#olivia with friends | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

captainamericasmotercycle · 8 months

Note

A james potter x fem!reader request <3

James is in love with Lily. He always has been, right? Ever since the first year of attending Hogwarts he has been chasing after her affection. It’s all anyone thinks of when they think of him. “The boy who chases the unattainable.” Through all of his failed attempts, Reader has stood next to him, supporting him through everything despite the raging love she feels for him.

James does something bad while trying to attain the affection of Lily… again. While his attempts work and he gets the girl, he ends up losing his best friend in the process.

Please have it end with a happy ending where they end up togetherrrr!! Thank youu!!

(If you want to of course, if you don’t mo worries. You can also add smut if you want 👀)

Lacy

smart, sexy lacy, i’m losing it lately

pairing: james porter x reader

warnings: cursing, jealously, james being stupid, insecurity, confessions, lowkey toxic!james, rosekiller and dorlene my babies, hurt/comfort, ANGST, twin evan and pandora 💘, james being shit on for being a douche, happy ending

wc: 2.5k

a/n: ok i absolutely love this idea but i’m not sure if i executed it very well, however i did have so much fun doing it :)))

It was no secret that James Potter was in love with Lily Evans. He always has been, it was just a part of Hogwarts life now - a wild shenanigan to gain the affection of the woman he wanted.

It was also no secret that you stood by his side and picked up the pieces for 6 years every time his schemes got shut down by Lily.

You and James had grown up together, your families running in the same social circle. So you were well aware of his antics and escapades. But in these 17 years of being by James’s side as a friend, you wanted more.

You have wanted more since the two of you escaped from one of your family’s parties when you were 12. He led you out to the garden where the two of you stargazed for the remainder of the boring, high-class party.

But you could never let James know the love you had for him. You were his highest confidante and his best friend, you didn’t want that to be ruined. You’d rather keep James as friend than not have him at all.

You love James, however, you hate Lily Evans. You hate everything about her. Her stupid beautiful smile, her perfectly kept hair, her sweet personality, her Outstanding test scores, and of course the undeniable love and admiration from James Potter. She is just perfect, and you hate her for it. Except you can’t really hate her. You hate the envy you’ve curated towards her. She is so admirable it’s annoying as hell.

You sat in the Marauders’ room, helping James plan out his next gesture for Lily. The rest of the Marauders were spread around the room doing various things, reading, drumming, smoking.

You were getting annoyed at him now, you just wanted him to notice you. Of course you were there but you wanted him to see you, not see through you. Tension had been thick between the two of you for weeks.

“Alright so pink flowers or blue flowers? Or both?”

“Is this a baby shower?”

James frowned at your harsh tone, “Okay…”

You held your hand at the bridge of your nose and closed your eyes, “Just get her Calla Lillies or something. Simple flower and her name is Lily,”

“Oh that’s an amazing idea! You’re a genius, what would I do without you?”

You rolled your eyes, probably get yourself killed, you thought.

James noticed your slumped demeanor, and so did Remus as he perked up from behind his book to listen in on your conversation.

“What is wrong with you?”

“I beg your pardon?” you snapped at him.

“What. Is. Wrong. With. You.?” he annunciated every word archly, like you were a small child.

Remus stepped in like a parent, “James don’t talk to her like that,”

“No, I want to know what’s wrong with her attitude,”

“There’s nothing wrong,”

“You know what, fuck you, I don’t even care,” he turned around to put his parchment down.

“Yeah, you never do,” you got up to leave when James grabbed your wrist.

“You’re just fucking mad that no one cares about you like I care about Lily,” this brought the rest of the people in the room to the conversation.

“James!” Peter and Remus shouted at him simultaneously. Peter was always on your side, he had grown up with you, Marlene, and James as kids. And he knows about your crush on James.

“James, what the hell?” Even Sirius was shocked he could say such a thing to you.

Your expression hardened as you tried to hold in tears, you pulled your hand away from him and mustered up as much strength as you could to speak back to him, you looked at him with glassed over eyes, “Fuck you, James, I never want to see you again.”

You ran out of their dorm, Remus and Peter in tow, and into your dorm, slamming the door in their faces.

Falling flat on the bed, face first, screaming into your pillow, you wanted to die. Actually. This was actually the end of your life because there was no coming back from this.

Soft knocks on the door pulled you from your trance. You stood up and opened the door meeting Lily’s soft face, “Are you alright, I could hear you screaming from outside?”

You wanted to throat punch her.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just stressed,”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, 100%,”

“Okay. Well Mary, Marlene, and I are going down to the greenhouse if you’d like to join?”

“I think I’m going to stay… and study,”

“Alright, well we’ll see you later then,” Lily left the dorm doorway with a smile and you went back to you bed and flopped down. Does she have to be so perfect?

You were never getting over this.

Back in the Marauders dorm, James was being berated by his friends.

“How could you say that to her?”

“James, you’re so fucking dense,”

“Do you ever think before you speak?”

“You’re an actual idiot, genuinely,”

“You clearly need time to think, so we’ll give you some time alone to reflect on your relationship with her,” Remus and Sirius stormed out, Peter following.

At the doorway he hesitated and turned to James sitting slumped on his bed, “James, have you ever thought you’re not in love with Lily and she’s just a distraction for you?”

A distraction? What? From what? From who?

Peter left shortly after sticking James with the question of a life time. Was he talking about you?

