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moonjella · 2 years

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THE HAUNTING — HENDERY

pairing || ghost!hendery x fem!reader

synopsis || you love your new home but with it came some very strange dreams and a face you can't forget. every night he touches you. and every morning you wake up wet and horny. you don't know why you keep having these dreams but one night you're home alone and he appears again. only this time, you're not dreaming.

content || mature, minors do not interact. female reader paranormal. explicit smut — fingering, oral (male and female receiving), unprotected sex (with a ghost).

word count || 3.6k

author's note || for @underworldnet’s halloween event — day three : haunted.

Not all haunted houses are abandoned mansions in the middle of nowhere surrounded by trees with a single creepy driveway winding up to it.

They don’t all have cracked windows and dusty floors, or spiderwebs in every corner. Or dark basements riddles with shadows.

Sometimes, they’re ordinary houses in an ordinary neighbourhood with an ordinary family living in it.

They blend in so naturally that no one would ever suspect that it’s haunted.

And your new home is the furthest thing from ordinary, you found.

You decided to move back in with your parents; it’s a cheap, easy and comfortable.

But it's not all sunshine and glory. There’s something else lurking in the walls of your new home. Something neither of your parents have seen.

A face.

Handsome. Skin as stellar as the stars and hair as pitch black as the sky holding them.

That would explain why he only comes out at night.

But is there a reason he only ever shows himself to you?

You thought nothing of it at first, believing it was just nerves from moving into a completely new place. But it persisted. And each night, it grew weirder and weirder.

The first night, he was just a shadow in the corner of your bedroom, appearing in the late hours of the night — you convinced yourself you were imagining it.

The second, he remained as a shadow, only a little closer.

And the third, he stood at the foot of your bed. His face grew clearer in the light from the window but still not fully distinct to your foggy mind.

Every night, he was there and as much as you wanted to blame it on your overactive imagination, his presence was undeniable.

Even during the day, you felt another person in the house. You felt him watching you.

“Do you sense anything weird?” you asked your parents one morning.

“Of course not, sweetie,” they said. “Ghosts aren’t real.”

And you believed them.

There’s no logical explanation for what you were seeing other than it was all in your mind. But as much as you tried to push him out of it, he appeared every night, taunting you with diligence.

By the end of the week, he was comfortable enough to have sat on the edge of your bed, only inches away from your feet.

You didn’t know if he knew you were awake, you didn’t know if he cared. But he stayed there until you fell asleep and, in the morning, every trace of him had disappeared except for your memories.

It continued like that for a while, nothing exchanged between you but a few unknowing glances and the silent acknowledgement of each other’s existence.

But one thing was certain, you were never scared of him. And you still aren’t now.

Time passed, entire weeks and months but not a single night went by without him.

And it seemed that some form of a relationship had developed between you.

One night, you braved yourself to finally ask who he was, but he simply shushed you and told you to go back to sleep. His whisper erupted shivers across your body, enough to lure you back under the blankets.

And every other time you attempted to speak to him, the same happened. And sometimes, when he was lulling you to sleep with chides, his hand would ghost over your skin, dancing through your hair and cooling your heated cheeks.

He’s not real, you would tell yourself. He’s not real.

But why did his hands feel so real? Why did his voice ignite a fire in your belly? Why did his gaze set your entire body ablaze?

It wasn’t just your fear of the unknown that made you intrigued in this mysterious man. It was attraction, too. No matter how hard you tried to deny it, you felt something between you.

And he did too.

Or else he wouldn’t have kissed you that night.

It started with a simple, gentle kiss on your forehead. Unlike his hands, his lips were warm. And from then on, he made sure to kiss you goodnight every single time.

You thought it was weird, but you didn’t complain. It was nice to have someone dedicate their existence to ensuring you slept well.

Even if he was just a piece of imagination, a lingering fragment from your dreams, it wasn’t so bad to enjoy his niceties.

But the ghost of your dreams didn’t hold back.

Your heart raced faster and faster every time you met him, because each time, his actions would escalate a little more than the night before.

It started with kisses on your forehead, kisses on your cheeks, kisses on your nose to kissing your lips, your neck, your chest.

His hands would pull back your blanket little by little, exposing you to the chilly air. His fingertips tickled over your goosebumps and he eyed the way your nipples pebbled under your clothes. You heard his gasps when he finally freed your legs, tracing down the length of your thighs and squeezing them with such tenderness.

To which you let out a whimper.

“What are you doing?” you asked, voice small and intimidated.

“Do you want me to stop?”

His aura was as dark as his eyes glaring into you. But there was no malice in them, no intent to harm you. You shook your head.

“I need to hear you say it.” he smirked, and god, that smirk was enough for you to dive off the cliff and fall right into the pit of your temptations. You gave up every ounce of resistance.

“No.”

You didn’t care if he wasn’t real. You didn’t care if he was a ghost. You didn’t care if you were dreaming the entire thing.

You only wanted him.

You wanted him to touch you more, and more, until he had finally touched every part of you, both inside and out.

He made sure not to overwhelm you with it all at once. He didn’t take your permission for granted.

The next night he returned and woke you gently, stroking your cheeks and lifting your head to rest on his arm while the other trailed down your torso, tickling the skin of your stomach.

And for the first time, you initiated the kiss.

You pulled him down and allowed him to gorge himself in your mouth. He explored every inch of it, coating it with his own saliva before travelling down your neck. He littered you with kisses and bites, sucking on your delicious skin and you brought his hand to your breast, urging him to take action.

His thumb pressed over your nipple, hard and poking through your night shirt. It took everything in you to hold back from stripping naked for him right there.

From all the time you’ve known him, you learned he was a slow man. He liked to take his time and you didn’t want to scare him away.

So you settled for a little bit of fondling and a whole lot of making out before drifting away in his arms.

Each morning you woke up alone, it hurt a little more. Your days began to feel empty without him but knowing he would be there for you each night got you through the days.

Some nights he’d simply lie beside you and listen to you tell him about your day, about all the people in your life and all the amazing things you do. He’d listen intently, eyes never leaving you and the corners of his lips turned up.

If any other person could see him, they’d say he was in love with you.

And on the other night, the nights filled with a little more desperation, your lips were attached to each other’s bodies, hands gripping into each other’s skin and gasping into each other’s mouths. And you’d wake up heated every morning with an expected pool of wetness between your legs.

A man from your dreams surely couldn’t be capable of influencing your body this way.

He had to be real.

And you came to believe it when he finally gave in and touched you the way you had been craving for so long.

Thanks to your careful planning, he’d noticed the way you wore less and less clothing to bed every night. They became thinner and shorter, revealing so much skin to him that he thought his hands would never be enough to explore all of it.

And when you dared to fall asleep in nothing but a lacey bralette and matching panties, you were awoken by his hot, wet lips licking the skin of your chest.

He growled at the smirk on your face, knowing you’d done this on purpose. But it was about time he showed you how much he wanted you.

Everything about him was so addictive, so much that it haunted you.

His pale skin glowed like the moon in a night of darkness. He brought both light and shadows to you, both confusion and understanding, both fear and calmness.

You were elated.

His delicate fingers touched you in the most exquisite of ways. While his mouth was busy biting and sucking your breasts, his hands fell lower, sneaking past the band of your panties.

You gasped as his fingers slid up and down your slit, spreading your arousal. It had become the norm to grow wet simply from his presence. But when he was kissing you and touching you like this, even he was amazed with how wet you were.

He traced circles around your clit, causing you to tense and hide your squeal into your pillow. Your whole body was electrified from his simple touch — that was the kind of effect he had on you.

Every single flutter of contact was enough to make you ascend to paradise.

He kissed down your stomach, leaving a wet trail of saliva, marking you as his before pulling away your panties. They were thrown away on the floor just like your blanket and for a man who liked to take things slow, his lips attached themselves to your pussy in no time.

Your thighs automatically clenched around him, hands flying to his hair and yanking him closer. Wheezy gasps escaped you and you tried to be quiet as to not awaken your parents but you ground your hips against him harder.

His tongue swiped up and down your slit and swirled around your hidden bud of pleasure before his fingers prodded at your entrance. You had no qualms to letting him take you as he pleased and his fingers slipped in.

They dug their way in gently and the discomfort of having him inside you for the first time was eased by his ministrations on your clit.

Feeling him both in and on you was overwhelming, you thought you might pass out but the curling of his fingers in your pussy brought you back to him each time.

He was slow and precise, but deep and desperate.

Was a man like this really going to make you orgasm?

Your body already knew the answer as it trembled beneath him, hips racking up and down while he rode you through the orgasms. Your thighs trembled around him and you gasped endlessly, doing your best to hide your moans.

Sheets were pulled apart and pillows bitten into to disguise your exalts of pleasure and when he finally pulled away, crawling back up to admire your blissed out face, he dipped into you for one last kiss, allowing you to taste yourself on his lips before giving in to sleep.

It was a night you’ll always remember.

Even now as you sit with your favourite movie playing on the television, the only thing playing in your mind are the images from that night.

It’s getting late and you finally usher yourself to go to bed rather than falling asleep on the couch, but the couch is comfortable and you find it hard to move.

That is until the warmth turned the tiniest bit chillier and you recognise the irresistible presence next to you.

He’s relaxed on the couch next to you, arm resting on the back with you slightly settled into his arms. He’s smiling at the screen, seemingly enjoying the movie more than you.

Your heartbeat threatens to jump from our throat and into his lap.

He’s never left your bedroom before.

Maybe it’s because you’re home alone.

It’s the first time your parents left you with the house to yourself for the night and you were eager to spend some time with the guy next to you.

But now the time has arrived, you feel both impatient and hesitant.

“What’s your name?” you ask him. The words fly from your mouth the moment you realise you never knew it.

“Hendery.” He says, glancing to you for a second before returning his attention to the television.

“Do you know my name?”

You don’t know what is prompting you to finally ask all the questions you’ve been wanting to ask, but tonight seems like a better night than any given that you’re alone.

He nods. “YN.”

You can’t help the little blush finding it’s way on your cheeks or the shy smile dressing your lips. And you feel even more embarrassed when Hendery smirks at your expression.

“Are you a ghost?” you ask, and he chuckles. “Well, are you?”

“I’m whatever you want me to be, darling.” Your heart skips with the nickname and he leans in to leave a peck on your cheeks.

The remainder of the movie continues in silence save for his giggles every now and then. And your gasps every time you got a little too excited from his touch.

When the movie finishes, you clean up with shaky knees while he follows you around like a lost puppy until you’re all washed up and closing your bedroom door with him inside.

The lamp is switched on and you can see him clearly, his skin glowing from the light.

He becomes more handsome each time you see him.

His appearance is both sweet and daunting.

But you adore is ghostliness. The way he can flitter in and out of your reality make you feel… special. You wonder how many others have a personal ghost who appears whenever you need them.

But then again, that would add to the argument that he’s just a ploy from your mind to make life easier.

You had to find out once and for all.

Is he real?

He settles on the corner of your bed waiting for you to move from your stance at the door.

You lick your lips, hesitance riddling your entire body but the excitement of being alone with him, fully alone, is enough to drown it out.

He watches closely as you strip of your shirt, making sure to stretch your body so he can see all of it before taking of your pants, bending down to the floor to pick them up and purposely showcasing the curve of your ass.

You swear you hear him gulp with anticipation.

Dumping the clothes in the laundry basket, you feel wetness between your legs as you’re walking.

You want him now more than ever and there’s no better time than to surrender to him.

If he fucks you tonight, then there’s no doubt that anything you feel from him isn’t real.

Or so your logic tells you.

“We’re home alone tonight,” you say. “My parents won’t be back until the morning.”

He looks at you expectantly. “And what do you suggest we do?”

The playful smirk on his lips is enough to tell you he’s on the same boat.

You walk over to him, hands patting his shoulders gently before pushing him down flat on your mattress. You have no idea what has come over you but you crawl on top of him, resting your pussy on his crotch.

You both gasp, sparks igniting from just a second of contact and you need more of it.

His hands find homage on your hips as you lean down and kiss him, and as the kiss deepens, his hands guide your hips back and forth. Only slightly at first, but your eagerness drives you to move faster until you’re whimpering in his mouth.

He, too, hisses from the friction. You can feel his cock hardening in his pants and the thin material of your panties does nought to hide how excited he is.

You’re unbuttoning his shirt, the plain white shirt he always wears and your hands slide down his front. He spent so many nights exploring your body, now it’s your turn to feel all of him. From his toned chest to his abs, you trace it all.

He arches into you, begging you to touch him harder.

You lift your hips and rid him of his pants, stepping onto the floor to pull them from his ankles. He slips off his shirt fully, eyes not leaving you as you move closer to his hard cock.

He has to be real.

He’s laying right in front of you fully naked and real.

Your mouth is agape and watering and you finally take his cock in your hand. He groans with a stutter, hips bucking up immediately and you tighten your hand around his length.

“Fuck, darling,” he gasps. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this? For you?”

You hum in response, hungry to take him in your mouth. You lick around his tip, teasing him as precum leaks from his slit and little by little, you fit him in your mouth.

Your warmth ignites him like nothing else, he’s sweating and trembling beneath you and you bob your head, sucking tight enough to please him, but gently enough for him to not get too far ahead.

With one last lick up the length of his heavy cock, you rise upon deciding he’s fully hardened.

You strip yourself of your underwear and now fully naked, situate yourself atop him, lining yourself up but he stops you with a tut.

His arm wraps around your waist and in a swift motion, you’re moved to lay beneath him.

“As much as I’d love to watch you, you’re not lifting another finger tonight.”

You hum with his words, letting him know you’d allow him to do anything to you.

“Ready?” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your ear when you nod.

He pushes in and you grip onto his shoulders, breathing into his body while your walls stretch to take him in.

“Fuck!” you hiss. “Hendery…”

Your moan is enough to drive him further. He rocks back and forth gently, appeasing your every cry. The way his name rolls off your tongue makes him want to devour you whole and he dives into your mouth, tongue entwining with yours as he swallows each of your moans.

You clench around him as his cock moves deeper and deeper.

All sorts of sensations erupt in your body and you melt into him, bodies moulding together until he’s inside you fully.

His hips are pressed flush against yours and it remains like that for a moment, for you both to relish in the fact that you’re now one with each other.

After months of waiting, you’re finally here, escaping to paradise with your mystery man.

All fear has disappeared, replaced with the desperation to have him with you always.

He pulls out slowly, making sure his cock drags along your walls teasingly before pushing inside again. Again and again and each time he awakens your sensitive spots a little more until your back arches into him and your legs lock around him.

Your toes curl and you mind turns blank, every bit of you focusing only on the pleasure he brings to you.

“Mmh! Hendery!”

It feels good to finally say his name, to know who has been pleasing you this whole time. And your voice is music to his ears.

He stops at nothing until you are a trembling mess beneath him, whining with your shaky voice and hiccupping from pleasure.

Your pussy is so tight around him that he feels his own high approach and he gives up everything to experience true bliss with you.

His hips slam in one last time before he stills, frozen from pleasure and he stays like that, filling you to the brim until you both calm down from your orgasms.

Your bodies stick together, hot and sweaty and glowing.

With your hearts beating, you pace yourselves, calming down from your highs with your lips intertwining. He holds your face delicately, kissing every inch of it.

After tonight, after all the real love and affection he showed you, you still don’t have a clear answer. He feels real, but nobody else can see or feel him the way you do.

But it doesn’t matter.

As long as no one found out about what you did with him in the confines of your bedroom, you didn’t care if he was a ghost, or a dream, or a hallucination.

You’ll let him live as your haunting forever.

#✧ jella writes #✧ jella's fics #nct x reader #wayv x reader #hendery x reader #nct hendery #nct smut #wayv smut #hendery smut

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kisskiss-slashslash · 1 year

Note

Could we maybe see Brahms x a reader who has a porcelain doll of a young girl that’s actually haunted? I think it’d be a really cool pov!

Also, hope you don’t mind that I’m an anon, scared I’ll get made fun of for sending this ask if I ask using my acc lol-

Aww don't worry, we've all been there

This may have ended up being a bit rambly but I hope you enjoy it :)

Brahms with an s/o who owns a real haunted doll

When you came into Brahms‘ life, you didn‘t even notice anything off in the house. Mostly because you came with baggage of your own. It was a lovely porcelain doll you had bought at a garage sale many years ago. You had named her Lizzy, because she looked like a Lizzy to you. You felt like it wasn‘t just a childlike whim that made you give her that name, but a feeling deep in your chest that this was her name, whether you liked it or not, so might as well go with it. You had brought her with you because the very same part of you was convinced that abandoning her would be the same as abandoning an actual child; an act of cruelty that would almost defy description.

Strange thing always happened around Lizzy. So when these strange things just kept happening at the Heelshire estate, you naturally assumed that your doll was the culprit. When you heard about the origins of Brahms the doll, you came to the further conclusion that Brahms was just as lively as Lizzy, also possessed by the spirit of a child who had been taken from the world way too soon.

You often had Brahms and Lizzy sit together, joking that they could be best friends. But whenever you turned your back, Lizzy would be closer to you and Brahms would be nowhere to be seen.

So clearly, Lizzy and Brahms didn‘t like each other.

You would sometimes wake up in the middle of the night and find Lizzy next to you in bed, pressed against your body like a frightened child seeking comfort in their parents‘ bed, and her face wet like she had been crying.

Most of the time, you would doze off again and upon waking up, would find Lizzy tossed onto a nearby chair, as if someone really wanted to shatter her on the floor but had stopped themself just in time and tossed her into the nearest soft surface instead. After incidents like this, Lizzy tended to radiate sadness and fear for a while, another feeling she was causing deep within the very core of your being.

At some point though, when you woke up yet again with Lizzy cradled in your arms, you said loudly and clearly:„Brahms, please, stop bullying Lizzy. She is just a little girl.“

You, of course, had no way to prove that whatever entity was possessing your beloved doll was a little girl, but it sure behaved like one.

There was the sound of movement in the wall, and a little boy‘s voice replied:„You are supposed to be taking care of me. Not her.“

You got curious. The voice absolutely came from the wall. You looked over to the door, knowing that Brahms‘ room was nearby and that you had tucked in the doll you assumed contained his ghost hours ago.

But ghosts didn‘t speak so clearly; they whispered hoarsely and so quietly that one could barely hear it. Lizzy sometimes spoke to you, but so softly that most of the time you can‘t figure out if you really heard or just imagined it.

„I can take care of both of you“, you promised. You had a feeling…

It had never been the same with Brahms‘ doll. He had never felt like anything other than a doll. Sure he had moved when you turned your back, but he didn‘t radiate anything, no feelings.

„Won‘t you come out?“

Months passed, and now that Brahms had revealed himself to you, you found your way into a new kind of normalcy.

He evidently still didn‘t particularly like Lizzy, but he loved you enough to tolerate her. He even seemed to find her antics quite interesting at times.

One day he came running to you, Lizzy in his arms. „Lizzy just talked to me!“ „Yeah, she does that sometimes. What did she say?“

He looked down onto Lizzy‘s soft porcelain face. „She said ‚Thank you for being so nice to them‘.“

You smiled. Seeing these two, doll with the little girl inside it and the man behind the other doll finally get along warmed your heart.

#slasher x reader #brahms heelsire x reader

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athenaowl585 · 1 year

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"PAIN IS NOT SOMETHING TO BE IGNORED"

A/N: @photogirl894 I dedicate this Hunter x fem reader to you. I hope you enjoy it.

"You must sever the connection hinge. Now!"

"Not until you're up here"

"There is no time, Wrecker. Plan 99"

"Don't do it, Tech!"

"When have we ever followed orders?"

"No!"

"Tech!"

"TECH!!"

"TECH!!!"

