before, when these conversations were just fantasy pretend. When the bouquets Bucky gave him were cheap four flower things from the grocery store, where they both got a discount. When nothing was real except for each other.

"The tomfoolery better be out of your system," he warned. "Because I'm not putting up with this again. I need someone there during the bad times, but I want someone there during the good too. You can't leave me hanging like this. I can't be battling your lofty ideals of what is right or noble or whatever you get in your head. I need a partner, not a decoration."

When Bucky crossed over to him this time, Sam didn't move out of the way. He let Bucky pick up his hand and put it over his chest. The other man's heart was beating like a snare drum. "I'm sorry. I'm not going anywhere."

Sam dropped his forehead against Bucky's and sighed. "Good. I've missed you. I really wasn't digging the thought of LA on my own. Probably would've come back home as soon as I could anyway."

"You want a shadow, you've got a shadow. I'll follow," Bucky promised. "LA, New York, back here. Wherever you need, I'll be there."

Sam wanted to answer, but his throat had suddenly gotten tight for no reason. Relief was washing through him like a rain and he felt like he was about to lose structure in his legs.

"Come on," Bucky said just as Sam was going to sit down on the couch. "Let's have a drink and take one more dance in this room."

Sam laughed softly and nodded. "You're right," he said. "One more dance is the only way to leave."

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #the falcon and the winter soldier #sambucky fanfic #captain america #i answer things #writing

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five-rivers · 2 years

Text

The Soul Trade(ing Card Game) Chapter 2

As was dictated to me by the poll, I have delivered.

(AO3)

“So, uh, Batman,” said Constantine, hating everything about this, “I’ve gotta ask you something.”

“Hn,” said Batman, and Constantine understood he had the man’s whole attention, even though he didn’t look away from the screens arrayed before him. Monitor duty. Constantine was glad the Justice League Dark didn’t have to do that.

(At least, he thought they didn’t. If anyone had ever told him they did, he had promptly forgotten about it.)

“I need you to look into whoever left me this letter.” He dropped the letter on the desk next to Batman and flexed his hands. Yeah, the magic in it was sure something, but it was passive, as far as he could tell, traces picked up from being around something infinitely nastier. It was safe. Probably. It hadn’t blasted any of the people who had handled it between the desk in the Hall of Justice and the Watchtower, anyway.

Batman glanced up only briefly before taking the letter. He read it, quickly, without his posture changing at all.

“Hm,” he said, the tone of the grunt just slightly more contemplative. “Are the claims in this letter legitimate?”

“Well,” said Constantine, “let’s just say that reading it felt like…” His face twisted as he tried to find the words to describe what it had felt like. “Yeah. Even if this bloke doesn’t have everything he says he does, he has… a lot. There are traces on the letter, magically speaking.”

“What’s the effect of that?”

“God if I know,” said Constantine. “I didn’t even notice this. At least, he could go ahead and cast whatever spells on me he wants. Soul’s a lot more intimate.”

With a press of a button, the screens went dark. “You shouldn’t be up here if you’re compromised.”

“Hey, I didn’t even know about this until ten minutes ago!”

“Return to ground.” Batman stood and loomed over him. “I’ll look into who sent this letter and tell you my findings.”

That was probably the best Constantine was going to get. Honestly, he didn’t even want to be on this glorified deathtrap in the sky.

He didn’t like the feeling of getting kicked out, though.

“I’m going to need the letter back. I’ve got my own tests to run on it. Get an idea of what kind of nasty we’re dealing with. Magic stuff.”

Batman handed it back. “I’ll walk you to the Zeta Tubes.”

“What do you mean someone bought your soul?” asked Zatanna. “I thought you’d already sold it ages ago.”

“Yeah, but I guess souls can be resold. Should’ve realized that demons would try to replicate the whole banking hellscape we have here.”

“Pardon?”

“Nevermind,” said Constantine, letting himself sprawl backwards in the chair. It leaned dangerously, the weak leg bending. “I did sell it. I sold it a bunch. Got it set up so no one could really claim it without the others freaking out. Set some time limits on a few earlier ones, that worked pretty well, but, eventually, that didn’t work anymore, no one would bargain for that, and I figured my soul was pretty much a lost cause anyway…” He tucked his hands in his pockets and fingered the lid of his flask.

“Don’t you dare start drinking while I’m here.”

He hauled himself forward. “Far as I can tell, what’s written in the letter is true, as far as the owning part goes. The whole sorry bit and the let’s meet bit, I’m less clear on.”

He did have some thoughts on how to deal with it. But he wasn’t sure how well it’d work, and the guy - if it even was a guy - was a complete unknown.

