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trans-axolotl · 6 days

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my gendered experience growing up as an intersex person was overwhelmingly defined by my responses and resistance to everything that got me labeled as a failure: failure to quickly get a gender assigned at birth, failure to go through a normal puberty and grow up into a woman, failure at meeting the standards for "complete womanhood" because of my intersex sex traits, and yet simultaneously failing to ever be acknowledged as a "real man" and being treated as a threat when I expressed I wanted to transition.

before i realized i was a man and came out as trans, the ways that girlhood was denied to me was very often humiliating and painful. locker rooms filled with other girls were a frequent source of shame. there were many big and small ways that i was told that my intersex body made me insufficient, incomplete, broken. i was forced onto estrogen, forced into shaving my body hair, and was constantly being told to change myself to better fit this mystical idea of a "normal woman." and even though I ultimately ended up becoming a man, the denial of girlhood was painful.

but i think that these things would have been even more difficult to navigate as an intersex girl if on top of everything I already said, i was having to cope with the denial of my girlhood while i was forced into boys locker rooms. if my doctors were forcing me onto testosterone hrt and refusing to even discuss estrogen, if all my legal paperwork had "M" on it and was a logistical nightmare to change, if every support group for my intersex variation labeled it as a "men's support group," if the LGBTQ community spaces i tried to join were misogynistic towards me often to the point of exile, if my self determination as an intersex girl was denied in most spaces of my life, and on and on and on. while listing all these things out i also don't want to make it seem like it's all about suffering and pain--so much of transition for me has been about joy in my self determination and how much it feels like a reclamation of autonomy to decide what I want my body and self to be like--i know this is an experience i share with so many of my trans intersex friends.

as an person who was AFAB, although there were many ways that trying to grow up as an intersex girl were a painful, logistical nightmare, many times and places that i was excluded from woman's spaces, etc. however, there was a simultaneous affirmation that i was right to strive for that in the first place. which is logic rooted in some fucked up compulsory dyadism, but also which would have made some things slightly easier or even possible at all if i had wanted to embrace being an intersex girl within this fucked up system.

pretty much every time i've seen people on tumblr talking about "afab transfems" in an intersex context, people seem happy to collapse these experiences and act like there's no meaningful distinction or point in distinguishing between different types of intersex embodiment. it seems incredibly extractive, to be perfectly honest with you--taking terms already used by a community to make meaning of their experiences and to expand and dilute that term enough that it means something pretty different than the original.

it's making me think about the concept of epistemic injustice, which is a term coined by Miranda Fricker to describe oppression related to knowledge, communication, and making meaning of the world. There's two subtypes of epistemic injustice: testimonial injustice and hermeneutical injustice. Testimonial injustice refers to the dynamic where marginalized people are labeled as not credible, excluded from conversations, and their testimony and knowledge is labeled as unreliable, even when they're the ones who are experts and have first hand experience of what people are talking about. (this is why i probably won't make this post rebloggable--i've noticed this pattern on tumblr many times where trans men speaking about transmisogyny get lots of notes and are given a lot of grace, where trans women are silenced, attacked for not having perfect wording, and otherwise delegitimized.)

the second type is called hermeneutical injustice. it describes how marginalized people are denied the right to make sense of the experiences in their own lives. this can look like preventing people from building community, terminology, a political understanding of themselves, and the interpretive resources needed to process how you live in the world.

this is a form of injustice that I think almost all intersex people are very familiar with--we are denied community and interpretive resources to the point that we're told we don't even exist, that intersex isn't a real word, and so many more examples that leave us isolated and with very few options for understanding what we're collectively experiencing. as an intersex person i really intimately understand how frustrating, confusing, and painful it is to not have words for your experiences, your identity, your life.

so it makes me really sad and pissed off when it seems like intersex people seem to be replicating this exact same type of epistemic injustice towards transfems and specifically towards intersex transfems. pretty much every time recently i see people talking about "afab transfems" they're doing so in a way that seems to deny that trans women even have the right to make sense of their own experiences in the world. there seems to be this mindset that these political frameworks, these interpretive resources that transfems have built up are just up for grabs for anyone. and then on top of that has come with it a lot of cruel, hateful language and direct attacks towards many intersex transfems who are facing so much harassment right now.

an important value to me is this idea of reciprocity as a foundation for solidarity. to me reciprocity means that we're prioritizing the ways we care for each other, we're thinking about how we can uplift each other, and we're watching out for extractive or exploitative patterns where one group is constantly expected to be in "solidarity" with another group without getting the same respect and care back toward them. i think that there could be so many ways that intersex people of all genders could share our overlapping experiences and actually be in true, meaningful solidarity with each other, but i barely ever actually see that happen on tumblr. and that pisses me off, because i do think that there's so much we have in common that we could celebrate and support each other with. i feel so much kinship with so, so many of my trans intersex friends, and ways where i see our lives converge. but i don't think that can happen in an environment where there's no acknowledgment of the ways that our experiences will sometimes (often) differ from each other, and the ways that we have unique needs.

another frustration i've had based on this most recent couple months of transmisogynistic intersex posting on tumblr is how intersex people have been mostly ignoring intersex community resources and devaluing the existing intersex terminology that people created to try to meet our needs. so much of what i've seen people describing on tumblr seems to really line up with the term ipsogender. Ipsogender is a term coined by an intersex sociologist Cary Gabriel Costello, and is used to describe intersex people whose gender matches the gender they were medically assigned at birth, but who might not feel like cis or trans fits them, might experience dysphoria, and who might feel like they've ended up transitioning medically or socially in some ways. this is a word that exists that an intersex person put time into coining because they wanted other intersex people to feel seen, embraced, and have ways of understanding themselves and communicating to others, and that's something that's super meaningful to me! and yet, i've rarely seen anyone reference it, and also seen multiple people making fun of it in other spaces online.

there's also intergender, which is another intersex specific gender term used to describe when your gender is inseparable from your intersex traits, and that your intersex identity is intertwined with your gender identity in some way. some people just identify as intergender, others use it as an adjective and exist as an intergender man or woman. intersex terminology like this is really important to me, especially because we're so often denied the right to make sense of our own experiences.

i think ultimately what i wanted to say with this post is just that when i think about intersex community, some of the most important values of intersex community for me are solidarity, care for each other, and affirming our right to define our own existence. and i don't think that can happen in a community where people are acting in extractive ways, harassing and attacking their fellow community members, and being dismissive of the realities of other intersex people's lives.

#personal #actuallyintersex #intersex #actually intersex #transmisogyny tw #this post is not going to be rebloggable for now but if any intersex mutuals want to reblog it i might turn reblogs on #this just feels like an intersex conversation in a way i would prefer not to do with an audience of spectators.#also a tangent: i do understand that agab is not a body descriptor. i think that agabs are a form of curative violence perpetuated onto us #this is something i've been consistent about expressing for years. if you go back to old posts you'll see that there's many times i've said #over the years that agab is messy. that i know people who were assigned one gender at birth and another gender as a toddler #who identify as cis and trans and a million other things. i understand that and im not interested in denying their existence #so. don't take this as a universal statement from me about every single instance of “amab transman” or “afab transfem.” but rather in the #context of the current dynamic i'm seeing on tumblr of widespread transmisogynistic harassment #that i think much of the way people are talking about this is exploitative and harmful #also i've made many posts before talking about how like. many things would change and become intelligble in a less compulsorly dyadic world #but we aren't there yet. and so there are many terms that are still meaningful and relevant for us right now #and as always: i am one intersex person with one perspective i like to hear from other intersex people including intersex people #who think differently from me

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whxtedreams · 2 months

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The Hunter and His Witch

A Witch Hunter!Din Djarin x witch!reader oneshot

Summary: The task assigned to him by the lords was a simple one, whether her body was brought in warm or cold mattered little to them, as long as her life had been extinguished. In their eyes, she was an abomination, a stain on this holy land that needed to be purged. And the more he watched her, the less he understood why.

Word Count: 7.1k

Tags: Witch hunter AU, witch!reader, third person POV, reader has she/her pronouns, probably inaccurate witchy things – just using my imagination, injury, threats, din reconsidering his life choices.

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There were precious few of us remaining, scattered across the land in hiding like hunted game. Fear gripped our hearts as we were hunted like deers, too dangerous to scavenge in groups or pairs, lest we be mistaken for the witches we were. Yet traveling alone was even more lethal, for the target on our backs grew a vivid red in the eyes of those who hunted us. The threat was too great, and the risk too real. Our very lives were at stake, every moment we remained on guard and alone.

For generations upon generations, witchcraft had been referred to as a gift, a mystical force that some bloodlines were lucky enough to wield. But now, it was seen as a curse, to be punished with a brutal and painful death simply because we were born with something that someone else did not have. The injustice was unbearable, as the gift became a burden, the once celebrated power a thing to be feared. The fear of witchcraft permeated the land, and any who bared the power must hide it for fear of being discovered and punished.

The men that hunted us were no better than ourselves, their fear of us blinding them to the reality. We meant no harm unless we were first threatened, our existence being no danger by itself. We were not naturally dangerous, unless unjust violence was thrust upon us.

And now, as she sprinted through the woods in the black of night, the unjust violence chased her. Fear gripped her heart and made her legs move even faster; the adrenaline rushed through her veins as she tried to escape the threat that hunted her down. Her body trembled, knowing that should she slow down for even a moment, her death would be swiftly and cruelly delivered. Every twig that snapped or leaf that rustled fueled the adrenaline running through her blood, every glance at the shadows or movements in the corners of her eye raised her heart rate all over again.

She had never hurt a soul, and yet here she was, being hunted for what she could potentially do. The unfair treatment made her heart weep, and her resolve wavered. The injustice of being hunted like an animal, like a dangerous beast with the potential for harm, was a crushing blow. But she persisted, through the pain and despair, to run. To run through the night with unjust violence in her wake, her life on the line.

He was faster than her though, and she could hear his footsteps gain traction as she attempted to flee. The hunter said nothing, never did. For two days, they have played a twisted game of cat and mouse, evading his deathly grip with the magic that threatened her very life. Every second spent evading the hunter, the threat of being caught grew exponentially, as the magic that has served as her shield and defense gradually chipped away at her health. The pressure was overwhelming, but she dared not stop.

She dared not harm him, to truly become what he feared her to be. To prove them all right. No, she would not harm him even when he eventually has her by the throat and she stares up into his hateful eyes, she will do no harm.

There was a series of events that had brought her to this point, the hunter trailing after her like a wildfire ripping through the forest. A glance that lingered too long in a village she was passing through, catching the attention of the masked figure who lingered in the shadows, stalking anything he considered a potential threat. Perhaps the smell of power he believed to be dangerous emanated from her person as she smiled and thanked the merchant for the bread she bought.

The man, the hunter, was surrounded by darkness, as if the very essence of the shadows were drawn to him and drowned him in a sea of inky black. She could feel him from where she stood across the bustling street, the dark alley that he stood in created an ominous presence. The very light of her power roared in agony, the burning brilliance and warmth drained away and suffocated by the all consuming darkness this man was. He was the very personification of darkness, a void that swallowed everything it touched, a living abyss of emptiness.

And yet, she felt sorrow for him. Though he was the one hunting her, she could not help but feel sympathy and pity for the man. She mourned the light that had been snuffed out from within him, extinguished by the darkness that had surrounded him like a shroud. Perhaps he had once been light as well, once held warmth and brightness, once given off the rays of hope. But that light had been taken away, replaced with shadows and nothingness.

He sat across from her that fateful night in the tavern, the corner she sought as a refuge now shared with the reaper. His face was shrouded in darkness, the hood of his cloak hung low, obscuring and hiding his identity. His lower face was covered by thick material, the features underneath hidden from view. His presence was ominous and unsettling, the air charged with tension and dread, as if he were more than just a regular hunter.

He wore black and grey, his clothes fitted like they were a second skin, every contour and line defined and displayed. Weapons littered his body, worn freely, as if he were advertising his level of threat. Though he did not need the weapons on display to make his threat known, his entire presence broadcast his danger to all who looked upon him. His whole being was one of immense threat, every part of him declared with boldness and certainty that he was a dangerous entity, a being to be feared and respected.

And yet, she was feared and hunted.

"A hunter," she declared, the weight of the words heavy upon her tongue.

Her meal, once a pleasure to consume, no longer held a taste for her. Her appetite lost as her mind raced. She set down her spoon, the presence across from her was the source of her anxiety and dread. A threat she could barely see, but felt, nonetheless.

“A witch," his voice was as dark as his presence, the words dripped with contempt and hatred in equal measure. He tilted his head, eyes hidden behind the thick material that covered his face as he studied her intently. His gloved hands rested on the table, clasped together, his stare sharp and unyielding.

“There’s no such thing,” she shook her head, the weight of his stare threatened to crush her. She kept her hands in her lap, avoiding any movement that might have painted her as a threatening or dangerous force.

Heaven forbid she appeared a threat to the darkness that he is.

He remained still, the silence hanging heavily between them, thick and dense, almost suffocating. It made her believe that he did not believe the words that spilled from her mouth. He could have said anything at that moment, but the silence spoke louder than any words. He had found his target, and nothing she said could convince him otherwise. He saw her, a witch by his definition, a creature to be exterminated and eradicated with ruthless brutality. The silence spoke for itself, speaking of an unspoken truth that filled the air with the scent of danger.

She stole a glance around the tavern, catching the gazes of the other occupants of the establishment as they exchange whispers and passing glances. Their bodies were still, and their whispers were soft, but their eyes betrayed their intentions, staring at her and the obvious witch hunter seated across. They all wondered if he would kill her right here, in front of them, in a display of his hunting prowess and skill. She knew that they awaited with bated breath, wanting to see the slaughter of another witch. Their praise of the hunter is inevitable should he deliver the show they all desire.

"You are going to kill me," she said, speaking up into the silence, addressing the masked hunter directly. Her words cut through the tense, charged air like a dagger, the truth of them sharp and piercing. He was a hunter after all, a hunter after her, and there could be no other reason behind this encounter but to see her death.

"This is the way." He stated coldly, a death sentence from his lips. The phrase was one she assumed he had uttered on countless occasions, as this was a familiar ritual for him. One of countless witches that had been captured, executed, and forgotten. For him, it was just another routine, another day on the job, another name to add to a list that would never end.

"It doesn't have to be." Her words fell upon deaf ears, dismissed and ignored by the hunter as his hand moved towards the dagger strapped to his chest. The simple gesture spoke volumes, the cold, emotionless demeanor that did not falter, the resolve that filled his visage as his hand closed around the dagger, all conveying his intentions.

“This is the way,” This was not a negotiation, nor a threat. This was a statement of fact. No witch had ever escaped this final encounter, none ever would. It was their moment of reckoning.

She had come to accept her fate, to make her peace with the inevitability of death at the hands of the hunter. She knew with certainty that her death would come with no just cause, in the name of someone else's beliefs. To die here, with an audience, was not the way she had intended. When she passed on from this world, she wanted to do so in the loving eyes of the earth, in the caring and nurturing embrace of her beautiful mother nature, to bleed and die into her, becoming one with her.

A smoke bomb was thrown, and screams of panic echoed through the tavern as chaos ensued. It was thrown not to save her life, but rather to give her just a moment more, a precious few seconds, to flee the hands of death, and the hunter who was hot on her trail. She raced towards the woods, ran with everything she had left, the hunter's footsteps grew louder and closer with each passing second.

If she managed to escape death, that was just a bonus.

But the woods were her home, a safe refuge, a sanctuary of solace and peace. It was the source of her strength, her power, her magic. The plants and earth itself were her lifeline, fueling and nourishing her gifts, a comforting and welcoming embrace. The woods were where she would run for safety, and where the hunter now sought to follow.

On the second day of relentless pursuit, her muscles grew weary and tired, her body had begun to feel the strain and fatigue of her nonstop use of magic. Her reserves were being drained for all they were worth, her strength and willpower waning as she continued to evade the hunter, who had followed her deep into the woods. It was becoming a game of who would tire from the hunt first, and it appeared as if she would be the one to succumb to exhaustion first.

She fell to her knees, digging her hands into the dirt as she struggled to muster the power within the earth, but the exhaustion was all-consuming and the reserve of her magic was running dangerously low. She felt as if her life force was being drained from her body, and she was unable to access the potent essence that normally flowed freely through the earth. The power was there, she could feel it, but she was unable to harness and channel it into herself. Her mind and body was reaching the point of utter fatigue and exhaustion.

He's behind her, the never ending darkness that he exuded and that engulfed him as he breathed, made his presence known to her in an almost otherworldly and menacing way. She could feel him creeping up on her, the shadow and the darkness grew in intensity and threatened to envelop her whole, to extinguish her light that was barely there anymore.

She knew that if she used more magic, it would surely cause irreparable damage and even kill her due to the strain it would place upon her. She had reached her limit, and to go further would push her weak and exhausted body over the brink, to be devoured by the all-consuming void that awaited.