You wake up from a nightmare in your room on Marauder. Your breathing was heavy and labored. And your cheeks were cold and wet, and you realized that you were crying. You couldn't believe it actually happened. Tech...died. And his last look, before pulling the trigger, haunted you in your dreams. Your heart was in a lot of pain, and that's why you put your hand on your chest.

The sense of loss still weighed on you. You tried to have as few dreams as possible, not only did you see your friend in a dream, but you also tried to have the least nightmares of all those terrible things that you witnessed in the war that haunted you every night.

The fierce Clone War was a heavy burden for you - the terrible trials of the war made you witness the boundless cruelty and grueling battles throughout the galaxy, which had no end.

You, more than others, have known the horrors of war that you never wanted to know. But all the military actions that took place on peaceful planets made you hate violence and wars with all your heart.

In all that chaos, you were the one who uses your knowledge and mind in the service of life, who helps people with everything you can. And, although you managed to survive, all the memories of those days became so heavy that sometimes it was simply unbearable for you to think about it.

Have you endured unimaginable suffering and severe psychological stress to just what? Losing another close friend?

You quickly got out of bed and left the room to check on Echo, Hunter and Wrecker. In the back cabin of the ship, you found Wrecker and Echo asleep: the big guy was sleeping curled up near Omega's room, holding Lulu closer to him, while Echo was on the other side, leaning back in a chair near the work monitor.

They were all sound asleep. You looked at your sleeping family. More precisely, all that is left of it.

"If the Empire takes them too..." You tried to force yourself to throw this thought out of your head, to get rid of the memories of a terrible nightmare that has come true. You had something else to lose. And even too much.

"Too much," Rex once said, answering your question about how often he lost good people. You yourself have often wondered how many times you had to fight and find yourself on the battlefield. From the very beginning of the war, you voluntarily became involved in a war with those who wanted to profit from the suffering of ordinary people. The first time it happened was when you saved the lives of Rex, Commander Tano and Senator Amidala from the deadly Blue Ghost virus. And then you became part of the Bad Batch as a medic who put the lives of your comrades first.

Day after day, you felt at home with them. And it seemed that your life slowly returned to its usual course, although it could no longer be the same after you had experienced many losses of good people for you. You have often had to put yourself in danger to save your glorious comrades. You even ignored Hunter's direct orders if you saw the best way to do something.

You swore to yourself: to do everything in your power so that they would return home alive and unharmed. Although you knew that it was impossible to prevent what could happen on the battlefield.

Suddenly you felt someone's hand on your shoulder, turning around you saw Hunter with a worried look. You didn't hear him coming up behind you.

"Y/N, why aren't you sleeping? You should rest," he told you.

"I had a nightmare and I wanted to make sure they were okay"

Hunter followed your gaze to the guys sleeping peacefully in uncomfortable places. He saw that you had a hard time when you, shocked by the death of Tech, provided medical care to him and Wrecker, and did not leave Omega for a minute until she was captured by Dr. Hemlock. You all had a hard time.

"Why aren't you asleep? You, like everyone else, need to rest," you said, looking into his eyes.

"I can't sleep," Hunter closed his eyes and paused, as if he wanted to be patient or find the right words. "Yes, you know everything yourself..."

"Hunter," you said softly, putting your hand on his face, where there was a tattoo in the form of a skull.

"I'm fine," he said firmly.

"Hunter, you can't lie to me. I can see it in your eyes. Pain is not something to be ignored"

He lowered his eyes with a heavy sigh, and it could be said that he had a lot of thoughts that weighed on him. You were determined to help him overcome his heartache, even if Hunter didn't want to bother you.

Yes, the grief was acute and unbearable. But you knew from your own experience that over time, the mental pain will begin to weaken and become bearable. So it was with you. No, you are not reconciled to the death of Tech. Even now, your heart ached when you remembered about it.

"We can talk in private," Hunter said quietly, almost pleadingly.

"Sure"

The sergeant followed you to your room. After you closed the door behind you, Hunter stood with his back to you, not wanting to turn to face you.

"Hunter..."

"I failed, Y/N, again," he confessed. "First Crosshair, then Tech, and now Omega..."

"You can't blame yourself, Hunter," you tried to comfort him by getting closer to him. "We've all been there. And none of us could prevent what could happen sooner or later. Each of us is responsible for each other. It's not your fault"

Hunter turned sharply to you and you saw that tears were flowing down his eyes. You've never seen him like this.

"It's my fault! As the leader of the squad, I had to do everything to protect my people! The life of the squad depends on me, Y/N! And death Tech...my brother, on my conscience. I've let you all down..."

"That's not so"

"Y/N, you have no idea what the burden of a leader is like..."

Unable to hear him blaming himself anymore, you wrapped your arms around his neck, clinging tightly to him. His arms wrapped around you, hugging you to him.

"Listen to me, Hunter," you slowly began to whisper in his ear. "You're right, I don't know what it's like to be a leader. I don't know what it's like to be responsible for the people under your command, but I know better than you what it's like to save lives. And no matter how much I don't want to admit it, it's not always possible to save someone life.

You once mentioned that you took part in humanitarian aid, working together with clones with whom you became close friends. Since the beginning of the war, there have been many victims in need of food, medicines and much more. Someone had to do it. Because war is not only fighting on the front line, but also helping people who have suffered from it.

Thinking about yourself was not accepted at all. This was the norm of conscience.

But you didn't want to talk about what happened to all of them and immediately became sad and closed off. Hunter then did not ask, knowing that, perhaps, he would open old wounds.

"I know it's hard for you right now. I know how much pain you feel. I understand, trust me. And I know that over time the pain of loss will cease to be felt so acutely. But suppressing your feelings is not an option, Hunter. If you go deeper into your guilt more and more often, you will probably not only push away those who are dear to you, but also forget about those people around you now and about whom you care"

Out of the corner of your ear, you heard him let out a sob, which he had previously suppressed and began to cry quietly. You stroked his back to comfort him. You could practically feel his heart pounding; it was all too hard for him.

"I'm sorry," he said in your ear, his voice still a little strained.

"For what?"

"I wanted all this not to happen...for Tech to be here...for your life will not be like ours. You deserve better," Hunter wearily expressed his thoughts, which had been bothering him for a long time.

First of all, you were known for your scholarship and knowledge of medicine, not for your combat skills. He should know that you were distinguished not only by extraordinary courage for a woman, a worldly wisdom, but also by rare kindness and the ability to compassion. He sincerely admired you. Your character and willpower. Hunter hoped with all his heart that these qualities of yours would not change, as well as you yourself.

"I do not regret that I stayed with my team...stayed with you"

Pulling back a little, your hands gently cupped his face and brushed away the falling tears with your thumbs. Your eyes radiated both sadness and great concern.

You pulled Hunter to you and kissed him in the most tender way, and he was hugging you around the waist, and after a few seconds you broke the kiss.

Your foreheads gently touched, breathing deeply and feeling each other's presence, standing in each other's arms.

"You don't mind if I...stay with you tonight?"

You tilted your head back to look at him, giving him a knowing look and kissed him on the temple.

"You don't have to ask"

#the bad batch hunter #the bad batch hunter x reader

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aotearoa20 · 1 year

Text

Ghost Hunters Au: Belief

Excerpts from two interviews at the Eastern Precinct of two anonymous callers involved in the recovery of the body of Haleth Haldad and the Spencer House in July 2023

Interviewer: Name M: Macalaurë Kanafinwë Fëanorion Int: Right and that’s… M: Just write Maglor Int: Okay and the rest of it M: Oh however your heart desires (silence) I want to see how close you get

C: Caranthir Morifinwë Fëanorion

Int:…

C: Here let me write it…

Int: Alright

Int: You sent in an anonymous tip

C: Tried to, clearly it wasn’t very anonymous

Int: You called us twice.

C: You didn’t do anything the first time

Int: And how come you were so certain about the location of Haleth Haldad’s remains

C:…

Int: Okay then, what was your relationship with the deceased

C: I’d never met her before

M: Yeah, I knew her in 1st Grade Int: Is that right, your brother denied any connection- M: - yeah, yeah, this was before we moved downtown so I only knew her a year Int: You have a lot of memories with her M: Uhhh one time she and her friends threw sand in my hair Int: …. I see M: She liked to eat dirt and I was afraid of touching wet grass, we were very different types of children Int: And you harboured some resentment to her then M: (pause) Officer are you asking me if I murdered a girl because she was mean to me in preschool? Int: I’m just trying to understand how you and your brother came upon the whereabouts of this missing girls body

C: Why do you need to know?! You found her, isn’t that enough!

Int: We’d like to know how she got there, (concerned) Are you alright, is it hot in here

C: No! My face just does that when I’m surrounded by idiots!

Int: There’s no need to get angry

C: Your accusing me of hurting a girl I barely knew

Int: So you did know her

C: No… I

Int: Then how did you know she was at the Spencer House

(shifting chair and unintelligible mumbling)

Int: I beg you pardon?

C: I was ghost hunting

Int: Ghost hunting? M: Yeah we go to old houses, film spooky things looking for evidence of ghosts Int: Right? M: It’s just a bit of fun

C: It’s stupid, I don’t know why I follow them everywhere

Int: okay…

C: I don’t even believe in ghosts!

Int: Okay, so you were at the Spencer House

M: Legally, Maedhros and I got permission. Its supposed to be haunted by a faceless ghost M: Caranthir was supposed to be helping set up equipment but he was skiving as usual

C: It’s all a stupid game, I didn’t think we were gonna find anything so I dipped out to look around

C: And I saw this girl. She said her name was Haleth and she thought my brothers were idiots so we had that in common (laughs quietly)

M: He was being unusually disruptive, setting off machines, hiding in dark hallways to scare the rest of us M: It was fine for a bit, like I said we just do this for fun and he was having fun but eventually Nelya sent me to calm him down

C: I said we were just messing around and then he said don’t bring Amras into this. And I said no, Haleth and I

M: There was no one there

C: Haleth went really pale and ran outside, I got really mad

M: No one, he was running after nobody

C: She was standing by the mulberry tree where you found her

M: I followed him out, he told me she was right there and she was crying

C: She said she’d been wondering why she could never find her way off the grounds. She… asked if I could let her dad know where she was, said he’d always worried and she said I… some other things

Int: What did she say

C: (growls) Nothing Important!

Int: Mr Fenorian, I’m going to need you to answer -

C: (sniffs) I said Nothing Important!

Int: And you believed him M: Of course, you can tell when Moryo lies, the tips of his ears go red Int: Mr Fëanorion are you saying you believe in ghosts, that you believe the ghost of Haleth M: (soft)I do, I remembered Haleth, we all saw on the news when she went missing. Moryo wouldn’t lie about something like that Int: You understand how this is rather difficult to believe M: Yeah (laughs) just like I understand you’ve got nothing to hold us on here. Unless you want to write ghosts into your little log book your just gonna have to chalk this up to a prank call gone right Int: I think you’ll find there is more than enough loose ends to continue this - (Shift and rattle of handcuffs) M: I need you to understand my father and his retinue of lawyers aren’t here right now to sue your department for unfounded violation of privacy is to deny him more fodder for the stupidity of my brothers latest venture. Int:… M: Now going to need you to let me and my brother go so that I can find a way to explain to my mother why I went to pick up her kid at four and came back at ten

************

“So,” Caranthir looks up from the messages he’d been pretending to read on his phone, as they drove out of the station, “how’d you do it”

“I charmed them.”

“Did you bribe them?”

Maglor placed a hand on his chest, offended, but relented under Caranthir’s stubborn gaze.

“Fine, I threatened them.” he glances to him quickly and grins, “blackmail is part of my charm.”

Moryo laughs and turns back to his phone. He keeps down the big question a good few minutes just scrolling mindlessly.

“So… what will we tell mum and dad?”

“I was drinking,” Maglor replied with out a second thought, “got brought in cause you were with me”

“You’d get in so much trouble!”

Maglor laughs, “What’ll they do? Ground me? I’ll just go back to my flat.”

“Still…”

Despite his careless tone, Caranthir knows Maglor hates disappointing their parents. And just because he had to go and get caught by tipping off the police. He can feel his face heating up and scowls. Maglor must have seen it because he chuckles and that just makes it worse.

“Thank you for believing me” Caranthir mumbles into his shirt

“Huh?” He sounds so smug as he ruffles Caranthir’s hair

Caranthir shrugs, “Nothing keep you hands on the wheel!”

Maglor smiles and nods, turning back to the road

“Your welcome.”

#ghost hunter au #buzzfeed au #caranthir #haleth #maglor #sons of feanor #lil fic #my writing

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kittensartswriting · 7 months

Note

leaves, ghost, and rain for the October asks!

Thank you for the very fun questions!!

🍂 leaves: what does your editing process look like? how does your wip typically change as you work on it?

It looks like pure chaos :'D I have a bad habit of editing and rewriting before I'm done with drafting and it has let to me restarting BCC (my oldest wip) for too many times to count. I have so many half finished drafts. And it has changed a lot. My writing process in general is very chaotic. I tend to outline and draft at the same time because I can't write without any outline, but I can't fully outline without writing. So as I continue to outline while writing, the story changes and I start to edit the draft also at the same time :'D

👻 ghost: can you tease some wip ideas that have been haunting you/something you want to write in the future?

It's been a while since I had this idea, but it's been on the back-burner and it's very much vague vibes mostly. But the pitch in the shortest form is: assassin nuns. The setting I had in mind was post-apocalyptic ancient Mediterranean, especially ancient Eqypt, inspired world, with some futuristic solar punk elements. The nuns are retired from being assassins (they were like assassins for the theocratic religious order) and are trying to atone for their past by helping people. And it would be kind of an anthology, or episodic in structure, with each part telling the story of one nun.

🌧️ rain: share a sad or emotional scene from your wip!

I will put this under the cut, it's fairly long. I've shared a small part of this in a last line tag game :D

Faerathos knocked the door and waited for a moment before entering, dreading what he might find. He was not sure what exactly he had expected but he was relieved to see Marcus relatively intact, sitting against a wall, wrapping a cigarette. His hands were shaking too much. He cursed under his breath as tobacco leaves fell out of the paper.

“Allow me”, Faerathos said quietly and squatted before him.

He didn’t protest as Faerathos took them out of his hands. He just turned his face away and wiped it on his sleeve. After Faerathos gave back the now wrapped cigarette, he took the gas lamp from the dresser and offered its burning heart for lighting. Fingers shaking Marcus placed the cigarette on his lips and leaned to the burning lamp heart. There were heavier shadows than usual under his red and puffy eyes. A little knot twisted in Faerathos’ insides. Marcus took a first breath from the cigarette and leaned on his knees.

“I didn’t have the pipe with me…” he muttered as if it needed some explanation.

Faerathos shifted uncomfortably. He was not sure if he should get up or sit down.

“Are you… okay?” What a stupid question. Of course he was not okay. He was a mess. “We were getting a bit worried since it’s been two hours.”

It somehow felt a little wrong to see Marcus like this. It didn’t feel the same as the many times he had cried in front of Marcus. Marcus was his uncle. Or stepfather by his own logic. He suppressed the amused chuckle. He wasn't supposed to see this.

Marcus turned his face away again. His lips trembled before he took another puff of tobacco. “No need to worry…” he said, voice coarse.

It was not very convincing.

After a silence, he rubbed his face with his palm. “I was not expecting that after fourteen years I would miss him this much”, he muttered. “It feels like I can’t live without him. But I have. For fourteen years.” A strain in his voice stretched until it broke. His hands were shaking again as he placed the cigarette on his lips.

Faerathos understood then. It had seemed like he hadn’t grieved for dad like someone who was his lover - not just a lover, the love of his life - because he hadn’t done that. He wasn’t afforded that, not even the acknowledgement of his grief. There was a heavy weight on Faerathos' chest as he took a deep breath.

“I truly am so sorry for your loss”, he said quietly.

Marcus raised his wet eye to Faerathos for the first time, but quickly turned away again and wiped his cheeks. “Why – I don’t – He was your father.”

“He was yours to lose too.”

Marcus covered his face and didn't answer. His shoulders trembled. He was sobbing quietly. Faerathos couldn't swallow the lump in his throat. He wanted to hug Marcus, but repressed the urge. Marcus wouldn't like it. Instead he leaned forward and placed his forehead on Marcus’ shoulder. A wave of grief for Marcus and for himself washed over him. Marcus sighted and wrapped his arms around Faerathos. His body shook with each sob. Slowly his sobs died down. He let go of Faerathos and wiped his face before smoking his almost done cigarette. Faerathos wiped his eyes too.

Great. Now he was also crying.

Once Marcus was done with his cigarette, he slowly got up, leaning on the wall. “Sorry…” he muttered as he placed his eyepatch back on his cut eye.

Faerathos shook his head, not really finding words anymore.

Marcus turned to look at him and made a weary chuckle. “You’re a good kid.”

“I’m neither”, Faerathos said, amused.

“You are.” He turned to look away. “To me, you are.”

A weight, Faerathos had forgot after so long, lifted from his chest. He tried to fight back tears, but they were already flowing down his cheeks. He wiped them quickly.

“You remind me of him more every day. He was quite like you at your age.” The corners of his lips curved to a small smile. “Though a little less messed up.”

As he looked at Faerathos again, there was something unusually soft and warm in his piercing gaze.

“Thanks a lot…” Faerathos said dryly and chuckled as he wiped his eyes.

"Only a little though."

#faerathos joking that marcus is his father: jk unless 👀👀#answers #writing #writeblr #ask game #excerpt #bcc #bcc excerpt #faerathos #marcus

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ofpineapplesanddawns · 2 years

Note

AU: Ghost Vampire Hunter Peter/Aro

Situation: 25

Sentence: 19

Hotel: Trivago

👻

Prompt 25: Being somewhere you’re not supposed to be

Sentence 29 (since I saw the correction in a different ask): “You’re not nearly as smart as you think you are.”

Oooh, spooky prompt for the spooky au.

Warning: death, blood, unsettling things in a vampire basement

On with the fic!

The Volturi villa was massive, that much Peter knew. He had explored much of the place, and the town it was located in, or at least as far as he could explore. Apparently being attached to Aro meant he couldn't get away from him.

Still, there was a location on the property that Peter hadn't explored yet. The underground rooms, a place that filled the ghost was a horrible, crippling sense of dread and despair. He mentioned this to Aro once before, but Aro told him to not bother with any of that. It was best to not give into curiosity when it comes to things he knew better than to look into.

But curiosity killed the cat. Or, in this case, actor.

He pushed past the horrible feelings this area carried the closer he got to them, slipping through walls and the floors to get down to the basement. Maybe it was a feature of being a spirit, but Peter seemed to pick up on emotions, in a weird way. Then again, his own emotions could leave a strange impact on rooms and people if he was overly emotional.

Maybe there were other ghosts here? If so, how come he hadn't met any yet?

He finally reached the bottom and found that it was lit with torches, because of course it was. It was cold, damp, and Peter swore he smelt something... nasty.

"It's like a fucking horror game down here." He said aloud, floating to avoid stepping on the wet ground. More for his mental comfort than his physical.

He was surprised by the fact that he could really smell anything, but then again, it was...

Oh.

He knew that smell.

He may not have hunted vampires in a very long time, but one does not forget the scent of decomposition. It smelled so much worse for him than ever before, and he gagged. He couldn't exactly be sick like this, he was a fucking ghost, he didn't exactly have a stomach, but it still made something in him cramp up.

He found a door, and...

The horrible, heavy weight of despair was strongest here. "I shouldn't... I know I shouldn't..."

But Peter put his hand on the door, if he had a heart, it would be beating so hard. He swallowed, and slipped through, but only for a moment.

Because he pulled back, horrified by the sight he had seen, even if it had been for just a moment,. It was enough to be burned into his mind, and he felt so cold, so...

"You’re not nearly as smart as you think you are."

Peter jumped, turning to see Aro standing nearby, looking... displeased.

The vampire sighed. "I warned you, I told you not to look in this area, and yet you did anyway. I thought you were better than that, I made it clear."