It didn’t matter. He loves Lily. Right?

The next day he expected everything to go back to normal, you would be back by his side and his friends would be alright. Except this wasn’t the case. His friends were still wary of him and you were no where to be found.

At breakfast his friends only talked about school work and he noticed you weren’t at the table with them. He had also noticed that Marlene gave him an upturned look every time he looked in her direction. You must’ve told her what happened.

At lunch he noticed you still weren’t in the Great Hall. He hoped you were eating something, he knew how easy it was for you to accidentally skip meals. He left lunch early to look for you after his friends wouldn’t talk to him and he kept getting dirty looks from the rest of the girls at the Gryffindor table.

He took a couple laps around the school until he remembered that you loved the library and you had to be there! When he got there he beelined for the spot you and him always shared and as he approached he heard hushed voices and giggles.

He peeked around the corner of a bookshelf and saw you sitting way too close to Evan Rosier.

What the fuck were you doing with Rosier? How do you even know Rosier? Why are you talking to him? Since when did you even become friends?

Evan was one of your closest friend’s twin brother, you’d grown up next to Pandora and Evan just as you had with James, Peter, and Marlene.

You were quite well-known in the wizarding world because of your parents' social lives; always throwing lavish parties and social events.

Evan had been a confidante of yours for a couple of years now, especially since the two of you exchanged advice and stories about the guys you’ve been pining over for years.

But what were you doing with him, of course? Debriefing.

James suddenly felt like he was going to throw up everywhere. How dare you fucking bring Evan fucking Rosier to your spot.

He stormed out of the library and into his next class. He couldn’t even focus on transfiguration. Everything he touched just blew up, which was quite the parallel to his social life.

At dinner he noticed that you still weren’t at the table. There was no way you were going to skip all three meals just because you were avoiding him. That’s when he saw you across the Great Hall sitting at the Slytherin table, in between Rosier and Crouch, laughing at something that probably wasn’t even that funny.

His appetite was suddenly gone. Not to mention he was getting looks from almost everyone at the Gryffindor table. Alice Fortescue, Marlene, Mary, and even Lily were all avoiding his pleading gazes.

Emmeline Vance, Dorcas Meadows, and Emma Vanity would occasionally catch his attention with their hard and disgusted stares.

Fuck. How many people had you told about what happened?

Tomorrow will be better. Everyone is just tense today.

Tomorrow was not in fact better. It was quite possible that it was almost worse than before.

James felt alone. If you were still here with him, he would wrap himself in your arms and cry into your shoulder. But you weren’t here because he pushed you away, quite harshly he may add.

In the morning you sat with the Slytherins, at lunch you sat with the Slytherins, and at dinner you sat with the Slytherins. You may as well be one by now.

The next day came and everything was the same, except for the fact that his friends were a little more talkative. But he didn’t have you.

You were gone, Lily wouldn’t even look at him, which at this point he didn’t even care. He just wants you back.

On the third day of losing you, you still weren’t around and it was really affecting James. You’ve never gone this long without something as simple as a check-in.

He thinks by now all of Hogwarts has known what he had said to you and for the past two nights he’s laid awake thinking about it, wishing he could take it back.

You hadn’t really told anyone except Dorcas, Pandora, and Evan. Dorcas told Marlene, Marlene told Mary, Lily, and Alice. Pandora told Barty who told Regulus and Mulciber. Regulus told Emmaline and Emma. And from there it spread like wildfire.

A week passed and you got closer to the Slytherins and he increasingly got worse. He lost the quidditch game to Ravenclaw. He failed his Defense Against the Dark Arts paper. And most of all, he was losing it, snapping at everyone and constantly drunk or high.

His friends cornered him in his dorm one afternoon, “Have you thought maybe you’re like this because you love her?”

“Of course I bloody love her! I fucking messed up,”

Merlin. He’s had so much time to think about you and he realized that Peter was right. Lily was just a distraction from you.

He hated how long it took him to figure out his feelings for you. You were just perfect in his eyes — your hair, your teeth, your eyes, your smile, your kindness, your humor, he wanted every single part of you and he irrevocably fucked it up.

“Talk to her, that’s the best you can do.”

He found you in the library, alone this time. Calling your name hesitantly, you looked up from your book with an arched brow.

“Can we talk?”

”No,” you said archly. James was taken aback, not expecting you to say that. You packed your things and James watched as you left the library. What the fuck just happened?

He stormed back into his dorm where the group had added Marlene to the mix. James came in and slammed the door.

“I take it the talk went well,” Marlene added sarcastically.

“Fuck off, Mckinnon,” Marlene hated that. Standing from her place next to Sirius’s bed she walked towards James aggressively.

“No, fuck you, Potter. Dorcas told me what you said. Dorcas! Not even my own best friend told me what happened, I had to hear it from my girlfriend!”

“Ok,”

“You’re so fucking dense it’s actually painful,”

“Please can you just help me talk to her,”

“Go to our dorm, she’s in there, I’ll stand at the door to keep her in,”

“Thank you, Marlene, I’m so serious, I owe you big for this one,”

“Yeah, okay, just go fix it, you’re getting really horrible to be around.”

James raced to your dorm and knocked on the door, which was the mistake. He knew you weren’t going to answer. He opened the door, seeing you laying on your bed with a book.

“We’re talking. Right now,” you looked up at him and rolled your eyes.