His darkness had a thirst, and its hunger was for her life and existence. It was a race against time, against fatigue and exhaustion.

As she crawled towards the nearest tree, she slumped her back against its rough and splintering wood. She closed her eyes. She felt the world around her slip from her grasp and control, the life force steadily being drained out of her against her will. If this was how she were to die, then maybe dying here was not such a bad fate. Maybe death would be preferable to exhaustion and powerlessness, the feeling of being unable to control the world around her, having her magic drained without having the time to regain the strength she once had before.

The soft whirl of a stream nearby, the howling of a wolf, and the sound of frogs that hopped around her brought some sense of life back to her. The forest screamed of life around her, despite the exhaustion and emptiness that she felt within herself, the absence of the power and strength that she once had. Just because she cannot feel it, it does not mean that it is not there. The forest was alive, and it's calling to her, urging her to stay and to hold on.

The hunter was before her as she opened her eyes, his breathing heavy. His eyes were hidden in the shadows that enveloped his face, his features almost invisible in the darkness of night. She could not make out his features or his expression, only the faint shimmer of the moonlight reflecting on his sword as he took it from his back.

“You stopped running, witch?”

In one last final attempt to save her life, she summoned every last remaining shred of magic that she had left. She screamed out in agony, using all the energy that she could muster to conjure the vines from the ground, wrapping them around the hunter's body as he struggled against the will of nature. Her screams of pain echoed off the forest walls around her, rising above his grunts as he swung his sword in a desperate attempt to break the shackles of her enchantment.

All too soon, the vines were twisted around the hunter, her own body becoming a conduit for the potent and lethal magic that she had conjured, and the vines began breaking the hunters' bones and caused serious harm. Her cries blended in with the night, mixing together in a haunted melody, the sound of pain and anguish rose from her throat as the forest around her stilled and became silent like a tomb.

She had not meant to injure him, she just wanted him to stop.

She would have killed him that night, the magic she had summoned suffocating the air from his lungs, if she had not passed out from the sheer force of the exertion and effort that was required to conjure it in the first place. Her exhausted body was depleted of all the magic and energy that she had built up, and her weakened state led to her passing out before she was able to finish off her hunter and send him to his death.

When she woke with the rising of the sun, she felt like death itself had already seized a hold on her. Just the simple act of breathing felt like a struggle in her weakened state, and as she opened her eyes, she perceived how close she was to death. When she looked around, she saw that the hunter was still lying on the ground, the decaying vines still wrapped around him like an armored shell, his body unmoving.

Her chest constricted, and she let out a painful cough that brought up blood, leaking from her mouth. This was the price she had to pay for pushing herself beyond her limits.

The man stirred, groaning in pain, the soft murmurs of agony pulling at her heart. Knowing that she had caused this, almost having killed him in her struggle for life. It tore into her heart, an aching, bitter feeling that lingered even as the man began to come around, the thought and the knowledge that she had played a part in his suffering.

She had become what he feared her to be, only brought from the fear in her own heart.

She stood on shaky legs, wiped the blood from her mouth, the pain of exertion still present throughout her entire body. She stumbled over to the man, desperately trying to hold herself up as the exhaustion set in. She managed to make it to her knees beside him, examining the wounds that she had inflicted and observed the extent of the damage that she had caused. She saw the broken bones and the deep cuts through his clothes.

"I'm sorry..." She managed to whimper; her voice hoarse. her hands reached out for him, her fingers fumbling helplessly as she tried to stop the bleeding. Tears trickled down her face as the feeling of guilt and shame washed over her, the realization of what she had done weighed heavily upon her mind and conscience.

His hand moved like lightning as he grabbed onto her wrist, a sharp and sudden action that caught her completely off guard. His grip was tight, the muscles taut and the fingers gripping hard on her wrist. "Don't touch me." He groaned, the words filled with disdain and fury.

"I'm not trying to hurt you," she tried to explain, her voice caught in her throat as she tried to offer a rational explanation. Her gaze traveled to the void that lay behind his hood, unable to make out any features.

Her explanation was met only with silence, the echo of her own voice filled the void between her words, and the only sound around her other than the rustle of the forest leaves in the wind.

“Liar.”

He tried to move his other arm, but gasped in pain as he did so, the movement sent a jolt of pain through his body that rippled with the force of lightning. He closed his eyes tightly, the strain and the pain evident in the grimace on his face, the effort caused him to struggle to even breathe.

She shook off his grip on her wrist, his hold loosened as she reached across to his other arm. Raising the shredded sleeve of his shirt, she saw the broken bone lying beneath. The wound that she had caused. His unbroken arm reached back for her, gripping her cloak in a futile attempt to pull her away.

His sudden tug pulled her forward, pulling her close and caused her to press against the solidity of his chest. She was forced to stare at the shadow and the darkness that laid beneath the hood of his cloak, and her eyes traveled up to the edge of his hood, where the smallest hint of the hunter's face remained hidden in anonymity.

“Please, let me help you.” She pleaded.

"You will do no such thing." His voice was sharp and cold, the anger and disdain evident in each syllable. He lashed out at her, pushing her away and sent her tumbling onto the ground. She landed on her back, the force of his shove sent a jolt of pain through her body, the exhaustion further compounding with the effects of the fall. She laid there on the ground, the cold hardness of the forest floor pressing against her back as she felt the blood trickle from her nose.

He tried to move, but the sudden jolt of pain and the weakness that had come over his body forced him to fall back to the ground beside her. He groaned, a sharp gasp of air as he hit the ground, the impact sent a wave of pain up his spine. His body was still, the only movement came from his labored breaths as he tried to regain his composure and his strength.

She knelt beside him once more, her fingers wiping the blood from her face as she moved closer to him. He looked up at her through the pain that was etched across his face, his eyes burned into hers as she took his hand in hers. This time, he did not shake her touch; he allowed her to hold his hand, his fingers wrapping around hers as he let her touch him, holding on despite the pain and the anger that was still present within him.

"Just kill me." He sighed, the words spoken bitterly and quietly as he closed his eyes, his body tensing as he waited for her to deal the killing blow. However, the soft touch of her hand gently caressed his face. Her hand was warm against his skin, and her touch was tentative and tender, a stark contrast to the harshness of his words.

“I told you, I will do no such thing.” She repeated herself.

If she had the power to do so, she would heal every wound on his body and soul, to mend and to repair the damage that had been done. Even though he had tried to snuff out the light from her soul, she would ignite his, her own strength and resilience shining bright as she refused to waver in the face of his anger and his pain. The gentleness of her touch was a reminder of the empathy that still lived within her.

Despite the weakening of her own body, death's grip strong upon her as the remnants of her power slipped away, she gathered her remaining strength and dragged the hunter through the woods. Her destination was a cabin that she had taken refuge in days prior, a place where she would be able to tend to his wounds properly and give him the care and attention he needed. Her own body was struggling, the toll of her own fatigue and weakness starting to take its toll, but she pushed on, determined to reach the cabin before it was too late.

Blood flowed freely from her nose and ears, her body weak and close to collapse. In a desperate plea, she begged the very foundation of the world to give her just one final ounce of strength, to help her lift the hunter onto the bed. And with a sickening laugh, her prayer was answered. The price of said power snatched her consciousness away like a fleeting dream, and her body collapsed onto the floor beside the hunter, the last remnants of her strength used up in the act of bringing him comfort

The hunter groaned as he was placed onto the bed, the impact causing a sharp jolt of pain to run through his body. However, it was the sound of her body hitting the floor that caught his attention, the sound of her collapse echoing off the walls of the cabin. He sat up in the bed, and he peeked over the side, peering down at the girl who lay unconscious on the floor, lost to the world around them.

If his leg and arm were not broken, he would have walked right out of the cabin and left her there, abandoning her without a second thought. However, his injuries prevented him from doing so. He knew that he would not make it out the door without collapsing, the pain and the weakness too much to bear. The frustration and anger in him flared up, the helplessness and the fact that he was reliant on her for his own survival eating away at him.

The thought crossed his mind, the idea that he could end it all right then and there, taking advantage of her unconscious state and prevent her from ever waking up agin. But something about the fact that she didn't end his life in the woods and instead saved him nagged at his curiosity. Despite his anger and his pain, her act of mercy had bewildered him.

Witches were supposed to be heartless creatures.

She stirred once more, her body shifted as the moonlight streamed through the torn curtains. She managed to pull herself to her feet, the effort costing her as she trembled with weakness. The hunter watched her keenly, his jaw clenched tightly as he waited for her to notice him, to realize he was there. He braced himself for her to strike, expecting the worst.

The softly curled smile that formed on her lips as her eyes met the cloaked face of the hunter was not what he expected at all. It was an expression of peace and a calmness that went against the anger and the pain that lay within him. Her smile was gentle and sweet, and even through the shadows of his hood, he could feel the warmth that emanated from her gaze.

Her eyes shifted from his hood, moving down to his broken bones as the smile faded from her face. She sighed softly as she took a seat at the edge of the bed, positioning herself with her back facing him, her body mere inches from him and the bed, all too close to the danger that he posed. Her head fell as she looked away.

“It will take a few days until I’m strong enough to heal the wounds I caused you.”

The hunter grunted as he tried to shift himself further away from her, the effort caused him pain but he was determined not to let her touch him with her magic. He did not trust her, nor did he want to be vulnerable and weak in her presence, the remnants of anger and caution still lingering within him.

She paid no attention to the hunter's movement, as she stood up from the bed, her attention focused on the task at hand.

“I may not have magic at my disposal, but I can do what I can with simple medicine.”

Her mind was set on tending to his wounds and helping him recover, despite his protests and his unwillingness to accept her help. She moved around the cabin, gathering the necessary supplies she would need to treat his injuries.

The hunter watched her with intent, his gaze sharp and filled with suspicion. He tensed up as she sat before him once more, the labored sound of his breathing filling the air between them.

She had no intention of causing him any further pain, and yet he looked at her as if he expected her to draw nothing but screams of agony from him.

In the folktales, witches are often portrayed as beings who spread terror and destruction, burning villages to the ground with their magic. But in truth, it was often the hands of men, driven by fear and ignorance, who brought about the downfall of those villages. Their paranoia and superstition led to the persecution of those who were different, casting blame and suspicion upon anyone who did not fit into their narrow view.

In that moment, she turned to act not in violence and destruction, but in healing and care. She set his broken bones, mended his cuts, and soothed his bruises, tending to his wounds with a gentleness and a care that contradicted what he had come to expect from her. She acted not as his downfall, but as his savior.

The hunter had finally given into exhaustion, his body stilled as he drifted into a deep sleep. The pain and the fatigue that had plagued him had settled deep within his bones, and she was grateful for the silence that followed. She no longer had to fight him, to fend off his hands as he tried to push her away while she worked on him. A small part of her wondered if he would even offer her a word of thanks for her efforts.

She took advantage of the hunter's sleep to gather food and replenish her own strength. Drawing from the very earth itself, she felt her magic begin to flow back into her blood, replenishing the energy that had been drained from her. She was still too weak to wield any significant magic, but she no longer felt the icy grip of death upon her, a small but significant victory.

On the second day, the hunter woke with a sudden gasp, the sound loud and sharp in the quiet cabin. She held his arm in her hands, her eyes closed in concentration as she focused on her healing abilities. He yelled for her to release him, his voice filled with anger and pain, but her grip was unyielding, her hands like iron shackles holding him fast. Despite his protests, warm energy filtered through his blood, causing his body to jerk and writhe in agony as he felt the bones in his arm shift.

And then bliss.

He felt himself slowly sink into the bed; the once hard mattress now transformed into a cloud of blissful softness. His body grew heavy, as if he was sinking into the warm embrace of a river on a summer's day. A profound sense of contentment washed over him, a smile crept onto his face, and a strange and unfamiliar high took over his body.

The girl stumbled and fell to the floor, her fragile body succumbing to the strain and the toil of her magic. The cost of healing the hunter was too great, and the stain upon her magic was all too painful to bear.

The hunter opened his eyes and sat up on the bed as the blissful haze began to recede. His gaze fell upon the witch, her body lying motionless on the hard wooden floor. He studied her for a moment, the rise and fall of her chest the only indication that she still lived.

The thought flickered through his mind, the possibility of ending her there and then while she lay defenseless within his reach. He balled his hand into a fist, the arm that had been broken mere moments ago now completely healed, and he hesitated.

The frown that crossed his face was a reflection of the unfamiliar feeling within him. He had never hesitated before, for hesitation lead to death. But now, he was filled with doubt, a feeling foreign to him.

She had once again healed him, healing his wounds even though it drew her own death closer. She had tended to his injuries, only to cause greater harm to her own self. The act struck him as selfless and strangely altruistic, a strange and unexpected act from the very creature he had sought to kill.

When she woke once more, he asked for her name.

She managed a small smile where she lay on the floor, even as blood trickled from her mouth, staining her lips and chin. In a soft whisper, she spoke her name aloud into the darkening cabin, the sound echoing off the thick, wooden walls.

“Din,” The hunter replied.

She remained on the cold floor throughout the night, lying there unmoving and silent. He tried to convince himself that he didn't care, that her wellbeing didn't matter to him. Yet, as the morning light began to filter through the cracks in the cabin walls, he found himself looking towards her, his gaze lingering as she rose slowly to her feet.

She was so weak; he took pity on her.

She would make such an easy kill.

“So, Din,” she spoke, her voice a soft sigh that broke the silence of the cabin on the fifth day. She was seated, her legs curled up against her chest as she placed a small, worn book on the table beside her. Her gaze darted up to meet his, the light from the fire casting a warm glow across her face.

Din gave a soft hum in response, his attention still focused on stirring the contents of his bowl, the sound of the spoon clinking against the sides of the ceramic filling the air. He remained engrossed in his task, occasionally pushing the carrots around in the liquid, making no effort to look up at her as she spoke.

“Will you still kill me?”

The question hung in the air, the sound of his stirring spoon suddenly falling silent as he froze, the room seemingly holding its breath in anticipation. She waited, her heart pounding in her chest, yet she already knew his answer deep within her heart.

"This is the way," he repeated, his voice firm and steady. The words were more than just a mantra, they were the philosophy by which he lived his life. He continued stirring his soup, the movement of the spoon punctuating the finality of his statement.

There was a pause, a moment of quiet, before he spoke once more. "Will you still heal me," he asked, his voice steady, "knowing my intentions?" His eyes did not meet hers, yet he could feel the weight of her gaze upon him, her eyes piercing into the very depths of his soul.

"This is the way," she repeated his own words back to him, the words carrying the same stubborn resolve with which he had spoken them.

On the seventh day, she finally managed to coax Din from the bed to a chair on the porch. She could sense the brooding aura that clung to him like a dark cloud and felt that a change of scenery might help lighten the shadows that seemed to burden him.

The task assigned to him by the lords was a simple one, whether her body was brought in warm or cold mattered little to them, as long as her life had been extinguished. In their eyes, she was an abomination, a stain on this holy land that needed to be purged.

And the more he watched her, the less he understood why.

She sat among the flowers; a radiant figure surrounded by the very essence of life. Rabbits darted playfully beneath her feet, their tiny paws rustling through the grass. Birds perched on her shoulders, singing her name like a melodious chorus. As she moved, flora sprung from the earth in her wake, a beautiful trail of color and growth behind her.

It made no sense to him how he was tasked to end the life of someone who so effortlessly brought life into the world. Everywhere he looked, he saw the evidence of her power, in the flowers that bloomed, the creatures that surrounded her, and the beauty that spread like a canvas at her feet. How could he snuff the life from someone who had the power to create it?

And yet, he knew he had to follow the path laid out for him, for this was the way of his people. His creed was his identity, his purpose. If he did not abide by their teachings, then what would remain of him?

For whom would Din be without his creed?

That evening, her fingers danced through the air with grace and elegance, weaving intricate shapes and figures out of the wild vines that grew outside by the window. With a smile, she conjured a doll-like figurine of him, the resemblance striking even though she had never seen his face behind his cloak. And to his own surprise, he laughed.

The truth was, she had regained the strength to heal his injury days ago, yet, she had found herself reluctant to do so. She hadn't even realized how she had grown to enjoy his company, how he had filled the loneliness that had settled in her soul after all those years on the run from people like him. The time they had spent in the cabin, the moments they shared, had become something she had begun to cling to.

She knew this would not last, for he would kill her.

But, oh, how she was tired of running.

In the quiet, still darkness, she stood over him, her form bathed in shadows as she loomed over his sleeping figure. He lay vulnerable, defenseless against her presence, yet her actions were not sinister. She knelt beside the bed, her hands hovering over his wounded and broken leg. Then, she closed her eyes, her hands lowering gently onto his flesh, her touch soft and gentle.