"T-there's..." Peter stammered, not registering Aro's words. "There's so many..."

"Sadly, when you have many in your home who need to feed, sacrifices must be made."

"I'm gonna be sick..." How could Peter have forgotten, how could he have fucking forgotten he was haunting a vampire!? He stared at Aro, shaking his head. "I can't be here, I... I need to leave!"

And then he was gone.

This is a ghost story, let's not forget that.

#ghost (vampire) hunter au #good omens extended universe #john's drabbles #vincturi

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beautifulduckweed · 2 years

Text

Pride Month Story #7: Max and Will

WHOOPS I severely fell behind updating Tumblr with these stories; I did continue writing them! Not as often as I wanted to, but I was pretty dang consistent about it. Anyway, here’s the seventh story. You can see the original tweets here: https://twitter.com/gleebags/status/1534860066360156160

"I have never found an opportune moment to say this," said Max to Will, voice low but fervent, "but I fear that if I do not say this now, I never will. I love you."

Will remained silent, of course. Max reached out and took his limp fingers in his hand.

Will's skin felt hot and dry, but it no longer burned with the blazing fever that had consumed him for so many days. The doctor had nonetheless shaken his head during his morning visit. The fever may have broken, but Will was so weakened the doctor doubted he would ever wake up.

An animal sound of grief had been torn out of Will's mother's throat. Will's sister, Laura, had held her mother while remaining dry-eyed, but Max saw in her the same incredulity that overlaid a river of grief.

Will may never wake up. Max had tested that thought in his head.

He found it focused his attention admirably.

The words, dammed up for so long, spilled out of him. He had spent his life working to hide his love from his best friend for fear of the fatal blow it would deal their friendship, but now he found himself cursing his cowardice.

"D'you know," said Max, "that I hated you at first? My father would hold you up endlessly as an exemplary specimen of everything a boy should be: athletic, gregarious, brave. Everything I wasn't. Even then, I think, I knew I had a secret to hide. But you didn't make it easy."

He took up Will's fingers and held it to his mouth. "Very well, I lied. I've never hated you. For years, I convinced myself I wanted to be you. It wasn't until...oh, the year we turned fifteen that I realized I mostly wanted you."

Will's fingers remained limp in Max's grasp.

"I've loved you for so long, Will," said Max helplessly. "You gave a shape to my days. I'd say to myself, ah, time to meet Will for our morning ride. Or: time for us to adjourn to White's, where the only bearable company would be yours."

Max gulped. "I almost offered for Laura."

He gave a laugh, soft and wet. "I thought, if I could not have you, I could take your sister as a consolation. But then the thought of almost having you was more torment than I could bear, leaving aside the monstrous lie marrying Laura would have been. She deserves far better."

Max swallowed again. "And now I find I am haunted by what could have been. If I had been brave, would you have been within my grasp? I wondered, sometimes, during our late nights at Oxford. A certain look in your eye. The way you leaned towards me."

Max gave a short, bitter laugh. "But I was afraid of risking everything, and therefore gained nothing. Now, here I am, reduced to a confession of love on a deathbed."

The sound, when it came, was the softest croak—so soft, Max was not sure he'd heard it. "Ain't dead yet."

Max bolted upright. "What's that?" he said, leaning closer to Will.

"Ain't…dead…yet," said Will, softly, but clear as anything. His eyes fluttered open, and pinned Max in place. Such pretty hazel eyes; Max had resigned himself to never seeing them again. Elation lifted him—

—and then he remembered what he had said. The old fear returned: of losing Will, of losing the easy yet thrilling connection they had. He cleared his throat.

"I can see that," said Max with remarkable calmness, considering. "I say, about the other things you may have heard…"

"Coward," whispered Will. A ghost of a smile flickered on his face, sending a pang all over Max's body, equal parts agony and hope.

"Yes," said Max, "I am. I've never been brave—certainly not as brave as you. Christ, Will, we need not hash it all out now, let me get—"

"No," rasped Will, louder than anything else he had said thus far. Max, halfway out his chair, froze.

"No," repeated Will. "Stay." And then: "I love you. Don't marry my sister."

Max sat down and began laughing, catching Will's hand in his again.

"You'd truly do anything to avoid having me as a brother-in-law, wouldn't you?" Max looked at Will, whose face was still drawn and pale from illness, yet with that lively light he so loved rekindled within it.

"A proper sacrifice on my part," Will said, his mouth quirking.

In Max's hand, he felt the faintest hint of a squeeze; on Will's face, there was the hint of a smile. Max smiled back, soft and infatuated—but, no, he would be brave; he would call this what this was:

It was the smile of a man in love.

- Fin -

( Am I gonna stop mentioning @living-hel in an acknowledgement? Not when she continues to help so much with these dang things. Babe, ur da bes.)

#pride month #queer love #queer love story #daily pride love stories #regency period #regency idiots #idiots to lovers #best friends to lovers #idiot4idiot is my OTP #love confessions

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uncouth-the-fifth · 3 years

Note

imagine damian and the reader at the wayne gala. he gets jealous when he sees her flirting with someone else. he ends up pulling her into a bathroom and fucking her in front of a mirror while saying that other person can’t treat her like he does

and that’s how the reader finds out damian has feelings for her. all this time he acted like he hates her because he’s in denial

Title: More Than They Ever Said

Paring: Robin!Damian (18+) / Canary!Reader

Tags/Warnings: semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), vaginal sex, bathroom sex, slight underage drinking (reader is like 20 lol), mentions of golf.

Word Count: 7150

Notes: sooooo.... this def evolved beyond a drabble lol. the way gala sex kills me every time 😭 I was a little mushy w Dami here bc I miss his sweet side. This also sounded a lot like goldenspecs12's request from Wattpad, so I hope you don't mind that I meshed the two together 😚 I leaned toward Damian liking the reader more than being in denial, but that’s the only thing I sacrificed between the two requests. This one is my fluffiest and most romantic yet 💖

"can I request Damian w a Queen reader, like she's Oliver and Dinah's child? say the reader is a hero but not very active, like she comes in when her parents can't. so when she and Damian meet, they hit it off. The main request is that they sneak away at a gala held by Oliver and the reader and Damian have sex."

Ask to be added to my taglist for future posts!

The party was more fun than you thought it would be.

Benefits were usually chalk-full of old, wealthy people that thought they made good conversationalists. The board members of Queen Industries were tired of Oliver trying to escape their claws, so you’d been recruited in his place. While your dad got to play minigolf in the penthouse’s massive party floor, you were confined to the lounge, playing up what an intelligent, capable business partner you’d be when you were CEO. Fellow businessmen gruffed about their plans with you while their wives cooed and drank, pinching your cheeks.

You thought that you’d hate it, but the attention and the praise was nice. It made you feel like you were helping your dad and your family’s company, which was constantly criticized and judged for it’s choice in CEO. Everyone called your father a lazy silver-spooned idiot, but he was one of the only men in Star City who actually cared. By the time you had Q.I’s biggest donors laughing out of their seats, Dinah’s hands slipped over your shoulders and you were kissed on the side of the face. Thank you, she mouthed, and your position as family support-beam was covered.

Since most of the benefit-goers were at least forty years your senior, you gravitated to your dad. From the penthouse’s upper balcony, you could see his friends circling around the tiny green mats they were using as a makeshift golf course. Usually, Ollie made sure his public persona’s aim was as garbage as his taste in drink was. But tonight, he played as Green Arrow, who never missed. Not once. Especially when it came to Bruce Wayne, who’s golf game was abysmal at best.

But like Oliver, Bruce was a new man tonight. It looked like he was ready to break out the batarangs any minute now. The two men were barely civil about the viciousness of their competition, and if the view of the game from the balcony was interesting, then from below it must’ve been the greatest show of fragile masculinity ever displayed. You had to make fun of them.

The only opening in the circle of men, who all had their hands on their chins as Bruce lined up his next shot, was by the floor-to-ceiling windows to one side of the game. Just one man stood there, hands in his pockets. You slid next to him, unbothered, and squinted at the game.

Everyone in the crowd was dead silent. Bruce was lining up his golf ball so it would roll into a mug a couple of feet away, so you helpfully provided, “A little to the left, Mr. Wayne.”

Your words overlapped with someone else’s. Where you had said Mr. Wayne, they had said Father. Then the man next to you was his son, but...

You would have never guessed it would be him.

Reasonably, you knew that Robin was Damian Wayne. Oliver could be a little loose-lipped at times, and by his judgment you’d been a teenager just a year ago - what could a twenty year old do to Batman’s secret identity? Not much.

Until you saw Robin without his mask.

Damian was achingly beautiful. He was your age, but he stood and talked like he was much older. There was an angle to his shoulder that made him seem astute and sexy. His eyes fixed on you when you spoke at the same time, and they were a surprising mossy color that jumped out against his tan skin, like plants flourishing out of rich soil. There was just enough blue in them to make him seem haunting. Any moment, you felt like he was going to corner you and whisper your future throatily in your ear.

Looking into them, those piercing eyes, for longer than a second made you want to blurt, “You’re much prettier without your mask.”

But that would expose his secret to every golf-loving idiot in earshot, so Oliver had been wrong. A twenty-year-old like you could do fatal damage to Batman’s secret identity, but for Damian, the short-tempered, snappish leader of the Teen Titans, you would risk anything.

Damian stared, and you stared. He squinted, wet his lips, then turned back to the game. This was your only acknowledgment that he recognised you. His voice was deeper, smoother, than you remember it. “Queen.”

You shifted in your shoes, almost laughing in shock. “...Wayne.”

The game grew boring and Damian didn’t say anything else, so you said nothing too, sneaking glances at him. The last time you’d spoken to Robin had been in costume, when he’d thanked you for assisting with a mission. He’d really been thanking you for standing up for him. You didn’t team up often with the Titans, but when you did, you found that they were unusually snappy and mean with their leader. Not necessary on purpose, but you could tell that Damian couldn’t take as many bites as he pretended to. Standing up for him had been a simple thing. The good thing to do. Now, with that look in his eyes, it almost felt like he still thought about it.

He must have, because the kiss you shared at the end of that mission had glowed with heat. To be fair, you both may have believed you were going to die (before the team pulled through and saved you), so it could’ve been a heat-of-the-moment thing. But this was Robin - if he didn't want to kiss you, he wouldn't. And yet he did.

You’d kissed. And the energy of that kiss lingered between you now, drawing you closer together, putting tiny smiles on your faces. He was cute. Cuter without that mask on.

You stood in the stupid golf silence, feeling foolish. Flirting with boys was much easier in fishnets. It didn’t help how fine Damian’s profile was. He had soft, feathery lashes that occasionally touched down on beauty marked cheeks. His lips were even fuller from the side, forever drawn in a curious line. And those eyes, when they caught yours and danced away again, were much too nice to hide behind a mask. You couldn’t get that thought out of your mind.

When Bruce finally made his move, you leaned in to whisper something to each other at the same time, accidentally knocking shoulders.

“I - apologies,” Damian flushed.

“Oh, um, my bad,” you rubbed awkwardly at the spot where you’d collided. “...You were going to say something?”

Damian’s eyes flicked to your fathers, then to you, unimpressed. He lowered his voice so only you could hear. “They’re awfully hypocritical, don’t you think? Father snaps at me everytime I use my skills in public, and yet he’s putting with perfect aim like it’s not the very same.”

Chuckling, you rolled your eyes and scooted closer, ducking your voice into the bubble between your bodies. “My dad’s the same way. Don’t aim in the house, he says, unless it’s him trying to beat Bruce Wayne.”

Your company’s shoulders turned sideways, leaning into you. His breath ghosted the hair on your neck, standing it on end, and again that silky voice sent tingles down your spine. Damian must change his voice as Robin, because he never spoke like this then. So huskily, so low.

He shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

You watched him. He watched you. You ran your tongue over your teeth, and Damian subtly adjusted his slacks from his pockets.

At the same time, you asked each other, “Would you like to get a drink?”

Your hiding place was a loveseat in the lounge, between more businessmen and their ditzy heirs. The bartender was your family’s, so he smiled and turned down your request for a drink, courtesy of your dad’s strictness. Luckily, he didn’t recognise Damian. You watched him order it at the bar, his rings catching the light, the muscle in his arms peeking out from under his blazer.

“I think he suspected I wasn’t of age, so he only gave me one.” He took the place next to you, propping his ankle on one knee and lounging out like a panther. Damian offered the cocktail to you, once he’d decided the coast was clear. It was a cute gesture. “Is that acceptable?”

You fished a five dollar bill out of your purse. “Only if you take this for paying. Don’t think I didn’t see you try and sneakily get that past me.”

Damian scrutinized the bill, then you, somehow managing to be a smartass without opening his mouth. Instead of thinking about how nice it would feel to kiss the slight crease between his brows, you traded hands with him so the bill was in his and the drink was in yours. The gentle brush of you palm to his knuckles put way too many butterflies in your belly.

You talked about everything and anything. About home, family life, your cities. The best of it was when Damian dipped his head so only you could hear him, keeping your secrets close and your bodies closer. This was the only way he talked about Robin, so you circled back to any vigilante subject you could think of just so Damian would keep purring into your ear like that. Better yet, he was smart. Talking to him was engaging, and within minutes he'd entranced you, so you sat there talking for more than an hour. Around you, the party rotated and went on.

At one point, you took a drink of the cocktail and passed it to him to share. Damian placed his lips right where yours had been, licking up the cocktail salt and gulping it down slow, adam’s apple bobbing, like it wasn’t the taste of the vodka he was savoring.

Eventually, your bliss was broken. Damian was called over to his father, again, to discuss business, and he left you with your remaining cocktail and the memory of that mission. You couldn’t find a reason to move from your seat. When you’d realized that you and Robin had been led into a trap on that mission, it’d been too late, and your efforts to escape became more and more futile. All you could do was pray the Titans got to you on time. Robin had offered you his glove as the walls closed in, and you’d watched up-close as he assumed you were both about to die. The fear in his eyes was strange - like it was familiar to him. At the same time, you cupped his neck and he held your upper back, and you’d kissed fervently, sweetly.

Damian had put his forehead to yours, and promised even as the trap shrunk around you, “You were excellent. More excellent than they ever said.”

In the big picture, it was a strange last remark to make, and afterwards you’d been too happy about surviving to think about it. But in the moment, you understood. You were understood. Somehow, Damian had reached into your soul and gouged out the words you’d been dying to hear, from your parents, from anyone, and uttered them to you with burning conviction. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe he meant it. Damian found you excellent. Someone, somewhere, didn’t think you were a failure.

Odd, how you’d never seen the face of the man you thought you’d die with (until now), and yet he saw you so easily. You watched him follow his father into the party crowd now, wondering. The Titans had saved you before you could ask what he’d meant. More importantly, before you could tell him the same. He was excellent.

Once you’d finished off your drink, you left it at the bar and grinned evilly at your family bartender. He rolled his eyes and slyly delivered you another, which, on your superhero schedule, would not have you drunk yet. Another heir to some big company was seated at your right, ignored by his father enough to look for some small talk with you.

He was one of the cute, nerdy types that were usually in awe of you. Girls, available girls, were typically rare at these kinds of parties, so he took you not having a boyfriend as permission to flirt with you. Unfortunately for him, your seat gave a perfect angle on Damian across the party floor. He was impressing the wives of Wayne business partners, who flocked around him like they’d flocked around you, pinching his cheeks. You could almost read their lips enough to guess what they were saying. What a handsome young man you are! Oh, Bruce must be so proud.

“...and then my father flipped over his kayak! Would you believe it? Two thousand dollars, thrown right in our family’s lake.” Your company snickered, howling at his own story.

You circled the rim of your glass, watching how Damian tried to teach some of the women phrases in Arabic. Unknown to them, they were some pretty funny swear words. It threw you into a bout of giggles, and the man next to you kept talking, spurred on by the noise.

The flock of hens around Damian receded, and his shoulders slouched in relief. That was cute, too. It wasn’t often that people understood how draining these parties were, but for people like you and Damian, it was a racetrack of endless, boring circles. Everything was a formality. Few things were genuine. Damian turned, and you caught his eye to let him know you were going to meet him. He nodded toward a side hall, his mouth a curious line again. If you looked at it long enough, it felt like a smile when he mouthed, escape?

Your company was still talking. He stopped when you grabbed his tie and planted a pity-kiss on his cheek, waving to him as you bounced away. “Sorry, kid. Not my type.”

You planned to bring Damian to the secluded balcony on the second floor to unwind, but instead, you were taken by the wrist and maneuvered into an empty powder room. It was colder than the steaming party air and smelled like champagne, with couches to sit on and mirrors to powder at. For a bathroom, the lights were warm and low. The noise of the party went quiet the instant the door was shut, like you and Damian had entered your own little world. No more circles. No more back and forth.

“Here,” Damian said, noting the mirrors. He tilted his head as he asked, like he was nervous, “Is this acceptable?”

“It is the ladies powder room, but I’ll give you a pass, since you’re cute.” You joked. Damian didn’t make a move to relax on one of the couches yet, hanging in front of you like there was more he wanted to say. There was more you wanted to say, too, but no good words came to mind.

But the silence wasn’t awkward. Again, Damian stared, and you stared. The glass he brought with him was set down. He put one fist on the counter beside the door, and like honey had been poured on your nerves, you realized how easy it would be for him to push you up against it. Kiss you senseless. Heat drooled off of him this close, and you wondered if he’d still lean in to whisper to you even if you were alone.

The lack of words drew to a point where something had to be said, anything, but his eyes felt so good on your skin and it was interesting to see him nervous. Something strange told you that Damian liked the silence, too.

You wet your lips with your tongue. Damian cleared his throat, and took a sip from his glass. “Was I interrupting something?”

“Between me and that guy?” You smiled gently, like you were reassuring him, and laughed to yourself. “Oh, man, you should’ve seen it, Damian. Poor kid really thought I was flirting with him. He’d totally convinced himself, it was hilarious.”

His profile was tense in the mirror, which you stole glances at to watch how the amber light played on his handsome skin. When Damian swallowed his drink, his throat rolled in the sexiest way, and immediately your mind fed you with visions of suckling, kissing, tonguing his neck.

“Why’d you ask?” Your eyes sparkled. Damian drew a step closer, and you used the opportunity to swipe a drop of alcohol from the corner of his lip with your thumb. “You jealous?”

It was the touch or the suggestion that made Damian pause. He didn’t stutter, but lagged over what to say, eyes vast and wanting as they raked over your face. “I don’t get jealous,” he clarified, “but… I do intend to be the only man to kiss you tonight.”

Damian’s hand took your chin. Your belly exploded with instant arousal, hitting you like a bullet of liquid lust. “You’re the only man who’s kissed me like that,” you whispered, taking his tie in hand. “I hope that’s always true.”

His voice had gone throaty. “May I kiss you again?”

Again, he reminded you.The two of you had kissed before, and it had been spectacular, terrifying, and excellent.

“Please,” you said, and Damian rushed to your aid.

Not a moment more was wasted. Curling his tie into your fist, you drew him in, slow and deep and wonderfully. Damian’s cologne hit you before his lips did, and both made your core throb for friction. Two broad hands slammed your hips into the door. His fingertips smoothed up the fabric of your dress, pressing you back and squeezing you in until you could feel his belt buckle against your belly. Damian was a sweet, magnetic kisser, chasing your lips like he was on a crusade to save them. Each time they met, he swam deeper. The point of his nose bumped against your cheek. You hummed your laugh against his lips, and Damian groaned as he pulled away, readjusting, twisting, testing the limits of the kiss. And you followed him at every step or more, revelling in his taste.

You didn’t want him to think you wanted the kiss to end, so you drew the hands braced under his blazer around his neck. Soon, that didn’t feel close enough, so you cupped each side of his face and pecked Damian until you were breathless. He brought you in until your arms were flat to his chest, the kiss almost vertical in its intensity.