He shrugged. “I was hoping for a second opinion.” And maybe a bit of… comfort. Something. It felt like the only time he saw Zatanna anymore was if the Justice Morons were poking at stuff no one sane would come close to with a ten foot pole.

(He missed her.)

(He missed when they used to be an item.)

(Which was stupid of him. But he’d never claimed not to be.)

(She wanted to keep things professional though, so. He’d try.)

Zatanna paced around the table. It was clear except for the letter, Constantine having expended much effort into cleaning it off (dumping it onto the nearest alternate flat-ish surface, the seat of a sagging armchair).

“I don’t know how much more I can tell you. There’s magic here, but it’s traces, and it’s… muddled. Do you mind?”

“Go ahead, love.” So much for being professional. Sue him. Some things just slipped out.

Zatanna nodded, evidently not even noticing. “Laever ruoy sterces,” she said, staring intensely at the letter. She shook her head. “Laever sesruc. No, no curses, at least. That’s a relief?”

“Yeah, I guess. But he doesn’t exactly need to curse me through a letter if he’s got everything he says he’s got.”

“Don’t give up just yet. Let me try a few other things. Ezylana eht snigiro fo eht lacigam secart no sight retter. Wow, huh.”

“What?”

“Well, like I said, there are all sorts of magical traces on this thing. Demon magic, which is expected, bits of yours, some of the ambient stuff the Watchtower picks up… but there’s also a lot of spirit magic.”

“You think we’re dealing with some kind of shaman? A summoner?” In addition to demons and whatever else, that was.

“Maybe,” said Zatanna. “There’s death, here, too, but I can’t tell if it’s outright death magic or necromancy.”

Constantine groaned. “The difference is academic. I’m screwed. S’pose I should be grateful or something he didn’t hit me with a compulsion to show up and grovel in front of him, felt the need to give me a heads up before he tortures me for sport or whatever necromancers do for fun.”

Zatanna made a face, but it was very telling that she didn’t deny it was a possibility.

“Just promise me you won’t go looking for this person on your own.”

“Yeah, I’ve got the Bat on it. You know him. Tall scary guy. World famous detective. About as boring as he is scary with all his rules.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Zatanna. “You’re going to need magical backup for this. Call me. Or at least someone who knows what they’re doing.”

The opposite of what he wanted to do, really. People died often enough around him without actively dragging them into his problems, and this was a massive problem.

“Can’t make any promises.”

Because Constantine couldn’t really do anything else about the letter or its contents (besides scream inside his head and swear at himself), he decided to go about business as usual. Exorcisms, investigations, a touch of vampire stabbing, a few (disappointingly dry) ghost hunts. Normal stuff.

At least, it was normal until the demons started to run away from him. They didn’t usually do that, not even the weak ones. He did have a reputation, but not one like that. His reputation was that of a cheat and a con… and someone who got people close to him killed. None of that really put off bloodthirsty demons, who were a right pain to genuinely kill, and who often as not had some connection to old Lucy.

But they were running now, and not just the weaker ones. They weren’t even fighting him. Not getting hellfire tossed at him was nice, but demons were not nice. Ever.

So, what could he do but catch one?

He walked around the circle, double checking to make sure the scuffle with the little imp hadn’t scuffed any lines. He’d made mistakes like that before, and they were never pretty.

“So,” he said, lighting a cigarette, “what’s a demon like you running from little old me for?”

The demon, predictably, hissed at him. Constantine rolled his eyes. Typical.

“I’m going to ask you again, and if you don’t answer, things are going to get real unpleasant for you.” He pointed at those circle. “Read ‘em, if you don’t believe me.”

The demon arched itself like a cat, which was an interesting choice seeing as it wasn’t at all cat shaped.

“You were chasing us, John Constantine,” it said in a deep voice that belayed its size.

“Yeah, and that’s usually your lot’s cue to turn around and jump me. What’s different?”

The demon laughed, unpleasant and high-pitched like a teakettle coming to a boil. “What’s different? What’s different? John Constantine, you know what’s different.”

“Humor me here.”

It chuckled and started pacing around the inside of the circle. “Who owns you, John Constantine?” it asked in a silky voice. “Where is your soul, John Constantine? Not with you. Not with the First of the Fallen. Not with any of the princes of hell, or any god in its palace. Who owns you, John Constantine?”

“What, you’re saying that just because Lucy doesn’t have dibs on me when I die anymore, none of you are interested? Try the other one, it has bells on it.”

“Fool!” shouted the demon, now sounding disturbingly human. “Fool! Fool! A fool you are, but we are not, oh, no. No, no, no, we are not. What manner of thing could steal from them? What manner of thing could satisfy so many demons? What manner of thing could have such essence that it clings to you even now? Who owns you, John Constantine?”