He awakened with a strangled cry; his body drenched in torment as he bolted upright in the bed. The pain was all consuming, coursing through his core like a wildfire. His arms flailed, his hands seeking to grab the source of his suffering — her hands, which were still firmly pressed against his leg.

He gasped for breath, his vision hazy and unfocused as the pain overwhelmed his senses. He looked at her then, and saw the vitality slowly draining away from her as her own life force was transferred into him. He tried desperately to push her off, to break free from her grasp, but her hold was ironclad, her determination to heal him unyielding.

The pain, that all-consuming torment, finally yielded, giving way to a wave of bliss that washed over him. It was then, and only then, that her hands left his body, their touch gone as her body collapsed onto the floor beside the bed, the effort having robbed her of her strength once again.

She had braced herself for the inevitable, fully accepting that the moment Din stood on his own two feet, he would fulfill his objective and snuff the life from her. She lay there, weak and spent, knowing that she would not rise again, knowing that she had saved him at the cost of her own existence. And in her last moment of conscious thought, she found peace.

He rose from the bed, his leg no longer crippled and broken as he placed weight on it. There was no hint of discomfort or pain, as if the injury had never existed. He moved towards his belongings by the door and at the last moment, he paused, casting a brief glance in her direction, lying motionless on the floor. He grabbed the sword that leaned against the wall, the weight of the weapon familiar in his palm.

He moved closer, towering above her prone form on the floor. He hovered over her, his gaze fixed on her face. He raised his sword, the edge catching the light from the fire, the steel gleaming. He froze, his hand trembled slightly, the sword hovering above her vulnerable body, the silence stretching between them.

With a grunt, he raised the sword high above his head, muscles coiled tight. In one swift movement, he brought the blade down, the steel cutting through the air with a whistling sound. The sword met its target, driving deep into the wood of the floor, mere inches away from her head.

He let out a yell into the silence of the night, the sound a raw and primal thing, as he crumpled to his knees before the witch. The weight of his emotions was overpowering, the feeling of his heart being torn from his chest overwhelming him. He felt as if he was being unmade, as if everything that he was, everything that he believed, was being ripped away from him.

He was filled with a mixture of anger and frustration, his heart torn in two as the conflict raged within him. He loathed her for what she had done, for saving him, for making him question everything he knew.

Yet, despite his anger, he gently scooped her frail body off the floor and placed her within the bed she had healed him in, his hands tender and careful, everything he was not.

As she slowly stirred back to consciousness, the first thing she saw was him, sitting at her bedside. He was holding the book she had been reading, the one that had held her attention for days, his eyes focused on the words on the pages. She blinked a few times, her eyesight still adjusting as she watched him for a moment, confused and disoriented.

“You did not kill me?” she muttered.

The silence in the room hung heavy, broken only by the soft flutter of the pages as he continued to read. He did not look at her, his gaze fixed on the book in his hands, until her eyes started to flutter shut once more. Then, he spoke, his voice a soft rumble in the stillness of the room. "You are hard to kill, I'm afraid," his words spoken as a mere observation, his attention never left the pages in front of him.

As the days passed, he would carefully lift her from the bed and carry her outside, laying her gently in the soft grass. He would sit beside her, watching quietly as the earth healed her in ways he never could.

It was beautiful.

At first, the animals were hesitant to approach, wary of the man in their midst. But as the days went by, they began to join him in his vigil, taking their place beside him, silently keeping watch over their witch.

As he sat there, watching her sleep, a new creed formed in his heart. He vowed to himself that he would not allow any harm to befall her, for he would be there to protect her, to shield her from the harshness of the world. He would be her guardian, her defender, her champion, for as long as the world turned, and the stars continued to shine upon her.

For the first time in years, he felt the warm caress of sunlight on his face as he lowered the hood of his cloak. He sat there beside her, soaking up the rays of the sun as if it was the most natural thing in the universe. It was as if he was awakening from a long, dark sleep, the light chasing away the shadows that had clung to his soul for so long.

Din Djarin was a Witch Hunter no more, for how could he hurt something as beautiful and pure as her?

Notes

MY FIRST DIN FIC!!???? I have been so nervous to write anything to do with my beloved din because I just want to do him justice and star wars is so scary to write so, au it is. When I say this has been in my WIP for three months now – I mean it. You can all thank the writing class I’m taking because it brought this back to life. Also I have been deathly ill with influenza A and my mum has been in the hospital with viral pneumonia, I have not had time to write until today, the first day in nine days that I have been able to get out of bed.

#din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian #mando x you #mando x reader

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featguler · 22 days

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Kylian!bf headcanon?

our hearts are free ────── i'm a flower, you're my bee.

♡ ────── pairing : kylian mbappé x reader ♡ ────── tags : reader's gender, ethnicity, nationality, and appearance is not specified. ♡ ────── wordcount : 513 ♡ ────── notes : i have another ky headcanon post that you can read right here!!. this is pretty short :( sorry. title and desc is from father john misty's real love baby ♡ masterlist.

This man is expensive—literally, and well, figuratively. He lives beyond comfortable, and has everything on the tips of his fingertips, including: you!

He does not like seeing you work! He will be the first to admit it! Call it his ego or whatever, but he feels as though you don’t gotta do it, you know? He doesn’t mind seeing you work, but Kylian has got probably enough money to propel you into early retirement—and he would do so happily.

Sometimes he sees you working after a long day, eyes heavy and shoulders slump, and his gentle voice, coaxing you to strip bare of your profession, would always begin.

He genuinely stresses seeing you so stressed out! You’re his baby, and he has to take care of you! But he won’t really force it upon you—while he doesn’t see the rationale behind you having to work when you have him, he understands the mindset of having to stand alone.

And he understands you. (As long as you understand that he is there for you too ♡ )

Kylian wants to get married. There are footballers who prefer not marrying— hell, there are people who prefer not marrying. But him? Nah.

He simply does not believe in not locking it down; he lets you know early into the relationship about his end goal. The matter of kids or no-kids is something that can be discussed and negotiated, but he wants to be your husband.

Boyfriend is cute the first two years, and fiance even better for the next. But he wants to call you his, in every sense possible—literally, lovingly, and legally.

And another reason why he wants that ring on your finger… he’s possessive.

He’s territorial, he’s possessive, he gets jealous easily—what the fuck! Name it whatever the fuck you want! Kylian does not like seeing you with other people—with other men.

But he keeps his cool whenever jealousy begins to run through his veins. He doesn't make a scene, he does not flip a table outside down. What he does is pout. He trusts you enough to not actually get upset, but he still lets himself the luxury of being immature by wallowing in his self-made misery.

“I’ll marry you.”

There you two are again, on the bed. He’s propped on top of you, arms clinging around your waist. You are scrolling on your phone, barely paying him any attention as your hand pats the back of his head up and down.

Kylian presses his nose to your neck.

“That sounds like a threat, Kylian.”

He scoffs hearing that. “It will be if he keeps touching you.”

You can’t even find it in yourself to be upset at how silly he is being, chuckling softly.

“He wasn’t touching me, baby.”

“He was,” he whines quietly, still hiding away in the crook of your neck. “Once I get that ring on your fingers, he’ll know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you kiss the top of his head, before focusing back on your phone. “Make sure to get my size right, huh? We don’t want the ring not fitting.”

#໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა : 𝑬𝑼𝑷𝑯𝑶𝑹𝑰𝑨 𝑺𝑶𝑳𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑨 #kylian mbappe #mbappe #mbappe x reader #kylian mbappe x reader #real madrid #real madrid x reader #real madrid fic #football fic #football x reader #kylian mbappé #headcanons

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avocado-writing · 1 month

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8 anon here! Could I request a short fic where poly Logan and Wade angered gn s/o because they had to fight a supervillain alone as both of them argued with each other so their punishment for both men is to spank them please? They made sure to asked for consent & took good care of them later though!

18+. minors dni.

Wade is naked and laid out across your lap, and Logan’s cock is twitching in interest.

A couple of months ago he’d have written anything like this off as the fantasy of a dirty old man. Never thought he’d be in a relationship again, let alone one with two other partners, especially with one of those partners being Wade fucking Wilson.

Fate is strange.

“Will you hurry up?” Wade sighs as your hand traces the peach of his ass. You cock an eyebrow.

“You’re meant to be getting punished.”

“It’s not a punishment when it feels so good, baby, you know that. I can get off from anything.”

“Hmm. Maybe I should take off my underwear, shove ‘em in your mouth. Make you shut up for a little bit.”

As demonstration you dip your fingers between his lips, pressing his tongue down flat. Wade moans around them and starts to suck.

You smile at Logan from across his body. Logan huffs as if he’s irritated, and not incredibly turned on.

Another fight, another instance of getting down and dirty with some fucker who wanted to hurt people. Luckily the three of you are far better at that particular task… usually. Wade had said something stupid which had set off his short fuse and rather than working together to stop the real threat, they’d got distracted with trying to fucking kill each other.

Leaving you to have to work it alone.

You’d done it, because you’re fantastic, but your face was full of thunder when the three of you had got back to the apartment. Logan pulled a katana out of his kidney. Wade was regrowing the fingers that claws had sliced off. You’d pulled a packet of peas out of the freezer and held them to a bruised eye.

“I’m not fucking happy, boys.”

“Pookie, we’re—” Wade begins, but a raised hand silences him.

“I think you’d better go to the bedroom.”

There was a steeliness in your voice Logan hadn’t heard before, but from the way Wade whipped off his mask, he definitely had.

“Oh shit? Now?”

You’d cocked your head towards the bedroom and he’d been off like a shot, leaving his suit strewn across the apartment floor. You’d turned to Logan.

“C’mon. You’re in trouble, too.”

He’d been interested enough to follow.

Your hand traces over the Wade’s ass as Logan watches from the chair in the corner of the bedroom - “sit in the cuck chair, old man, and enjoy the show!” “Wade, don’t call it the ‘cuck chair’, my grandpa bought us that.” “Your grandpa is a freak babe, dunno what to tell you.” - before striking down so hard that the slap echoes. Wade moans around the fingers still stuffed in his mouth. You do it again with more power, and Logan watches the way he humps into your leg in response. You smile. You’re striking with such force that it would probably be way too much for a normal man… but Wade isn’t normal. He likes the pain and he can take it.

And take it he does.

Your hand comes down over and over again, making the man in your lap devolve into more and more of a mess. Garbled groans turn into little mewls of pleasure that you tear from his throat, his cock making a mess onto the bedding beneath you, and Logan stares transfixed. He’s hard in his jeans. He can’t tear his eyes away. He feels like he’s watching something he shouldn’t be even when it’s blatantly on display, and it’s never made him feel so hungry in his life. When you watch him reach to adjust his aching cock, you point an accusatory finger his way.

“Hands where I can see ‘em, Howlett. This is a punishment.”

He obeys. He doesn’t have to, but there’s something in your voice which doesn’t bear arguing with. Arousal runs through his blood hot and heavy. You turn your attention back to Wade who is desperate for it, and after a couple more strikes he cums all over your leg. You’ve not even touched his cock.

“Good boy,” you whisper, moving him so you’re able to kiss him soft and slow, hand which was so vicious now gently stroking the area you’ve left bright red.

“Holy… holy shit…” Wade breathes, blissed out and miles away.

“I’ll grab you some water, honey. You did so well, huh? You can be so well-behaved when you want to be, hmm?”

You fix Logan with a smile.

“Then afterwards, it’s your turn.”

Logan’s cock throbs at the promise.

taglist: @falsewordz @malfoys-demigod @belilwen @mildly-salted @tvwebs @childeslegstrap @getmeoutofhell @s1eep-o @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @yrthr @momopad @sugarplumz100 @captainjinkx @madspads @acrosstheunivcrse @yeethaw1 @na-is-salty @florduarte @hunterispunk

#my writing #james logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x reader #logan x reader #wolverine x reader #x men x reader #logan howlett imagine #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #mcu imagine #wolverine fanfiction #mcu fandom #Deadpool x reader #wade wilson x reader

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cannellee · 9 months

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pls i need alpha! Mikey rut hcs (´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀)

ignore this if you’re busy though ヽ(´ー｀)

TOKYO REVENGERS OMEGAVERSE ☆

alpha! mikey x omega! reader

— mikey during his ruts

my masterlist : ☆

I don't remember when I received this ask but I know it's been a while and once again I'm sorry for the long long wait!!

ALPHA! MIKEY

mikey is completely in phase with his alpha nature and feels his instincts so strongly.

he is an alpha through and through and nothing about him leaves place for doubt.

as a consequence, he lives his ruts intensely as well. it's like all his alpha traits are heightened for a week.

before his ruts hit, his protective instincts are entirely focused on his omega's well being and her safety.

while he doesn't really like it, he might allow you to go outside without him, but during this period, you know it's better to prepare for the week ahead of you.

you build your nest, assisted by mikey who honestly doesn't really add much to its realisation. he interrupts you every now and then to take a deep breath of your scent. he's always been obsessed with it but it gets worse during his ruts.

afterwards, he scents everything he possibly can and doesn't leave much the house anymore. you do the same thing, since leaving his side isn't really an option.

once his ruts hit for real, you're not going anywhere trust me. he's way too focused on you to let you go : his head is clouded with his desire for bonding and his omega.

I see him mindlessly hugging you tightly while inhaling your even more sugary pheromones. your scent tends to get way sweeter when he's in ruts, probably to answer to his own needs.

his scent also changes, it becomes more potent and to you, it creates an enticing and comforting smell that naturally calms you down. it serves as a subconscious signal of mikey's presence and protection.

however to others, it doesn't appear as soothing. the increase of his pheromones envelopes all of the place where you decided to spend his ruts at (usually at his). moreover, the powerfull scent is noticeable even from outside and is able to drive away potential threats that could set mikey on edge.

he's extremely more sensitive to other people approaching his omega and is likely to adopt a much more aggressive behaviour.

his natural possessiveness intensifies, he become more physically affectionate and tends to have tender but assertive touches, expressing his desire to mark and protect his omega during this vulnerable period.

during his ruts, mikey doesn't get as carried away with his omega as one would think.

his instincts lead the way obviously, which is why his libido is that high. he won't stop until he feels satisfied or that you seem too tired to keep up with him.

his desire for physical intimacy only strengthens the bond you already have. he understands he needs to be considerate and gentle with you, he isn't rough, just intense.

he will mark you though, and a lot. his possessive instincts are extremely high and he has this need to ensure his claim on his omega.

whenever you spend his ruts with him, it always feels like it's the first time he's touching you. he's feeling you, devouring you like a starved man and it makes you feel so loved and appreciated.

he's really attentive and listens to anything you have to say, he's lucid enough to not neglect you. his ruts are not about his pleasure only.

he's very passionate : like on impulse, he's driven by a desire to make his omega cum as much as possible and satiate his own breeding instincts at the same time. he won't let you go until he knows you're full of him.

his post-ruts offer a calm environment for his omega, it's like a reward after the intense days you spent.

expect a lot of affectionate cuddles, a clingy mikey and sloppy kisses and apologies to the freshly made marks and few bites he's covered you with.

he'll get you food and bath you, but you're still not leaving the nest!

he's still feeling a lot possessive and you'll have to stay a day or two together before he gets back to normal. for now, he's still defensive and wary.

you actually like the duality between his protective and gentle personality, his desire to care and provide for you during his ruts, never letting you lift a finger because his instincts command him to ensure his omega's comfort and happiness. and the undeniable contrast with his terrible hostility towards anyone foreign, or not.

he loves you so much and you can feel it so much during his ruts, when all of his focus is on you.

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all-things-fic · 9 months

Text

Sugar // HS

AN: This is old, but given how ol’ Harry has popped up outta nowhere, I couldn’t resist. Really sorry if the read more doesn’t work properly, I’m on mobile.

Sending love x

***

Anguilla was a special place for you both.

It had its way of drawing you back to it time and time again. Whenever you wanted that little bit of winter sun, to ease the blues that may have been drawn from you with the grey skies of England.

Anguilla had been the first real place that you and Harry had chosen to holiday. It felt like your first real couple holiday. Where you shed all worry and apprehension about being seen with him in a setting that was absolutely nothing but romantic.

Anguilla had been the place where you’d had one of your nastiest fights too. The kind that had you sat in the backseat of a taxi ride home, close together in presence but the furthest apart in mind. The threat of packing your luggage and getting the next flight home fizzling through the silent energy.

And it was because of that - the highs and lows - it was only right to also christen this place with the crown of being your first born’s babymoon.

Thinking back on fond memories as you lay along the four poster daybed, was how you’d come to find yourself most days on this holiday. Looking out on your private beach and watching your husband of just shy of two years fight his way around a paddleboard or a surfboard, whichever has taken his fancy that morning.

The Caribbean seas were known to be calm, but not this part of the island. Harry knew about that one better than you, and seeing him so active sometimes made you feel like you were being far too lazy, using the pregnancy as an excuse.