“Please, please hear me out,”

“James-“

“No, please,” you let out a breath and nodded your head at him, curtly, egging him to go on.

“I cannot even express how horrible I feel for shouting at you and saying some horrid things. I want you back more than ever, I love you so much and I am so fucking daft for not seeing it sooner,” your gaze softened but you were still skeptical.

“Listen, what you said isn’t what totally bothered me, it was the way you said it. James, I have stood by your side for years while you pinned over Lily, and when you said that I wished I had someone to love me like that, I was hoping it would be you,”

“And it is me, I love you, so much, and I can’t even comprehend my love for you because it’s absolutely wild,”

“How can I even trust what you’re saying right now? How can I know everything isn’t going to revert back to the way it was?”

He moved closer to your bed, his knees against the mattress, standing above you.

"Because I promise to give you everything in my entire being. I want to give you my all - my heart, my mind, my soul,” he sat beside you, taking your face in his hand, brushing away stray hair with his other hand.

“I want you James, but I can’t trust you anymore,”

“We can build on it,” you want him so bad. You need him so bad.

“Do you promise?”

“I swear on my life.”

You lean in and softly press your lips to his. Your lips move rhythmically against his, as if they were meant to be together.

The kiss was more than electric, it was as if everything in the world went silent and the stars had aligned in your favor. The short time you were together you felt a need and an urgency to be with him.

There was nothing you loved more in the world than James Potter.

516 notes · View notes

starry-bi-sky · 12 days

Text

Childhood Friends Danny and Jason: Ch2 Remastered

-------------------------------------------------------------- late at night when the stars don't look quite right -------------------------------------------------------------- there's something burning in the empty room inside of my head fill it up with doubt let it in, let it spread

Jason nearly falls flat on his face when he sees the photo of Danny. He’s in a warehouse, finishing up with a gang selling drugs on his turf. The guys he’s got tied up are cursing up a storm at him, throwing every insult under the sun his way that he’s all heard before. His eyes drag over to them, and silently Jason adjusts his jacket to reveal the guns strapped to his thighs, his hand hovering over the handle of one.

They all fall silent, and Jason moves his hand away. His phone in his other hand, texting Oracle to alert the police. Jason hates that he has to; these guys will be out of their cells in a matter of months, and nothing will change.

But he’ll play nice.

And then his phone buzzes, and when Jason looks down he sees a banner from Tim. A message he planned on ignoring, but his eyes skim over the text on instinct, and suddenly the air is stolen right from his lungs, and his thumb is hitting the screen before he can really think it through.

[Hey Jason, your best friend just appeared in Gotham for the first time since your funeral.]

Impossible. He thinks, yanking his phone close to his nose, as if that will make it any less real or fake. Danny hasn’t been in Gotham in years, Jason checked. But then the image loads, and then he’s staring Danny Fenton in the face. And then he’s greedily tracing every minute, new detail he can find. The gang left half-forgotten in his mind.

Danny’s got an undercut, it looks self-done. It looks good. He looks taller. He’s got piercings in his ears, gold and jewels lining up the sides like a magpie’s find. He’s got an eyebrow piercing.

Something old, something new; Danny is smiling and it still looks just as Jason remembers it. Crooked, lopsided, warm like the sun and belying the mischief underneath it. He remembers to breathe in that moment, and the sound comes in sharp. Danny’s eyes are as blue as they’ve ever been.

(“I don’ get why books talk so much about peoples’ eyes.” Danny complains to him one day when he’s visiting the manor, his legs thrown over Jason’s back like an anchor tied to its ship. They’re sunk into the mattress of Jason’s bed, sunlight peering through the windows. “They’re just eyes! I don’t need t’know that they’re ‘as blue as the sky,’ or- or the ocean, or whatever blue thing in the world there is.”)

(Jason’s smile comes to him like breathing, and he twists around to lay on his back. His arms trap Danny’s legs to his stomach. “Pretty sure it’s jus’ for emphasis on how much they’re noticing the person’s face.”)

(Danny’s face scrunches up, and Jason’s smile splits into a grin, heart swelling three sizes on instinct. “I think it’s stupid, s’just some fuckin’ eyes.”)

(“Eyes are windows to the soul, Dan.” Jason retorts, barking out a laugh when Danny gives him a deadpan look. His hands creep for a pillow, one of the soft downy ones wrapped in silk, and he throws it at Danny’s face. “And besides, speak for yourself! Your eyes are the bluest thing I’ve ever seen.”)

But most importantly, Danny looks tired.

Hiding is something that comes free with the purchase of living in Gotham, and Danny’s good at hiding things, he always has, but Jason knows him like the palm of his hands. He looks tired, and Jason wants to reach through the screen and ask him why. There’s an age-worn look there, catching in the flint of his iris, where his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Jason gets the ETA from Oracle, then leaves as fast as his legs can carry him and his grappling hook can zip through the air. He needs to see Danny with his own eyes, to confirm himself that Danny was here, and that it wasn’t his mind playing tricks on him. Or that it was Tim playing a cruel joke on him — and if it was, he’ll have to rethink his whole killing thing.

Gotham’s air is warm and suffocating, but her winds bite at him as he soars through it.

It’s second nature for him to find the west end balcony, and Jason finds himself with his feet locked in place on the building beside it. Grappling hook in hand, and a balloon in his lungs, all swelled up and squishing the air out of him.