Those were some good goddamn questions. “You’ve got a name for me, or is this you saying you don’t actually know, you’re just so freaked by the idea of it you’re shaking in your boots? Scales. Whatever.”

“Do not mock us, John Constantine,” it said, back to sounding properly demonic. “We are no fool! We know you will suffer.”

Yeah, well, that was just the natural state of the universe, wasn’t it? In any case, it didn’t look like this little punk had any idea what it was talking about. They didn’t tend to be very bright, just smart enough to parrot what they overheard from more powerful demons and dumb enough to give up information when threatened with basic binding spells.

He banished the imp back to Hell with a twist of his fingers.

So. Whoever or whatever had gotten their hands on Constantine’s soul, they were scary enough that demons didn’t want to draw its attention by getting involved with Constantine. Which was. Yeah. Not great. Story of his life.

He’d known that they’d have to be nasty, sure. They’d have to be, to get all of Constantine’s contracts. Constantine hadn’t sold his soul to just anybody. Those first three bastards especially had power. Hell, they’d cured his terminal lung cancer. Partially to avoid a war but mostly to be petty.

Admittedly, after that, he hadn’t been quite so discerning. Or careful about the wording. But he knew that so long as old Lucy had his eyes on him and a finger on his soul, no one would dare collect.

A lot of good that did, in the end.

Who would Lucifer trade with? Why would he give up the right to torture Constantine eternally post-mortem?

Constantine was getting sick of not knowing. He was tempted to just go to that meeting spot, but without more information, that would be unforgivably stupid. Constantine was not stupid. Usually.

His Justice League communicator (foisted on him by the Bat) pinged obnoxiously at the bottom of one of his pockets. He’d forgotten it was in this coat. He sorted through his pockets crossly as it pinged again. It had better be important. He found it under a crumpled bag of crisps and yanked it out with a spray of crumbs.

“What?” he said, shortly.

“Constantine,” came Batman’s deep, gravelly rumble. “I have news.”

Well, crap. “You gonna share that news this century?”

“It would be better to discuss this in-person. You do not have a secure computer.”

“Jesus,” said Constantine. He would have argued, but, technically, Batman was doing him a favor. “Fine, you paranoid maniac. Where?”

‘Where’ turned out to be a low-risk interrogation room in the Hall of Justice. Constantine was not a fan of this arrangement, but he understood it. He was compromised, or whatever, and the interrogation rooms were private and had video screens.

On the other hand, it was in America, and even Zeta Tubes couldn’t help with jetlag. And, worse, it was nonsmoking.

Batman personally escorted him to the room, and turned on the main screen with a remote control. Pictures of a pale-skinned teen with blue eyes and black hair sprung up. School pictures, mostly, but some looked like ID pictures, one was on the cover of a magazine, and another looked like an avatar in a video game.

“Do you recognize this boy?”

“One of your kids?” asked Constantine.

“Answer the question.”

“No, I don’t know him. Should I?”

“He’s the one who dropped the letter off.”

“You’re joking.”

In answer, Batman clicked the remote again, bringing up surveillance videos of the Hall of Justice’s main desk taken from various angles. The clips started off looking normal, the overly clear, expensive footage characteristic of an organization associated with Batman.

But then, static swam over them. Not enough to fully obscure the figure walking into the frame, but enough to be obvious. The boy from the pictures. He walked to the desk, had a short conversation with the receptionist during which he handed over the letter, and then left, taking the static with him.

“Well, hell,” said Constantine. It had been a while since he’d seen a demon take a form like that, but he supposed this one must have learned that he had a soft spot for kids. Or maybe this was a kid. A demon kid. He’d thought he’d taken care of all of his, but wouldn’t have been the first time he’d screwed up, and this whole situation was a collection of screw ups.

“Do you know what could cause the static?”

“Whole range of spells, but I’m gonna bet you already knew that from Zatanna.”

“Hm,” said Batman. “The name of the boy is Daniel Fenton. He is fifteen years old, and his major claim to fame is discovering that a purple-backed gorilla on loan to his local zoo was female. He also makes an occasional appearance on the leaderboards of the video game ‘Doomed,’ where he is a well known player.”

“A demon playing video games. Now I’ve seen it all.” It wasn’t so much that demons couldn’t have hobbies, he just didn’t care to learn them, if they weren’t relevant to beating the crap out of them or tricking them into taking a holy water shower. Then again, there was an outside possibility that ‘Daniel’ wasn’t a demon. “Any of this have a point?”

“Establishing facts,” said Batman. “It is possible that you had encountered him via the internet.”

“Do I look like the kind of guy who plays video games?”

Batman clicked the remote again, a map appearing on the screen, a blinking dot appearing in the middle of nowhere, US. “Daniel lives with his older sister, Jasmine, and their parents Drs. Jack and Madeline Fenton in Amity Park.”