Truth was, you had been struggling. Heartburn was crazy and you’d started to swell in your hands and ankles from water retention. While Harry swore to you it was just the heat. You hadn’t forgotten how he’d said that it was probably just the flight that had caused it.

You loved that about him though. That he tried to always make you feel better. Regardless of how neglectful you felt toward him, he wouldn’t hear you utter such words. You were carrying his baby, you were nothing but beautiful to him. You knew he thought that from the way he marvelled in you every single day. Both with and without the spoken word.

It was like he was mesmerised. You were a bit of a forbidden fruit to him, especially when it came to intimacy. Being touched in your current shape made you cringe. You’d spent a lot of the past week covered up, under the four poster daybed you currently found yourself upon and felt like some lewd voyeur as you stared out into the ocean, under the guise of reading, and watched your husband leave the ocean.

Harry was every inch golden, regardless of the length of time he spent covered up by a wetsuit. His face, which had been slightly sunburnt, now turning that mixture of bronze and dirty tan where his melanocytes cells had increased unevenly in the sun, resulting in darker and lighter patches of skin.

He was every inch handsome and strong and he was aging far better than you (much to your delight and your resentment). He still smiled like he was the same twenty-six year old you had first set your eyes on, in that dingy London bar while on a night out with friends that you were so adamant you didn’t want to attend.

But boy, you were glad you had.

Both back then and so vehemently still to this day.

You looked on, watching as he stood his surfboard in the sand. Abruptly pushing it down and working on untying the board from around his ankle. A force that you knew would be heavy. Had he always been this manly or were you just having a moment?

He was drenched. Wet through. You could tell regardless of how far away he was and you found yourself wondering how salty his skin would taste against your lips. Left leg wrapping tightly over your right at the ankle to quell the feeling of emptiness between your thighs.

Eyes squinting slightly behind your sunglasses, you fought the urge you so badly felt behind your twitching hands, to lift them from your eyes and push them back into your hair. For some strange reason you didn’t want him to know you were affected by him like this.

Harry knew however. Of course he knew. He was in the same position. It was why he was taking his time. Jutting his chin up towards the cloudless blue skies and pulling slowly at the zip of his wetsuit, feeling the too tight fabric become less taut against his damp skin.

Pruney fingers pulled at the Neoprene material, hands peeling it away and ears enjoying the sound it made while doing so. You noticed he’d dropped his head with a smile now, wet tendrils falling down and obscuring your view of the way his face dipped and concaved so majestically when he was pleased with himself.

That annoyed you. You wanted to see that face.

Sinking lower into the bed, you pulled your book higher to hide your pout and felt dirtier now that nothing but your eyes were visible over the top of the book.

He seemed totally unphased but you were sure he knew you were watching him as he finished removing the top half from his body and revealing himself to you. Golden and smattered with more ink than ever. Ink now upon his skin just for you, mixed nicely in between the memories and the mistakes from before.

Seeing his feet digging into the sand, you felt a jolt of excitement course through you. Hand lifting to rest gently against your stomach, you attributed the flutter to your child. “Is that Daddy making his way back to us?”

Harry’s feet burned under the white sand as he found himself walking from the water's edge and closer to the daybed. He squinted, bringing his hand up to his forehead to try and get a better look at you as he approached.

You took great delight in the way his ring caught the sun from his action. Lips pulling into a triumphant grin at the thought and knowledge of how he was yours.

Smug didn’t even begin to cover it.

As he got closer, his eyes surveyed the scene that was in front of him. His wife laid out, relaxed, on a four poster bed. Chilled drinks and fruits off to the side ready for both of you to leisurely enjoy.

You hiding behind the book humoured him to no end. He loved it when you thought you were being clever. Just not clever enough, eh? He’d probably say it to you as well before the day was out.

His presence at the bottom of the bed was felt long before he physically arrived. You refused to look up at him, however he noticed the rounded apples of your cheeks as the pages of your book hid your smiling mouth from him.

Hands tying the loose sleeves of his wetsuit around his waist, your peripheral vision allowed you to take in the way his hands moved efficiently to tie a secure knot into the sleeves.

“Took your time,” you started. “Thought I was gonna have to start playing the Baywatch theme tune just to get you to move a little bit quicker.”

His lips quirked at that, him taking a deep breath through his nose as he felt the corners of his eyes wrinkle with joy. Laughter lines they called them, right? He knew they had only deepened from all the years he had spent laughing with you so far.

“Books tha’ interesting ‘s it,” he sarcastically acknowledged, enjoying the confirmation that you weren’t reading at all. “What chapter you on now?”

Your non-verbal response was to turn the book around for him to catch a glimpse of the pages. He cackled when the text came into focus. You hadn't moved from the page you’d opened up to that morning as he slipped off the bed, and let the ocean before his lover for a few hours.

“Stellar effort, darling. I admire your sell,” he clenched his fist and shook it once to emphasise his words. Your sell being the way you’d made it look as if you had moved further along with your novel of choice for holiday reading. “Gonna take you in the boardroom wi’me next time wi’a poker face like tha’.”

“Take me in the boardroom,” you repeated his words back to him, much slower than his delivery.

From your tone, he tilted his head up, using both of his hands to brush back his wet hair from falling around his face. He blew out a puff of air, his lips looking so much bigger and more inviting when his mouth made that shape.

“Jesus woman, give a man chance to breathe.”

His deep tone forced you to push your face into the book, trying to fight the urge to squeal like a silly little school girl. The chuckle that filled your ears was bliss. It was one of his dirty sniggers, the kind that he would do by keeping his mouth closed so that the sound left more of his nose in a breathy sound but the vibration of his throat was prominent.

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond, instead letting your hands fall away from the book as it remained in place from your horizontal state.

The dip to the bed was the next thing you felt, Harry placing his knees close to bottom left of the bed and pausing. It was calming silent apart from the sound of the crashing waves, and you found yourself peeking out from underneath the pages.

The sight you saw was far too soft, if a little bit intriguing. Harry was frowning lightly as he untied the knots of the tassels that held the netted white curtains framing the wooden posts of the bed.

“Unless,” he started, his voice concentrated. “You’re letting me taste you, then I’m gladly suffocating.”

Peeking out of the side of the book, you noticed how he hadn’t taken his eyes away from the way his nimble fingers were unloosening the fabric. You saw the way his facial expression changed when he triumphantly and gently tugged on the curtain to pull it across one side of the daybed.

“Don’t come near me, you’re wet-”

“‘S usually nice that way. The wetter the better, so to say.”

Usually you would’ve whacked him with the book by now, or threw a pillow at his head but all you found yourself doing was laying there and listening. Feeling a heat fill your face as your imagination was moving two steps ahead of Harry’s each time. Or so you thought, anyway.

Walking on his knees along the mattress, Harry made his way across the bed to the opposite set of net curtains.

“Why’re you shutting the curtains, I don’t want no funny business-“

Harry paused his movement, looking up at you under his drying hair thanks to the thick heat enveloping you both.

“Sure about that, darling,” he asked, fingers still against the knot. When you didn’t respond he continued to untie and pull the curtain across the opposite side of the best. “Thought so,” he mumbled.

Staying silent sometimes worked to your advantage, part of you slightly intrigued as to how he was going to play it. The book that covered your face, was gently lifted away by Harry. A soft whine leaving your lips.

“You’re gonna make me lose my place,” you made your high-pitched complaint known, only to be greeted by an amused chuckle.

“‘S the book more interesting than me is it,” he said slowly closing the item and pushing it away. “Nah. Now the fruit I can understand,” he started, feeling the way you looked up at him as he peered at the tray of healthy goodness and rubbed his hands together. “What have we got ‘ere? Cherries, strawberries, watermelon- your favourite.”

Before you could stop yourself, you reached for his hand that hung above you.

He was your favourite.

Your soft tug to his fingers had him dropping his gaze, his fingers curling around yours. His hands had changed to you lately, looking thicker and veiner. You could never bring yourself to say it out loud though, not to him directly anyway. You were sure he’d just laugh, if he didn’t already know that is.

You were positive he probably did. The amount of times you’d taken to playing with his fingers, or gently running the tips of your fingers across the dips of his knuckles and the veins on the backs of his hands. Those hands helped to make your baby, they’d help to take care of said baby in a number of months time too.

“Want summat?” He asked, eyes peering down at you behind his slowly drying tendrils. “Wha’ can I do fo’yer?”

Looking down at you, he took in the way you eyes blinked up at him.

“‘M already on m’knees for yer, wha’ more could you want? Want me closer?” He smirked, lowering himself down to lie on his side next to you thanks to your wordless nod. Head resting on his hand as he leant on his elbow, he reached up to scoop your hair out of your face and lift your lips to his. Voice lowering as his lips puckered against yours, he added, “Could do one better I s’pose? Put m’head between your legs.”

Shaky breath left your lips as he hummed. “Gonna let me do that fo’you.”

“‘S been ages since you last did,” he continued, hands smoothing down your back in circle motions, pulling you closer to his body so that you were almost flush against him.

“It’s not pretty down there,” you grimaced thinking of how your last shaving job had been harder to achieve thanks to your growing bump.

“‘S that not up to me to decide,” he asked, deeply. “Left a bit f’me to play with, yeah? ‘Ope so.”

“God Harry, stop being such a little boy,” you tried to hide your embarrassment, skin flamed for how open he was regardless of his boyish tendencies.

His snigger into the skin of your shoulder warmed you further, “‘m definitely not a little boy when I’m wanking m’self off, all over your hair.”

His comment lingered in the sexually charged air. Lips sucking gently and soft breathing barely heard over the crashing waves. Being close to him was what you craved. The sound of him coaxing you to be a little daring.

“Messy like one.”

“Messy like one,” he repeated, face amused as he looked down at you. “‘S better messy. When you can hear it, eh. All down my chin and rubbed into your thighs. Means we’ve enjoyed ourselves, don’t it.”

You found yourself opening your legs slightly at the sound of his voice and Harry took the opportunity to press his damp, wetsuit covered, thigh into the gap.

“Can feel ‘ow warm yer are for me-“ he groaned. “Let me in. Gi‘me a kiss.”

The deep inhale through his nose as he took your lips with his caused you to clench at his defined chest. He pulled off, a slight frown to his brow, “Christ nearly took a chunk of me wi’ya then.”

“Not close enough-“

“Let me in then, let me have a feast,” he hummed. “‘On your back f’me.”

Rolling to your back was easy when you had a man that weighed almost thirteen stone to guide you. Was easier when he caressed you with kisses that made you melt into him.

“You look bloody wonderful, d’ya know tha’,” he mumbled against your lips. His hand wandered as he spoke, fingers stilling at your rounded hips and dipping into your skin.

“You’re just trying to butter me up so you can get your end away,” you spoke in monotone, with your eyes closed.

“‘S it working?”

You giggled at his muffled question, his head pressed into the fabric of your beach coverup as your stomach shook lightly from your delight and laughter.

“Shift this out the way,” he gruffly spoke, pushing at the sheer item that covered your stomach. “Wan’ your belly.”

Your belly has become his kryptonite. The way it had grown and began to round out nicely. Popping into the bump that you had found yourself longing for the minute you found out that you were pregnant.

But it was also the part that you were self-conscious of. The dusting of stretch marks starting to appear, even if only light and small, among the ones that you’d experienced from when you were filling out as a teenager.

For Harry though, this was life. You were growing his son or daughter - the gender you didn’t know and weren’t going to find out either. Much to your dismay and his delight.

“One of the only surprises left in life,” he said, over a conversation around messy kisses and even messier tears from your panic of how your usual planning self wasn’t going to get a look in. “We’ve got this covered, Mommy. We don’t need to know. We’re sorted. Let us have that moment, that excitement for the entire nine months. The guessing and the little arguments over your cravings meaning that we’re definitely having a boy, or the way your shape is changing meaning we’re definitely having a girl.”

And that was a moment that you thought back on fondly now, cause he’d been right on his thinking. Those moments had been some of your best and most intimate conversations when he liked to purposely go against your guess and say the complete opposite. He loved seeing the fire in your eyes flare up as you both got friendly and competitive with each other. It was healthy to be this way and ultimately exciting and fun for you both.

You were in your thoughts so much that you almost jumped when you felt Harry’s hand get close to your belly button.

“Sensitive,” you softly whined, hearing his hushed apology against your lower body.

“‘M sorry, forgot,” he softly apologised, nose nudging gently at the underside of your bump. You felt him going lower with no desire to stop him, you intimate area letting you know that you wanted this far more than you were willing to admit.

“Had some watermelon for brunch? He mumbled into the sensitive skin of your thigh. “Saved me some?”

You whimpered in response, feeling the way the backs of his fingers rubbed gently up your clothed intimate area. His eyes were mesmerised by the turquoise blue of your bikini bottoms in contrast to your hair and softly tanned skin.

“Colour really pops, doll,” he mumbled more so to himself, watching the way your hands covered your face, elbows pointing to the sky at his words. “Love it when you show me how pink you are. Show me.”

“Stop,” you choked, lifting for him as you felt his face drop into your lower stomach and nosy along the hem of your bikini bottoms. His teeth drew up the material, pulling it away from your skin with a soft tension.

You wanted anything but him to stop.

“Can smell you from ‘ere, gagging for me,” his voice regardless of how it was muffled around fabric was the clearest thing in your mind. “Gonna give me some sugar.”

“You know I will,” you softly mewled, hands finding his at the waistband of your bikini bottoms.

“Do I?” He felt his lips tilt upward, eyes flicking upwards to see the charged expression on your face. “Help me get ‘em off you then.”

It didn’t take much from him before you started pushing the fabric down as he pulled. Hips rose of their own accord off the bed beneath you, as you let him shift and guide the bottoms down your legs, before placing them neatly to the other side of the bed.

He was close to you within a flash, his head back against your thigh this time and enjoying the way your plush skin felt pressed to his face.

“Put me where you want me,” he mumbled, hand blindly reaching for yours and placing it into his chestnut strands of hair that were beginning to form a waxy film from the sea salt.

You were shocked at how you didn’t hesitate in guiding him to your center. His groan of satisfaction caused you to scratch at his scalp as he turned his head slightly to the side against the crevice of your inner thigh, “My girl knows what she wants and what kind of man would I be ‘f I didn’t give it to her.”

Any kind of response you had fell flat into a hum, as you rolled your lips into your mouth and tried to keep as quiet as possible given the fact that you were in public.

You knew it wouldn’t last long, but you’d give it a good go.

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic

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cherrrydragon · 3 months

Text

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER SIX: MAKE OUT FAKE OUT

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SUMMARY ↳ An unlikely ally appears! “I know you’re Spinnerette.” . . . What. The. Fuck. pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: (the non-existent) threat of blackmail wc: 4.4k

Victoria’s been acting weird. You suppose it’s normal given the events from last week. Since then, multiple articles have come forth speaking of Robin and Spinnerette saving the day. The people of Gotham seem to be taking to their new arachnid friend well.

But back to Victoria—she struggles to maintain eye contact with you for more than a few seconds. It doesn’t stop her from being a stern teacher though, so you guess nothing other than that has changed. Whatever, you have better things to worry about.

Progress has been… progressing with the badassium. You’ve begun assembling the makeshift particle accelerator, but Karen estimates that you’ve only built three percent. And it took you that long. Have mercy.

You’re currently in the Den, looking over your creation.. The walls are lined with various tools and blueprints, and the centerpiece is the skeleton of the particle accelerator. You sigh, wiping sweat off your brow. This is going to take longer than you thought.

Karen’s voice chirps in your ear. “Perhaps taking a break would help clear your mind, [Name].”

You glance at the clock. It’s already past midnight. Maybe she’s right. “Yeah, I guess so.. Let’s call it a night.”

Robin meets you on the rooftop you’ve perched yourself on. He crouches next you, watching the streets below. Robin’s eyes follow the movement below with a practiced vigilance, his dark cape fluttering slightly in the breeze. The city's nightscape is a blend of lights and shadows, with the occasional sound of sirens breaking the relative silence. He glances at you, his expression giving nothing away.

“Long day?” you ask, breaking the silence.

“You ask, why?”

You groan, stretching out your stiff muscles. Robin tracks the movement. “Surely you wouldn’t come hang out with me just because you felt like it. I doubt one night of ass-kickin’ makes us friends.”

“This is not ‘hanging out’,” he grumbles, making you nod your hand in a ‘you’re proving my point’ fashion. “I am simply taking a short recess, you happen to be in my resting spot.”

“Yeah, uhuh.” You don’t believe him for a second, but you can’t bring yourself to really care.

“Batman wants you on the team.”

You damn near fall off the rooftop. “What.”

“Perhaps you are older than I thought, if your hearing isn’t on par,” he smirks.

“First of all, my hearing is way better than yours, fuck you,” you quip, quickly righting yourself. “Second of all…” you hesitate, “can we take a raincheck on that?”

