#worlds most fucked up road trip
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part four of my post-canon hannibal art series that I call world's most fucked up road trip<3 you can see the other 3 parts + some comics from the same AU here
This time including: a new house in a new country, opera trips, Hannibal massaging Will's bad shoulder, some new scars that I made up for fun, and Will's hair starting to go grey a little bit (which is a sign of growing older together and living a long life btw and that's beautiful). And, of course, murder.
Jack, Alana, and everyone else are like how does Will sleep at night after doing all that meanwhile Will is spooning a cannibal.
#hannibal lecter#will graham#hannigram#nbc hannibal#hannibal fanart#murder husbands#worlds most fucked up road trip#my art
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“This show stressed me out” okay but was it the last four episodes of the fifth season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer? Because it probably wasn’t more stressful then the last four episodes of the fifth season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
#buffy summers and the terrible horrible no good road trip#especially spiral#i just rewatched spiral and god it’s stressful as hell#tough love is like ‘OH OKAY WE’RE GOING THERE’#but then spiral is like#SHIT ITS GLORY#EVERYONE IN THE WINNEBAGO#FUCKING MEDIEVAL KNIGHTS ON HORSES THROWING SWORDS AT THE WINNEBAGO#ANYA MAKING SPAM IN THE WINNEBAGO#BUFFY CLIMBING UP ONTO THE ROOF#BUFFY STEALING ONE OF THE KNIGHTS SWORDS#SHIT THE WINNEBAGO CRASHED#GILES HAS BEEN IMPALED#GAS STATION SHENANGIANS#FUCKING BEN#KNIGHTS CAMPING OUT IN FRONT OF THE AFOREMENTIONED GAS STATION#CATATONIC BUFFY#then the weight of the world and the gift are two of the most cry worthy episodes in the show#btvs#buffy the vampire slayer
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I will never not be OBSESSED with the Famous trope + Found Family trope with the Party 😭 The headlines would be so chaotic? Like:
Famous Rockstar Eddie Munson is seen eating lunch with two time Pulitzer winner Nancy Wheeler, Highest Paid Photographer Jonathan Byers and Successful Entrepreneur Argyle Alvez. How does he know these people???
Three time Grammy Winner Eddie Munson seen in a McDonald's with World Renowned Astronaut Dustin Henderson and New York Times Best Seller Will Byers-Wheeler and Mike Byers-Wheeler. What the actual fuck???
Eddie Munson, seen in a Chicago Bulls game looking confused as hell, mere seconds after finding out his second album just went Multi-platinum, with his husband, Steve Munson. Also seen in pictures, Eddie Munson hugging point guard Lucas Sinclair and his wife, Max Sinclair. How???
MSG Sold Out Performer Eddie Munson seen in Chicago Medical Center with World Renowned Surgeon Dr. Erica Sinclair. Our insiders say that the rockstar is FINE and was only having lunch with the doctor. What in the multiverse is happening???
Eddie Munson and his husband seen in line at the book signing of rising Linguistics Author Robin Buckley. They ended up laughing so hard when they reached the author, they almost got kicked out. Turns out they all knew each other???
Rock Star Eddie Munson bringing packed lunch in pajamas to a small Chicago preschool where husband, Steve Munson and known friend, Jane Hopper works. Why??? How??? What???
Third most followed person on Instagram Eddie Munson, just broke the internet by posting a group picture with Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley, Jonathan Byers, Argyle Alvez, Dustin Henderson, Lucas, Max and Erica Sinclair, Mike and Will Byers-Wheeler, his husband Steve Munson and family friend Jane Hopper. HOW DO THEY ALL KNOW EACH OTHER?! WHAT A WEIRD GROUP?!
The more people speculate, the more they say shit. Like people ask them how they know each other and they all just throw out the weirdest answers.
Nancy gets asked in a press conference how she knows Rock Star Eddie Munson? Nancy answers with, "I was driving myself to California when I was 19 and I picked him up as a hitch hiker along the way. We’ve been friends since then."
Robin gets asked in a lecture how she knows the Sinclair Clan? Robin answers with, "I go way back with Dr. Erica. She once saved me from Russian Doctors trying to cut my toe nails."
Eddie goes on an interview in National TV and the host asks how he's friends with Argyle and Jon? Eddie answers with, "I got kidnapped by a killer clown when I was 17. They saved me by crushing the clown's still beating heart with their own bare hands."
Steve gets bombarded with questions online of how he knows Nancy, Robin, Jon, Argyle and even Eddie (his husband)? Steve answers with, "We were stuck in detention every Saturday when we were in senior year. We all became friends when Eddie Munson started singing Don't You (Forget About Me)."
Will and Mike gets asked in an interview about their friendship with Basketball Star, Lucas Sinclair? Will says, “Lucas once gave my dog CPR, ultimately, saving it’s life and we’ve been friends since then.” and Mike just goes, “Who???”
Erica once got asked how she knew Genius Astronaut, Dustin Henderson. Erica rolls her eyes, “That boy owes me his life. Ask him, not me.”