“Amity Park?” repeated Constantine.

“Is it familiar to you?”

“I think I looked into it once. Supposed to be haunted. Veil there is maybe a little thin, but nothing on the Tower of London, or, hell, the British Museum. You wouldn’t believe what all those stolen grave goods can get up to together. Your permanently overcast city is more haunted. It’s a dead end.”

“Maybe not. The Drs. Fenton are friends with the billionaire Vladimir Masters, but primarily derive their income from their patented inventions, which include customized ‘branding’ toasters, high-efficiency toilet paper, ultra-lightweight camping gear, various treatments for radiation poisoning, and several items that have been marked classified by the Department of Homeland Security and the Department of Energy, for their use of dangerous energy sources.”

Constantine’s eyebrows went up. Mad scientists mucking about with radiation were generally not in his wheelhouse. Or even riding the same tracks, for that matter. “You think they went poking around in the occult for their ‘dangerous energy sources?’”

“Possibly,” said Batman. “In addition to their inventions, they are moderately well-known in ghost hunting communities, which explains their presence in the reportedly-haunted Amity Park. However, everything they’ve written on the subject indicates that they believe ghosts have a strictly scientific explanation. They also,” continued Batman, the corners of his mouth pulling into a slightly deeper frown, “believe that ghosts are nonsentient and nonsapient.”

“So, they have no idea what they’re talking about. Just some big brains that got sucked in by the kind of fraudsters who started the seance craze. Great. I’m sure Deadman’d love to have word with them. If they could even see him.” He rubbed his chin. “But the must’ve run into something real if their kid’s doing all this. Or if what looks like their kid’s doing all this.”

“You don’t believe Daniel Fenton is the one in the video?”

“Lemme put it this way. Odds of a random kid pulling one over on the demons I sold my soul to are about the same as you developing a sense of humor. Best case scenario, he’s just possessed, or he’s some kind of freak like Klarion.”

Batman grunted in acknowledgement. “Approximately six months ago, Jack Fenton purchased an ‘authentic demon soul contract’ from Ebay.”

Constantine opened and closed his mouth several times. “You’re joking.”

“As you are aware, I have no sense of humor.”

“Jesus Christ. Ebay?”

“The seller was a man named Eric Chambers. Zatanna investigated him earlier this week. He is, apparently, an amateur demonologist who wanted to ‘get out of the game’ and was in the process of selling off all his magical paraphernalia. He had sold several additional versions of your soul contract to another buyer in Amity Park. A known associate of Daniel Fenton named Samantha Manson. Are any of these names familiar to you?”

“Not exactly,” said Constantine. “But… Ebay?” He’d never thought his soul was anything special, but at least he’d thought it was worth enough to not be resold on Ebay. “And how did this Chambers bloke get them?”

“Apparently, the demons he’d summoned no longer wanted them, and he was under the impression that he could ‘put you under his thrall’ if he collected enough of them.”

So the guy who had his soul wasn’t even the first one to have the idea. Brilliant.

“And that’s it?”

“I could tell you Daniel Fenton’s grades and internet habits,” said Batman. “As well as those of his close friends and associates. Apart from his parents and his recent involvement with you, he is ordinary.”

“The thing with the gorilla is ordinary, then?”

“Most people have at least one outlier event in their lives. It would be of greater concern if he did not.” He paused, staring long and hard at Constantine. “What are your initial thoughts?”

“That I’m about to get screwed up the–”

“Regarding how Daniel Fenton got involved in this.”

“Like I said, it’s probably not Daniel Fenton. I’d guess… If I had to guess, I’d say that after Fenton’s dad got hold of that contract, he went and played around with it. Something like a genuine contract can be used to do a lot. It has the magical signatures of both the original demon and whatever sorry bastard signed it. If you’ve got that, you can ring up the demon.” He raised his hands, miming a scale. “Demon, inexperienced idiot teenager…” He tilted to one side. “You get the picture.”

And, yeah, wasn’t it great that he could cause people to die just by leaving his junk everywhere? He hadn’t learned anything from the dream sand.

“You believe Daniel Fenton summoned a demon that possessed him, which then proceeded to collect your soul contracts?”

“Yeah. Can you pull up a pic of the contract Jack Fenton bought?”

Batman briefly examined the remote, then flicked quickly through several slides, stopping, finally, on a very classic demonic soul contract. Constantine had signed several like that, so he had to squint at it and read through it line by line. It wasn’t like he memorized the handwriting of every demon he’d ever made a contract with. In fact, he’d memorized the handwriting of exactly zero demons. They didn’t precisely write a lot, and you either got illegible chicken scratch or equally illegible ornate gothic script.