It’s just his luck —with whatever he has left— that Danny is there as well. In the same spot he’s always been, with a cigarette caught between his teeth. He’s stuck halfway, head tilting, eyes closed, with the shadows of Gotham on his back and the light of the gala at his front.

For a moment, for a fleeting, terrifying moment, Jason thinks Danny’s going to tilt himself back off the side.The thought has him blindly tilting himself forward with his heart in his throat. Hands reaching for his grappling hook, swinging down to drop down beside him.

Danny is staring at him before his feet even hit the ground, face nigh unreadable beyond the small, wary furrow of his brows. Danny’s never looked at him like that before, it feels like stumbling on the last step of the stairs.

Then, like fire to black powder something flashes and ignites in Danny’s eyes. Mouth curling, eyes burning, for a moment, just a moment, they’re kids again, getting into fights and turning soft hands punch-rough. Danny looks at Jason like he’s going to tear him to shreds.

Jason’s mouth runs dry like a desert in the summer, but his blood chills in fear cold in his veins. Why are you looking at me like that? His mouth opens, but his tongue is leaden in his throat, and no sound comes out. It’s me. Don’t you recognize me?

Danny yanks the cigarette from his mouth like it burns him, his free hand gripping onto the railing like it’s the tether to a leash, nails threatening to turn into talons. “Red Hood.” He says, voice low and timbre, smoke dripping from his lips like dragon’s breath.

Oh.

That’s right. Jason suffocates on his heart as it sinks and soars with relief. Danny doesn’t know it’s him. In his tunnel vision, he forgot that simple, easy fact. It’s not because it’s Jason that he’s angry. It still doesn’t explain, though, why Danny looks at him like he ought to sink his teeth into his throat and rip him open.

He’s half-distracted by that, and then distracted by the need to drink in the sight of Danny again. A photo is one thing; the real person is another, and with his fear subsiding, Jason rakes his eyes over his best friend and swallows him whole. His eyes are bluer in person, his memory and Tim’s photo doesn’t do them justice, and Danny inherited his dad’s height. He’s gotten so tall. They both have. They both used to be such scrawny kids.

So distracted is he, that he forgets to respond to Danny, to say anything. Not until Danny tries to dismiss himself, and Jason kickstarts into gear. White hot panic fills in his lungs, burning him up like magma. No, no, no, he’s moving without thinking, always when he’s with him, and he nearly latches onto Danny. Nearly wraps his hands around his arm to hold him in place. Don’t leave. You’re finally here; don’t go.

Danny stays, but he stares at Jason’s reaching hands like he’ll bite them off, stares at Jason with his eyes burning, watchful. Jason’s excuse is lousy and he knows it, but he wants, wants, wants to stay and figure out every new thing about Danny.

And he feels like he’s losing something. Time bleeds together beside him and Jason feels trapped behind a glass wall of his own making. Something old, something new. The distance of which Danny keeps him at is foreign to him. He hates it.

Tell me everything, he thinks, because he can’t find the words to say it. He hands Danny a cigarette instead, and hopes that it’s enough. Tell me everything and more, tell me what I’ve missed.

In the end, he still feels like he’s losing something, but he also feels like he’s missing something. Answers that are water, and that water is slipping through his fingers. Danny leaves him with more questions than answers; something that’s never happened before, and Jason watches him walk back inside with a spinning mind.

What do you mean you spoke to my ghost?

I told you that the Joker killed me?

Have I told you anything else? Have I already told you everything I’ve wanted to?

What happened while I was gone?

Is that why you’re scarred?

Because Jason isn’t blind, he’s never been. Not in Crime Alley, not as Robin, not now. And not when it comes to his best friend. He sees the silver lightning scars ripped jagged up Danny’s arm, sees that they disappear under his sleeves. He saw, faded as they were, invisible until the light hit right, as they spread like tree roots up his throat and across the side of his face.

Scars that Danny’s never had before. Scars he didn’t have when Jason was alive the first time. Scars he didn’t have the last time Jason saw him. Or — what he remembers to be the last time he saw him, because apparently he saw him as a ghost. He sees the curve of his ears and how they point more than a human’s should, he saw the glint of his canines, sharper than they should be; sharper than he remembers. Metaphorical fangs turned real.

Jason should’ve asked where he got them from, should’ve taken Danny by the front of his collar and stopped him from leaving. Who did this to you? He should have said, a fire burning in his chest and wrapping around his throat, pulling his voice into a snarl. He should have said, his guns weighing heavy on his sides; Who did it. I’ll take care of it. Just tell me who. Tell me everything.

Instead, something crawled into his mouth and died, and his tongue is glued to the roof of it. And he doesn’t say anything, because saying something means telling his best friend who he is. It means having to take off his helmet and mask. It means telling his best friend that he’s alive, that he has been. That despite being two halves of a whole, Jason spent five years letting him think he was dead.

He can’t tell him, not when he’s in too deep already. Not when Jason is so unrecognizable to who he used to be that if he told him, Danny would hate him.

And Danny is still grieving him. So plain as day mourning, still angry over his death. Angry enough that he wants the Joker dead, angry enough that he wants to hang the noose and kick the chair out himself.

Jason wishes he told him that he looks tired.

Instead he’s standing alone on the balcony, trying to get his thoughts in order as music blares muffled through the gold-light door. He’s left staring at the crushed cigarette laying on the ground, Gotham’s ambience at his back and a poem hanging in the air that he has no words for. It’s already there. Like stars on a painted ceiling.