Robin looks at you. “I… am busy right now. And do not have time for a team… yeah. Also, I just prefer to be alone.” The words come out choppy, as if you’re coming up with them on the fly (you are). That last part is a straight lie, you love your Avengers.

You know Robin obviously is skeptical, but he says nothing. “Why does Batman want me, anyway?”

Robin shifts slightly, his expression unreadable behind the mask. “You share the same goals we do. It only makes sense to join forces.”

Robin's words hang in the air, punctuated by the distant sounds of the city below. You shift uncomfortably, trying to process the unexpected offer. Joining Batman's team? The idea both excites and intimidates you. You've always admired the vigilantes of Gotham from afar, but becoming a part of that world was another matter entirely.

You don’t belong here. It was different when you were asked to officially join the Avengers, but fictional comic characters turned real? Your mind wants to melt. You don’t want to drag them into your mess.

“I really do appreciate the offer, but…” you sigh, and lean back. “...not right now.” And probably never. You clear your throat and stand up, Robin following. “Well, it’s been awkward. See you!” you rush out, quickly swinging away. Robin eyes you until you swing out of sight, thinking.

“They denied.”

Bruce sips his tea, humming. “Did they say why?”

Damian comes to sit next to his father. “Their reasoning was that they were ‘too busy for a team’ and preferred to be alone. It was very obvious they were hiding something, father.”

Bruce sighs, putting down his cup. “We’ll keep trying to convince them, slowly,” Bruce adds as he sees Damian moving to get up. “Stay cautious, but also stay amiable, Damian.”

Damian scoffs. “I am amiable.”

Bruce chuckles as Damian leaves.

Ms. Varley announces a project at the end of class the next morning.. The class groans loudly, of course. “It should be fun for you young folks,” she emphasizes, like it disgusts her. “It is a partner project,” the class lights up for a second, “with your tablemate.” You swear you see a glint of satisfaction in her eye as the class slumps. You and Damian look at eachother. “Together you will explore unconventional perspectives on any known superhero or vigilante of your choosing.”

The projector shows a powerpoint labeled “Hot Takes”. A few snorts are heard. “I want you to to challenge yourselves boldly,” Ms. Varley states, walking around to pass out the rubric. “You’ll select a figure that intrigues you and craft a thesis that challenges the traditional view. Support it with thorough research and present your findings in a persuasive manner."

“It’s not about being right or wrong, it’s about being able to defend your point.” Ms. Varley takes her place in front of the classroom. “This is your final project. From now until winter break, we will be spending our Fridays working on it. Only Fridays, so I suggest working on it with your partner outside of school.”

She sits down in her chair, signaling that she’s done talking for today. Buzz fills the classroom immediately, peers chattering and making plans. You scoot your chair closer to Damian. “I know what I want to do,” you declare.

“As do I,” says Damian, facing you.

“My take is better,” you challenge, crossing your arms.

Damian scoffs. “I sincerely doubt you are capable of coming up with something adequate to the challenge.”

“Don’t be a hater Damian, it makes you look jealous,” you tease.. The bell rings, filling the class with sounds of hustle and bustle as students pack up. “Oh! Before you go,” you say, grabbing Damian’s wrist. You hold out your phone. “Number?”

Damian looks at your phone in confusion. You huff. “Your phone number, Dames. So we can contact each other and plan our project?” you clarify in a ‘duh’ tone.

You watch as he stares for a moment, before taking your phone and putting in his contact info. “You will come home to the manor with me,” he declares.

You blink. “Huh?”

“We will start working on it today,” he elaborates, handing you back your phone. You fumble with it for a second before shoving it in your pocket. “The faster we get it done the better.”

“Um, ok. Yeah, makes sense,” you gulp.

This time you’re the one distracted in ballet. Victoria huffs and snaps at you multiple times, so you figure she must be back to normal. Art class proceeds as norma, Ms. M making you practice your color theory. You hold back on designing new iterations of your suit, something you did a lot of back home out of sheer boredom.

Damian guides you out of the school with a hand on your back, like he did at homecoming. You wonder what exactly he is doing, since you know he feels the eyes and points at the two of you from other students. You sigh, hopefully nobody bothers you about it.

Alfred greets you at the gates, this time you make sure to actually get his name officially. Damian gets in the car first, pulling you in by the hand. Your shoulder bumps into his as you land with an ‘oof’. The ride to the manor is silent, leaving you twiddling with your thumbs. Thankfully, the ride isn’t too long.

The manor looks imposing, standing here looking at it. It’s different from seeing it from WEBBERs point of view or from an inked page. Damian grabs your arm, snapping you out of your daydreaming. He leads you through the grand halls of the mansion, his steps confident and purposeful. The interior is as opulent as you imagined, with rich furnishings and tasteful decor that speak of wealth and history.

"Your family's home is... impressive," you remark, trying to break the silence as you’re dragged along.

Damian nods curtly, saying nothing. You sense there's more to his demeanor than just his usual aloofness.

He leads you to a spacious study lined with shelves of books and a large, fancy desk at its center. Papers are neatly organized, and a computer hums softly in one corner. Damian gestures for you to take a seat. You do, placing your bag down beside your chair. Damian sits next to you.

You take out your laptop and open a new powerpoint. “My idea was that we do it on Batman,” you state, turning to Damian. “I think Batman is part of a cycle of violence. I think that he does help and protect people, but he also enables a lot of the behavior from criminals.” You stand up and begin to pace the room.

“He inadvertently contributes to a culture that normalizes violence as a means to solve problems. I mean, all of his criminals eventually break out of arkham. Scarecrow literally attacked our school a while ago! Criminals respond to Batman’s intervention with heightened aggression and increasingly dangerous tactics, which results in a cycle where each side justifies escalating their actions in response to perceived threats.”

You pause, stopping your pacing. Damian is staring at you. You cough. “That’s all to say, violence begets violence, hurt people hurt people, yadda yadda,” you grin sheepishly.

Damian nods intently. He leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the armrest. After a moment of silence, he speaks, his voice calm yet decisive.

"Your perspective is not entirely without merit," Damian begins, his tone measured. "Batman's methods have indeed perpetuated a cycle of violence in Gotham. His reliance on fear tactics and physical force against criminals often leads to heightened retaliation and more extreme measures from his adversaries."

He shifts in his seat, eyes narrowing slightly. "However," Damian continues, "one must consider the broader context. Gotham City is a cesspool of corruption and crime, where conventional methods of law enforcement have repeatedly failed. Batman's presence, while controversial, fills a void where the justice system falls short."

Damian stands up abruptly, pacing the room with a controlled energy. "His actions, while extreme, have prevented countless tragedies and protected innocent lives. The criminals he faces are not ordinary. They are deranged, relentless, and would wreak havoc unchecked if not for his intervention."

He stops in front of the window, gazing out at the expansive grounds of Wayne Manor. "Batman's commitment to justice is unwavering. He sacrifices his own safety and personal life to ensure that Gotham's citizens have a fighting chance against the darkness that plagues our city."

Damian turns back to you, his demeanor earnest. "Our challenge will be to present a balanced argument," he concludes, returning to his seat. "Acknowledging the complexities of Batman's methods while critiquing their consequences. We must delve deep into both sides of the debate to craft a compelling thesis."

You nod, absorbing Damian's perspective. You’re impressed, but yeesh. He could’ve been more subtle, in your humble opinion.

“I’m impressed,” comes a voice from the doorway. You and Damian turn around to see–

Bruce Wayne. You sigh deeply inside your mind.

“Father,” says Damian, looking a bit lost. “How long…?”

“Since your friend started speaking. I apologize, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I only meant to introduce myself when I heard your compelling argument, I didn’t want to interrupt,” he says, looking awfully apologetic. Of course, Batman himself heard all that.

He turns to you and sticks out his hand. “Bruce Wayne, Damian’s father.” You shake his hand humming in affirmation.

“Nice to meet you, sir,” you smile. Alfred comes in with some snacks and refreshments, placing them down on the table. You and Damian thank him, seemingly on autopilot. Bruce smiles at Damian.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” he says, and then he’s out the door.

You rub your palms on your pants. “Welp,” you hum, sitting back down and pouring yourself a cup of tea. “I think he likes me.” You pour a cup for Damian and pass it to him. He sits back down as well, accepting the cup.

“I think he does, as well,” mutters Damian, sipping his tea.

The rest of the evening is spent refining your argument and laying out the skeleton on your powerpoint. Despite Damian's initial reservation about your abilities, you find that you complement each other well in terms of ideas and research methods. You check the time, it’s a little past nine.

“I should get going, I don’t wanna leave Nari alone for too long,” you say, beginning to gather your belongings. Damian raises a brow. “My cat,” you clarify.

Damian's eyes brighten very subtly. You know what he’s thinking, so you show him the picture you took of Jon holding Nari. “He’s cute, right?”

Damian analyzes your picture like it’s an art. He nods in approval. “You shall have to bring him over to meet Alfred.”

“The.. butler?” you question, as if you don’t know better.

“The cat.”

Damian walks you out of the manor where you find Bruce. His eyes spot you two approaching and nods in acknowledgement. “Alfred is already waiting outside for you,” he tells you. You nod and step outside, feeling the cool air hit you. You thank Alfred as he opens the door for you, stepping inside. Damian and Bruce are standing together on the porch. Bruce is telling Damian something, but he is only looking at you.

You send him a hesitant smile, and he nods at you.

Bruce watches the car drive off. “Still suspicious?” he asks.

“Nothing of note has happened,” Damian begrudgingly tells him. Bruce warmly chuckles.

“Well,” he starts, looking at Damian. “I like them.”

Damian narrows his eyes. “I do not like what you are insinuating.” Bruce shrugs innocently, stepping back inside the manor. Damian stands in the cool air for a moment, before following him inside.

The dance instructor has a headache, so she says that you all can do whatever you’d like, as long as you don’t bother her. You sit against the far wall, laptop on your legs. You’ll use the time to finish the assignments you’ve been procrastinating on.

Victoria surprises you by sitting next to you. She surprises everyone else to, if their wide eyes are anything to go by. They quickly look away at her glare. “Hey, Vicky,” you mumble, unbothered.

She pretends to look interested in what you’re typing. Her eyes watch your fingers as they rapidly move across the keys. She clears her throat.

“I would like to practice some more after school. I expect you to be there,” she says primly.

You raise a brow, still looking at your screen. “There’s no practice today.”

“Obviously,” she scoffs. “I wouldn’t be asking you if there was. I just think… it would be beneficial to us.”

You look at her. She’s crossed her arms and is looking down at her lap. You exhale and nod. “Yeah, okay.” You didn’t have anything planned after school anyway. Victoria nods, sitting beside you for the rest of the period.

Damian suggests that you come over again to work more on the presentation, but you have to deny. “I have a ‘special’ practice session with Vicky,” you wink.

Damian ignores your innuendo in favor of furrowing his brows. “You don’t have practice today.”

“First of all, what do you know?” you huff, putting your pencils away. “Second of all, you’re right. However, Vicky has ordered extra practice. Just the two of us.”

Damian grips his bag a little bit tighter. You wave goodbye as you leave the classroom, heading to the dance studio. Victoria’s waiting for you, still in her uniform. You place your bag down, suddenly tense. Victoria crosses over to you, grabbing your hand. “Shut the door,” she demands.

You obey, curious. “Something wrong?”

She fidgets with your web-shooter-turned-bracelet, like she’s looking for something. You’re not worried, the form it’s in right now gives nothing away, but you are really confused right now.

“Vicky?” you implore, trying to catch her eye.

“I…” she hesitates, before straightening her shoulders. “I know who you are.”

You furrow your brow. “What exactly does that mean–”

“I know you’re Spinnerette.”

What. The. Fuck.

You blink, because that’s all you can do. “What?”

“Don’t try to deny it. There’s no use,” she crosses her arms.

“Vicky, this is crazy. I’m not Spinnerette! Was it the Scarecrow attack? Are you still scared? Maybe you should see someone–”

“Spinnerette called my Vicky!” she snarls, pointing a finger at your chest. “No one calls me that but you.”

Your tongue pokes your cheek, stepping back. You never would’ve thought Vicky would be the first to figure you out. Though you suppose you haven’t been as careful as you thought. Fuck, how could you be so careless? Do you still try to deny it? Surely it won’t be that hard, but clearly Vicky is smarter than you think.

“Perhaps she could be a formidable ally,” suggests Karen. “She may have access to resources we need.”

You straighten at Karen’s voice. She’s right, of course. Victoria’s loaded. She can throw money at people to get you the materials you need. Expensive, high quality material. There’s just convincing her…

And maybe… it’ll be nice to have someone else know in this universe.

You sigh and hold out your arms. “Fine, you got me. I’m Spinnerette.”

Victoria smirks victoriously. “Show me.”

“Show you…?” you mutter.

“Show me some proof.”

You blink at the audacity. She was just accusing you of being Spinner, and when you admit that you are, she tells you to ‘prove it’ to her!? You sigh, tired of it all.

You walk to the wall of the room, placing your foot on it and climbing up. It’s a comical sight, the way your body completely changes rotation effortlessly. You walk along the ceiling, moving back to Victoria. Jumping down, you purse your lips and spread your hands. “Happy?”

Victoria’s got a glint in her eye that makes you nervous. She nods, and you set your hands on your waist.

“Okay listen, you know now, there’s no going back from here. If you tell anybody–” you begin, voice taking on a threatening tone.

“–I want to help you!” she blurts.

You blink. “Pardon?”

“Let me help you do your… saving people thing!” she says, waving her hand around. She steps closer to you, eyes shining. Huh. Well, you were going to threaten her and her parents' credibility as members of society. Rich people always have some skeletons in their closets, and you sure as shit are capable of finding them. This is a surprising turn of events.

Still, you scoff. “This is insane–”

“I can be your sponsor! Like whoever makes all of Batman's stuff!”

“I would’ve never expected this from you—why do you want to help me?” you ask incredulously.

“Nothing I do satisfies my parents!” she growls. Oh dear, backstory time. “They literally left me the company to inherit, but doubt my ability to run it. I pay attention, I get good grades and I do everything they say, but they still doubt me. I even try to get with stupid Damian Wayne.” She throws her hands up. “I don’t even like him!”

“I know I can’t tell them you’re Spinnerette, but if I can successfully help you do what you do…” she curls her hands together. “Then at least I would know that I’m good at something.”

You’re left speechless. It’s like you’re listening to a brand new person. You place your hands on her shoulders. “You already are good at something, dance!” You gesture to the room. “You work harder than anyone else here!”

“Dance isn’t my future,” she scowls.

You purse your lips. You have no idea how she feels. The adults in your life have always let you be yourself. Even if they didn’t you’ve always had the backbone to tell people to step off and let you do your own thing. Rich people like Victoria’s parents can get pretty extreme. You wouldn’t be surprised if they disowned her for not wanting to inherit the company.

You sigh, running a hand down your face. “Okay,” you mutter. Victoria stiffens in anticipation. “You can help.” You’ve been evaluating her this whole interaction. She’s a sheltered rich kid looking for adventure and on a weird journey of self discovery. She isn’t looking to rat you out (she kind of needs you, anyway).

She squeals and claps her hands, before clearing her throat and composing herself. “I look forward to our partnership.”

Arms crossed, you grumble out, “uhuh.”

“How do they work, anyway?” she says, grabbing your wrists, pressing around your bracelet.

“Uh, it won’t work in the state that it’s in–” a web shoots out of it, sticking to Victoria’s blazer. You guffaw. “Karen!” you gasp, knowing in the web-shooters’ bracelet form it wouldn’t shoot unless she made it.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” she asks cheekily. Traitor. God, she’s been waiting for someone else to talk to, hasn’t she?

Victoria looks mystified by the web actively attached to her. “Who’s Karen? she asks as she tries to grab the web.

“Do not–!” you grab her hand. “–touch it.”

“Why? Oh, right. It’s sticky, huh?”

“Yes, Vicky. The spider webs are sticky–” the door to the dance room opens, and you stiffen. Shit, the web–

Victoria closes the distance between you two, jumping on you and wrapping her legs around your waist. You instinctively hold her thighs to support her, looking at her in alarmed confusion.

“What–” she silences you by pressing her lips against yours. All coherent thought goes out the window, because literally what is your life?

Her hands wind around your head, and her lips caress yours with a soft yet firm pressure. Your heart races, pounding in your chest as you instinctively tighten your grip around her legs, pulling her closer. The warmth of her body against yours and the taste of her lips make everything else fade away.

After what feels like an eternity, she slowly pulls back, leaving your lips tingling. She gazes at you with a mix of mischief and satisfaction, running a hand through her hair to tuck a loose strand behind her ear. You stare at her in awe, your breath coming in short gasps. She's got balls of steel, no doubt about it. You just gained a whole new level of respect for her.

She looks to the side. “Oh, hi Damian.”

Oh god. You look to the entrance of the room and sure enough, Damian’s there. He’s looking at the two of you with wide eyes, unable to school his expression. He’s stopped dead in his tracks with your phone in his hand.