He got to the name and swore. “That guy doesn’t have the power to go up against the First of the Fallen.” He rubbed his chin vigorously.

“It’s possible that Chambers sent a different contract to the Fentons,” said Batman, “or Daniel was… infected after receiving the other contracts.” More pictures popped up on the screens. “However, there is a problem with this theory.”

“Yeah?” asked Constantine, already scanning the contracts. The Bat didn’t like Constantine’s ideas. What else was new?

“Daniel’s behavior has had no significant changes in that six month time frame. But if we go back by just over a year, to when he was entering high school, his grades took a steep dive and several disciplinary actions were noted on his record. His close friends’ grades took similar, but smaller, hits at the same time.”

“You think he could have been possessed earlier.”

“I believe that something happened to him at that time. I am unconvinced it was possession.”

Constantine shook his head. “None of these guys are strong enough to begin with. Maybe if they were working together… Nah. None of them could work together. That’s why I picked them.” He rubbed his eyes. “Then again, I thought no one could get all my soul contracts, so who knows?”

“Are you sure possession is the only solution?”

“God, no. Hell, we could be dealing with a cabal of homo magi, or someone back from the grave who seriously hates me, that’d explain the death magic on the letter, at least, or maybe there’s a god hanging around getting their kicks poking at me. It’s just a giant blank. I’ve never heard of this kid. I’ve never heard of his family. I’ve barely heard of Vlad Masters. I’ve got nothing.”

“Hm,” said Batman. “What are you planning to do?”

“I’m guessing ignoring it forever isn’t something you’d let me do?”

“No.”

“I guess I’m gonna have to go investigate, then.”

“In that case,” said Batman, pulling a fat folder of papers out of his cape somehow, “you will need to know more about Daniel Fenton, his associates, and Amity Park.” He dropped the folder on the table with an audible thump.

“Great,” said Constantine. “Just what I wanted. Homework.”

Constantine and Zatanna zeta’d to the nearest tube near Amity Park. Batman had arranged an ‘untraceable’ rental car for them, paranoid bastard. Demons didn’t usually have the skillset required to trace license plates.

Then again, there might be more than demons involved. Even if necromancers generally had no skillset outside of necromancy.

There could be shamans, though! They were well known for their technological acumen!

Yeah, right. It was possible, but not bloody likely.

“I could teleport, you know,” he told Zatanna. “We could both teleport.”

“Into the home turf of an unknown magic user?”

Constantine rolled his eyes and knocked his head against the car window. “I’m surprised the ol’ Bat isn’t coming with us.”

“You know he is,” said Zatanna. “I’d give even odds that he’s already there, if I had any desire to gamble with you.”

“Hey! I could be good for it. I have steady work now!”

Zatanna shook her head. Constantine huffed.

“I’m going to take a nap. Might be my last one, after all.”

“John,” said Zatanna, “you’re not going to die. Don’t you think this is a little… excessive, considering all the stuff you’ve gotten out of before?”

“No one’s owned my whole soul before. Now, I really am going to go to sleep. Wake me up when we get there.”

Death.

That’s what pulled Constantine out of his dreams and into a nightmare, and from there into wakefulness. The feeling did not dissipate. Instead, it grew stronger.

He looked over at Zatanna, who was still driving. Her knuckles were white, her shoulders stiff.

“What the hell,” croaked Constantine.

“It’s been building as we get closer to Amity Park,” said Zatanna. “It doesn’t feel… actively malicious… More like a massive haunting. It’s been building slowly.”

Constantine swallowed and tried to rub sand out of his eyes. “That’s– Where are we?”

“About ten minutes out of Amity Park.”

“No. I’ve been to Amity Park. It doesn’t feel anything like this. It’s boring.”

“Well,” said Zatanna, strained, “something’s changed. At least we know where the letter picked up all that death magic.”

Constantine breathed in deeply through his nose. “Yeah, there’s enough of it here for me to feel it, God.” It was making his skin prickle. He shook himself all over. “Might as well stay awake now. Do you mind if I set my wards?”

“Knock yourself out.”

Constantine walked into the diner and looked around. It was very American. Retro. Quiet. Not entirely clean, but Constantine had been in way worse. The air smelled strongly of cinnamon, coffee, and hot chocolate. Not the kind of place he generally bartered for his soul, or away his soul, as the case might be.

An aggressive ‘No Smoking’ sign was positioned prominently next to the cheery ‘seat yourself’ sign. Constantine scowled at it. Sometimes it felt like there was nowhere to smoke anymore in the whole world.

Daniel Fenton, easily recognizable from a legion of school photos and a junior astronaut camp photo ID, was sitting alone at a booth, a cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream in front of him. He swung his legs back and forth and scribbled in a notebook. A few tables away, not nearly as sneaky as they clear-ly thought they were being, were his friends Manson and Foley.