And there are so many questions he needs answers for.

Like his ghost. His ghost.

What did Danny mean by his ghost?

Does he really want to kill the Joker himself? Was it just the grief talking? Jason knows — or thinks he knows — Danny like the palm of his hands. He’s been through everything with him, he’s seen him say something and then immediately follow through with it. He knows when he’s being serious, he knows when he’s not.

Danny wants to kill the Joker. Stealing is one thing; murder is another. And Danny wore a look on his face that looked like he meant it when he told Red Hood that he wanted to kill Joker. But saying and doing are two different things. Jason doesn’t know what to think.

Something old, something new. Danny is still the same, and yet he’s changed so much.

What did Danny mean by his ghost?

Jason doesn’t ever remember being a ghost. But Danny knows the Joker killed him. He knows how he killed him. Danny’s parents are ghost scientists, and Jason remembers the letter he got one day telling him about the portal they were building in the basement.

He remembers thinking about telling Bruce — this was something beyond the glowing green samples stored in the fridge, giving life to the food inside. This was beyond the weapons, the inventions they made that only saw the light of day when the Drs. Fenton brought them up to showcase them.

And he didn’t, because if he hadn’t told Bruce about everything before, he wasn’t going to start. He admits, it was part fear that Bruce might intervene and prevent him from seeing Danny that he didn’t.

Neither of them had expected it to work — but it sounds like it did.

(Jason has avoided Amity Park for a reason. He knows he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from going there if he didn’t. But now, he just might have to look into it. He’s missed too much.)

And Danny wants to kill the Joker, and Jason isn’t sure if he means it or not. Because the look on his face when he said it is oh-so familiar. It’s the one he wore when he needed Jason to distract the clerk while he snuck behind the counter to steal cigarettes from the shelves. It was the one he wore when an older kid cornered them near one of Gotham’s many alleys, threatening them over something Jason can no longer remember clearly.

(He remembers puffing himself up, rearing for a fight. Danny, with glass in his teeth and blood between his fingers, lands a square kick to the spot between the kid’s legs. His knees hit the ground, and Danny’s hand found Jason’s to drag them both out of there.)

It’s the look of a boy, Gotham-touched grime in his soul, soft fingers turned calloused and scarred, about to do something he’s not going to regret. It’s the look of a boy that has set his mind to something and is going to do it. Some might call it the eyes of a cornered animal, but Danny’s never been cornered, not when Jason’s been with him.

(But Jason hasn’t been with him. Not for the last five years. So can he really say it wasn’t the eyes of a cornered animal?...Yes.)

Jason gets off the balcony before he can be seen, and he shouldn’t, but he loiters. He should get back to patrol, the night is never over. Not in Gotham. But he stays, hidden atop the roof nearby.

—---------------

An hour later, Danny walks out the doors with a man Jason recognizes as Vlad Masters — another new mystery for him to uncover. The paparazzi have long since left. Gotham’s nights are dangerous and everyone knows that, not even the vultures would stick around for a scoop, not unless there was something worth seeing.

A black limousine pulls up beside them, and Masters walks around the back to reach the other side. He’s bristled like an angry cat. “I thought I told you not to embarrass me.” He hisses, eyes snake-narrowed.

Danny, for the most part, just looks unbothered, his hands shoved into his pockets without a care. But he narrows his eyes right back, an expression made of stone. “You have a pretty low bar for what you think is embarrassing.”

Masters just scowls, “I don’t understand you, I would have thought you’d spend the whole time mingling with the Waynes, badger.” He says. Danny ruffles at the nickname, lips curling into a snarl. Jason finds himself unconsciously mimicking him. “And yet, I find you sequestered away in the corner like a little fly on the wall. Were they not up to your standards?”

‘Sequestered’ Danny mouths mockingly, eyes burning like he was going to claw his hand down Masters’ face. Instead, his hands dig into his arms. “I did talk to them, that’s more than I can say for you. You couldn’t even keep Mister Wayne’s attention for more than a minute.”

Jason frowns, and Masters scoffs, puffing up like an owl with its ego bruised. “Regardless, I am not the one losing here. Or did you forget what you promised me?”

Jason’s frown deepens. Danny doesn’t promise anything. At least, he doesn’t promise with just anyone. He deals; he repays; he indebts. But he does not promise. Promises were power, with only one side benefiting. It was trust to promise someone something. Danny doesn’t trust easily, neither of them do.

Something that hasn’t changed. Danny rears up angrily, mouth twisting, teeth baring, snarling out a fury sound. A wire cut live and sparking. He grabs the door handle and yanks it open harshly. “I didn’t promise you anything, Vlad.” He hisses, Jason strains to hear him. “I offered and you agreed. Do not fucking twist my words.”

There it is. Jason should’ve known better, guilt string-plucking in his chest for his doubt. Danny doesn’t promise things; not to people like this Masters guy, at least.

Danny grabs something from the car and throws himself back. “Don’t wait up.” He snarls, a wild thing just as Jason is, and yanks on a red hoodie over his arms. It zips up, and hangs off him, smothering the vest and button-up beneath. “I’ll meet you back at the hotel.”

Then he slams the door shut, shoulders hunched and with a scowl carved into his face. They’re both made of broken glass; independence — disobedience — and rebellion cut into them from every broken beer bottle shattered on the streets.