He groaned when you parted, gasping and blinking just inches from your face. Your mouths were still connected by a thick string of drool, which hung until it split and clung to Damian’s chin and fell, marking a wet strip down into his collar. You panted, watching it go.

Damian left your waist to hold your wrists, keeping your hands around his face. He settled warmly into your touch, basking in it, and the pure enjoyment on his face made you smile. You wondered if anyone else had cared for him like this. If Damian had ever felt someone hold his face and treasure it. The thought gave you a strange urge, so you followed it.

You brought Damian’s brow level with your mouth and sweetly kissed his forehead. Then his nose bridge, then his temples. His face was so quickly warm that you giggled. In the most unsubtle way possible, Damian drew back his hips so you couldn’t feel the heat there, and closed his eyes, begging you to continue.

“I want you,” you whispered against his jaw.

Damian shivered. “You have me.”

You shifted one hand to his shoulder, giving yourself more room to nuzzle and kiss his neck. The line of drool was still there, so you cupped his skin and tilted his jaw up, and in one stroke, licked all the way to his earlobe. Damian’s moan poured from his mouth like a growing flood. You even felt his thighs press together between you, and pleasure tingled in your throat when he choked at the glide of your tongue.

He released your wrists, reached beside you, and locked the door with an audible click.

Then, Damian devoured you. Both hands hooked around your back, arching your chest into his, and finally, bringing his bulge between your hips. You clung to him for dear life, helpless as his teeth pressed into your neck like a vampire. Damian fed like one, too, suckling the skin there like he was starved. Your panties were so wet that you were desperate to get out of them, grinding your core against his.

Damian retreated, gasping. He licked the spit off of his lips and glared into your eyes. Bluntly, he said, “I want to eat you out.”

Once more, you kissed him, delirious with excitement. Your lungs burned for air, but your core burned harder for him. “Take off that suit and you can do whatever you want to me.”

His eyes gleamed. “I plan to.”

Quickly, you shoved your hands into his sleeves and pushed them off his shoulders, giving you a crisp glimpse at his carved shoulders. Damian's fingers blurred from button to button, but he saved the last for you on purpose. You worked in tandem and with little thought. If he could, Damian would steal a kiss, and you would bite his lip and chase him into more. When that last button was popped, his white button-down parted for a gorgeous plane of hard-earned muscle. His abs, ribs and pecs were pockmarked with scars, shrapnel marks and in some places, bullet holes. You stopped.

At your staring, Damian pressed his lips together.

“It's.. not appealing, I know,” he monotoned.

“No,” you disagreed, palming his stomach, “it’s impressive. All these do is show how strong you are, how long you've survived. You're so… built...” you didn't hide your thorough examination of him, “...I mean, we have to be to do what we do, but still… It suits you. It's sexy.”

You worried you'd ruined the moment with your babbling, but he glimmered under your praise. Damian brightened in the way only Damian could, smirking devilishly and towering over you like a supervillain.

“Sexy?” He pressed his naked chest into yours, whispering hotly in your ear. You could feel his silk tie pinned between you. “Does that mean I'm your type?”

You rolled your eyes. “Eavesdropper.”

“Temptress,” Damian replied, just as easily.

To claim your title, you found Damian's belt and pulled on it until the clasp gave. It made a satisfying whipping noise as you ripped it off of him, shouldered into his space to grab his waist in one hand, and cupped his throbbing boxers in the other. Damian's sigh came hoarsely and wanton from his mouth.

“Fuck me,” you demanded, grinning with delight.

Instead of wasting time on a response, Damian fell to his knees, a faithful worshipper. He did the gentlemanly thing and helped you kick off your heels. The tile was icy on your bare feet, but it only mattered until Damian ran his hands up your thighs. Sliding his fingers underneath the fabric, he bunched it up your middle, peering up at you smugly through his lashes. You could feel the debauchery of it - Damian, on his knees, tie hanging still from his neck, pinning you to the door. You, your legs spread and wanting.

Damian sucked in a breath. Your panties had an obvious wet patch, put there by him. He thumbed it carefully, watching your brows tense and your eyes close, basking in your initial whine. All of it enchanted him. You were soaking because of him, trembling because of him, marked because of him. There was not one place he would rather be than here.

Damian collected your sweetness and sampled the taste on his thumb, trapping it behind his smug smile. He ran his tongue over his teeth, spreading the flavor around his mouth, savoring it. As Damian rolled your underwear down your legs, his cock twitched in his open fly. You were beautiful. Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

“Put your leg over my shoulder,” Damian ordered, smirking, “I want to taste you.”

Warmth exploded in your cheeks. “G-go ahead.”

Gradually, you situated your leg across his back, pussy tensing at the touch of the cooler air. This didn't matter for long. Damian's warm lips nuzzled and kissed the thigh closest to him, painting messy reflective circles on your skin with his kiss. Even that made your legs tense wildly, so Damian shoving his wet, blazing tongue into the folds of you cunt pumped moan after moan from your mouth.

“Damian!” You yelped.

Oh, he definitely liked that. Damian pinched your ass and used his mouth so passionately that his head shook back and forth. He darted right for your clit, sucking it until his cheeks were hollow and humming smugly between your legs with every squeal. Parting your folds with one hand, Damian kissed your core just as dirtily as he'd kissed you. The dangerous glint in his eye never faded. He plunges his tongue inside you in earnest, slurping obscenely, purposefully. There's no need for Damian to shoot you cute looks or put on a show - his skill was the performance, because that skill was unbeatable. Your pussy was already tender, fucked nerveless by Damian's filthy mouth. He vibrated your cunt with a deep groan before he drew away, face dripping with slick like a pornstar’s.

“You're suitably wet,” he said, matter-of-factly, “would you like me to use my fingers?”

All the strength you had went into a weak, pleading nod.

Damian was polite enough to grant you your bearings first, letting you grip his hair and squeeze the counter before he resumes. You give him the sweetest, most precious whine when Damian licks you open again. He wisely starts with one finger and builds from there, earning you with pumps and curls of his digits. Damian's talents quickly become a currency, one that you exchange with mewls and pants of praise.

“So good,” you whine, “oh, fuck - fuck, just like that…”

Damian smirks between your legs, jamming his fingers faster into your sore pussy. Lust sizzles low in your gut, ramped up again and again by his thrusting. It’s so powerful that you roll and buck off the door, your hips in his face. You want him - want him more than you want anything.

“You're ravaging,” Damian hums between licks. His eyes are closed, but that only gives the way he touches you more meaning.

It’s so surprising from his mouth that your hold on his hair slips, setting Damian free. He pants, catching his breath, and it’s easily the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen in your life. The effort has slouched him from his knees to his calves, further spreading his legs and opening up the fly of his pants. A solid bulge has formed and spilled out there, straining to escape his briefs like an arm in a sling that’s too small, way too small, for someone of his size. Three of Damian’s fingers are still twisting inside of you.

Slowly, Damian tipped back his head and hung down, arranging himself beneath your cunt. “So beautiful.” His free hand splayed where your leg met your hip. “May I touch you?”

“I-I get it’s the gentleman thing to do, to - to keep asking, but fuck, Damian,” you cursed, “you can do whatever you want to me.”

Damian’s intense jade eyes were so dilated that you could barely make out the color. He dragged his cheek against your thigh, fingers still circling inside you, and grinned like a shark. It was probably a bad idea to give the heir to the Demon’s Head that much power over you.

His other hand squeezed your skin, slow to passionate, from your belly to your breasts beneath your dress. It’s clear by the way Damian looks at you that he loves what he sees. The texture of his veiny, calloused hands feels good on your waist and ass, dragging you closer to him. He chuckles when your back arches, when your nails press into his hands, his back muscles, throwing himself into his task. Damian’s nose prods your folds as he licks you clean, tongue dipping and sliding against your sore clit. It’s like he’s done this for you before, in this exact way. Though he utilizes his tongue the most, his lips too are brutal, matched perfectly to fit your pussy lips.

But that tongue - how Damian’s jaw isn’t tired, you don’t know. He parts your folds and latches onto your clit, flicking his tongue at superspeed until drool and cum bubbles from your sensitive core. Your back winds tighter at every vibrating lick, paralyzing the muscles in your legs with glorious pleasure. It’s so exquisite you start to melt to the floor like warm clay, only to be bolstered back up by Damian, both hands viciously squeezing your ass. He keeps going not for you, but himself, sucking down every last drop of your juices.

Shattered, you twist hopelessly into his mouth, chasing the strained feeling like it’s the last you’ll ever glimpse. “Fuck, fuck - D-Damian, ah…”

“Did it feel good when I made you cum?” He teases, “It certainly tastes good. All those filthy little noises you make for me…” Damian shakes his head at himself, like it’s too fantastic to indulge again. He leaves your clit with a satisfied kiss. “Beautiful.”

Once more, the words are surprising to hear from him. You always considered Damian the prude type, but here he is, on his knees for you, mouth and chin glittering with your juices while he teases you in low, sexy tones. At your surprised look, Damian has the gall to blush.

With his ring finger in his mouth, he ponders, “If a man has never said that to you before...” pop, “consider me surprised.”

“Never while finger-fucking me, at least,” you admited, legs still trembelling. “It was sweet. You… you meant that?”

It was hard to imagine Damian Wayne finding anything beautiful. Even you, who was pretty enamored with him, figured he would judge by quality or skill, not beauty. The words tasted new on his tongue.

Slowly, Damian stood and stretched, his shoulders tight after staying in the strange position for so long. Lifting his arms coincidentally let his waistband sit lower on his hips, flashing his green boxers your way while showing off the huge, carved muscles of his arms. Truly, Damian’s subtlety was unmatched. You didn’t mind his miniature bragging fest - not when he had so much to brag about. Eating you out had put an excited shimmer in his skin, so the gold-toned lights of the room reflected sexily off his sweat, already accenting his kissable tan.

“I did,” he told you, moving on to his sucking middle finger. His other hand played on your thigh, stroking it. “I’ve always been… drawn to you. Every mission we’ve had together. I have a profound feeling that we are very similar.”

You laughed. Not at what he said, but the timing of it. “Would you believe me if I said I felt the same way?”

Damian made a face like his heart was doing jumping jacks. “A few hours ago? No. But now…” he barricaded you against the door, first with his hands and then his hips, closed in so tightly that you had to look past your nose to meet his eyes. “Your crush is adorably obvious. I’m annoyed that I didn’t see it before.”

Your rounded your hands against Damian’s shoulders, then his tie. It twisted nicely around your fingers, silky and cold in comparison to your flushed skin. You were tempted to fix your dress, but nothing, not even the world ending, could make you leave this room.

“My crush is obvious? Damian, all you’ve done for the last two hours is sneak me drinks and imply how much easier it is to be around me.” You grinned, “What’d you say earlier? There you are, Queen. Finally, someone intelligent enough to speak to me.”

Damian shrugged. “It’s true. Your knowledge of bioluminescent ocean life is fascinating.”

“I can’t believe you said that after giving me head for ten minutes.”

“It’s actually been closer to twelve,” Damian smirked.

Playfully, you pinched Damian’s cheek, then pulled him by the tie into a starved, energetic kiss. He must’ve been praying for your permission to continue, because the plan he’d been forming is quickly put into action. You’re hugged, arms scooped under your back as you kiss him. Damian surrenders his mouth to a bit of revenge tonguing while undoing your dress. No amount of kissing will pull him from his task, but your hand is a special case - it smooths down the front of his boxers and Damian melts.

“Y/N,” he groans.

Damian petulantly resists the temptation to close his eyes, but your touch is soft and sweet, demanding him to yield. Your lips suckle on his neck and Damian’s knees buckle. If getting his mouth between your legs didn’t turn him on, then this will finish him for sure.

“I missed you. Kissing you.” You purr into his throat. “One could never be enough for me.”

Is this what it’s like to be wanted? Damian asked himself. The only possible answer thrilled him, and he found himself pouring even more passion into the kiss, into you, wanting to share that rush of affection. You respond to his every touch with vigor. Damian’s heart stalls each time your thumb strokes his face, each time the other strokes him through his slacks.

“Me either,” he rasped, and helped you out of your dress. His tone was shy, but his words held too much depth to be meaningless. I want a wealth of them. I always want to kiss you, was what he wanted to say, but Damian was too embarrassed to raise the words. This moment was too special to ruin with his hopeless romanticism. He kissed you again and again, and to his amazement, you kissed him right back.

“Fuck me,” you begged him between breaths. “Right here. I don’t care if we’re caught.”

I don’t care if we’re seen together. I want to be seen with you, I’m not ashamed of you.

Damian cupped your face and almost knocked you both over with the strength of his kiss. Nose-to-nose, eyes closed, he commanded, “Bend over the fucking counter.”

In a blink, Damian turned and there you were, open and waiting for him. The sink was hip-level, so the bend was nothing but perfect - Damian could fuck you from behind and watch your lust-blown reflection without issue. Your perfect pussy drooled leftover cum down your legs, making your sex shine in the light.

In the mirror, you watched Damian’s eyes darken in delight. His pupils followed the line of your ass to your back, appreciating it like an artist would, like he intended to paint you later and needed to memorize the greatest shapes of your figure. The marble was icy against your hard nipples, which Damian had exposed when he’d impatiently shoved down your bra. Now, he cupped one of your breasts as he bent over you, kissing and suckling his way down your back.

“Perfect,” Damian hissed.

Shyly pressing your butt back against him, you buried your face in your arms and bit your lip, waiting for him to open you up. Damian’s shadow came to hover over you, and in the mirror his eyes were vicious, pools of circling sharks. “Are you ready?”

“Mhm,” you nodded. “Take your time.”

Though you weren’t being sarcastic, Damian took it that way and pinched one cheek of your ass. “With you? I will.” Then, with the same smoothness, Damian asked, “Condom?”

“Pill,” you replied, and Damian nodded his approval.

His pants rustled as they fell down his legs. Where you couldn’t see, Damian committed the sight to memory - his cock in hand, your pussy spread open, all for him. You squeaked when his hot tip touched your cooling clit, and squeaked again when it glided down your pussy and tested your opening. He knew he’d found the way when you winced.

In an unsurprising moment of compassion (for those who truly knew him), Damian kissed the top of your head and offered you his hand. “Would you like to hold it while I…?”

You took his hand and squeezed it to your chest, squeezing him closer in the process, too. “Thank you. Go slow, for this part…”

Damian complied. His sweat-sticky chest hovered warmly over your back. Even if Damian was big, you were wetter than you’d ever been in your entire life - any pain would quickly slide into pleasure. He braced himself with a deep inhale, and a hot, sharp sensation told you that he’d entered you. Where you choked in a needy gasp, Damian poured out his version of a whimper. You both held it. Then, breath by breath, you were struck with the realization that you’d been dying to feel this for weeks, for months, and only now was that heat being satisfied. Damian’s tongue and fingers had come close, but this is what would cure that aching emptiness - his big, girthy cock.

The deathgrip you had on Damian’s hand loosened. “You look perfect,” he murmured into your hair, instantly making your core flutter. “Oh,” he chuckled filthily, “you like that? Funny, how badly that idiot at the bar wanted to be in my place right now…but it’s me who gets to pound into—”

“Damian,” you warned.

He smiled smugly against your neck. “Nothing.”

Dutifully, Damian withdrew his hips, taking all of the heat with him. When he rolled back in, a hot, tingling sensation roared over all of your senses, and you let the moan at the top of that tsunami loose. It was clear that he couldn’t fuck you like he wanted to with one hand fished down at your side, so he glued both to the base of your back and started to thrust in earnest.

“So full...” You mewled, and Damian became a human pile-driver.

Your head seemed to roll off your shoulders with every crazed, rhythmic slam, so you grabbed the faucet and held on for dear life. Every slap was so loud, so powerful, that you prayed this one random bathroom in the penthouse was soundproofed. Anyone walking past would know you were getting railed out of your mind. You tried to compensate by moaning and squeaking quietly, but with force came volume. It didn’t matter how silent you were, Damian’s hips, your ass, the squelch of him inside you - each noise filled the bathroom, echoing off the tile.

The only way you could think to describe him was filling. First, there was the hot, cinching tension of his hands fused to your waist. Then there was his cock, which begged to be squeezed more and more with every pass. You responded to each throb with a mighty clench, which bent Damian over you like an animal, gasping for breath. His balls were painted with your slick. The closer you came to orgasm together, the closer Damian came to you. His hands migrated to higher on your sides, then up by your shoulders, then around you, where Damian kissed your back and rubbed your belly while he made love to you. He talked more than he moaned. Your ear was filled with sweet nothings, with vicious promises of what he would do with a whole night alone with you.

Damian’s reflection was wild with lust. He met your eyes as he fucked you, whispering how beautiful you are, how good you take his dick. His deep green eyes were so dark you couldn’t make out the brown in them anymore. The long muscles on his arms drew taut with each thrust, making his biceps bulge and pin your hips to the sink. Soon enough, a bruise would form from the pressure. One of many treasures from tonight - you would be thinking about Damian in his crisp suit for months to come, and the mess he’d become with you now even longer. Your pleasure built and built and built, like a nail struck further into the ground with a hammer. A very, very big hammer.

“M’ cumming,” Damian husked, slowing his plowing to a sloppy glide. Even his endurance was spent, and you were glad he’d spent it all on you. “Where d’ you…?”

You braced your hands on the counter, then on one of Damian’s. Together, you smoothed his digits down your stomach and between your soft, abused folds. “Inside me, please, please please—” you begged him, “fuck, a-as deep as you can go.”

As a test of your flexibility, Damian turned in and kissed you. Just as he parted your lips with his tongue, he parted your folds with his fingertips, overriding your clit as his cock throbbed inside you to the hilt. He took the invitation as a command. Damian pressed in until you could feel his abs mold to your ass, then stuttered his hips in quick, agonized dips to get himself there. With his fingers and his cock putting stars in your eyes, you finished first.

The white marble counter fizzed in your vision, until all you could see was that powerful, endless white, humming in your mind’s eye. Still, Damian wasn’t finished yet. You bumped your temple against his chin and hummed, “Cum for me, baby… fuck, a-ah!”

Your pussy’s throb raced and raced until it spilled over, pulling Damian right under the current. One clench and he was done for, so the velvety, periodic squeeze of your cunt emptied his store. You hung there, spasming in unison, until that overwhelming heat spurted in a ring around Damian’s cock and flooded out of you. Only then did his fingers stop on your clit, and you settled warmly in each other's arms and tried to remember your names and who you were.

Damian pulled out, then snuggled back in. He would’ve been nervous any other time, but he’d just put his dick inside you, so a little instinctive cuddling could be forgiven. On shaky legs, you turned around and sunk into him. You could tell by how he was eyeing the sink that he was desperate to get clean again, so with one kiss (on the cheek), you set Damian loose.

In companionable silence, Damian cleaned up and you collected the clothes abandoned on the floor. Staring at the corner where you’d just had the best sex of your life put an embarassingly pleasant warmth in your chest. Interesting, how one terrifying moment could become something as special as this. Fascinating, how you’d felt like you’d known him all your life.

“You know… I think you’re excellent, too.” You told him, finishing off the knot for his tie.

Damian dipped his head to hide his smile, but something so bright was impossible to hide.

#damian wayne smut #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x reader smut #damian wayne x you #robin smut #robin #dc smut #dc comics #dc #user uncouth

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lale-txt · 2 years

Text

🌙 confessing while thinking the other one is asleep w/ Roger & gn!reader

a/n: requested by @overpoweredrogersimp come get your dilf okay i PROMISE this is very fluff even though the beginning doesn't sound that way you have to trust me on this one. i fail miserably when i try to write something that is not at least a little bittersweet with the Roger pirates, but i think that's also the charm of them. word count: 1.5k

The fever came like a flash and knocked you out badly.