Wait… your phone!

You shift so Victoria’s back is facing him. You balance her with one hand, reaching between you two to get rid of the web that’s squished between you. You do it quickly, balling it up in your hand and setting down Victoria on the floor and heading over to Damian.

“Thanks, I didn’t even notice I left it,” you smile casually, internally screaming.

Damian says nothing as you take your phone from him, stuffing it in your pocket. You place your hands on his chest and guide him out. “Okay. Bye now. Talk to you later!” He seems to finally realize what’s happening, brows furrowing and looking at you before you close the door in his face. You lean against it, listening. There’s no sound for a bit, before you hear Damian walk away. You sigh.

“Holy shit, Vicky. What the hell?” You can’t help but laugh. You throw the balled up web in the trash, making your way over to her. She’s got a cheeky smile on her face, hands behind her back.

“It’s like I don’t know you anymore,” you tease. She’s looking at you.

“I like you,” she says, making you freeze for probably the tenth time this afternoon. When will it end?

“I have feelings for you,” she elaborates, pacing. “I know that you don’t feel the same. I just…” she stops, turning to face you. Her eyes peer earnestly into yours. It crushes your heart. “...I know your secret. Now, you know mine.”

You whisper, painstakingly soft, “oh, Tori…”

She sniffs, swatting your shoulder. “Don’t flatter yourself, I’m not in love with you or anything.”

Still, you feel like the worst human being ever. It’s not your fault you don’t have feelings for her, you know that. And yet… you’re probably the first person she’s ever shown this side of her to. Dare you say, her first real friend.

You pull her into your arms. “I’m so sorry.”

She melts into your arms, gripping you tightly. Her light sniffles fill the room.”I’ll get over it,” she promises. You only hold her tighter. After what feels like an eternity, she withdraws from you, wiping her tears.

“Okay, some ground rules,” you say, hopefully providing a much needed topic change

“Number one, you can’t tell anyone.”

She nods. “Obviously.”

“Number two, I call the shots. If I say do something, do it. I know better, it’s for the best.”

“Number three, this changes nothing. We can act like friends if you want, but if your grades start dropping or people start noticing you acting strange, we’re done. Got it?”

“Got it,” she agrees. You heave out a sigh. “Go home, Tori.” You web over her bag and hand it to her. She goes sparkly-eyed again.

“Will you patrol?” she can’t help but ask.

“I think I deserve the night off. The Bats can handle it.” You grab your stuff and turn towards the door. “I’m gonna take a long nap when I get home.”

“Let me take you home then!” she blurts.

“Jesus, do all you rich kids have chauffeurs?” you ask. She shrugs. “Yeah, sure. Whatever. I just wanna lay down and not wake up for three years.”

Victoria bids you goodbye as you make you enter your apartment. You drop your bag, groaning at your stiff shoulders. You sag your way over to your bed, flopping face first into it. You knock out almost immediately, letting the stress of the day leave you. Spideys never have it easy, do they?

notes: y'all i've had that tori scene in mind since i first made her LMAO

#damian wayne x reader #jon kent x reader #dc x reader #robin x reader #superboy x reader

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madamefeu · 21 days

Text

Hi! Here’s what your favorite Hazbin Hotel ship says about you!

Radiodust: You're an old-timer who's been around since the pilot. One off-handed joke about Angel Dust wanting to suck Alastor's dick was all it took for you to start shipping them. You always ship the two most attractive male characters together in your fandoms, even if they have no real connection

Huskerdust: I’m not going to touch this one because I’ll probably get death threats if I don’t tell the Huskerdust fandom exactly what they want to hear

Radiorose: Hello, aro-ace community! You love this because they're the closet thing to a canon queerplatonic couple that currently exists in mainstream media, and as a fellow aro-ace, I’m in the exact same boat

Chaggie: You like the idea of forbidden love, but you're not interested in handling all of the social/political ramifications of it, and would prefer to conveniently gloss over both of those things just like in the show. This ship has the flavor profile of vanilla ice cream with chocolate chips, and so does your personality

Lucifer/Lilith: You only want one thing in this life, and that is for a powerful woman to step on your neck. You are a bottom to end all bottoms

Radioapple: Daddy kink, but in a voyeuristic way. You like watching two dads doing each other, but there is no way you’d ever let them touch you, no, all you want is to watch them go at it

Rosiemilla: Mommy kink, but in a voyeuristic way

Radiohusk: Oh, you would let a man do unspeakable things to you if he was hot enough. You read dark romances and you want a dark romance to happen to you in real life

Cherrisnake: You are absolutely terrible at handling your feelings for everyone you've ever crushed on, and will try to convince yourself that you hate the object of your affections because you lack the courage needed to make a move on them. It would take a life or death situation for you to tell your crush how you really feel about them, and even then you'd be more afraid of telling them than of dying

Guitarspear: Hello, Adam simps! You binge-read workplace romances and you fantasise about dating your boss even though he's a dick 90% of the time. Strangely, the fact that he's a dick makes you even more attracted to him

Staticmoth: Your ideal ship is two horrible people who deserve each other. You want what they have, but at the same time you don't

Zestmilla: Your preferred aesthetic is old married couple core, and I respect that. You binge-read found family fics on AO3, and your favorite tag is hurt/comfort

Radiostatic: You love the idea of someone being obsessed with you when you have no interest in them. You like to laugh at their, quite frankly, pathetic attempts to get you to notice them, and you're waiting for the day when the penny will drop and they'll realise that they are nothing to you, and never will be

Arackpentious: You have never cared about canon, and you don't intend to start now. You probably simp for Sir Pentious and use Arackniss as a self-insert. We know barely any canon information about him, so it's easy for you to project yourself onto him so that you can get doubly-dicked down by the Victorian snake man

Charlastor: You're all about the aesthetic. You got into this ship because there's an abundance of gorgeous fanart for it, even if there's no chance of them being together in canon. You don't care about that, however, because they look beautiful together and that's all that matters to you

Radiomimzy: You wish that the old canon of Mimzy being Alastor's girlfriend was still canon

Royalhalo: You hate Vaggie and you think that Charlie deserves better than her, and who better than the sugary sweet angel who was the first to hear Charlie out and argue in her favor when she found out the truth about the exterminations?

Cherridust: You are aggressively heterosexual and you believe that it is impossible for a man and a woman to be friends without one or both secretly harboring feelings for the other. You binge-read friends to lovers fics on Wattpad, and if a man so much as says hi to a woman, you will ship them

Cherrimoth: You like enemies to lovers, but in a bitch eating crackers kind of way. You either have a crush on someone that you love to hate from afar, or you want to fall in love with someone who hates you from afar

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baldursgate3tempobsessed · 11 months

Note

I have an idea I would love to request but I wanted to check with you first! I couldn't help but think Astarion would be so infuriated & confused by me. Like when he held a knife at their throat, they're willing to give him a chance. Their reason is he has no real reason to trust them since he doesn't know them at all so they would show to him that they can be trusted. Then he's more confused when the first time he tries to drink blood from them, reader is shocked then immediately asks questions if it hurts, do they need to be healed, how should their position be so it's easier for him to drink, what would happen after that, etc. Even after he drank & they were feeling the effects, they asked if he still needed more. He answered them no confusedly before they were satisfied with his answer then passed out. He is both relieved and baffled at what just happened. What do you think of this? Please tell me if you're not interested! Thanks!

Local Vampire Spawn confused by care and offers of friendship, more at eleven.

Astarion, surprisingly, had gotten pretty lucky when it came to his newfound traveling companions. Two master swordsmen, a barbarian tiefling menace, and a Shar priestess were about the best one could ask for when it came to having protection. He could probably do without the do-gooder druid and walking time bomb of a wizard, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

And then there was you. The unofficial leader of the merry band of weirdos. Hyper competent, kind, and a powerful, and admittingly gorgeous, warrior. You would be perfection if you weren't so... frustrating.

Simply put, Astarion thought you were an idiot. A well-meaning, naive idiot, but a moron nonetheless.

What other explanation was there for your delusional trust in him? Your introduction had involved him pressing a damned blade to your throat, with every intent to kill you if you decided to struggle. Maybe even if you hadnt, if you had been alone. The correct response to a first meeting of that caliber would be to completely disregard him. Or kill him, for someone who had any conception of self-preservation.

But no, instead you gave him the offer to come with you, like that wasn't an absolutely insane thing to do. You had been so understanding, insisting that his penance for trickery and threats was justified. That you would be sure to earn his trust, like that was something worth obtaining.

At first, Astarion tried not to look too deeply into it. You were all going through hell, it made sense to travel in a pack, to find solidarity in others while trapped in a land full of endless horrors. It would explain why you kept the violate gith and the walking bomb around, despite their faults. There was also that foolish air of empathetic care about you at all times that helped explain things, one that extended far past Astarion himself. Though it did have limits. Astarion had borne witness to how unforgiving you could be when someone manipulated your trust. Though he completely agreed that the Hag known as Auntie Ethel fully deserved a slow, painful death, he hadn't been prepared for just how... literal you would take it.

So while you weren't completely without common sense, you still lacked a good deal of it. Like the fact that letting a vampire spawn drink your blood at night wasn't included in those same limits.

He hadn't even meant to open that particular door of feeding on you. It was just... so terribly hard to resist. You smelled divine, the scent of your blood always lingering beneath the surface of your skin. Cloying and decadent, the slightest whiff nearly enough to make his mouth water. He had been trying so damn hard to hide his true nature, feeding on whatever he could find in the dead of night. But none of it felt like enough. It should have been, he had more access to sustenance in the forest than he ever had under Cazedor's thumb. And wild boar were certainly better than sewer rats at the least.

But it wasn't enough to tame his growing desire for your taste. It had just happened. One moment he was simply on his own bedroll, staring up at the stars. And in the next the hunger was overtaking him. He was crawling over you before his mind could even catch up to his actions, his mouth already widening.

And then you woke-up, startled enough to knock Astarion out of his all-consuming thirst. You scrambled to your feet, staring at him with wide eyes as he struggled through an explanation. He had every expecation that this was it. This as the moment you would toss him to the side, realizing once and for all that he wasn't worth the danger.

But instead you just nodded along, the first question out of your mouth when he finished a simple, "Will it hurt?"

Astarion blinked at you, confused at you lack of reaction. He had admitted to being a literal monster for gods' sake. And that's what you were most curious about?

"Yes," Astarion said slowly, watching your face for every microexpression, "It will hurt, briefly. Then the pain fades into something a bit more... tolerable."

You nodded, asking another question, "Would I need healing after? Or would a bandage be enough? I would hate to wake Shawdowheart so late."

That was-he-were you actually considering this?

Astarion shook his head, hope and excitement starting to bubble to the surface, "No, a bandage should be fine. You might want her to top you off with something in the morning, but it won't be anything that can't wait."

"Okay," You said, nodding to yourself once before meeting his eyes with a determined gaze, "In that case, should I lay down? Or would standing be better?"

Astarion could scarcely believe your willingness. Part of him wanted to ask if you were sure that you wanted to do this, but his sheer lust for the taste of your blood shut that part down. Instead Astarion was reaching for your hand, gently tugging you down to lay back on your bedroll.

"This will be perfect," He murmured as he crawled back over you, his fangs protruding on their own accord, "Now stay still darling, we don't want to tear anything, do we?"

Astarion could just make out a lovely flush grace your cheeks at the pet name, barely visible by the campfire. It was a good look on you, that mixture of embarrassment and nerves, one that he wouldn't mind seeing again. But for now he had other appetites to attend to.

Astarion bit down, nearly moaning when the divine taste hit his tongue. Somehow it managed to taste even better than it smelled, warm ambrosia sliding down his throat, filling him with pure energy. It was an exhilarating experience, so much better than anything he'd ever tasted before. It was nearly too good, decadent enough for him to feel greedy.

He could feel you shaking under him, letting out the occasional whimper and whine. He was vaguely aware that this had been going on for too long, that he was taking too much. But it was so damn hard to resist.

It wasn't until you were gently pushing at him, whimpering, "I-I think that's enough."

There was the slightest touch of fear in your voice, the only thing that worked to pierce through his bloodthirsty haze. Astarion rolled off of you, licking his lips with a happy sigh. That was... better than he could ever have imagined.

He hopped up to his feet, sticking a hand out to help you do the same. You seemed woozy and unsteady as you stood, proving his suspicion that he had taken too much. It made the smallest lick of guilt creep up his spine. But it's not like you were ever going to let him do it again, he might as well indulge-

"Are you sure that was enough?" You asked, completely derailing his train of thought, "Will you be okay with just that? Or should we try again in a few hours?"

Were you actually insane?

"No my friend. I think I'll be fine," Astarion said carefully, "Another night perhaps. But, uh, are you okay?"

You shrugged, already sinking back down to your knees, snuggling back into your bedroll like nothing was out of the ordinary, "I'm sure I will be. Just a little tired now is all. Good night."

And then you were closing your eyes, out like a light while Astarion stood above you. Confused beyond belief. That was... how were you still alive? If this was the kind of thing you were willing to do for a near stranger, with nearly 0 reservations?

It was insane, idiotic, stupid. And now you just fell asleep right in front of the same man who cannibalized your blood? What the fuck was that? How was one supposed to respond to that? Astarion was grateful yes, beyond so. He went on to have a very successful hunt, even if his catches tasted worse than ever, they still left him feeling satisfied and capable. But he was plagued with thoughts of you the entire time. Thoughts that followed him through to the morning and the days to come.

You were so damn lucky that he was the spawn that was kidnapped. Half of his brethren would have already used your trust to bleed you dry before fleeing into the night. Gods knows what would have happened to you if it was Cazador who was taken in his place. That thought alone was enough to make shiver, clouding his brain with a massive discomfort at what someone like that would do with someone as... kind as you.

Astarion would never allow it. As stupid as you were, it didn't mean you deserved to be used. Well... by anyone besides himself of course. He was starting to think that he could use all of this blind trust to his advantage. Get you attached to him, force himself as a priority in your life that was worth protecting. But for that to happen you would have to stay alive. And that would mean someone would have to protect you from your infuriating self.

Astarion supposed that would just have to be his job. What it meant that the idea of doing such didn't fill him with resentment? He wasn't sure, and he sure as hells wasn't going to try and find out.

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #asks #you'll pry my long posts out of my cold dead hands #basically pre-relatioship #but the feelings are there

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sagaduwyrm · 3 months

Text

On the Grounds Where We Feel Safe

When Tim gets a letter claiming to hold his soulmate, who he's never met, hostage, he's skeptical. It turns out pretty great though. Now if he can just make sure not to make a fool of himself.

We have your soulmate , the letter claimed. It seemed ludicrous. Tim hadn’t even met his soulmate yet, and it wasn’t like Red Robin’s mark had ever been exposed. There was no way some D-list villain could have found whoever it was. Really, he should only be going to this for the chance to catch the annoying asshole.

It just seemed like a weird lie, was the thing. If they just wanted to lure him out, there had to be more believable options. Claiming to have captured one of the other members of Young Justice or another bat would have made the most sense. His teammates went no-contact for various reasons all the time, so it’s not like he could double-check.

But no. They had his soulmate, apparently. It just seemed inane.

They were more competent than expected. Tim snuck into the facility with the ease of long practice, but they must have had magic wards because he tripped some kind of alarm barely a few minutes in. He would have noticed a technological system, but his abilities with magic were more limited, like most bats. In the immortal words of Jason Todd, ‘Just set it on fire and call Zatanna if that doesn’t work.’

Tim was eighty percent sure Jason was the only bat with any real degree of familiarity with magic, but that was neither here nor there. It just made the advice more accurate.

It was kicking his ass now though. Usually he’d be doing this with a team, hopefully with at least one person who could have noticed wards, but he had drastically underestimated the size and threat of this operation.

Generic security guards dragged him through the halls, and he did his best to memorize the layout. He’d taken out the first few thugs, but frankly, he was only human, and he needed to save his energy for something more useful. In the meantime, he pressed the only emergency beacon he had that would eventually worm through the wards to call his family and examined the halls they were dragging him through. The atrocious minimalism and poor layout design were making it irritatingly difficult to keep them straight in his head.

There were four villains in the room he was brought to, three more than he was expecting. One wore a thick cloak she’d probably bought off Etsy and a cheap Eye of Horus necklace, and Tim instantly pegged her as responsible for his magic problems.

“Woooow. You assholes know how to make a Robin feel loved. What’s the occasion? Is it Christmas? You shouldn’t have.” Tim bared his teeth in a smile that had his guards leaning away from him. If he could just get them talking, this would be a lot easier.

One, the leader, threw back her head and cackled. “What’s the occasion? What’s the occasion? Didn’t you read our note? Meeting your soulmate is the chance of a lifetime! We're doing you a favor, don’t you think?” She grinned down at him. He tilted his head, bird-like.