Zatanna had entered the diner before him, of course, and Batman was most likely… somewhere. God only knew where. Constantine knew people who could turn invisible and shapeshift that weren’t as good at it as Batman.

Before coming in, Constantine had finished setting his wards. His pockets were full of all sorts of tests, charms, and apotropaics. As he stuck his hands into them, a spray bottle fit easily into his hand.

Walking to the table felt like walking to his execution. He made the comparison with confidence, because he had the relevant experience. When he stopped next to the table, Fenton looked up. His expression was confused at first, but in less than a second he lit up, clearly delighted.

Constantine also had relevant experience in spritzing demons with holy water.

Fenton flinched, but he didn’t start howling or melting. More’s the pity.

“Did you just spray me with holy water?” asked Fenton, blinking up at him with a realistic expression of befuddlement.

“Guy’s gotta know what he’s dealing with,” said Constantine.

“Well, I’m not a demon.” A slight furrow worked its way between his eyes. “Or a devil.”

“What are you, then?” asked Constantine.

Fenton shrugged. “I don’t know. An amateur demonologist? I don’t have any training in this kind of stuff, which is probably why all this happened.” He reached to the side and grabbed his hot chocolate. “Oh. You got my whipped cream with your water…”

“You don’t have any training?”

“Not in this,” stressed Fenton. “I go to school and stuff.”

And astronaut camp, assuming this really was Daniel Fenton and not something possessing or impersonating him.

“Anyway, are you going to sit down, or…?” Fenton looked him up and down.

Constantine scowled and slid into the booth. Then he threw some salt (purified) at Fenton.

“Hey,” complained Fenton, “you’re going to ruin my hot chocolate, jeez.” He picked up the mug, pulling it towards himself.

Constantine took the opportunity to grab his notebook off the table and flip through it.

“Maths?” blurted Constantine.

Fenton set the mug back on the table and leaned over to snatch the notebook back. “Like I said, I do have school. That’s why I can only hang out here on Saturdays. You did miss the last few meeting times.” He huffed. “I know this isn’t ideal, but can we work together here? I don’t actually want to own your soul.”

“Oh, yeah, amazing way of showing it, mate. I know who and what I sold my soul to, and I don’t believe you bartered with them without any training.” Or that he was human, but as long as he was invested in the facade, he probably wouldn’t eat Constantine’s face off.

“I didn’t say I didn’t have any training. Just no training in this. I don’t know exactly what you can do beyond make bad demon-related decisions, but you had weeks to do research. You’ve got to know about the ghosts.”

“Might. What about them?”

“My parents research them. Fight them, sometimes. It’s a whole thing. Demons weren’t any harder to deal with.”

“I sold my soul to archdemons.”

“Yeah, they kind of sucked, to be honest.” Fenton bit his lower lip. “Look, I know you don’t trust me. I wouldn’t trust me, but what I did to get your contracts wasn’t anything anyone couldn’t do. Most of them didn’t even want them anymore. The first batch I bought off of a random dude on Ebay. One of them paid me to take the contract, because they hated the doll you wrote it on so much. A lot of the others just wanted me to give you problems, which I think I’ve succeeded at, actually.”

Constantine had forgotten about the doll, actually. “And the archdemons? I know for a fact they’ve been looking forward to torturing me forever, so I doubt they’d just hand the contracts over in exchange for ‘giving me problems.’”

“Oh, yeah. For those guys, I just robbed them. There were also a few people I just beat up.”

“Demons aren’t people, they’re demons.”

“Sure they’re people. They’re just evil people. But they used to be angels or something, right?”

“... No,” said Constantine.

“Okay, well.” Fenton shrugged again. “They still are thinking beings, right? So, they’re people.”

Constantine honestly didn’t know where to go from that.

"Fine," he said instead. "You aren't going to tell me how you got the contracts or what you are. Is it too much to hope you'll deign to tell me why you did this?"

"I'm a teenager, why do we do anything?" Fenton sipped at his hot chocolate. "Mostly, I thought it'd be funny."

"Excuse me?"

"I thought it would be funny. I mean, Dad bought the first one, because he thought it'd help with his ghost research, but it didn't, so he let me have it. I asked Johnny about it, and he told me about your contracts, so I–"

"Who's Johnny?" interrupted Constantine. "Some demon friend of yours?"

He did have a strategy, here, sort of. Most ultra powerful magical beings had a limit to how much annoyance or disrespect they'd tolerate, even when disguising themselves. Constantine had a knack for finding those limits.

Also, just possibly, the hapless teenager act was throwing him off. It was remarkably believable.