One second you were standing next to your captain, clinking bottles together (and admiring his handsome side profile), then everything was a whirl of colors and worried voices calling out your name, the sound of shattering glass and then pitch black darkness.

Your whole body feels like it was on fire, your breaths slow and strained, as if something heavy was sitting on your chest. Everything hurts. Time seems to run through your fingers like sand, unable to grasp how many hours, days even, have passed by. Strange dreams flicker before your eyes, haunting you with a melancholy you had long forgotten. It felt like breathing underwater. You hear yourself calling out their names over and over again, names of ghosts from the past, cutting your throat like glass.

The nightmares still linger with you a few seconds after you wake up, the demons crawling back under your blanket before familiar faces scoot into your eyesight again, their eyes always full of worry. Sometimes it was Crocus, the ship’s doctor, two fingers on your wrist to check your pulse, sometimes it was Rayleigh who helped you lift your head a bit to drink some water from a straw, his cold hand a welcome cooling in your neck. Occasionally you noticed Shanks and Buggy changing the wet towel on your forehead, whispering in hushed voices to each other. You felt bad that even the youngest ones of the crew were looking after you, but you still appreciated their tender loving care. And of course, always the warm bass of Roger’s voice, asking Crocus if you’re on your way to recovery and the concerned sighs that followed.

They all took turns in the night watch, keeping you company while the rest of the Oro Jackson was trying to find some sleep. You would wake up to the quiet rustling of book pages being turned over or a big hand gently stroking your hair, gentle voices mumbling over and over again that you’re going to be okay and that you’re safe until you drifted back into sleep again, tears rolling down your cheek into the pillow from all the softness your heart couldn’t handle.

After three days and three nights fighting against your own body, the fever finally went down a little bit. Breathing was still hard, but you even managed to sit up for a few minutes to spoon some soup that Gaban brought to the infirmary. He and Rayleigh helped you empty the bowl, praising you for finishing the whole thing and chatting about how Buggy and Shanks terrorized the kitchen crew to be off help only to cry for three hours straight while cutting onions. You chuckle softly as you sink back into your pillow. You always struggled to accept the help of others, but you had to admit that it felt nice to be cared for. To have a found family that got your back and worried about you. You fall asleep again to Rayleigh tucking your blanket under, gently stroking your cheek as he takes a seat next to you, opening the newspaper.

It’s almost midnight when you wake up again, your eyes needing a bit to adjust to the darkness. Your body feels heavy, still sleep drunk, but not that much in pain anymore. What a relief. You toss to the side, sinking deeper in your pillow, the blanket almost covering the tip of your nose. You had nothing to fear here. In the dark you can hear two voices mumbling quietly, unaware that you’re awake.

“Go to sleep, Rayleigh. You’ve been in there all day, I'll take it from here.” – “Are you sure? Crocus said you’re not in your best shape either these days. I really don’t mind staying the night, you go get some rest, Roger.”

The captain laughs quietly and even with your eyes closed you know how he pats his first mate on the shoulder, carefree as he always is, letting him know that he got it from here. Rayleigh knew better not to argue with Roger once he set his mind on something, but doesn’t leave the room without scolding him not to wake you up with his snores in case he falls asleep by your side. A slight smile lingers on your lips. They were polar opposites and yet you still loved them both with your whole heart. One platonically, the other… well, a bit more romantically. But falling for your captain was never a good idea probably, right?

You keep your eyes shut when Roger takes a seat in the chair next to your bed. Just knowing that he was here, alone with you, was enough to make your heart flutter and your cheeks flush. Once again you were thankful for the absence of light, keeping your love drunk expression a secret for you only. What did Rayleigh mean with Roger not being in the best shape? Did he catch the same disease as you? You take a mental note to ask him about that the next time.

Roger’s hand gently brushes your hair out of your face. He had propped himself up on his elbows next to you on the mattress, his dark eyes resting on your silhouette. He doesn’t want to wake you up, but also wants to make sure you are okay and cared for. Granted, he had missed you the past few days. Sure, he had checked in constantly to know about your condition, but it was different than usual, when you were following him on his heels around the ship, asking him curious questions about the things he had seen in the world or what next adventure would be waiting for you. He got so used to your presence, your absence felt like his heart missing a piece.

“You scared the shit out of me, little one.”

You’re caught by surprise from the sound of his voice, but don’t let it show. Once again you’re relieved that you’re buried under a heavy blanket and fluffy pillows, hiding your sweaty hands and your blushing cheeks.

“You can’t just collapse on me like that, you know? For a second I really thought we had lost you… and just the thought alone ate me up alive. There’s only so much my old heart can take and the thought of you dying before me, with all those words still unspoken…”

What words, you wanted to ask, but thought it might be for the better to let him believe that you were still deep asleep. He had never spoken in such a bittersweet voice to you before. It was different from his usual, cheerful self and your heart yearned a bit, touched by his honest sorrow. Lost in thought he runs his fingers through your hair, gentle, careful not to wake you up. When his other hand finds yours on top of the blanket, you instinctively hold on to it, giving it an impalpable squeeze. Your hand felt so tiny in his, yet so familiar, as if it was where it belonged.

“Can you believe it? A captain falling for his crew mate? Rayleigh called me a fool in love, as if he was any better.” Roger laughs softly and you can feel his eyes resting on you. Without seeing them, you just know that his gaze is full of love and tenderness. He had the kindest eyes on the whole Grand Line. “But what can I say. You had my heart the second we ran into each other for the first time and you threw that mean punch at me, hissing like a little kitten when I brushed it off as if it was nothing. Truth is, my heart recognized you before I did. As if it said ‘That is my person’, as if your name was tattooed all over it. As if I loved you before, in another life.”

Tears roll down your cheek and fall onto your pillow. No medicine could have been as soothing as hearing those words coming out of his mouth. When you start to sniffle quietly, Roger notices that you’ve been awake the whole time. A quiet ‘oh’ slips from his lips, then he crawls into bed with you, pulling you onto his big chest while you’re still wrapped in the huge blanket. You don’t even know why exactly you’re crying. Was it for his heartfelt confession? For knowing your feelings aren’t one sided? The lingering feeling that time wasn’t on your side? Either way, you cry and let him hold you, his big hand drawing slow circles on your back, softly kissing away the salty trails your tears left on your cheek.

No matter how much time you have left, you will make it count. In this life and the ones after that, you will meet again and recognize each other, hearts dancing on a tightrope.

#gol d. roger #roger x reader #one piece x reader #roger pirates #silvers rayleigh #scopper gaban #one piece x you #one piece fluff #gold roger #one piece reader insert #one piece scenario #one piece imagine #dream machine event

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ragingbookdragon · 3 years

Text

If All Of The Kings Had Their Queens On The Throne

Batsis x Ghost-Maker One-Shot

Word Count: 4K Warnings: Explicit Language, Slight Angst, Mature Themes

Author's Note: This is a direct continuation of the previous fic! Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

When the door to The Haunt didn’t immediately open, she frowned and clicked the button. “Hey! Lemme in!”

For a moment, there was nothing, then she heard, “Apologies Miss Wayne. Ghost-Maker is busy training. Shall I alert him?”

She sighed. “Nah, just let me in and I’ll get him.”

“Of course.”

The doors split open, and she walked into the base, immediately rolling her eyes at the colors, or better yet the lack of color at all. She had no idea what spurred him to pick white as one of the main colors in everything he wore and used, but God if it didn’t make him look like a psychopath. A snort passed her lips at her little joke, and she wandered around the desk setup and through one of the curtained areas until she heard boxing gloves meeting a punching bag.

Gently tugging the curtain aside, she paused, leaning against the doorway, and watched his back. He was shirtless and had headphones in, as he usually was and did when he trained alone, and his muscles rippled each time he threw a powerful strike. She couldn’t help but watch him; he’d always been so diligent when it came to his training, and if she hadn’t known him better than she did, she would’ve assumed all he did was train. She was very fond of it though. Very fond of him.

“You going to stand there or are you going to get a set of gloves and spar with me?”

She shook herself from her thoughts to see him rounding the bag, throwing a devastating kick; she snorted. “No thanks, Ghost. I just got over having a cracked skull.” Walking over, she neared the space, but stayed just far enough that she wouldn’t get struck.

“I’m actually here to invite you over to the manor tonight.” She said, watching as his eyes flitted to hers behind the mask. “I take it you know.”

“About the little pool party Bruce throws for everyone? Yes. I keep hearing about it over the Ghost-Net.”

She smiled. “It’s a lot of fun, Ghost. You’d have fun.”

He scoffed. “What? Being surrounded by every single hero this side of the galaxy? No thank you, (Y/N). I’d rather not.”

Rolling her eyes, she grabbed the punching bag and held it, looking at him. “You’re not going to make any friends if you spend all your time cooped up in here.”

“I’m not looking to make friends,” he retorted, throwing another punch that sent shock-waves through her arms to her core. “I’m here to clean up Gotham.”

(Y/N) gazed at him. “Sure I can’t persuade you?”

“Positive.”

She shrugged. “Then you leave me no choice.” Leveling him with a strong expression, she warned, “As the newest member of the Batfamily, you have to attend the pool party. It’s tradition and anyone who doesn’t, has to take patrol routes for everyone for a month straight.”

Ghost-Maker stopped dead in his tracks and looked at her. “You’re lying.”

(Y/N) sucked in a breath dramatically, “Ghost, I never lie.” She looked to the ceiling. “Icon, run the conversations from my phone named, ‘Bat-Chat’ and tell him I’m not lying.”

After a moment, the AI’s voice came over, clear and positive. “Miss Wayne is correct, sir. Record texts have shown that those who do not attend the parties thrown by the family for the other superheroes are subject to various torture techniques.”

“What!” (Y/N) shouted. “No, we don’t!”

“You said on June eighth that your brother Timothy Jackson Drake was going to be swirlied for missing the party.”

She sputtered. “I was joking! We don’t swirly each other. We just force our patrol routes on each other.” (Y/N) glanced at Ghost-Maker. “If you don’t come, you’re going to take patrol from me, Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, Steph, Duke, and Damian. You really wanna patrol all month by yourself? All that territory? Think of the time and energy it’ll take, Ghost.”

Ghost-Maker stared her down for a minute, mulling over his choices, then he finally sighed, resigned to his fate. “Fine. I’ll come over tonight.”

(Y/N) grinned. “Nope, you gotta get ready now. We’re arriving together.”

“You annoy me.” He griped, bypassing her to the doorway, and she followed him towards the stairs and to his bedroom where he entered the bathroom and got in the shower. She waited on the bed, gazing around his room while he showered.

“Who all is attending this party? That you know for sure.”

(Y/N) blinked, taking a moment to think. “Uh, all of the Justice League, the Titans and Teen Titans, the Outlaws, a few Green Lanterns…and probably a few anti-heroes but we’ll see.” She shrugged. “So pretty much everyone we interact with on a normal basis.”

“I heard Harley is coming too.”

“Yeah, she’s technically part of the family at this point.” (Y/N) said. “She’d be upset if we didn’t invite her over.”

Ghost-Maker stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist and she stood from the bed, wandering in behind him as he lathered his face in shaving cream.

“Trying to show out in front of everyone, Ghost?” she joked, leaving back against the door-frame of the small cabinet behind them.

“Bruce doesn’t keep himself kempt all the time. I do,” he remarked, flicking out the straight razor; he raised it to his jaw, and she hummed warningly, causing his brown eyes to meet hers in the mirror. “What?”

(Y/N) shook her head. “I’m just worried you’ll cut yourself.”

“I’ve been shaving my face since I was fifteen, (Y/N).”

“So that scar on your cheekbone isn’t from cutting yourself?”

He gazed at her. “You know why I have that scar.”

“I do.” She answered, then leaned away from the wall, shifting until she was sitting on the bathroom counter in front of him. Taking the razor, she tilted his chin up and carefully, scraped it down his cheek before rinsing it. “I gave it to you when you called me a coward.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to hit me that hard.” Ghost-Maker replied, coffee eyes focused on her face; she felt exposed under his knowing gaze.

She chuckled. “I think that was the first time I really surprised you that I wasn’t just my brother’s twin sister following him around to make sure he was safe.”

“You can’t blame me for thinking you were. You never joined in the training.”

“I learned better watching then doing.” (Y/N) rinsed the razor and tipped his head back as she drug the instrument down the exposed skin of his throat. “Most people are fearful when someone holds a razor to their neck,” she murmured, carefully shaving his Adam’s apple.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

Her hands stilled ever so slightly as she gaped at him. Normally he would’ve said, “I don’t feel fear” but now he said he wasn’t afraid of her. She wanted to hope it was because of what had occurred the last month, her confessing her feelings, him replying that he couldn’t love her like she did him—he’d not totally ruled out caring for her, at least that’s what she saw his words being. They’d not talked about it more than that night, merely going back to work, but she could tell that Ghost-Maker’s demeanor towards her had changed a minute amount. He watched her more. Was…softer with her.

(Y/N) smiled. “I’m glad to hear that.” She rinsed the razor and looked over his face for a moment, then she grabbed the towel and wet it, gently brushing over the shaving cream still on his face. Patting his face dry, she nodded. “Looks good. No nicks.”

“Thank you,” he approved, but didn’t move, keeping his eyes on her and she couldn’t help but look down, suddenly nervous under his gaze.

Her eyes widened when she saw the expanse of his chest though and she reached up, fingers delicately tracing a jagged and raised scar in the middle of his chest. Even healed it looked angry and a bolt of sadness hit her in the heart.

“You’re sad.” He noted. For a psychopath who didn’t feel empathy, he was actually good at discerning when people felt sad—or maybe it was just because he’d known her so long.

(Y/N) nodded, whispering, “There aren’t many scars on mine and Bruce’s bodies that look like this one.” Her fingers moved to one on the right side of his ribs and she frowned. “We’ve always had someone to stitch us up, or we did it for one another. But I can’t help but wonder…” her eyes met his. “Who did it for you? Who stitched the ones you couldn’t reach and do yourself?”

Her chest hurt. “Who was there for you when I wasn’t?” she leaned forward and pressed her forehead to the center of his chest. He was so warm, and she sighed, willing herself to not tear up. “I’m sorry, K.”

“For what?” he questioned, a hand coming up behind her, palm resting against the back of her neck.

“For leaving you behind,” (Y/N) answered, deciding then to wrap her arms around his waist, turning her face so her cheek rested to his chest. “I should’ve stayed with you.”

Ghost-Maker made a noise in his throat, and she wasn’t sure if it was agreement or bitterness. “And if you had, you wouldn’t have raised your family.”

She sighed. “Yeah…I know…but even during that time I couldn’t help but wonder how your journey was going. How you and your tech were evolving throughout the years.” (Y/N) pulled back slightly and looked at him. “I used to imagine what it’d be like to be there with you. To fight beside you. To live out your dream with you.”

His hand shifted from the back of her neck to cup her cheek and he tilted her head up, leaning down to kiss her. She closed her eyes, arms shifting from around his waist to wrap around his neck and his free hand gripped her waist, pulling her against him. Ghost-Maker shifted, pressing his lips to the underside of her jaw as his fingers dipped under her thigh, pulling it up until (Y/N) got the hint to cock it around his hip.

“K,” she breathed as he sunk his teeth into her neck, biting hard enough that it had her inhaling sharply, fingers twisting in the dark hair at the nape of his neck. She felt him smile against her skin.

“What do you want?” he asked, pressing surprisingly gentle kisses to where he’d bit as the hand that was on her cheek lowered to push up the blouse that stopped at her waist. His fingers dipped underneath, rubbing against her skin and he asked again, this time firmer, “(Y/N), what do you want?”

Her heart was hammering in her chest, and she could barely think, could barely form words. “I—”

A shrill beeping startled the two of them, well, her more than him, and she finally got herself to breathe. “That’s Bruce calling.” She uncurled one of her hands from his neck to reach for the phone in her pocket, but he caught it.

“Call him back.” Ghost-Maker said, grabbing a fistful of her blouse, starting to pull up.

(Y/N) shrugged his hand off. “If Bruce’s calling, it means he needs my help.” He pulled away and giving her a look, one she met firmly. “I need to take it.”

They gazed at each other for a moment and then he harrumphed, pulling away from her, and walked from the bathroom to his closest.

She sighed and pulled out her phone, answering it. “Hello?”

Are you on your way yet? The party’s already started and everyone’s asking where you both are.

Clearing her throat, she replied, “Yeah, he’s getting his swim trunks.” She glanced out the doorway. “You own trunks, don’t you, Ghost?”

“Do I somehow give you the impression that I’m incompetent?” he shot back, and she rolled her eyes.

“Ass.” She put the phone back to her ear. “We’ll be there in fifteen.”

Be careful. Love you.

“We will. And I love you too.” She ended the call and hopped off the bathroom counter, flicking off the lights as she walked out, seeing him throwing a bag over his shoulder.

“I’m ready to be bored out of my mind.” He grunted and she rolled her eyes again.

“Oh, shut up. You’re going to have a great time. I promise.”

Ghost-Maker glared at her as he pulled the white and black mask over his eyes and nose. “And how do you know?”

(Y/N) grinned, shoving him in the stomach as she walked past him. “Because I’m going to be there all night.”

***

“See!” she chirped as he sunk into the hot tub. “This isn’t so bad.” She handed him a drink. “Free drinks, laughter, and swimming. Fun, huh?”

He grunted, sipping the margarita she’d given him. “Your family and their friends are loud.”

(Y/N) looked over his head towards the other pool, grinning as her eldest nephew threw her youngest into the pool, then turned and threw his best friend. Laughter peeled from the entire group in the pool.

“Yeah…but that’s how you know they’re having a good time.” Her eyes drifted to Bruce who was fondly watching Jason and Roy grill, occasionally laughing as one of them told a joke. “Feelin’ good, Bruce?”

He took a sip of his brandy, sinking until his shoulders were covered by the running hot water. “Feeling great, (Y/N).” he held out his drink. “Put some ice in there? Please?”

She smiled and pulled her legs out of the hot tub, and really, it wasn’t exactly a hot tub because most were above ground, but Bruce being who he was, had redesigned it so that it and the pool were both in ground and connected.

Taking his glass, she rose and wandered over to the bar where a few of her friends were pouring drinks and chatting. “Hey Clark. Diana. How are you both tonight?”

Diana smiled and raised her wine glass. “I am well, (Y/N). How are you?”

“Can’t complain.” She said. “Clark, put an ice cube in here, would you?”

He did as she asked and dropped one in with the tongs. “I’m still surprised you got Ghost-Maker here. I assumed he wasn’t going to come.”

Her eyes flicked back over to the hot tub, and she watched Bruce tip his head back as he laughed, Ghost-Maker chuckling too; she smiled. “He’d never admit it, but he’s glad he came tonight. Anti-social as he usually is, he likes being included in things.” (Y/N) smiled at them and winked, walking back over.

She took her seat back on the side in the middle between Bruce and Ghost-Maker, handing her brother his brandy. “Clark licked all over the rim of your glass, Bruce. Just letting you know.” Feeling particularly childish, Bruce raised the glass to his lips and licked all around the glass. “You’re a child.” She remarked, then glanced to her side, seeing one of the Green Lanterns coming down the way.

“Kyle!” she greeted. “Join the fray!”

The artist smiled, then looked at the men in the hot tub. “I don’t want to intrude,” he said, and Bruce waved.

“Come on in.”

(Y/N) patted the wall between her legs and Kyle walked down the steps, shifting until his back pressed against the wall and she dropped her legs over his shoulders, fingers carding in his hair. “How’s it been going on Oa?”

He shrugged, sipping his beer. “It’s good. Can’t complain too much about saving the universe.”

She smirked. “Uh huh…and what’s this about you and Soranik?”

Kyle choked a bit on his beer, coughing slightly as she giggled. “It’s uh—complicated.” He tipped his head back, resting on her thighs so he could look up at her. “What about you? How’ve you been?”