“You know, I’m pretty sure I could swing a better meeting than this. Get some candles, jazz up the place a little bit. Your interior decorating is kind of shit.” Tim channeled the robin spirit of his predecessors and took a shot at annoying them. Instead, the woman’s demented grin grew wider.

“But your blood will look so pretty on the floors! Do you think we’ll kill him or you first? I can’t decide!” Her teeth had red in them, Tim noticed. She turned to the guards at the door. “Bring him in!”

Fuck. So they did have a hostage. Probably some poor civilian who’d got dragged into these assholes' lark and was going to need years of therapy after this. Fuck his life.

A few tense minutes later the guards walked back in carrying a black teenager maybe a little taller than Tim between them. He was struggling, doing his level best to kick at their ankles and jab at their kidneys, but the mercs didn’t even shift. Tim was grateful the hostage was a fighter at least, that could make it easier to evacuate him.

The lead villain strolled over to the civilian. Honestly, Tim wasn’t sure why the rest were here. They practically faded into the walls. She seized the boy’s chin and he tried to spit at her. She laughed. “Our little witch spent months divining for this! Ready?” She cackled and dragged his face over to meet Tim’s eyes. They both froze.

His eyes were green, Tim noticed, and lined thickly in black, like kohl. They dug into Tim's chest like his heart was moving to make room for another, two hearts beating as one. Everything felt more vibrant and alive. Tim couldn’t breathe.

The leader was still laughing, he noticed distantly. She had slumped back against the wall to keep from falling over, and her entire body shook with contortions. Her eyes were bright with bloodlust.

Tim was fucked. He was so completely fucked. Not only because this guy was stupid pretty and he could practically feel his higher brain functions turning off, leaving him a steaming pile of bisexual goo, but because his soulmate was barely five feet from a villain who practically dripped insanity, and he still had thirty seconds to go before he got his hands untied. Absolutely, completely, and totally fucked.

The other boy had stilled when their eyes met, but he tensed again as one of the other villains stalked towards him.

“I knew it,” the man snarled. “I knew it. I wonder, if I hurt you, will Red Robin bleed?”

The boy's eyes widened before hardening. Tim desperately hoped he didn’t do anything stupid. His call signal still needed more time to get through to his family.

“Don’t damage him just yet!” the leader called out. “Start with his fingers and toes, we want this to last .” Her grin was alarmingly demented.

The other boy finally had enough. “Yeah, let’s not.” He kicked out at the ankle of the guard holding onto him, causing the man to release him. At the same time, Tim made his move. Fuck, civilians with no sense of self-preservation were the bane of any vigilante, but it being his soulmate was somehow worse. If he could just get over there in time—

A rush of sand curled up around the boy, as if from nowhere, and launched the villain near him into a wall. His eyes glowed golden, and his stance indicated some training. Not a civilian, then.

Tim kept moving. He dumped half a dozen taser bugs on anyone in reach, leaving them keeled over on the ground, and darted forward. The guards had left the door open when they brought the other boy in. Tim grabbed him and launched out the door, practically carrying him, while the boy did something over his shoulder to hold off pursuers. The way out was blocked, but the facility was huge. They eventually managed to lose the villains, tucked up in some kind of meat locker. They curled up against the walls, catching their breath.

“You know, this was not how I expected our first meeting to go,” the other boy said.

Tim laughed, “I’ll be honest, with my luck this isn’t really a surprise.” The other boy snorted. He was beautiful when he laughed. It was an ugly sort of giggle, the kind the media would mock a person for, the kind his parents trained out of him as their heir, but it lit up his face in a way that made Tim stare. He belatedly remembered to introduce himself. “Red Robin.”

“From Gotham, right? Call me Pharaoh.”

Tim squinted at him. He was putting on a good show of confidence, but there was a tenseness to his body that couldn’t be hidden, and some of the summoned sand floating near him was curling into tight knots. “Haven’t heard that code name before. You new?”

Pharaoh waved his hand in a so-so gesture. “It’s mostly just that I stick to my hometown. We’re tiny, so we stay off the radar. And I usually manage to stay out of the news anyway.”

Tim nodded, but his eyes sharpened. Deliberately keeping out of the news wasn’t exactly a red flag, but it usually indicated something about the person in question. If you had a code name that you were clearly used to, but didn’t use for the public… There weren’t exactly any conclusions he could draw yet, but he tucked the knowledge away into the back of his brain anyway. “Do you have anyone you can call?” he asked.

The boy grimaced. “Not really. Two are out of the country, one doesn’t carry a phone, and the other is the only person back home right now and I can’t ask her to leave.”

Reasonable. The bats refuse to leave Gotham without at least one of them too. “I sent out a call, but it’s going to take a bit for it to get past the wards.”

“Can I see? I might be able to speed it up.”

Tim handed over his beacon. “You’re a magic user?” He was guessing sand-manipulating meta, but magic made sense too.

“Uh-huh. I’m not the greatest with wards, but I am a dab hand at tech,” Pharaoh said while prying open the beacon. As he held it, golden light crept from his hands into the wires, forming shapes that looked like some of the hieroglyphics his parents used to obsess over. Tim was vaguely surprised. Constantine had once mentioned that there were only a few people in the world who could do any kind of technomagic. Even the magic on his gear was secondary to the tech rather than embedded in it.

Tim got up and started looking around the room as Pharaoh worked. They couldn’t stay here for long. He moved some furniture around to block the door. It should collapse on the head of anyone who tried to get in. He shifted one of the ceiling tiles around and found there was a good amount of space between the floors. Perfect.

Pharaoh shouted in delight and Tim turned to see the connection light on the beacon turn on. Assuming there wasn’t some kind of emergency, they should have backup reasonably soon. The other boy was still grinning, “Dude, I think I’m in love with your tech. This is amazing.”

“If you like that you should see the batcomputer.”

“Can I? I do most of my stuff on a PDA I retrofitted, this is so much better it’s not even funny.”

“A PDA?” Tim blinked in confusion. How would you even—? He shook his head and gestured at the ceiling. “We need to get moving. They’ll have an easier time finding us if we stay here.”

Pharaoh nodded, still smiling from his apparent enjoyment of working with basic tech with little to no computational abilities. He clambered his way up with apparent experience. Tim wondered what kind of problems his hometown had that they needed a magic user who could do parkour.

Where Pharaoh needed a lift Tim scampered up. The sorcerer whistled quietly. “What kind of training do you even have?”

“Assasination, mostly,” Tim said as he started leading the way through the crawl space, carefully showing Pharaoh where to put his feet to make the least amount of noise.

“I thought bats didn’t kill?”

“Knowing how to kill is actually more useful in not killing people than not knowing how to kill, believe it or not.” Lady Shiva hated that.

“Huh. That sounds useful. I have to use specific spells when I want to just knock someone out, and I’m not as good at them so it’s a bit of a pain.”

“You like magic?” Data gathering, data gathering, if he was asking questions he wasn’t thinking about how nice Pharaoh’s voice was or how pretty his eyes were.

“Yeah. It’s like a puzzle, you know? There’s a lot of similarities to coding if you had to argue with the computer the whole time.”

Tim snorted.

They stilled at the sound of someone passing under them, and when they were gone Tim turned around for a second. “Hey, what do you think about picking some of these guys off?” He’d originally planned to keep them out of the fight until backup arrived, but he was getting the impression more and more that Pharaoh was competent enough to keep up for a bit.

Pharaoh grinned, and it was a sharp, unkind thing. For a moment he looked as regal as a king about to declare war, and Tim wondered if there was more to the code name than he had assumed. “I thought you’d never ask.”

+++

“Where are they?!” the leader of the villains roared. “The facility is completely locked down, they couldn’t have gotten far!”

The guards winced and opened their mouths to explain when the door slammed open and one of the other villains ran in. He was bleeding, with weeping sores up and down his arms and crush damage on his fingers. “They’re picking off the guards!”

“What? What the fuck happened to you?” The leader screamed. The witch villain, who had been melting into the wall, ran over to attempt healing magic. The others barely noticed her.

“Three-quarters of our men are unconscious, and won’t wake up. And that little ‘civilian’ soulmate tried to crush me with sand!”

The witch spoke quietly. “He must have cursed you too. This isn’t healing.” The villain looked down at his wounded arms and screamed. Golden hieroglyphs climbed their way out of the blood and up his arm, and he felt his body go numb. Within thirty seconds he had keeled over unconscious except for the occasional scream, like he was struggling with nightmares wherever his mind had gone.

“No no no no no! This was supposed to be it! Our big break! You!” The leader turned to the witch. “You said he was a civilian! This was supposed to be easy!”

Out of nowhere the ceiling above them crumbled and down came several bats and members of Young Justice. When they finally got the beacon it took them almost an hour to get to the location, leaving them tense and ready to take it out on Tim's captors.

“I hope we aren’t interrupting anything!”

The door banged open again as they finished mopping up the remaining villains and mercenaries. Red Robin and a boy in civilian clothes tumbled through the door.

“Hey! You’re late!” Tim yelled.

Robin hissed at his older brother. “You needed help to save a single civilian then?”

Tim grinned an unholy grin. “Oh, right. This is Pharaoh. He’s my soulmate.”

The room burst into yelling.

#fandom #danny phantom #fandom stuff #dpxdc #batman #dp x dc #dc #tucker foley #tim drake #technogeek #soulmates #pharaoh tucker #meet cute #this is better than the last one I promise #happy pride 🌈

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muzansfangs · 4 months

Text

Bloodstain.

Starring: Aizen Sosuke x f!reader; Shuhei Hisagi x f!reader; Shunsui Kyoraku, Ichigo Kurosaki, mention to Isshin Kurosaki, Urahara Kisuke and Kensei Muguruma;

Format: multi-chapters story;

Warnings for this chapter: language, mention to sex, mention to choking and creampie, altercations, alcohol consumption, hidden jealousy, past resentment and family issues, fear and solitude in Hueco Mundo, making-out in public places, undefined relationships, mutual pining;

Plot: Overburdened with the responsibility of becoming the ‘guardian’ of the infamous special threat, you assured your friends and your brother you could deal with him. Convincing Shuhei everything was completely under your control was hard, though, especially when Sosuke seemed determined to overshadow your long overdue chit-chat.

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | TO THE NEXT CHAPTER

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥.

Out of everything that could have ever happened to you, sharing your flat with Sosuke Aizen was surely something not even your feverish imagination had ever depicted in your mind. Shunsui Kyoraku was a dead man walking. A backstabber, indeed. Then again, what he had said made sense. If there was someone in the entire universe that could deal with Sosuke, well, it was you. You two had had your disagreements, naturally. Fighting on opposing sides, wanting nothing more than watching in glee how you both raised and fell. But beside your sister instinct to protect your brother and your sisters, even your father, from him, you had no real reason to hate his guts. On his behalf, he never nurtured hatred towards you. Or that is what he claimed. Sosuke had never wanted to harm you. Not even when he held you captive in Hueco Mundo.

Mutual respect and rivalry. Probably, also some dulled sexual tension, but none of you two had ever dared to change things.

Now, though, there was something different between you two. You had crossed a line. You had undressed each other, you had slept together, you had let him ruin you. Things would have never been the same. Ignoring him would have been impossible. But, above anything else, what made your stomach churn in apprehension was: how were you going to explain that to your family?

Losing your privacy sounded already dreadful. Having to face the consequences of filling your family up with the unexpected news was even worse. You could figure something out to persuade your brother things would have not degenerated and that your forced cohabitation with Sosuke was not that big of a deal. Trying to make Isshin accept this new situation, though, was not going to be easy. He was your father, after all. Your age and independence did not matter to him when your safety was involved. Still, you had time to talk to him. Right now, you had other things to do, other people to confront.

Now, back at the Inn, you were almost done getting ready to leave. Looking at yourself in the mirror of your small room, you stared at the purple marks on your neck, fingertips grazing the bruised skin as you tried to push away the memories of how Sosuke’s teeth bit onto the flesh, marking it, sucking on it to give you something to think about for years to come. You could not let other people know about that, especially Shuhei, who was the very person Sosuke seemed to be so hostile to without any apparent, valid reason. Now, grasping a silky lilac foulard belonging to your late mother, you carefully wrapped it around your neck and made sure the thin fabric covered up the bruised area. At least, now you felt better in your fresh clothes and it was time to go back home.

“Let’s get the Hell out of here” you muttered then, grasping your bag and striding hastily towards the door.

A new chapter of your life was beginning inevitably. Living with a man loathed by the world, a terrorist, a fallen god even, was most likely something that would have dismantled your projects for the near future. Who else could do it, though? When you had confronted Shunsui in a rather heated argument, you had asked him why Sosuke could not just spend the rest of his immortal life in the Soul Society. According to the Captain Commander, in the deal the Central 46 had made with the former Captain of the Fifth Division, it was specifically said Sosuke had to be banished from the Seireitei until proved to be collaborative. The World of the livings had always been the only practicable option to send the special threat. The Soul Society had allies living in there. Still, they were obviously not enough to control him, considering the visceral hatred between them. At first, the Central had apparently suggested to send Captains and Lieutenants to support the watchers in the World of the livings. But it was way too risky, considering the Soul Society needed their assistance twenty-four hours a day. With you, though, the problem was solved. Or that is what Kyoraku claimed. Sosuke Aizen was a liar, a manipulator, a traitor and a cold-blooded murderer: no one was safe around him.

No one but you.

He had never left a single scar on your body, he had slept next to you without killing you. Long story short, you were the perfect candidate for this role. Shunsui’s answer had left you skeptical, but accepting it sounded better than throttling him with your bare hands. You were selfless, after all. As you walked out of the Inn, you tried to convince yourself this thing could actually work, if you made compromises with Sosuke. You could involve him into mundane activities to keep an eye on him. Yet, the more time you spend in his company, the harder it would have been not recalling how he had you screaming his name as if your life depended on it. Not to mention that your social life would have been completely screwed up by his presence. No boys over, no nights out with your friends. Because, how were you supposed to invite him to the club with you? You could not really imagine Sosuke sipping on a drink, while dancing to a remix of ‘Bloody Mary’ by Lady Gaga. No, you simply could not.

Now, standing a few feet away from the three people in front of you, you took a deep breath and marched up to join the conversation. After the recent events, seeing Shunsui, Ichigo and Sosuke having a relatively polite conversation was not a bizarre sight anymore.

While your brother had a grumpy expression plastered over his face, Shunsui was offering your soon to be housemate a flask of what you assumed was saké. The evil mastermind, arched an eyebrow unsympathetically and raised his hand dismissively to indicate his refusal. Well, maybe they were not ready to have a convivial chit-chat around a bonfire, but they were not trying to kill each other. You wondered how things would have escalated, upon telling your brother that, whenever he was going to visit your flat, he would have been forced to sit on your couch next to Aizen Sosuke.

“Well, good morning” you chimed, greeting the group with a constrained smile, careful not to meet Sosuke’s eye.

In your peripheral, you caught a glimpse of his sardonic smirk. He was right, you had already shared your greetings earlier in a more inappropriate way, but you could not let your brother catch on your shenanigans like that. Not when he was about to have a stroke anyway.

Ichigo’s eyes darted on you, arms folded over his chest “Ah, there you are. Do you mind telling me why Kyoraku and the freak have sent a stupid hellbutterfly to wake me up?” your step-brother asked you, tilting his head to the side expectantly.

Shunsui sighed, your eyes searching for his in what you supposed was emotional support, but all he did was showing you his flask and silently asking you if you keened to take a swig, before answering your brother’s question. Mouthing a ‘no’ at the Captain Commander, you then cleared your throat and decided to be direct with Ichigo. Straight to the point, no hesitation, no fear. Just the plain truth.

“Yeah… Well, starting from today, Sosuke is living in my flat” you blurted out, watching your brother’s eyes gradually widen and his lips part in disbelief.

He blinked “What?”.

“Ichigo, please. You heard me”.

“Are you kidding me? Did you bang your head on your way here, or what? Is this idiot using Kyoka Suigetsu—…” he then quipped, jabbing his finger at Sosuke accusingly, who scoffed and stared him down in disdain.

Shunsui’s laughter made you roll your eyes, as Sosuke slapped Ichigo’s hand down “Do that again and say goodbye to your fingers” the brunette said, his caramel eye darkening, as he cut your brother off dispassionately.

A fight now was not exactly what you needed. Before your brother could fire something back, you stepped between them. Locking eyes with Ichigo, you shot him a grave look and obscured his view on his opponent. Men were just taller versions of babies. This whole situation was already stressing you out and those stupid folks were not helping you coping with it.

“Oi! — you interjected, placing a hand on Ichigo’s chest to make him take a few reluctant steps back — Stop it! That’s a shitty situation, I know, and you have all the rights in the world to be mad. But I am not asking for your permission, Ichigo” you stated, your tone of voice sharp as your brother scowled and threw his hands in the air.

It was predictable. You could not deny it.