(Jason makes a mental note to look into Vlad Masters — Danny’s never told him about him, so they must have met after he died. The man leaves a rot in Jason’s mouth, and there is a greed festering inside him that Jason knows has left him in decay.)

(He doesn’t like how close Masters acts with him, doesn’t like the affiliations between them both. Masters reminds him of Luthor and every other rich socialite with their hands in something dirty. He hates even more that Danny is making deals with him. What has he missed?)

Jason follows after Danny, partially concerned that Danny is wandering Gotham alone. Regardless of what he can do, Gotham is still dangerous. It is bone-rotting, lung-choking and unforgiving. Danny knows this, Jason knows he does. He’s partially curious to know just where he’s going, and whether or not it was important enough to visit in the dead of Gotham’s bloody nights.

Danny surprises him — slipping between alleyways, sticking close to the shadows. Someone taught him how to be stealthy — or, at least, refined what stealth Danny already had. More new things that Jason needs to learn. More things he will never get to know.

Who taught you that?

Just what, exactly, have I missed?

I want to know everything.

Five years is a long, long time to be away from someone. If a caterpillar can become a butterfly in two weeks, then what can five years do to a human? It’s a long time to change, to become something else entirely. Jason’s become someone new, and he thinks, so has Danny.

Dread pools in his ribs, into his lungs, and weighs heavy on his heartstrings. The urge to drop down in front of Danny, to grab him by the arms and ask him to tell him everything, returns with a vengeance. This is why he avoided Amity Park.

Will I still know you like I used to? Jason trails behind Danny from the rooftops, like a ghost. Do you still love the stars? Do you still take tea over coffee? Will you tell me, if I ask?

And if he doesn’t? If he doesn’t ask, like he isn’t right now?

If he doesn’t ask about his ghost — something that still boggles his mind, because it means the Fentons were right and that portal might have worked, and Danny found Jason’s ghost? If he doesn’t ask what his ghost told him, if he told him anything else? Did his ghost tell you that he was Robin, like he always wanted to?

He will just have to keep his questions to himself. He will just have to tuck them into a folder in his mind, and file it under all of his other regrets.

He feels like he’s Robin again; keeping secrets and hiding things from his best friend because it simply wasn’t safe enough for him to know. It’s maddening.

Why has nothing changed since he died? Why has nothing changed, now that he was alive?

—---------------

Danny leads him to the Gotham Cemetery. Jason freezes outside the gates. Oh, he thinks.

Oh.

He thinks back to what he thought earlier.

What could possibly be so important that he’d go to it in the dead of Gotham’s night? The cemetery. Of course. Something old, something new, something bittersweet sets over his tongue that he swallows down.

Jason forces himself to follow.

“Hey.” Danny says as Jason settles behind a tree, voice gentle in foreign familiarity. He’s standing at Jason’s grave, his hands shoved into his pockets. The light is low but it doesn’t stop Jason from seeing the starlight-soft look in Danny’s eyes and his half-tilted smile, the smile that Jason is more familiar with than the wary scowls. “Sorry I’m late.”

Guiltish misery wraps its hands around Jason’s lungs. Pin-prickingly, stabbing at his heartstrings, Jason’s mouth moves on its own; “It’s okay.” but no sound comes out. Danny doesn’t hear him, and neither does Jason himself.

Danny sits down before Jason’s tombstone, groaning low and tiredly as his legs fold beneath him. He’s older than Jason, and immediately his mind switches over to all the jokes he used to lob him with.

(“Need help crossing the street, old man?” Jason, eight years old, asks with a grin so wide and painful across his face; giggles in his chest. He hooks his elbow with Danny, and keeps him tight against his ribs. “You’ll need all the help you can get in your ancient age.”)

(“I’m not that old.” Danny says, glaring at him before they scurry across the street with the light still green. Traffic laws are a joke in Crime Alley, it’s like a game of frogger as the sound of honking horns and screeching tires follows their heels. “We’re six months apart!”)

(“Six months and four days, actually.” Jason corrects when they reach the other side, snickering as they race down the sidewalk. Drivers lean out their windows and curse them out as they get away, Danny dodges an empty soda can thrown at his head. “Can’t forget the four days.”)

“I would’ve come sooner.” Danny tells him, pulling him from child-fuzzy memories and back into reality. Jason peers around the tree to see him running a hand through his hair, head ducked down. His palm splaying against his neck. “Sorry I didn’t. I got scared.”

Scared? Jason blinks, he leans against the bark and bumps his helmet against the wood. The thunk is loud in his ears, but Danny makes no indication that he heard. Of what?

But Danny doesn’t say what, he drops his hand and glances off to the side. He sits like a man who isn’t quite sure what to do, his mouth pressed into a thin line, his eyes scrunched. Grief carves into the lines of his face like a sculptor carving into marble.

“I was gonna get you flowers on my way here.” Danny continues. His voice cracks, begins to wobble, and Jason sees Danny’s jaw tighten and his eyes close for a moment. When they open, there’s a wobbling sheen on his bottom lashes; tears threatening to bleed.

Danny flicks at the tears with the nail of his thumb, it does nothing. It just makes his breath hitch. “Um, but they- uh, didn’t have any open on the way here.” He says, giving Jason’s grave a tremulous smile. “Sorry, I’ll make sure to pick some up on my next visit.”