"No, he's dead, to begin with, not–"

"Oh, so, you took advice on dealing with demons from someone who turned up dead right after telling you about me. That sounds brilliant."

"He's a ghost. He's been dead since at least the nineties, and I doubt you had anything to do with it. Johnny died in the eighties. I think.”

“A ghost told you about me?”

“Yeah. I don’t know what wizards or magicians like you can do or sense, but if you looked up anything about Amity Park at all, you should have seen there are a lot of ghosts here. It’s not just tourist trap stuff. That’s… actually one of the other things I wanted to talk to you about, if I managed to get enough of your contracts to get you to come.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, not all ghosts are nice. I meant it when I said your demons sucked. That’s compared to the ghosts. And sometimes to the people who come to hunt the ghosts.” Fenton drummed his fingers on the table, nervous. “It’s a toss up which group causes more damage. The Guys in White are especially awful. It would be nice if the Justice League took a look into them?” His voice took on a hopeful lilt.

“You bought my soul to tip off the League about… Guys in White.”

“They’re with the government. Presumably. No one knows what they’re really called. And they chase people around screaming about lots and lots of painful experiments. Direct quotes.”

“You know the League has a tip line.”

“Tried it.” Fenton took a huge gulp of hot chocolate.

“I don’t believe you,”

“If you hang out here for very long, you and your friends will be able to see the ghosts for yourself.”

Constantine could already feel the ghosts. Or at least the pervasive, overwhelming sense of death permeating this city. He didn’t doubt that something requiring Justice League Dark attention was going on here. Beyond just whatever was going on with Fenton himself.

But his attention was taken by two other points.

One, what he didn’t believe was that Fenton did all this for only some combination of kicks and giggles and wanting Justice League attention. Contacts with ghosts or not, burglarizing archdemons wasn’t something anyone sane blew off as nothing.

Two, Fenton had said friends. He’d understand if he’d made Zatanna, but the plural implied that he’d spotted Batman, too.

He didn’t let himself react. “No one rips off archdemons to call in a tip. Or just for fun.”

Fenton looked guilty, a blush creeping across his cheeks. “I didn’t want to bring it up, it didn’t seem appropriate anymore. And the other thing isn’t… relevant.”

“Why don’t you let me decide what’s relevant?” asked Constantine, despite how all his senses were screaming wrong wrong wrong at him. “This is my soul we’re talking about, after all.”

“I know, I know,” said Fenton. “But you didn’t exactly…” He trailed off. “The other thing was that some of my friends thought you need an intervention. We also wanted to see your face when we… intervened. Yeah, we thought it’d look kind of like that.” Fenton pointed at him.

Constantine slapped away the hand. He was almost convinced Fenton was… Well. Not normal, but maybe not homicidal, or particularly interested in enslaving Constantine or torturing him for all time. A step up from some of the other things he’d sold his soul to in the past. Possibly.

(The whole ‘teenager’ thing was definitely an entry in the negative column, though. As well as the whole humiliation and mockery angle.)

“What else?” he demanded.

Fenton’s face twisted with embarrassment and jealousy. “You get to go up to the Watchtower, don’t you?” he asked. “You get to go to space.”

“So?”

“So, I want to go to space. I was, um. I was going to… ask you to take me up there. Just to look.”

Infiltrating the Watchtower was a much more obvious motive, but… Constantine remembered the space camp ID.

“I mean, I’m never going to get up there with my grades. Fighting demons for it seemed… feasible.” He shrugged, then started to slump. “I was going to give them back, you know. Your contracts. I didn’t want to keep them. Or your soul.” He pushed himself up. “Anyway. None of that matters, now. We've got a problem to solve.”

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, as I explained in my letter, the contracts sort of… exploded."

"No, back up, what do you mean it doesn't matter?"

"Well, if this doesn't make you stop selling your soul, I don’t know what will, the Justice League knows about Amity now, I'm not going to make you take me to the Watchtower when I can't trade your soul back to you, and the funny boat sailed at about the same time my friend told me this might be permanent."

"Is this friend also dead?" drawled Constantine.

"No, he's more in the never alive category."

Which possibly explained some of the spirit magic Zatanna detected on the letter.

"He thinks it's because some of your contracts said after death instead of when you're dead, so, because there weren't any competing claims, they all came due at once. Since there were so many of them…"

"Repetition makes magic stronger, yeah, yeah," said Constantine. "I read the letter."

"I was hoping you'd have some solutions. No offense, but I don't want to own you. You're, like, an entire person."

Constantine wouldn't have been offended if Fenton hadn't prefixed his statement with no offense.

“You should have thought about that before buying up my soul.”

“I was going to give it back. No strings.”

“Except for a trip to the Watchtower.”

“If you really didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have made you,” said Fenton.