(Y/N) sighed wistfully, combing back his hair. “Ain’t nothing changin’ but the weather…and the usual telling off the men in front of you for continually betting each other who can do the more stupid shit.”

At that, Kyle’s head tipped up and he first looked at Bruce, then to Ghost-Maker who merely drank from his margarita. “Uh…who’s that?” he asked quietly, and she snorted.

“Kyle, this is Ghost-Maker. Ghost, this is Kyle Rayner, the torch bearing Green Lantern.” She smushed his cheeks. “Isn’t he adorable?”

Ghost-Maker gave her an amused puff. “He is handsome, I’ll give you that.”

Kyle was glad the water had already flushed his skin because the way the man had flirted had made his cheeks warm. “Thank you.” He glanced back at her. “Is his name…?”

She nodded. “Yeah, he takes anonymity to a whole new level.” She tugged at a strand of his hair. “Did you know that only me, Bruce, and a few others know what he looks like and what his entire name is?”

He blinked in response. “That’s…hardcore secret identity, right there.”

“That’s because he doesn’t have any friends.” (Y/N) shot Ghost-Maker a grin. “But you can call him Ghost for short. It’s easier than the mouthful of Ghost-Maker.” The vigilante in return merely rolled his eyes and sipped his drink. “So, Kyle, have any new graphic novels in the works?”

“I do actually. Haven’t written them down but here’s an idea.” He brought up his hand out of the water and a green flash appeared in everyone’s vision. “See how you like it so far?”

(Y/N) huffed a laugh in disbelief. “This is so cool.” She grabbed the construct comic book and flipped through it. “Who’s the main?”

“Haven’t named her yet. But she’s a transgender, pansexual Native American who solves crimes as a superhero.” His cheeks flushed. “I know it’s ironic because we’re superheroes, but I couldn’t help it, you know?”

She nodded, seemingly impressed. “Figured out which tribe yet?”

“I was thinking possibly Cherokee. Or Mohawk.”

“I’ve got a MTF Kanienʼkehá꞉ka friend who lives in Quebec.” She said. “I’ll give her a call about working with you on this.”

Kyle lit up like the morning sun. “Really, (Y/N)? You’d do that?”

She looked down at him and shifted her thighs a bit, bumping his head. “Of course. You’re one of my best friends.”

“I love you, (Y/N).” he grinned, and she chuckled.

“I love you too, loser.”

Suddenly the speakers thumped, and her head shot up, looking towards Tim and Bart who were giggling. She pointed at them. “HEY! THIS IS NOT AN APPROPRIATE SONG!”

They merely giggled more and suddenly everyone was singing along to the raunchy song, well, the teens and young adults were but not her and the older people.

(Y/N) shoved Kyle off as she got up and ran towards the speakers. “WAP IS NOT AN APPROPRIATE SONG TO PLAY AT A POOL PARTY! THERE ARE CHILDREN PRESENT! TIMOTHY JACKSON, YOU GET BACK HERE WITH THAT IPHONE! TURN IT OFF!”

***

She smiled sweetly at her family and friends passed out in the living room, pillows and blankets thrown everywhere, arms slung over bodies, heads on stomachs and backs. It was nice to see them all so comfortable with each other, so tightly knit; it reminded her of a better time.

Most of the adults had gone home though some had stayed in extra rooms. She was sure that her brother and him had gone down to the cave to have it out just for the hell of it, but she was rather tired and decided to call it a night—though it was actually one am.

Closing the door behind her, she didn’t bother to go shower, planning to do it in the morning as she started stripping. First went the swimsuit cover, then the top and bottoms. She kicked her flip-flops off into the corner of the room and stretched her arms above her head, a quiet groan passing her lips as her joints and bones popped.

As she lowered her hands, a hand clamped around her mouth and another wound around her waist, tugging her back and she gasped against their palm, starting to struggle when she heard them chuckle. The sound, combined with the familiar smell of sandalwood wafting up her nose told her who it was, and they smiled against her ear. “Worried?”

She reached up and yanked his hand from her mouth, hissing, “You’re lucky I didn’t turn around and punch the shit out of you, K.”

“Promises, promises,” he murmured, pressing a kiss behind her ear and she shivered against his chest.

“What are you doing in here? I thought you and Bruce went to go spar?”

Ghost-Maker hummed, the hand around her waist starting to squeeze the flesh of her side. “We did. He said he was tired and went to bed.”

“And you didn’t go home?” her voice kicked up a notch when his other hand slipped from her grip and slid down her front.

“I didn’t want to go home.” He pressed his front against her rear and she gasped, one of her hands coming back to grab at his thigh, digging her nails in to keep him there. He smirked as she ground back against him. “Seems like you don’t want me going home either.”

(Y/N) swallowed thickly. “Something’s up with you tonight. You’re being a lot more…passionate than usual.”

He nipped at her neck, fingers delicately dancing over her abdomen. “I don’t like that Green Lantern friend of yours.”

“Who? Kyle?” she questioned confusedly. “Why?”

“He’s very free with himself towards you.”

At that, it was crystal clear, and she spun in his arms, looking at him, though she had to strain to see his face. “Are you jealous?”

“No.” He griped, though the way his jaw set, told her the truth.

“You are!” she laughed. “You’re jealous that I’m close with other men. That’s adorable.”

Ghost-Maker stared at her for a split moment, then he bent down and grabbed her legs, throwing her over his shoulder. (Y/N)’s gasp turned into a laugh as he marched towards the bed and tossed her onto it, watching as she rolled onto her back and laughed some more at him.

“God, you’re green, K.” she giggled, watching with hooded eyes as he shucked the swim trunks down to his feet and crawled onto the bed.

“I’m not envious of a glow-stick who’s never gotten this far with you.” He countered, grabbing her ankles; he yanked her down the bed and underneath him and she gazed up at him.

“Do you wanna know how many men have gotten this far with me?” (Y/N) challenged and Ghost-Maker stared into her eyes.

“It doesn’t matter how many because once I’m done with you, you won’t remember anyone but me.” He lowered his head, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her stomach, trailing downwards and she panted in anticipation when,

CRASH!

They started, and this time, he did too, both turning to the door, then to each other.

“What the hell—”

“OH SHIT! SOMEONE PUT OUT THE FIRE!”

(Y/N) grunted. “Oh my God, what did they do?”

“DON’T JUST STAND THERE! OH MY GOD SOMEONE CALL NINE-ONE-ONE! OR THE FIRE DEPARTMENT!”

“AUNT (Y/N)! DAD!”

She rolled out from underneath Ghost-Maker, ignoring his grabbing for her and she hurried to her door, yanking the bathrobe from the hook on the back. Slinging it on, she turned and pointed at the man. “Once I’m done out here, I’m coming back and you’re not going anywhere for a few hours.”

He smirked as he collapsed onto his back, taking himself in his hand. She almost burst into flames at the sight, and he purred, “You might wish to hurry, (Y/N). Wouldn’t want to miss anything.” His words tipped into a groan as his hand shifted along himself, and she scowled at him as she pulled the door open, his erotic frame illuminating in the hall light.

“You’d better watch it, K. We both know how mean I can get when I miss out.”

358 notes · View notes

wilczachannn · 3 years

Note

hi !! could you write a sbi x reader were they go ghost hunting like in the woods or somewhere abandoned ?? also could i be “🪐” anon :D

⊱ ⸾⤻🅶𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐒, ᴄᴄ!sʙɪ ‧₊˚ :

𖠳 ꒰ 𝘪𝗇 𝘸𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ₊

ⵌ going ghost hunting with sbi.

𖠳 ꒰ 𝘨𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾 ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ₊

ⵌ platonic // fluff

𖠳 ꒰ 𝘸𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ₊

ⵌ mention of ghosts, swearing.

a/n : THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST! AND WELCOME 🪐 ANON! THANK YOU FOR BEING MY FIRST ANON TOO!!! <3 if you’re still here, my lovely anon, could i have your pronouns? ^^

also sorry that this took so long sweethheart, i had to rewrite it because i didn’t like how it turned out at first :(( it’s still not the best, but i hope you like it!

the day started like usual, and it actually was until tommy messaged you out of nowhere. the message was said about going to an abandoned hospital and have the possibility of ghost hunting with "the boys", to which you agreed to go, but was scared of the idea of finding ghosts. i mean, it wasn't that bad, but you were nervous nontheless.

and there you found yourself sitting in a car with phil, tommy and wilbur. the only thing you didn't know about was that everything would be filmed for a video and that you would have techno on call, so he could be considered as really being there with the four of you.

"how are you doing today, [name]?" phil asked you.

"oh, it don't know phil. i'm hungry, i'm sleepy as hell and i currently want to die, thanks for asking by the way." you responded, sarcasm clear as day in your voice. tommy let out his loud laugh, wilbur on the other hand glared at tommy, who at the moment, literally couldn't care less.

the rest of the ride was filled with chatter, laughs and tommy being annoying like always. even if everything was chaotic, you loved it, there was something special about your family like antics. it was nice outside too, the weather was pretty dissent, nothing too bad, well till you actually were near it.

the place you were supposed to be in was an abandoned hospital, which as many people claimed to be "hunted", that should've been the first red flag to not go there, but tommy being himself, of course wanted to prove them all wrong. when you got there, you were in the middle of nowhere with only a few abandoned houses on a field with a giant forest next to them.

"damn, this place looks so crusty, like it's about to fall down." tommy nodded at your statement, i mean it was true. when you got out of the car, you could spot dry leafs mixed with some wet dirt, it looked rather disgusting. this time everyone would agree with you, not out loud, but still. "was this a good idea?" techno asked through discord.

you started to softly shake your head.

"hell no, it was definitively not worth it, phil i want to go back home, please." you begged the man.

"you're such a pussy [name]." tommy teased.

"i'd rather be a pussy than haunted by some stupid ass ghosts, thank you very much." and that was when the wannabe vlog ended. with tommy groaning in disappointment, wilbur laughing at him, phil was left speechless. but techno of course had to speak up,

"well, that was a waste of time."

𖠳 ꒰ 𝘵𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ₊

@bbh-a3sth3tic ,, @ttakinou

@lavenderjacobs ,, @oh-mcyt

feel free to join the taglist, here!

#[🍄] ─ my fic collection ¡¡#sbi x reader #sbi x reader platonic #sbi x platonic reader #sbi x you #sbi x y/n #mcyt x reader #mcyt x reader platonic #mcyt x platonic reader #mcyt x you #mcyt x y/n #mcyts x reader #mcyts x reader platonic #mcyts x platonic reader #mcyts x you #mcyts x y/n

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kirishoshego · 3 years

Text

Part of Me//Bakugo

Summary: You could say that Bakugo was the one that got away but now that you were about to marry things change Words. 3.1k+ TW: sfw: angst, fluff, mention of heart break (both him and you) being in a more or less unhappy relationship Whenever people would ask you how you felt about your upcoming wedding you would smile and say: ‘Really excited’ Because that’s how you were supposed to feel. Excited, happy, deeply in love, lucky, joyful, blessed, in seventh heaven, over the moon.

Your fiancé was kind and caring, he never made you doubt his love for you, at least not intentionally. If you were to tell him ‘jump’ he would ask ‘how high’, he would never tell you no, he would agree with everything you say. Whatever you wanted to do would be what he wants and apologize even before doing something wrong. Yet, you felt everything but. Don’t get it wrong: You were happy, you loved your fiancé... But if you loved him the way you were supposed to, why was the small wooden box filled with love letters of the love of your youth your most priced possession? You told yourself it was just harmless sentimental value, pale memories you don’t want to fade away completely. But you couldn’t hide the small rips nor the dried wet spots, all evidence of the many nights you read them over and over again. You couldn’t deny the tug on your heart whenever your eyes skipped over his name at the end of each letter, couldn’t help the way your body was arching for his touch every time you thought about him. Arch for the love he only ever gave to you. Have his arms wrapped around your body one last time, his lips on yours as a kiss good bye, hear his raspy voice in your ear, calling out your name to bring you peace before you leave.

Regret filled every inch of your body whenever you think back to the day you walked out of his life, walked away from your future together. It was the day after your graduation. Bakugo was on top of the class, of course he was, he had trained so hard and studied so much, it couldn’t have been any other way. You were on 6th place and Bakugo was so proud of you, even happier for you than he was for himself. He had planned to move in with you soon, even spotted a sweet apartment the two of you could share. Talking about the family you could start, about marriage. But in the night of the big party you bumped into Izuki, who congratulated the both of you and when your boyfriend walked away to grab something to drink the green haired boy turned around to you with a smile on his face. ‘I never would have though Kacchan would be able to fall for someone. He’ll even give up spot #1 just to be with you, that must be true love’ he said, kind and soft, not the tiniest hint of evil in his voice. And yet he caused more damage to Bakugo and you than the L.O.V ever did with those two sentences. That night you realized that you were being awfully selfish, keeping Katsuki away from his biggest dream in life. All he ever wanted was to be Hero #1, to be better than anyone, better than All Might. But here you were, keeping him back. Caged. Taking his precious time just for your happiness. His happiness was far more important for you than yours will ever be. So that night you disappeared. A simple note left on his nightstand, telling him you’re sorry but it’s better that way, you won’t be holding him back anymore, you promised, and the ghost of a kiss lingering on his lips was the only trace you had left behind for him when he woke up in the early morning hours.

Years have passed before the two of you met again. It was a fluke, more or less, that you were seated next to him on a plane. Yet, there was no awkwardness between the two of you, as if the night never had happened, as if you were still so familiar with one another, like you just spend hours, not years, apart. Neither one of you dared to bring the memory up though, him scared to find out why you left him, you scared to find out how much it must have hurt him. But your decision was the right one, he was on the top now. Bakugo Katsuki, Dynamight, Pro Hero #1. And you were so proud of him, you always knew he could do it, but these words never went past your lips, as if you had no right to tell him that. Of course you kept an eye on him, celebrated with him from afar, but you left him, you had no right to act as if you had supported him in anyway. That’s what you told yourself. When he asked to exchange numbers you were happy, but whenever your phone binged around your fiancé you felt shame in the pit of your stomach. Because you knew Bakugo could never be ‘just a friend’, he’ll always be more. Because it was him you called in those lone nights when your fiancé was out of town, it was him you texted first in the morning and last in the night. Because whenever you met him for a cup of coffee you told the man you’re going to marry it was just a friend you met up with, someone you knew from work. Whenever you noticed the door to him opening again you shut it close, sealing it with oh so many locks and yet they’re opened within seconds whenever his name was seen on your screen. You had to remind yourself why you kept it shut over all these years, the pain of losing him too much to bare.

The wedding was now slowly edging closer, every single day feeling dreadfully longer than the one before. And the less time you had, the more you doubted your decision to be with him for the rest of your life, as your heart was devoted to someone else. It wouldn’t be fair to him, he loved you dearly, treated you with nothing but kindness, you should do the same. But Midoriya’s voice reminded you that, without you, Bakugo was stronger, you couldn’t expect him to just take you back after what you’ve done, you couldn’t be so crude to the man you loved more than life itself. So you stayed. You told yourself you were the happiest like this. And it wasn’t like you had no love for your fiancé, you did. Otherwise you wouldn’t have accepted his proposal. It was good the way it was, changing it would just cause more chaos than necessary. It might break your heart in the progress, but that’s better than breaking the hearts of those you loved. You sucked it up, took a deep breath and put a smile on your face. Things will be just fine. But the night before your big day was spend alone, shrouded in darkness as silent tears spilled out of your sleep deprived eyes, caressing your cheek. You had opened every letter of Bakugo the very same day you got them. At first the letters started out as a joke, but there was something about them that made these written words a big part of your lives. You did text daily, of course, but (even though Bakugo would kill everyone who would dare to even think about it) he liked the romantic aspect of it. Texts can get deleted, lost within the world wide web, gone with a simple crash. Meaningless as some sort of, because everyone texted via social media today. And you weren’t everyone. You were Bakugo and Y/N, an odd couple somehow, but you weren’t bothered by the way people talked about you. Not at all. What mattered was that you had each other, for ever. Shaky hands stroked over the last letter you had received, not through him, but Kirishima. At first he pretended your meet up was nothing but an accident but when he left and you arrived home you noticed an envelope, covered in big and some smaller thumb prints, telling you that it must have been moved quite a lot. To this day you didn’t open it, couldn’t brace yourself for what was about to come. You took in a deep breath as the silvery paperknife softly gleamed in the dim light of your nightlight, gliding through the piece of paper. My Y/N, To be honest I don’t know where to start. God, I fucking hate this. You changed your number, moved away and didn’t even leave an explanation. Do you really hate me that much? To just leave me behind like I’m some sort of extra and not the man you wanted to spent the rest of your life with. I know those weren’t lies, you never were able to lie to me. So now I’m out here, looking like a fool, trying to wrap my head around the fact my person is gone without a trace. I even talked to Deku, asked him if he knew anything, but of course that extra didn’t knew shit. He offered to talk to you but I didn’t want him out of all people to contact you. Kiri told me he had run into you once, he said you looked awful. Not really his words, but from what he described you are just as torn apart as I am. Which confuses me even more. If you’re so hurt why won’t you come back? I hate giving second chances but I would do anything for you. You got me fucking whipped for you shitty woman and then you just pack your stuff and leave? The last couple of month have been awful. I haven’t slept properly, I can’t without you next to me. If you need time (even if I don’t understand for what, because we’ve been going strong since day one dipshit, if someone needs time it’s me from your annoying, cute fucking self) I can give that to you, just come back. Kirishima is trying really badly to fill in your spot and (don’t you dare to ever tell a single soul about this, I’ll kill you… maybe…) while his hugs are warm and loving and attempt to make me laugh do crag me up here and there it’s not the same. No one can ever replace you. We are young, we don’t know shit about life, but if I do know one fucking thing is that I want to wake up to your stupid angelic face every morning. I still remember the nights were you asked me what had torn me apart, the nights you held me close to you because of the awful nightmares that haunted me. I never wanted you know what they were about, never wanted you to worry, but never had I imagined that those nightmares will turn true. That I’ll lose you. Damn it, I want to marry you, have kids with you (if you want, I’m fine with sticking to practice) and turn old and grey and yell at the neighbors kids for ruining our garden. I might can’t give you everything you want but I know I’m everything you need and visa versa, I guess. Y/N I don’t want to bottle you up, but I can’t let you go either. It’s so fucking confusing and I hate it. I hate that you didn’t give me a clean cut, a proper explanation but at the same time I don’t want that, I don’t want to know why you left me, cause maybe I pushed you away, maybe it was my fault. Whatever your reason is we can work through it. I promise you, I’ll love you forever, because you are a part of me. The best. I won’t ask you to send me a letter back, as I will never send it to you. I think hearing from you, meaning you won’t come back, would just break me more. So now I have to be selfish, focus on me again, because if I won’t I’ll drown, Katsuki Lines were crossed out, some words thickened, indicating the many times he wrote them, over and over again. Like he said, he never planned for this letter to ever reach you. He didn’t knew Kirishima gave it to you and even Kirishima never knew if you found it, maybe it got lost on the way, some things better when hidden. That night, you cried yourself to sleep, torn into so many pieces you couldn’t count every small particle, even if you tried. That was the moment you realized you will never be whole again, never be home again.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, dressed in all white, the most beautiful gown you had ever laid your eyes upon. All evidence of the previous nightly events were hidden under a mask of make-up, your hair never sat more perfect than it did right now. When your eyes met the person in the mirror you couldn’t identify with her. Whoever she was, she looked like a happy bride, someone who was in love with her fiancé, in love with her life. “Hey,” a deep voice spoke up behind you, making you drop the bouquet. Turning around you were met with the most beautiful set of crimson red eyes. “Katsuki, what...” you stammered, not knowing if your mind just messed with you, the cold feet everyone warned you about now making their appearance. “You look beautiful,” he told you, walking closer to you, your nose filled with your favorite smell in the world. Softly burned caramel. You held your hand up, scared that if you touch him he’ll be gone, just a figment of your imagination. “What are you doing dumbass?” he laughed, setting of thousand of butterflies in your stomach, starting the fire that was long defunct. “Come here,” he pulled you and the moment your skin touched his you realized he was here, with you, in this room. Bakugo held you close to him, biting back the tears that threatened to spill out his eyes, because it wasn’t him you will walk to at the end of the aisle. “What are you doing here?” you whispered into his chest, your hands fisting his suit jacket, feeling complete again. Finally at home. “I promised to be with you, by your side to celebrate every milestone in your life. And marriage is a huge one, don’t you think?” he asked you as you looked up to him, lips inches away from one another. “But...” suddenly reality came crushing down, everything was not going to be just fine. Thousand knives pushed into your chest at once. Or at least that’s what it felt like. “Today is your big day Y/N. After all these years you’re still my best friend,” “Hey!” you heard Kirishima suddenly call out in the door frame, ducking down to not hit his head. “Eijiro!” you exclaimed, engulfing him into a big hug as best as you could. “Hey little one, you’re still as small as I remember!” he laughed, gently wiping away your tears that threatened to ruin your mascara. “Sorry for not answering your invitation, we were just awfully busy with Hero Work and our secretary messed up, mixing the actual mail with fan mail,” Bakugo explained after Kirishima set you down again. “I’m so happy to have the two of you by my side, my favorite men finally with me again,” you told them, looking at Bakugo. He still had the same expression on his face whenever he would look at you. Filled with love and adoration. “But I’m your absolute favorite, right?” Kirishima laughed, his smile beaming. “Of course you are,” you endorsed your tall friend standing next to you. “We will actually wait outside, the church is stuffed, so...” Eijiro trailed off, his eyes glued to his best friend. “Yeah! But we wanted to see you before, to uhm...Congratulate you,” Bakugo cleared his throat, putting on the best smile he could for you. You seemed so happy, that was all he ever wanted. “Yeah, congrats, your guy seems nice,” “Yeah, he is,” was all you could say. Because he was nice, he just wasn’t Bakugo. “I’m so glad I saw you before, I really did miss you,” your eyes couldn’t let go of the blond man in front of you and neither could his let go of you. “We better get going now,” Kirishima said after some moments draped in silence passed by. “Save a dance for me,” Katsuki told you, kissing your forehead for one last time before leaving through the door. Hours could have passed, maybe minutes, maybe seconds. You had lost track of time after his lips met your skin. When you entered the church, a small wave of Bakugo all you could really register, you weren’t present. It felt like you were in a movie, everything slow motion, watching from afar while the main character walked into her demise. The audience wasn’t applauding her, everyone screamed, asking her what the fuck she was doing. The moment you looked into your fiancé’s eyes, was the moment you snapped out of it, feeling your soul entering your body again, letting you realize what’s happening in first person. He grabbed your hand and looked at you with warm, sad eyes. He knew. “I’m sorry, I-” you whispered, even before the pastor could open up his bible. “It’s okay, go,” was all he said, rubbing his thumb over your hand, reassuring you to go for what you loved. Go for whom you loved. People gasped left and right, whispers filling the holy halls as the bride run down the aisle, pushing open the big wooden doors, her eyes immediately falling onto him. Her lover, her best friend, her other half. Bakugo Katsuki. His back was turned to you, shoulders shaking ever so gently while his best friend towered over his frame, trying his hardest to console the blond. It was Kirishima who noticed you first, pointing at you as Bakugo turned around, not a moment too late as you fell into his arms. “I love you Bakugo Katsuki, I have ever since day one. I was stupid enough to walk away from you once, I won’t do it again. If you don’t want me back I understand, but if I don’t try then-” his lips on your shut you up, first a small amount of shock pumping through your veins, the warm feeling of love and safety replacing it within seconds. “Run away with me?” he asked you, displaying his beautiful smile. “Of course I will, without you I’m just a half, because you’re a part of me, the best.”