“Are you serious? Do you even realize what you are asking me to accept? — Ichigo countered back, taking a step closer to you — How am I supposed to go to sleep at night, when I know he is in your flat? Do I have to remind you of who he is?! Did you forget what he has done?” he asserted, his almond eyes boring into yours as if he was looking for your sanity.

However, you were not mad. You had simply run out of patience and you had no time to deal with your younger brother. You perfectly knew what to say to shut him up.

You narrowed your eyes, mouth opening to hurt him “Really now? You’re going to sleep as peacefully as you did back then! He hasn’t killed me in Las Noches, has he? And I don’t remember you coming to my rescue for quite a while” you punctuated, causing an eerie, awkward silence to swallow you all of a sudden. There, you had said it, you had hit a nerve.

You would have never told him you had hoped day and night for your brother to come to your rescue, after you had audaciously swapped places with Orihime. You had restrained yourself form telling him how you had felt so alone and betrayed for a long time. Why? You hated hurting your brother. Although you loved him, Ichigo had factually hurt you. Still, it was the sense of loneliness he had made you experience back then that had honed your skills and personality. If you were a strong and independent woman now it was thanks to him.

You had learned how to be your own hero, because no one had answered your cry for help.

Ichigo clamped his mouth shut, his fists clenched down his sides as you felt Sosuke and Shunsui’s gazes boring holes on your back. They had not dared to say a word, merely observing the Kurosaki silblings argue.

“Ichigo, I—…” you tried to apologize then, but he shook his head.

“No, you’re right. — he stated, eyes downcast as he gained back some self-control — I should have not even let you go to Hueco Mundo alone, let alone leave you there. But I did not stop you back then. I knew you could survive, somehow, but I’ve been selfish. And, fuck, I know that you can do this too, you’re my … My insufferable, incredibly stubborn, big sister, after all. But it doesn’t change the fact that I care about you” he reasoned, finally flicking his gaze up to meet yours. He was clearly worried and no one could blame him for that, not even you.

“That’s understandable. — Shunsui interjected, leaning his back against the wall — But she’s not changing her residence. Checking on her will be just as easy as it was before, right? And let’s not forget that Urahara Kisuke lives a few blocks away from her flat, if I am not mistaken. She can rely on him”.

At the mention of Kisuke’s name, you saw Sosuke glowering. His upper lip twitched, tempted to disclose his lips to probably spit venom on the shop-keeper. You did not know why, or how you felt confident enough to do that, but you tapped on the top of his shoulder with your index and let the angles of your mouth turn upwards in a simpering smile.

“Rule number one of living with me: if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all” you seethed, blinking a few times as Sosuke stared daggers at you.

“I see you learned something from this wretched Society: cancelling whoever thinks out of the box” Sosuke coldly replied, tilting his head to the side as you snorted and refocused your attention on the two other men in front of you.

Ichigo seemed to be observing your interactions with untainted curiosity, pleasingly surprised that albeit you were bickering you had not thrown hands. You would have loved to kick Shunsui’s ass for snickering at the sight. It seemed what had just taken place before his eyes was the proof you were the perfect match for Sosuke. He was right. You could read his pride all over his face, as he subtly winked at you.

“Did she just quote ‘Bambi’ to a mass murderer?” Ichigo uttered, scratching his head perplexedly. The tension had miraculously dissipated.

Sosuke and Shunsui stared at your brother in confusion, clearly not knowing what ‘Bambi’ was and you palmed your forehead in distress. This conversation had lasted way too long for your likings, it was time to wrap it up and leave the Soul Society behind you for a while.

“Okay, fine, it’s getting late and I have tons of things to do. — you fretted, glaring at your step-brother warningly— I need to meet up with a friend, before leaving. See you at the Seinkaimon” you said goodbye to the small group, having all the intention of leaving Sosuke with the two men for a while. After all, there was no way in Hell you were going to have a private conversation with Shuhei while feeling his breath on your neck.

Not when he had told you he wished he could literally make him taste his sperm in your pussy.

You had barely turned your back at them, when you heard Ichigo’s voice piercing your ears. Obviously, he was talking to the hot jailbird who was bound to be your shadow for only God knew how long.

“You better keep your hands to yourself. If your fingers—…”.

“Oh, come on, now. — Sosuke cooed, his tone infuriantingly soft — What can I do with my fingers? Are you afraid I am going to wrap them around your sister’s throat? Are you scared I am going to choke her?” he stated, making your blood run instantly cold. Sweat was beading your forehead and you halted, frightened at the thought things could escalate and your dirty secret be exposed like that. Your hand reached up, fingertips brushing against the silky fabric of your scarf. You still could feel Sosuke’s hand around your neck, you could still remember the way your pleasure was amplified, when he choked you.

No, you had to do something before it was too late. You had no other choice. Sosuke had to accompany you to your encounter with Shuhei. You had no idea how you were going to handle the situation, yet you had to sacrifice your privacy not to witness to a murder now.

You twirled around, clearing your throat to mask your panic “Aizen Sosuke, come with me. I might actually require your assistance” you yelled out, faking the best smile you could muster, as Shunsui nodded his hand and swung his arm around Ichigo’s shoulders in a friendly manner. You were honestly glad he was finally stepping in to save your reputation and the day. Maybe he was not that drunk yet.

“Yes! I guess it’s time to prepare the Seinkaimon anyway! — the Captain Commander announced — Let’s go, Ichigo, I’ve wanted to ask you a few questions about the World of livings for a while now… Tell me, are women standoffish there too?” he asked then, flashing you a knowing smile as he began to nudge your brother towards the main road.

Ichigo narrowed his eyes, shrugging the man’s arm off of his shoulders, but he did not make a fuss about it. Waving his hand at you, he obliged Shunsui’s request and followed him. Not without glaring one last time at his former enemy, though. Hearing him trying to avoid Shunsui’s questions about women in the World of the livings on their way made you feel better, though. Once they were gone, you released a breath you did not know you were holding. You tossed your bag onto the dirty ground, hands onto your hips as you stared up at the light-blue sky. For a few seconds, nor you, neither Sosuke seemed interested in striking up a conversation. He just stood a few feet away from you, arms folded over his chest, hands tucked into the sleeves of his grey haori. His face almost apathetic. Alone again with him, out in the public for everyone to see. It was not going to be an unsual sight from now on. A weird pair of people, once trying to kill each other, now barely keeping their hands for themselves.

Without saying a word, you then bent down to pick up your bag again and you resumed your walk, not bothering to tell him it was time to go. Sosuke’s baritone voice, though, cut through the air like a sharp blade.

“Aizen Sosuke, huh? When did we go back to such algid formality?” he inquired, making you furrow your eyebrows.

“Really now? How did you expect me to call you? Cutie patootie? Cupcake?” you sassed, eyes scrutinizing the horizon rather than darting on him, who was now glued to your side again.

He snorted and you could practically feel him smiling, when he said “Oh, actually, I was thinking about something like ‘daddy’. Let’s be real, I think I earned that title after yesterday night. — he crooned, knowing damn well he was going too far — For instance, though, I think it would be better to stop using that nickname with your father at lunch. Can you imagine the embarrassment I’d have to go through, if I passed you the salt, when you called for him?” he stated, his tone dripping sarcasm as you balled your hands up into fists down your sides.

This side of him was kind of a revelation, you had to admit it. Then again, he incarnated the example of someone who would have done anything in his power to sow dissension. If this was a glimpse of what to expect from your cohabitation, you were going to lose your mind for sure.

Turning towards him, you blocked his path “Let me get this straight. If you think I am going to let you screw up my life, you are terribly wrong. My house, my rules: stay away from my family” you dryly stated, pondering each and every word coming out of your mouth carefully.

“You have already let me screw you, darling. Would it make that much of a difference, if I interfered with your family affairs?” he taunted you, leaning down towards you so that your eyes could not stray away from his.

He had a point and you hated how good he was at playing with words. He almost made you sound stupid, it was downright frustrating. You huffed, pinching the bridge of your nose, inhaling sharply to calm down and search for your rationality. There was no way in Hell you were allowing him around your sisters and father.

“Yes, it would. You are already ruining my life. I don’t want you to mess them up as well” you declared, watching him straighten his back once again, going as far as to nodding his head in a condescending way.

He was dying to reply something to rile you up, you could see it in the way he was constantly clenching and unclenching his jaw, eager to toy with you as he had always done. But, as much as your body had loved letting him play you like violin, your brain was not going to grant him the chance to do further damages. The silence swallowing you two for a few seconds reminded you of why you had taken that avenue and you quickly began to walk again. Shuhei, Shuhei was a good guy. Handsome, sweet even… Naturally, he had his edges too but who did not have flaws? The Soul King had them too! And you were not exempt from being a messy person as well. After all, who would ever copulate with an enemy, instead of spending the night with the right guy whose love they should cherish? You were so upset with yourself, you almost felt ashamed of meeting up with him now.

The moment you sensed his reiatsu, you halted and turned your head towards the special threat “I need you to wait for me here. If you could possibly abstain from murdering people in the meanwhile, it would be great. Can you do it?” you cautiously said, watching a shit-eating grin cross his face.

Sosuke leaned his shoulder against the wall, arms folding against his chest “Do you honestly believe someone would even dare to walk down the street, upon spotting me there?”.

He had a point, yet you needed to be sure he was not going on a killing spree while you were distracted by the Lieutenant of the Ninth Division. You did not even want to consider the possible consequences you were going to face, if he went back to killing whomever stood in his way while under your watch. You cared about yourself and life enough to grip the hilt of your zanpakuto and wriggling your eyebrows up allusively to make him understand you were not fooling around.

“I will be on my best behavior. — he reassured you — Just hurry up. I would very much like to leave this place” he told you, his tone of voice flat as he motioned at your back with a dispassionate nod of his head.

You stood there for a few more seconds, watching him with a conflicted expression plastered over your face, before you ultimately decided to finally turn the corner. Standing close to a drinking fountain, Shuhei was holding a small bouquet of white roses in his hand. You blinked, sauntering towards him with a bashful smile on your face and your heartbeat notably increasing against your will.

Upon locking eyes with you, his smile broadened “Hey” he greeted you, handing you the flowers he had just purchased.

You sighed, accepting the kind gesture and delicately holding the roses in your hands “Admit it, you bought me flowers for getting that kiss you wanted yesterday night” you teased him, bringing them up to your nose. The bittersweet scent made you let out a soft sigh, your smile softening as he ruffled your hair.

“Probably. — he did not bother denying — But, now that you make me think about it, may I have that kiss? Or shall I find a dragon to slay to prove myself worthy?” he joked, as you shook your head and tiptoed to him.

Shuhei wrapped his arms around you firmly, protectively, and you could not help yourself when you remembered how Sosuke had embraced you the night before. There was a possessive undertone behind his gesture. Sosuke had held you in his arms with the same confidence of a man who did not bother questioning your likings, or asking for your permission: he knew he could do that. Shuhei, on the other hand, was almost scared of hurting you. He handled you with care, the same way a lioness protects her cubs. Comparing them was the worst thing you could possibly do in a moment like this and you cursed yourself for that.

Swinging your arms around his shoulders, you planted a kiss on his cheek. His grip on you tightening even so slightly as he buried his nose onto the crook of your neck.

This was healthy. This was not something to throw away.

“Are you leaving?” he asked you, his voice muffled, as his lips indulged onto your shoulder.

You felt your stomach twist and turn, as you nodded your head slowly, not daring to let go of him “Yes, I am. — you whispered, scared of telling him the catch about it all — And there is something you should know about it” you finally stated, breaking the embrace and clutching the bunch of roses to your chest.

Shuhei cocked his head to the side, visibly concerned by your sudden signs of agitation “What’s wrong?” he asked, hand cupping your cheek gently to show you empathy.

You shivered, half-lidded eyes meeting his ones as you looked for the apt words to explain your bargain with the Central 46 “I have been chosen to watch over Sosuke Aizen in the World of the livings. He is going to live in my house for … Well, no one knows for how long” you stated, watching Shuhei scowl and shaking his head unbelievingly. This was half expected, but it was something you ought to tell him in person.

“If this is a joke, this is not funny” he nervously said, his other hand joining the other on your face, cupping the free cheek, as he leaned down to look deeply into your eyes.

“Shuhei, I’m serious”.

“No! That’s absurd! I’m not letting you alone with that piece of shit!” he snapped then, squeezing your cheeks for a second, before taking a few steps back and running his fingers through his hair in exasperation.

“Shuhei… Listen, it’s okay, I can handle it—”.

“No, you can’t! Is Kyoraku that out of his mind to throw you to a beast? How can he allow something like that?” he reasoned, turning around to facen you again.

You had rarely seen him that concerned in your whole life. You walked up to him, settling the small bouquet on the edge of the fountain as you grasped both of his hands in a futile attempt to soothe his nerves “Kisuke doesn’t live too far from my flat. If something goes wrong, he will surely come to my rescue” you said, only for Shuhei to hook his hands underneath your thighs and sitting you onto the top of a nearby perimeter fence.

You gasped, his hands cupping your cheeks as he pressed his forehead against yours “Kisuke is not enough to reassure me. I will ask my Captain to stay with you, I need to know you are fine. Visits are not enough” he deadpanned, making your small heart skip a beat as you closed your eyes to enjoy this small moment between you two.

He was a fool. Even if Kyoraku demanded Kensei to let him join you, the Central 46 would have not allowed that.

Disclosing your lips to tell him that, you were stopped by his lips capturing yours in a gentle kiss. Slowly, his tongue lapped at your bottom lip, politely asking for access. It was the same kiss that had led you to sleep with him that night. The same kiss that had been the eye of the storm causing a turmoil of emotions within your heart. You trembled, kissing him back, but the moment you did something felt off. Why did his spiky hair feel so soft, silky at the touch? Why did his tongue feel voracious? Why did his pectorals feel firmer under your palms?

Why did you want to feel these sensations and not what you were actually experiencing?

You broke the kiss first, breath slightly labored, as you looked away from him. Shuhei cleared his throat, stepping back to give you some space. Slower. You had to take it slower.

“I’m sorry, I should have not kissed you out of the blue… But I could not resist. The thought of that scum and you together is making me vomit” Shuhei explained and you flicked your gaze up towards him again.

You wanted to reply, when someone spoke out somewhere behind the Lieutenant’s back, causing the colors to drain from your face.

“There’s a bush behind the corner. If you need to throw up, I suggest you to go there. Be careful not to step on mine, though, I puked there as well thanks to this hideous show” Sosuke commented, making Shuhei reach for his zanpakuto. He was so tense you thought he was going to pop a vessel.

Hopping down from the fence, you gripped Shuhei’s forearm, inviting him not to act on his instinct “Shuhei, it’s not necessary” you whispered, but Sosuke’s chuckle made your skin crawl.

“Necessary? The word you were looking for was useful” he countered, causing Shuhei to sprint towards him.

Before you could even register your own actions, you unsheathed your blade and flash-stepped in front of Sosuke, squaring up to parry the Lieutenant’s blow. You were protecting Sosuke, much to your dismay. Still, you were actually trying to protect Shuhei from him. If Sosuke wanted, he could incinerate him with his reiatsu alone. Letting this happen was not an option.

“Y/N! Move! What the fuck are you doing?” Shuhei yelled out, your swords clashing as you you firmly shook your head.

“I can’t! If you break those cuffs he is wearing, we are all dead!” you defended your actions, only to grit your teeth the moment you had to push harder against him to make him step back.

Shuhei stared at you hurt. His sword lowered down his side, as you did not budge to sheathe yours back in its scabbard. Well, the special threat had ruined your small reunion with one of the people you really cared about in the Soul Society.

A black hellbutterfly batting its wings erratically caught your attention, as you let it rest on your finger. The Seinkaimon was ready and you had to go back home. Suddenly, saying goodbye to Shuhei felt painful, as he turned his back at you and left wordlessly. A lump in your throat prevented you from calling out his name, whilst you reached your hand out to grasp the roses he had gifted you.

Sosuke did not utter a single word, following you as if he was your shadow as you two walked silently towards the Seinkaimon.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hi there! I had so much fun writing this chapter. But I guess the best part is yet to come, because… Well, just imagine Sosuke in mundane situations, lol. Anyway, thanks for the positive feedback! I don’t mind constructive criticism, impressions, or opinions. I actually love it, when people comment! Do do not be afraid to express yourselves. I simp for the evil mastermind of the story, but I am really friendly! And… Happy belated birthday, Aizen!

TAGS: @pseudowho @seireiteihellbutterfly @onyxino @areyouflying @bakugosgirl01 @noirfan12

#aizen sosuke x reader #aizen x reader #sosuke aizen x reader #aizen smut #bleach smut #shuhei hisagi x reader #hisagi shuhei x reader #bleach x reader #kurosaki ichigo x reader #ichigo x reader #shunsui x reader #kyoraku shunsui x reader

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