Next visit. Jason’s heart squeezes uncomfortably, before he reels at the words. Danny’s going to be visiting again, after five years of being out of Gotham? Next visit, why are you visiting again? Was this the reason he came to Bruce’s little charity ball with Vlad Masters? So that he could come visit Jason’s grave?

It couldn’t have been. There are other ways to get to Gotham that don’t require making deals with shady rich men. Danny’s smart, smarter than Danny himself gives him credit for. He’s brilliant. Why did he need Masters’ help to get him to Gotham?

There had to be another reason why.

God, there were so many questions that Jason wants the answers to. He’ll find them, one way or another.

But, he focuses in again. Danny is only here for the night. One night, and he doesn’t know when he’ll be back again. Jason wants to commit every detail of his best friend to memory before he leaves.

“You like zinnias, right?” Danny pets the grass at his side absently, and yes. Yes, Jason does, and Danny remembers. Even five years from his death, he remembers. Of course he does.

“Yeah, you do. You used to pick the petals up off the sidewalk from those uh, fuck — the vendors. The Victorian flower language too, I think. Got a book on that somewhere. I’ll get you red an’ yellow ones.”

Grief traps in Jason’s chest, and he barely tamps down the bitter laugh forcing itself out of the chokehold of his throat. You fucking sap, you big fuckin’ sap.

Red zinnias. Steadfast beating of the heart. The irony. It’s got double the meaning now, now that he’s alive. But Danny doesn’t know that, so the heart that’s beating could only belong to him. But even with Jason alive, he’s hiding. Between the both of them, the only one here with a beating heart is Danny.

(Between the two of them, the only heart here is one that's made between the two of them.)

Yellow zinnias. Daily remembrance. Of course. That doesn’t need any explanation, the writing is right there on the wall. Raised, so that even the blind may read it. It doesn’t need to be said what that means, Jason can hear it on the wind, in the grass, in the trees. His heart crumpling like a rag being twisted out to drain the dirty water soaking in it.

I miss you.

I’m right here. Is what Jason wants to say. It’s what he should say. He should step out from behind the tree; should speak up and say something. To announce his presence. To do something to let Danny know that he’s speaking to someone who is more than a ghost (who feels like one anyways) and a corpse in the ground.

Here I am. Here I am. HERE I AM.

His feet are gravebound to the dirt, his tongue cut out of his mouth and shoved into a jar. He feels, in some way, like he’s clawing out of his own grave again, but the dirt keeps falling and his arms are burning. His lungs are filled with more soil than air. He’s not getting out.

Shame burns cigarette smoke in the back of his throat, shriveling up what little remains of his tar-filled heart. It should be his lungs, and it’s got that too. His feet are grave-bound to the floor.

Danny’s begun to cry, much to Jason’s horror. It should be more incentive for Jason to step out. He doesn’t. His best friend sniffles and scrubs at his face, soaking tears into his hoodie’s sleeve. “I’m sorry for not visitin’ sooner,” he says, voice spiraling with grief, “I don’t have an excuse. I should’ve come sooner. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Don’t be, Jason thinks. Finds himself surprised by the truth of it. He should be upset. Five years and not a single visit. He abandoned him like everyone else. Except he didn’t.

He’s not upset, he can’t be. Not when Danny’s finally here. Not when he’s still crying over him five years after the fact. Not when he’s going to put flowers on his grave that means he thinks of him daily. Not when Danny knows who killed him and wants him dead.

Jason isn’t sure of what to think of that still. He wants Bruce to kill the Joker. More importantly he wants change in Gotham. He wants something to be done. He doesn’t know if Danny is being honest or not — and honesty doesn’t mean anything if someone doesn’t act on it.

Danny continues talking to his grave, his voice full with sorrow. He talks about the gala, about running into Bruce and talking to him again.

Jason listens in dutiful silence, soaking in Danny’s voice like a sponge. This is what he was expecting on the balcony; this easy conversation. Except it’s not a conversation, Danny is talking and not expecting a response. Jason feels like a stranger imposing on his own grave.He should slink away, let Danny have his peace on his own.

He refuses to move. He can’t bring himself to.

If he closes his eyes, he can pretend that he's sitting in front of him. He can pretend he’s thirteen again, with him and Danny crawled under the bed at the manor and trading all the stories they couldn’t fit in their letters. Danny tells him about another fight he had with Dash Baxter, eyes rolling but smug teeth flashing in a stifled smile. Then he tells him about something Sam and Tucker did; about one of Sam’s protests she led against the biology lab, and Tucker coding his PDA to play Doom. Easy, stupid middle schooler shit.

They’d sneak out to the balcony for their vices, Danny clutching a carton of cheap cigarettes in hand. Alfred always finds the ones Jason hides, so they usually share whenever Danny comes to visit. Jason tells him about Gotham Academy, about the people there and the classes. Prep school is another beast entirely, he likes seeing Danny’s reactions to the politics that goes on inside.

Or, further back, they’re eight again, climbing a rickety fire escape to the rooftop and hanging their feet over the edge to find Batman and Robin. Danny was in the lead before he left for Amity Park. Jason remembers it clearly; they’d spent all night outside on that rooftop.

Jason doesn’t close his eyes.

Jazz decided to change career goals; psychology’s become more of a hobby for her, and she’s going to go to med school instead. She’s thinking of doing an internship in Metropolis. Danny says he’s glad that it’s not Gotham, and when he told Jazz this, she laughed at him and told him that she was going to save that for later.