©Kirishoshego

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boldlyanxious · 3 years

Text

Panic at the Haunted Maze

Part of meet cute Mondays

My masterlist

Marinette couldn't see her group anymore. She didn't think anyone would miss her. She had just signed up to join a random group but she had turned and when she looked back she couldn't see them. All she found was another dead end. She didn't have her own flashlight and her phone died. Her shoes were definitely covered in mud.

Of course it started raining again.

She had done a corn maze in France before but it was nothing like this haunted maze. The path had been hardened and easy to follow when she went with a group from lycée. She remembered it being brighter and full of laughter. Maybe she was looking back with her heart shaped glasses. It was the unplanned moment that Marinette had finally been able to tell Adrien how she felt. Everything else about the night felt happy and fuzzy with the memory of her first kiss. It had been a couple years later that she found out her two previous kisses had been with him.

She definitely didn't remember soft, sticky mud underfoot with cold rain pouring down. Her pants might be as bad off her shoes. It was worse than walking through snow. Which would be happening soon as she could see the icy rain being joined by large, wet snowflakes as the temperature was dropping. That might be scarier than anything she had seen in the maze so far. Mostly it was jump scares but apparently the dead end she was currently in was so obviously the wrong path that no one had bothered to put anything scary there. She really needed to find a way out before she froze.

She pushed herself on and she was fairly certain she had found the main path. There were definitely louder, creepy sounds and some moving light up ahead. She knew that meant there would be a jump scare around the next corner so she took a breath and squared her shoulders to prepare herself. She could see the person moving quickly towards her in the dark. It was a black light moving back and forth, shining on all the floating ghosts. She could see where they were tethered and being blown to look spooky. But then the light illuminated the person. It could have been anything but it was a person in a catsuit, all bright white against the black around him. The large predatory eyes turned to her and the mouth formed an evil grin.

She didn’t even realize that she was screaming but she could hear the piercing sound. She rushed forward and slammed into Chat Blanc in a panic. He fell over and somehow didn’t reach out to grab her. She raced on in a frenzy to get away. She needed to find a place to transform. She could barely form words when she ran into civilians just ahead. They were trying to calm her down but she couldn’t process the English in her panic. One of them didn’t wait for her to process. He wrapped something warm around her and scooped her up. In only seconds he had reached the end of the haunted maze.

---

Jason was surprised when he turned at the sound of crashing in the maze. He hadn’t remembered any of the last scares being particularly scary but something had clearly been knocked over and then a woman ran right into him. She was clearly in distress about something. Taking in her appearance with a too thin jacket, that had probably been fine an hour ago before the rain and now the snow and then the mud halfway to her knees, Jason didn’t wait to find out what had spooked her. He just wanted to help her. He wrapped her in his jacket and carried her to the exit. There were a few tents set up for those who needed a calm place to recover and there was a variety of warm drinks.

Possibly it wasn’t the best thing for him to do with a stranger, but she didn’t seem to be with anyone so he sat back on the cot in the tent and pulled her against his chest after helping her out of the wet jacket. He kept his arms around her, speaking softly or singing in French. The only French songs he knew were Jagged Stone ones but he just sang them much softer like a lullaby and hoped she would forgive him after. It took a bit but when he was trying to remember the words to Jagged’s song about a cartoon superhero Ladybug she seemed to become aware. She filled in his missing words anyway.

She still didn’t seem to fully realize where she was but he passed her a cup of hot cocoa and she started to sip it slowly. She was no longer shaking and her breathing had started to even out. Jason pulled back as soon as she started shifting. He was only trying to get her calm and warm so he didn’t want to overstep any more than he already had. He left his jacket on her as well as the blankets covering her arms and legs before trying to find out more.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asked.

“I’m feeling very embarrassed and a bit confused,” she said.

“I don’t know what you saw but it was clearly enough to take you to something your brain couldn’t escape from,” he explained. “Did you come with anyone?”

“Yeah. But it wasn’t people I knew. I doubt they even noticed I was missing.”

"I'm Jason. Can you tell me who you are?"

"Uh, Marinette."

“Okay Marinette, we were not able to find anyone missing a person. There were 3 larger groups that had gotten out around that time.”

“I got lost a while back. I couldn't see and I got stuck in the mud. It started raining and everything was worse.”

“Do you have a way home or anyone who will be near you when you are home?”

“I rode in a van that brought a group of people. I could probably find another one leaving if there are other groups around.”

“I think they are all gone for the night. They are closing up here.”

“Oh no. I guess I could call a cab. My phone died though.”

“I have an idea. I live really close to here. It is not just me. I have brothers and sisters staying over. They wanted to make it an all night thing and keep on with scary movies.”

“I couldn’t do that. You don’t even know me and I definitely am not in the mood for scary movies.”

“I know you are having a rough night. You are cold and alone. I can’t just leave you. So if you want to go home, I will take you. But if you want to stay by the fire with lots of snacks and a pile of blankets, I’m offering,” he smiled. “Actually I’m begging. There are plenty of warm clothes and I’ll put on Pride and the Prejudice. It's the solution to all bad days.”

“You want to watch Pride and the Prejudice?”

“Of course I do. It’s a classic,” he said with a smile.

Jason kept pushing because he could see that she seemed interested. He really didn’t want her to be alone after tonight. He put her in the back of the car with Steph after introducing her to everyone, and he and Dick sat up front. They talked and joked for the few minutes it took until they reached the manor. He sent a message ahead to Alfred so he could have a fire going and heat up drinks for them. When they arrived Marinette was dragged off with Steph to get her clean dry clothes and an offer for a bath. Marinette chose to just clean up as much as possible and get directly into the clothes so she could warm up faster.

---

Jason had not been kidding about the set up. She could see that he had Pride and the Prejudice queued up and a variety of foods set out. He pulled her over and dumped her into a pile of blankets wrapping one around her. Marinette tried to argue with the change in movie line up but Jason assured her that nothing had changed. The scary movies were still going in another room but he was going to watch Pride and the Prejudice anyway and it would be better with her. He sat near her on the couch and pushed play. Steph, Dick and Babs were in there with them but as it got later they left one by one.

Marinette felt so warm and cozy. It reminded her of movie nights with her parents. She didn’t know when she had slipped down into the covers but the credits were rolling now. She must have noticed the music change. She had fallen asleep and she was now leaning on Jason. He seemed to be okay with it. He had leaned back into the couch and had pulled some of the blanket over himself. His breathing was steady while he slept and Marinette found it comforting.

She knew it was odd to be basically cuddling with a stranger but she felt safe. Jason had helped her when she was panicking and he had offered choices with every suggestion. Each choice had always included the option of having one of his sisters there. He was protective but he also realized that he was a large man who could seem intimidating and he countered that with giving her agency to make her own choices

It was probably the drowsiness that had her move back down against him. He moved in his sleep and his arm pulled her close. She was smiling as she slipped back to sleep.

Taglist

Maribat

@adrestar | @zynna

@technicallyburninggarden | @iloontjeboontje | @certainmuffinbagelcalzone

#maribat #jasonette #meet cute mondays #fluffy #boldlyanxious

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equestrianwritingsstuff · 3 years

Note

Ooh! I just discovered you from the Bad Things Happen Bingo and I love your writing already! Could I potentially request the Bleeding Out prompt as a prequel for the Soup for the Sick story you wrote?

Thank you for the ask! I had to look up prequel to make sure that you meant before the events of Personalized Caretaker Part 1, and not after 😂. Here you go! In reference to this post.

So, with that note, this piece happened before Part 1 of Personalized Caretaker.

Personalized Caretaker Part 2

Part 1

Warnings: blood, vomit, losing consciousness, faking an injury, drugged whumpee, fear, implied touch starvation

*not edited*

Civilian hopped onto her couch, legs resting on the armrest and flicked on the television, going straight for Netflix.

It was a normal day, serene and tranquil with the perfect amount of work that made Civilian feel good inside.

She lazily gnawed on a piece of beef jerky and selected The Kissing Booth for personal enjoyment. Something cheesy and romantic to vibe to as she decompressed- even the best days required a period of relaxation.

But, her period of relaxation was very rudely interrupted by a thud. Right outside her door.

Civilian froze, heart racing, as her mind involuntarily replayed every known horror movie. She was the victim, the bad guy was going to break in and slash her throat as she unceremoniously says, "Who's there?"

Civilian shuddered, turning off the television, and slowly standing up. She grabbed her remote control as a weapon and very, very slowly, like a ninja, stalked stealthily up to the door.

"Who's there?" Civilian asked. Crap, her fatal flaw. Now the bad guy was going to rush out and murder her, then the police would come and there would be ten more killings and then there would be a ghost that was a moaning lady with pale skin and black hair that was hung in the woods seventy-some years ago and then it is reincarnated to be a doll that haunts children and-

Civilian drew in a deep breath. Don't freak out, don't freak out. It was probably a bird that weighed the size of a man- a bad man- that crashed into the window and died. And died. And died. And died. It was gone. Instead of using a remote, she should be using a plastic bag.

"Stop it Civilian, you paranoid freak," she yelled at herself, very loudly, her voive taut with utter fear as she peered through the shades.

The first thing she saw was blood.

Smeared blood in the direction of downwards, leading directly to...

A body.

Civilian felt nausea rise in her throat as literally the blood drained from her face. She wasn't the first victim, the poor human in opening credits, she was the next victim and her house was the killer's stash.

Probably to blame her for the death. To redirect the suspicion.

She had to hide the body and burn it before the cops came. Oh boy, the killer probably already called them. Crap crap crap.

Civilian whisked the door open, tossing her grand weapon of plastic and onto a nearby table, and prepared to wrap the body in a black bag.

The body moved.

Civilian screamed.

The body was not a body, it was a living man.

"Oh my gosh sir? Sir! Are you okay? Sir! Sir!" Civilian grabbed her hair and started to paced. "This can't be happening. This can't be happening. There is a bleeding man on my fricking doorstep." She started to ramble, muttering nonsensical curses and words that weren't going to help the dying man.

She was panicking, completely hyperventilating, by the time the man moved more than a shaky, uneven breath.

His eyes opened, revealing a drop-dead gorgeous icy blue. Eyelashes fluttered in the most enearding way as the man struggled to keep his consciousness to himself. Lips quivered as he whole face bunched together in an expression of pain.

Civilian didn't know if she could handle it.

"Are you doing to die?" She asked, rushed and abruptly. The man looked his clouded gaze on her. It took a moment, but he spoke,

"Heroes. Heroes, they are coming. Run, get outta here. Get outta here!"

Civilian shrieked, glancing hurriedly around. An insane plot twist, the good guys were the bad guys and...

Wait, this wasn't a movie.

And why was this man so scared of the heroes? Unless, of course, he was...

A villain.

Civilian covered her mouth and dropped to her knees. A v-v-villain? Was at her door? Civilian pinched herself to see if she was sleeping, but the nightmare didn't vanish. She was stuck in reality. Someone go get her a soda...

Villain's eyelids drooped as he weakly extended his arm. "Please," he begged. "I need help." Then his arm went slack.

Civilian was close to hysterics.

But nonetheless, out of fear, she grabbed the man's arm and attempted to pull him inside. She silently cursed. Her twigs for limbs could barely carry a box of mason jars; what made her think she could drag a two hundred pound full-grown adult male?

It was a taxing project that left Civilian in tangled limps, just begging for sleep. The man didn't stir at all, not even when Civilian's fist went into the gaping wound in his stomach.

Aw man, that was disgusting. Civilian vomited into a nearby trashcan before returning to figure out WHAT THE HECK TO DO!!!

"Can you wake up?" Civilian asked. "Please? I-i... how do I... how do I do this?"

Civilian was on the verge of tears, but then she reminded herself. This isn't a movie, he won't be miraculously healed after a good night's sleep.

With a quick reference to Google, Civilian finally felt prepared. She ran to get a pillow and slipped it under Villain's head. His eyelids fluttered as his eyes cracked open, but then they slipped close again.

Next she removed his shirt and was quite awestruck at the sight. Other than the painted crimson, his abdomen really was the definition of ab-domen. Hard muscles were lined perfectly.

Okay Civilian, someone is dying, don't admire it.

She placed one hand above and the other in the wound to staunch the bleeding. After the blood flow slowed, she lifted his legs to rest on the armrests in a similar position that she was in earlier.

Next, she jumped some hydrogen peroxide in and bandaged the wound. The villain never awoke.

Once the looming danger was gone, Civilian just stood there awkwardly. Dried blood crusted on his skin, but at least it wasn't wet.

So she stood there, arms crossed as meaningless thoughts rushed through her head.

What do call a male ladybug?

Is grass the earth's hair?

Do pineapples come from pine trees?

Why is a villain on my couch?

Civilian sat down, keeping a good three feet distance from the assumed murderer, and turned on the TV to resume her movie.

She leaned her head back, exhaustion tugging at her eyelids, but she refused sleep. Especially when a villain was slumbering next to her with one arm over his face.

He looked like a monkey.

One of those pale faced, brown haired primates from Curious George.

Not that his ears were splayed out or anything, the monkey had very tiny, collected ears that hid under his fluffy brown hair. His nose also held that itty-bitty appearance, perfectly formed to his face with the faintest trace of freckles.

He was cute.

Like a monkey.

Or not, as Civilian found monkeys utterly disgusting.

So cute, like a kitten.

Civilian smiled, looking down at her lap. Another thing Wikihow said that Civilian scowled at and ignored before. Put the victim's head in your lap to calm and keep them comfortable.

It wouldn't hurt, right? The villain wasn't even conscious, and he lost so much blood that he probably wouldn't remember anything if he did wake up.

She just met him.

Stress can increase heart rate which may be detrimental. Civilian scrunched her forehead. Was that even true?

Who cares. Civilian scotted her skinny self over and laid the villain's head in her lap. Then, temptation started its charismatic monologue.

Stroke his head. Be nice, clean his chin. Wipe the dirt off his eye.

Civilian hesitantly put her hand on his grimey hair- ew, he needed a shower ASAP- and gingerly patted it. Patted it, like petting a dog.

It was embarrassingly awkward.

For the next few hours, Villain slept. Civilian also dozed off between getting yummy smelling candles to fend off the revolting scent od blood and crackers to aimlessly gnaw on.

She watched through the first Kissing Booth and the second one when a thought struck her.

Pain.

The villain would be in pain when he woke up.

And the only thing Civilian had was Ibuprofen.

Like those barely took the edge off a headache, much less a gash the size of a baseball.

She reached for her phone to call her friend at the local drug store. Putting on a squeaky voice, Civilian said,

"Can you, uh, get me something for pain?"

"Slow down, Civilian. What?"

"I don't know benadryl or a very strong pain reliever," Civilian bit her lip, squeezing her eyes shut. Stupid stupid stupid...

"What did you do?"

"I, uh, sprained my ankle."

"You sprained your ankle?"

"Mhm hurts like-"

"Okay! I don't need your swear word dictionary. I'll bring you something after work."

"Thanks, oh owowowowowowo."

"Goodbye Civilian."

The line clicked.

Civilian smiled to herself and popped another cracker in her mouth. Problem solved.

The blood on the door.

Crap.

Civilian set Villain's head back on a pillow and ran to the frontdoor.

Great, just great.

Civilian flipped the middle finger at Villain's sleeping figure and walked out the door. She would meet her friend before she saw the splatters of blood.

Civilian sat herself on the curb, throwing her newly "spraind" leg out, letting out an insanely loud groan, and leaned back on her elbows.

"Oh my goodness! Civilian," her friend leaped from her black car and ran over. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Civilian waved it off. "Just wanted some air and the house is a mess, so."

Civilian, you are dumb.

"You sure? You asked to be hospitalized once because you stubbed your toe and the fact that a sprained ankle isn't bugging you... I am wholeheartedly worried."

"Don't be," Civilian chuckled. "How was work?"

Friend gave her a skeptical look. "Fine," she drawled.