Somehow, Constantine believed him. Which was crazy. He’d have to check in with Zatanna to make sure he wasn’t being enchanted somehow. Charm person should not be a real thing magicians could do, and yet…

“Look, do you want me to swear it on the Styx or is there something else I can do to convince you I’m telling the truth?” asked Fenton. “The ghosts seem to like the Styx, anyway.” He sighed. “Tell me you have something that can fix this. I don’t know what kind of side effects there are for owning a person’s soul. It’s not like this happens all the time.”

Hell if Constantine knew. The only way he knew to get out of contracts like this was loopholes exploited before they were collected on. “I’m… going to have to do some research.”

“Well,” said Fenton, “let me give you my phone number.” He slid a piece of paper across the table. “You can call me if you figure anything out. In the meantime, if you’re staying in town long, you should look into the ghost thing. Talk to my parents, even. Maybe don’t mention all this, though.”

“Why not?”

“I love my parents, but they must have skipped out on the day they teach scientists that just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should. Anyway, I’ve got to go.” He started to shove things into a purple backpack he’d pulled into his lap from under the table.

“What? Why?” As far as Constantine was concerned, they’d only just started to scratch the surface of the problem.

“Me and my friends have tickets to a movie.” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder at Manson and Foley, who, apparently, were not trying to blend in or be subtle. “You did miss the first few meeting times.”

“Your impression?” asked Zatanna, later, sliding into the booth after Fenton and his friends were thoroughly gone.

“He’s… surprisingly believable. Claims he ‘doesn’t have any training’ in magic, though, which sounds like crap, unless his parents are much more legit than what they look like on paper.”

Zatanna crossed her arms and drummed her fingers on her elbow. “He wasn’t lying. Not that any of my spells could detect.”

Constantine huffed. “That doesn’t seem possible.”

“He doesn’t seem like he could take on archdemons, but with help from ghosts or spirits? We don’t know who’s backing him.”

“God,” said Constantine, “that’s not something I was thinking of.”

“Because you were fixated on the demon theory.”

“But if he’s being backed by someone powerful, why wouldn’t they buy up my contracts themself? That doesn’t make sense.”

“I’m not saying that his… patron, for lack of a better word, put him up to it. Just that he might be getting extra support.”

A waitress came up to them, smiling cheerily. “Hello, there, sorry for the delay. Have you decided what you’re getting?”

“The hot chocolate looked good,” said Zatanna.

“Knock yourself out,” said Constantine, standing. “I’m going to see what Fenton’s parents are like.”

“John Constantine?” repeated Jack Fenton, inquisitively. “Ha! That’s the same name that was on that fake demon contract thing I got on Ebay! What a wild coincidence, huh?”

“You could have mentioned the portal to the astral plane in your basement,” hissed Constantine into the phone. A tiny voice in the back of his head warned him that he shouldn’t take that tone with someone who owned him, but he ignored it handily.

“Would you have believed me if I told you?” asked Fenton, genuinely curious.

Constantine wouldn’t have, but it was the principle of the thing.

“Also, what did you call it? I’ve never heard anyone call it that.”

Batman’s deep voice rumbled through the communicator. “What did you learn?”

“I learned this place is a nightmare and a half. There’s a portal to the astral plane in that kid’s basement, did you know?”

“I ran into a ghost while Constantine was talking to the Fentons,” said Zatanna, leaning sideways while keeping her eyes on the road. “It was much more powerful than any other ghost I’ve ever seen.”

“That is not good news considering what I have learned about the so-called Guys in White.”

“Have you found anything?” asked Fenton. Wherever he was, his reception was crap. His voice crackled with enough static that he might as well be calling from the early nineteen-twenties.

“No,” said Constantine. It had gotten him excused from the Justice Club meetings, which meant that the failure was almost worth the headache the idea of his soul being owned by a teenager caused him.

“I didn’t find anything either.”

“Then why did you call?”

“Uh,” said Fenton. “I’m really grateful you guys got the GIW out of Amity, you know that, right? And that you guys put someone on watch here for bigger threats?”

“Yeah,” said Constantine, slowly. “Sure.” It had been mostly Batman managing that side of things, as Constantine was banned from decisions regarding Amity Park, but if Fenton was going to give Constantine credit, who was he to deny it?

“So, um. That was really great of you.”

Constantine was not liking where this was going. But, apparently, this was his life, now. Getting tips and awkwardly phrased requests from… God. The creepy necromancer brat was sort of his warlock patron.

… Curse his knowledge of Dungeons and Dragons. It was definitely a detriment to his profession as a real mage, and everything he learned about it was against his will and usually the Flash’s fault.

“What is it, Fenton?”

“Have you ever heard of the Showenhowers?”

#dc/dp #dcxdp #fic #my fic

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