She’s Gotham-touched too, she knows it’s blood just as much as Danny does. She wants to help the people there, but knows what Gotham’s like. She knows what she can and cannot do. Determination doesn’t equate skill, it just means the willingness to learn.

Sam is staying in Amity Park and doing online classes for college, but Tucker got a full ride scholarship in software engineering. Danny’s thick with pride as he tells Jason’s headstone. Jason’s happy for him — they weren’t close, not like he and Danny were, but they were still friends.

Jason soaks it all in; tell him more. He wants to know everything.

"I don't know what I want to do." Danny says when he’s finally done talking about everyone else, his chin laying on his knees. “S’not like I can be an astronaut anymore, but there’s not anything I can see myself doing.”

The corner of his mouth coils, sardonic. “I’ve had five years to come up with somethin’ new, and I’ve come up with nothin’ at all.” He huffs. It’s a rough, bitter sound. Gotham has been steadily seeping back into his voice since he arrived in the graveyard, and now it comes out thick, like it never left.

Danny’s face falls slack, like a puppet losing its strings, and he sinks into himself. “I guess I…” He exhales slow. “I’ve just been distracted.” A faraway glaze eclipses his eyes, and before they close, tears begin to bleed onto his eyelids. Again, grief mars the lines of his skin, settling into the curve of his mouth and threading between his brows like second nature.

Fuck, it’d be so easy for Jason to just step out. Move. His best friend is grieving. He could save him the pain of it and tell him now. Move, move, move.

He doesn’t move.

For a while, there’s nothing but silence, just Jason hiding in his shame; a rat on the street would be bolder than him. Danny’s eyes don’t open. Eventually, his head tilts and slumps into his knees, Jason almost thinks, somehow, that he’s fallen asleep — but Danny’s hand threads into the hair on the back of his head, his finger beginning to tap an invisible beat into his skull.

It’s the perfect opportunity for him to slip away. Danny’s distracted; lost in his thoughts. He won’t notice if Jason slinks off now. He could go and hide away on a roof nearby, ensuring that Danny gets his rightful privacy without leaving him to the teeth of the streets.

Jason still doesn’t move.

Danny begins to hum. It’s a low, breathy sound, and it shakes unevenly. There’s no discernible melody, but a breeze picks it up and travels it through the air anyway, rooting Jason to his spot. His throat swells, and his back sinks into the bark behind him.

For a full minute, maybe two, Danny just hums. It’s a simple tune, but it fills the graveyard with the sound. When it goes up, he sharpens, when he goes down again, it flats, and sometimes it wobbles.

When he lifts his head, when he finally opens his eyes, he’s still humming. Soon it dies down, and the next time Danny exhales, it comes out tumultuous and slow. His hand slips heavy from his head and drops into the grass.

“Where’d you go, Jay?” Danny mutters, and despite his voice coming flat, he still sounds so tired. Danny’s eyes flick up, lifting off the grass to burn into the headstone. He’s not even looking at him, and yet Jason still freezes up, he still feels pinned under the weight of his stare. “I know you’re still out there, somewhere. I know it.”

Jason breathes in shakily, a sting deep in the back of his throat. He gives no answer; guilt is an animal with claws, and it burrows deep into Jason’s heart to make itself a home between the tendons. He’s right here.

Silence falls over them again, and this time it’s only the sound of the city around them that bleeds into the air. Danny stares at Jason’s grave, staring like he’s expecting an answer. He doesn’t get one.

Danny sighs out low, and stands. His knees tremble slightly, and he rubs his sleeve into his eyes, catching the stray tears falling from his lashes. Like breaking a spell, Jason jolts from the fog of sorrow hanging in the air.

“I’ll see you later, an’ I’ll make sure to bring you those flowers you like.” He tells him, and miraculously, a shadow of a smile flits over Danny’s mouth. “Y’better be here when I get back, alright? I’ll kick y’fucking ass if you’re not.”

Jason bites back a huff, his mouth upturning in a wobble. I will, he thinks, and watches Danny trail out of the graveyard with his hands in his pockets. He waits until he’s disappeared behind the gate before following.

Guilt is a thing with claws, and Jason leaves the cemetery with it eating his tongue. But he makes sure Danny gets back to his hotel safe before he slinks back to Crime Alley; he might not be a ghost anymore, but he can still trail behind Danny like he is.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

ayy i finally got chapter 2 of CFAU/TMWS edited/redone! It had to get rewritten because a lot of stuff became obsolete in the wake of the new chapter 1. and also it just kinda. fucking sucked imo lmao

(you can also read it here on my ao3!)

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc crossover #cw swearing #dpxdc crossover #childhood friends au #cfau #dead on main #dp x dc fanfic #dpxdc fanfic #dpdc #banshee danny fenton #got to let jason be Slightly More Unhinged about Danny in this version which i had fun with. i love writing unhealthy attachments it just #adds a little spice ✨ im like an evil scientist marveling over their unethical creation. someone call me olivia octavia #fun fact that i learned recently: jazz also wanted to be also be an accountant or a brain surgeon! so she's getting a little break from #being the Therapist Friend. :]#jason @ danny: whose hurt you. tell me i'll kill them. talk to me tell me everything. don't leave my side please.#danny would be pr similar if he knew red hood was jason :P. uhh. after the initial shock wore off.

120 notes · View notes