"Good," Civilian nodded slowly, tapping the ground with her fingers. "So thank you for the painkillers."

"Mhm," Friend handed Civilian the plastic bag slowly. "How did you sprain it?"

"Uhhh fell out of the shower."

Friend looked genuinely concerned.

"Tripped and fell," Civilian repeated herself awkwardly. "On the ground?" Why did she have to say it as a question?

She was awkward and sounded hilariously awkward as well.

"Klutz," Friend joked, but her face was still taut with worry. "Need help getting inside?"

"No no!" Civilian exclaimed. Friend stepped back, so Civilian laughed to alleviate the tension. "I should walk it out."

"Ooookay," Friend said, nodding. "Good for you. I'm gonna go. I have a dinner date with this dude from Tinder."

"Oooo good luck," Civilian said, faking a wince as she stood up. Friend rushed in to help.

"Don't," Civilian cautioned, raising her "hurt" leg up. Friend looked at it and scowled.

"Dang leg huh? Well bye-bye. Don't fall out of the shower anymore. Got it?"

"Yup," Civilian said and fake limped back to her house as Friend sped away.

Missiom accomplished.

Villain was stirring when Civilian sat back down.

Perfect timing also.

She rummaged through the bag and grabbed a bottle of valium. She popped the recommended dosage out and approached Villain.

He was still too dazed and disoriented to stop Civilian from helping him swallow, but the second the water touched his tongue, he woke up fully.

"What are you doing? Don't touch me!" He yelled, pulling away. Civilian also backed away, a frown forming on her face.

"Me? I saved your life."

Villain was silent. "How much did you touch me?"

"Enough to save your life."

Villain jerked, looking around as if somone was in the shadows. Paranoid, Civilian copied him.

"What's wrong with you?" Civilian asked.

"You touched me?"

Civilian didn't say anything. She crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one leg, examining the villain.

Villain jerked to his feet, swaying madly. Civilian's heart jumped. He was so unsteady...

He fell, but Civilian swooped in to catch him.

For a moment, the villain melted into her half-embrace, head resting gently on her shoulder, before pulling away. He bit his cheeks, seemingly trying to keep tears back.

"What... are you? Are, are you scared of getting a hug? Sheesh."

"Mmm no," Villain shook his head quickly, then sat down as if the feat made him dizzy.

"Mmm yes," Civilian sat down next to him. The villain looked confused, but that may be the drugs kicking in.

Soon Villain's eyes starting to droop and he swayed in his sitting position.

"Whatdya give me?" He slurred, a faraway look in his eyes. "Mm tired." He collapsed forward.

Civilian steadied him and helped him lay back down. He groaned pathetically and grappled at Civilian's hand, desperate to hold it.

He held her hand until he fell asleep.

#bad things happen bingo #villain whumpee #villain x civilian #civilian caretaker #blood tw #drugged villain #writing #whump #i'm sorry this took so long #i have to embrace civilians personality first

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asweetprologue · 3 years

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me lámh le do lámh - Part IV

First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

They spent a few days in Oxenfurt, mostly for Jaskier’s benefit. The bard hadn’t been lying when he’d said he wasn’t prepared to head out. There was packing to be done, his rooms to see to, appointments to cancel with the university. Geralt was happy enough to wait. It wasn’t strictly a hardship to spend some time lounging in Jaskier’s rooms and wandering the university gardens during the day before following Jaskier to whatever tavern or hall he was to play at for the evening. Jaskier was away for the better part of most days, but Geralt moved his things to Jaskier’s rooms after the first night at the inn. Waking well before Jaskier in the same bed, he was greeted each morning to Jaskier’s arm slung across his chest, warm and comfortable in the predawn silence. His cheeks would be ruddy with sleep and their shared heat under the blankets, his hair flattened awkwardly to his skull where it had been pressed to the pillow.

He’d missed this. After months without Jaskier’s presence, it felt like he was drowning in it, shocked by the strength of his own reaction. With the golden light of the morning sun shining through Jaskier’s one window to fall softly across his brow and pick out the silver strands in his hair, Geralt wondered at how he could have ever misplaced this feeling in his chest. He loved him. He wanted to preserve each moment in fine amber, never to fade.

But finally Jaskier was finished making his arrangements, and they were able to set out from Oxenfurt towards their first destination. It would take them several weeks to collect the components that Ida had mentioned—weeks that Geralt would have to spend dancing around the subject of the ritual and its origins, as well as his traitorous heart. As he caught Jaskier’s bright smile from up ahead as they crossed the Oxenfurt bridge, he hoped that he wasn’t making a terrible mistake.

“So where, exactly, are these mysterious elven ruins?”

Geralt grunted, both in answer and in exertion as he swung his sword through another clump of heavy brush, clearing the path. Roach waited patiently behind him, and Jaskier less so. He turned to look back at them both, finding Jaskier giving him an unimpressed look. Geralt forced down the urge to grumble again. “They’re close,” he said, taking Roach’s reins to lead her through the cleared bushes. The path that they were following was barely a deer trail in places, clearly unused for decades. There had been no sign thus far that the area had once been populated aside from the occasional flash of white brickwork that told Geralt they were on the right track.

“Oh, really,” said Jaskier, who had likely not noticed the brickwork, based on Geralt’s past experience with his observation skills. “You know what I think, Geralt? I think we’re lost in the woods in the middle of nowhere, a day away from the nearest hamlet, and we’re just as likely to find a wyvern den as an elven temple out here.”

“Wyverns don’t populate the lowlands,” Geralt said automatically, kicking a large branch out of Roach’s path.

Jaskier made a strangled sound behind him that Geralt might call a growl if it had come from anyone else. “I know that, I was being hyperbolic, you ass. You’re avoiding the issue.”

“We’re on the right path.” Another glint of white stone caught his eye, this time the edge of an arch wrapped nearly over in vines and moss. Only fragments remained, large chunks blending in with the forest floor.

“As if you would admit it if you were lost,” Jaskier griped, shoving a branch out of his own way. “Remember that time near Spikeroog? We were lost in a boat for three days because you wouldn’t just admit that we went west for six hours—”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, and pushed aside the last of the foliage.

Jaskier fell silent, and they both looked beyond the treeline into the clearing Geralt had revealed. Before them rose a silent, crumbling stone structure, pale as a ghost against the dark lines of the trees in the afternoon light. Much of its surface had been reclaimed already by the forest, but enough of it poked through to give a general sense of scale. It towered at least two stories above them, though the edges were uneven in a way that suggested it once may have been higher. The front facade rose in a flat wall before them, pierced by a line of arches, their edges decorated in fading but intricate reliefs. Here and there along the line of what had once been the path leading to the central arch, the occasional protrusion of a column could be seen. The path beyond the central arch was shadowed, too dark for even Geralt to see past after so long in the daylight.

Jaskier stepped forward into the narrow clearing, and Geralt followed. Wordlessly, Jaskier raised a hand to trail along the remnants of a low, circular stone wall, perhaps the remnants of an ancient well. When he looked up at Geralt, his eyes shone, two pieces of midday sky in the murky shade of the forest. “I stand corrected,” he said, offering Geralt a giddy grin.

Geralt shook his head with a small smile, drawing Roach further into the clearing. “Let’s set up camp here. You can explore when we have someplace to sleep.”

Jaskier agreed eagerly and they both launched into the process of setting up camp. They fell easily back into old patterns, Jaskier slotting seamlessly into Geralt’s routine. It was always easier to set up and break down camp when the bard was around, though Geralt thought it had very little to do with splitting the work halfway.

Within half an hour they had created a comfortable camp in the clearing and Geralt had Roach tended to, and they both stood before the dark archway into the ruins.

Jaskier hesitated over the threshold, his excitement over the history of the place apparently conceding to nerves. “Well, ah. After you, witcher,” he said, holding out an arm as if holding an imaginary door for Geralt to walk through.

Geralt rolled his eyes and stepped into the small hall beyond the archway, blinking a few times to let his eyes adjust to the gloom. “Come on, bard,” he called over his shoulder, amusement and affection swelling in his chest as he heard Jaskier mutter and quick footsteps follow after him.

The hall ended in a flight of stairs leading down, and they had to pause to light a torch when Jaskier ran directly into Geralt’s back and nearly knocked them both down it. A quick burst of igni had firelight dancing across the smooth white stones as they descended into the ruins.

Elves, Geralt had found, rarely built up. Though their cities had towered in ages past, their true magnificence had always lain below ground. The complex that they made their way down into was labyrinthian, huge open hallways with dozens of rooms and offshoots, archways that looked in on underground courtyards with pierced ceilings that let in the daylight, huge caverns expertly carved into cathedrals. Jaskier quickly brought out a bit of charcoal he often used for taking notes or sketching and began to mark their way with arrows pointing back the way they’d come, so they might not be hopelessly lost in the ruins. Geralt led them mostly by smell, at first; Triss had mentioned that any ritual chambers would likely be on the lower levels, as they were considered private and upper floors were generally public. He followed the cool, chalky scent of wet stone deeper into the ruins, down ramps and stairways until they were all but buried in the earth.

“I never knew the true breadth of them,” Jaskier breathed at one point, as they made their way down a winding spiral staircase that curved along what seemed like a natural cave shaft. “I’ve read, of course, about the scale of the old elven kingdoms, but it’s different to see it all. We’ve been walking for hours already and I feel as if there’s still miles to be seen.”

“Maybe not miles,” Geralt said, keeping one ear out for potential movement and one on Jaskier’s footsteps on the slick stone steps. “One’s I’ve been to before are usually somewhere around five and fifteen levels. We’re getting close to the bottom.”

Jaskier hummed in acknowledgment. “You could take an entire lifetime to study this place. Why hasn’t anyone surveyed it? How do you know the thing you're after for this ritual hasn’t already been taken?”

At that moment Geralt heard a gentle click, and he reached up just in time to pluck the arrow from the air as it hissed past his ear and towards Jaskier’s head. Slowly, he turned to look over his shoulder, finding Jaskier wide eyed behind him. Looking meaningfully down at Jaskier’s foot, he jerked his chin up.

Jaskier lifted up his foot, and the click of a pressure plate resetting filled the narrow space.

“That’s how,” Geralt said, tossing the arrow to the side.

“Of course,” Jaskier said weakly. “Of course the place is booby trapped.”

“And haunted probably,” Geralt agreed, continuing down the stairs. “Stay close. Wouldn’t want you to die before I can make you immortal.” The words were said as much in jest as he could make them, but he felt a brief strum of anxiety all the same.

Jaskier huffed in annoyance, but Geralt could feel him press even closer. He ignored the way that the air between them seemed to heat, the soothing warmth of Jaskier’s presence pressing back the dark more efficiently than any torch.

“Look,” Jaskier’s voice came from behind him. Geralt turned around to see Jaskier rubbing at a patch of the wall in the hall they were currently trekking through, the ancient slabs of stone crumbling a bit at his touch. “There’s writing here.”

Geralt stepped up next to him, feeling Jaskier’s warmth radiating along his side. Forcing himself to ignore the proximity, he leaned in to peer at the wall. “Elder, looks like. Can’t make it out.”

“It looks like one of the early northern dialects, closer to Laith aen Undod.” Jaskier scrambled in his small pack and pulled out his bit of charcoal and his notebook, handing the torch off to Geralt. Accepting the light, Geralt frowned at Jaskier as he made a few quick lines on the paper, referring back to the wall a few times. His tongue poked just barely out between his lips, as it always did when he was concentrating. After a moment he stood up straight, leaning towards the light to examine his own markings.

“Can you read that?” Geralt asked, genuinely surprised. He was fairly well versed in Elder, but his knowledge was more practical, learned from his interactions with the Scoia’tael and learning the Signs. The One Speech was well beyond his understanding, not to mention the various ancient dialects of Elder.

“Mm, I’m better at reading Elder than I am at speaking it, I’m afraid. Academic knowledge. Have to be able to translate the old poems and stories, after all.” He flashed Geralt a grin, the laugh lines deepening around his eyes. They sparkled in the light of the torch, turning the blue silver-gold. Geralt’s breath caught in his throat.

When Geralt didn’t respond quickly enough, Jaskier turned back to the notes he’d made on the paper. He muttered a few things to himself in Elder, the words sounding oddly musical—as if he’d learned to pronounce the language through song, which he probably had. Finally he scribbled a few notes in Common. “I think it’s a road sign, of sorts,” Jaskier said slowly. His tone took on the particular quality that Geralt had come to recognize as his “professor voice” over the years. He’d always found it rather amusing. “This complex must have been big enough to necessitate passage markers. See the sideways arrowhead under the top line? It says—well, I’m not sure, but I know the root has to do with the evening meal, so I’d guess it’s pointing to some kind of tavern or dining hall. And this one just says ‘sanctuary,’ I think. That’s a weird one, that symbol in more modern Elder just means ‘place’ but there’s a prefix here that adds a sort of defensive quality to it. Maybe ‘protected place’?” Jaskier frowned down at his own work. Already he had somehow managed to smudge charcoal across his cheek.

“Might be right,” Geralt grunted, impressed. “Triss said it would be in a safe place. ‘Ionad chosanta.’”

Jaskier hummed thoughtfully. “Could be as good a translation as any.”

“Better than wandering around,” Geralt shrugged, and turned towards the hall the arrow pointed towards. Before stepping into the darkness, he paused, looking back at Jaskier. Without letting himself think too hard about it, he reached up and rubbed away the charcoal on Jaskier’s cheekbone. The sweep of his thumb pushed back the soot and revealed the pale skin underneath, still so soft even after so many years spent traveling out in the elements. That skin care regiment Jaskier was always going on about must be worth something, he thought faintly.

Jaskier was silent, staring at him with an expression that reminded Geralt of a hare staring down the point of an arrow. Clearing his throat briefly, Geralt let his hand fall and said, “Thanks. For the… You did good.”

Even in the dim light, Geralt could see the flush that lit up Jaskier’s face at that, spilling prettily over his cheekbones. He gaped at Geralt for a moment before his mouth snapped closed with a near audible clack. Geralt expected a witty rejoinder of some kind, perhaps a jab at his historical inability to offer praise. He knew he deserved it, even if Jaskier meant it in anger rather than jest. Raising Ciri had taught him the value of voicing his appreciation and affection for others, even if he still struggled for the right words to do so. Yennefer had painstakingly beat it into his head. Ciri hadn’t known that he cared unless he said so, and so he had no other alternatives. Looking at Jaskier gaping at him, he wondered how many times Jaskier had assumed that Geralt cared little for him for lack of a kind word. His chest hurt at the thought.

After long enough that the silence had grown heavy and awkward, Jaskier coughed lightly, ducking to hide his expression. The ribbing Geralt had prepared himself for did not come. “Not a problem,” was all Jaskier said, brushing past him. “Let’s get a move on, yes? Don’t want the torch to run low.”

Geralt stared after him for a moment before shaking his head and following.

The shrine, when they found it, was hidden behind a thick patch of rubble that Geralt had to blast out of the way with a few precise applications of aard. He slipped inside first, sliding through the small opening in the stone and landing lightly on the other side. His eyes adjusted quickly to the gloom, to his surprise, and he realized that there were several glowing crystals embedded in the walls around him at even intervals. There came the sound of cascading stones and a low curse from behind him, and he turned in time to catch Jaskier’s elbow before the bard fell flat on his face.

“Ah, thank you, dear witcher,” Jaskier huffed, reaching up to fruitlessly brush the dust from his jacket. Looking up, he halted in his motions, taking in the room around them in its soft, ethereal light. “Oh,” he breathed.

It was indeed beautiful, even in its decaying state. Like everything in the tunnels, the structures were unmistakably elven, but even so they appeared alien to Geralt’s eyes. The walls were covered in delicate mosaic work, in patterns that danced in the flickering light of their torch and that of the crystals. The center of the room was dominated by a blank circle of unmarked stone, with Elder runes engraved along the edge that Geralt could not even begin to decipher. The circle was framed by a delicate canopy of carved white stone, supported on four pillars of the same material. The carvings were so minute that for a moment Geralt thought the entire structure might be built not of stone, but of some sort of webbing or silk. It was delicate enough to be blown glass, but when he set his hand against one of the pillars it was as unforgiving as a mountainside.

Jaskier ran his fingers along one of the walls, tracing a twist in the tiny shards of colored glass. “It’s beautiful,” he said, voice pitched low.

“Triss said these places were sacred to the Aes Sidhe. They mark where the elves first arrived,” Geralt said. He found his own gaze drawn back to the center of the unmarked circle beneath the canopy. “Here.”

Set into the very center of the stone circle was a small depression, no larger than Geralt’s palm. He stepped into the circle and knelt down, peering at it. Within the shallow bowl formed by the carved out floor sat an oval stone, maybe three inches long at its widest point. Drawing out his trophy knife, Geralt set the edge of it against the lip of the facet and twisted it. It popped out surprisingly easily, as if it was meant to be removed by design.

Jaskier hovered behind him as Geralt picked up the gaes carraigh. It was cool against his fingers, made of a translucent white stone that became more opaque at the edges. The center was nearly see-through, and when Geralt held it up the light played oddly in its depths. His medallion hummed faintly against his chest, warning him of the presence of magic. “Is that it?” Jaskier asked, resting one of his hands on Geralt’s shoulder to lean in closer.

“Think so,” Geralt replied, trying to ignore the weight of Jaskier pressed against him.

“What exactly does it do?” Jaskier reached out his free hand to press a finger against the center of the stone, curious as always. Geralt allowed it, and forced himself not to flinch when their fingers brushed incidentally. He could feel his ears warm regardless.

“It… binds the words of the ritual, or something. I didn’t ask.”

“Gaes carraigh… promise rock?” Jaskier tried, dropping to lean his full elbow on Geralt’s shoulder, casually slotting their forms together. His fingers barely brushed against Geralt’s collarbone, and he took a slow breath to maintain control over his heartbeat. Suddenly the proximity was overwhelming. Here they were, in a sacred space where possibly dozens of couples had made their vows to each other, fingers both lingering over the stone that would bind their oaths. In another life, perhaps they could have had something like this—Jaskier resplendent in the light of the blue crystals, eyes shining, looking at Geralt with adoration as they made their promises to each other. He would want to dress up, like he always did for a big event, but this time it would be only for himself and Geralt. Would he dress in blue? Or perhaps black, a witcher’s color, his pale skin like moonlight against the night sky. Would he wear a crown of periwinkle and sage, as was the northern custom? He would lean in close, like he was now, and murmur his vows to Geralt in words that flowed as smooth as a song.

He hadn’t known it was possible to want something so badly it was like a physical ache. Geralt was a witcher; he did not allow himself to think on things he couldn’t have. But here in this place, with Jaskier so close and yet so far away, the force of his desire felt oppressive. Jaskier didn’t know what any of this meant, and Geralt had no right to it, no right to want it. It was just a ritual. The context didn’t mean anything, because Jaskier would never feel that way about him.

After all, Geralt thought, looking down at the oathstone in his palm, who would want to marry a witcher?

Jaskier was still talking, and Geralt wrenched himself out of his thoughts when the arm on his shoulder pulled back and Jaskier patted the empty space once, as if in parting. “—probably get going, don’t you think? I do not relish the idea of being stuck here overnight. Not that I am not entirely confident in your abilities, darling, but I feel it’s best not to tempt fate when it comes to ghosts of ancient elven sages. Do you think they would count this as stealing? Probably. Anyways, I don’t want to find out what angry centuries old spirits do to trespassers.”

Geralt grunted, still gathering himself. He felt sluggish under the weight of his own emotions, pushing himself to his feet laboriously. The oathstone was heavy in his hand, and he slipped it into his potions pouch in the hope that it would feel less burdensome there. Without a word, he stood and exited the chamber the way they’d come, Jaskier fumbling after him.

#geraskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #witcher #fic #fanfic #writing #my work #me lamh #multichapter #big bang #geraskierbigbang

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