Dustin gets asked how he knows Eddie Munson. Dustin goes with, “Eddie once saved me from a feral army of bats and almost died. I’ve never let go of him since then.” The fans think this one might actually be true, they’ve seen the scars on Eddie, they’ve got theories and Dustin just gave them a puzzle piece.
Argyle got asked in a Business Magazine how he knows this weird, interconnected group. Argyle says, “Oh dude! Those are my life long friends! It started with a pizza van, a dead man, and a road trip to Utah. There was also a bald girl involved. In the end, the real treasure really is the friends we make along the way.”
Jonathan gets asked how he knows Eddie Munson. Jon gives the softest, sweetest smile and says, “We were in a satanic cult together.”
Jane Hopper gets asked once in public (how she knows all these famous people), someone filmed it and it went viral on Twitter. El says, verbatim, “Oh. It all started when I was kidnapped by an evil scientist who tested stuff on me like I was a lab rat. Long story short, they saved my life and they are my family.” By then people already don’t believe any of them because they all give out the most ridiculous answers. Hopper still grounds her for that even though she doesn’t live with him anymore. (Owens, who hasn't called them in 15 years, reached out with a warning).
→ Current Additions: Lucas Lie Detector & Max's Future (Scroll down the link)
#people will be speculating#but they wont say shit#steddie rants#dae writes#steve harrington x eddie munson#stranger things headcanons#steddie headcanons#steddie#stranger things#the party#nancy wheeler#jonathan byers#argyle#eddie munson#steve harrington#stranger things rants#daeheadcanons
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Basic Training XVII (Peter Parker x Reader)
Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, mentions of MURDER, violence, kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter
➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | divider by @whimsicalrogers
➥ series masterlist
summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.
~
You stared into the darkness of the basement for what felt like too long.
It was quiet down there, but not the kind of quiet that felt comforting. It was the kind of silence that felt suffocating—taunting. It was so loud in its taunting, snickering at you and your idiocy and naivety. Even as you laid on the floor, feeling like the lowest of jokes, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret the decisions that brought you here.
Nat was your friend. Or at least, you liked to consider her one, and even faced with the threat of the worst punishment Steve could muster, you just couldn’t imagine yourself doing anything differently. You couldn’t imagine yourself waking Peter up that night and telling him you saw the redhead escaping, effectively alerting the other husbands to her presence, leading to her subsequent capture. It just wasn’t in you, and clearly none of these men—not even Peter—knew you at all if they thought it was.
The first time you tried to move, you couldn’t, and for a brief moment, you thought that Steve had injured you in his delight to toss you down the stairs like a sack of flour instead of a person. However, you quickly came to realize that wasn’t the case. You could move your fingers and toes fine, even twitch your leg, but you just couldn’t find the strength to move. You felt beyond defeated, and when you blinked, you weren’t shocked to feel a sting behind your eyes.
There was the most awful aching feeling in your chest, both heavy and hollow even though you didn’t know how that was possible. You wanted to cry and scream, but you also never wanted to utter another word ever again. You wanted to let out everything you felt since the moment you came here, but in the same breath, you desperately wanted to feel numb. If you didn’t feel a thing, then you couldn’t get hurt, and you hurt so much, right now.
Peter killed Michelle.
He didn’t help kill her, but he did kill her, and in the grand scheme of things, maybe that shouldn’t make a difference. After all, you’d still been under the impression that he did nothing while his brothers did. You’d still been under the belief that he allowed it to happen at best and helped it happen and cover it up at worst. So, why did Peter pulling the trigger make all the difference in the world to you?
Was it because you thought you were falling in love with him?
That thought had you squeezing your eyes shut, so tight that it hurt, and it was hard to hold back your sob. Your nails scraped against the hard floor as you shook, struggling to breathe as your stomach turned. Once you started it was so hard to stop, and it wasn’t long before the sound of your choked cries were filling the basement. It was a thought you’d considered before, but that was when he wasn’t a murderer.
That was when he hadn’t murdered your best friend.
How could you possibly rationalize it now? Deep down, you knew that this wasn’t your fault. Deep down you knew that there were names and studies dedicated to people in your position and the psychology behind it, but that didn’t make you feel any better. Peter had murdered your friend in cold blood…
…and you thought you loved him.
The thought made you want to be sick, and with horror, you could actually feel your stomach turning. You hurried to sit up, pressing the back of your hand to your mouth as you struggled to keep it down. The bathroom only some feet away was locked—wouldn’t be unlocked until someone came down to open it and let you in—and you didn’t think you could handle sitting in a room with your vomit just stewing in the corner.
Struggling to get to your feet, you pressed your other hand to your stomach, trying to settle it. Keeping your mouth closed, you breathed through your nose, lashes fluttering, and after some time, you slowly stumbled towards where you knew the bed to be. You didn’t care about turning on the light, finding no need, and when you sat down, your head drooped in defeat.
There was really no telling how long they’d keep you in here until they figured out what to do with you, and while you knew that Peter would try his damndest to get them to go easy on you, you also knew that they wouldn’t consider a word that left his mouth. You—and also Peter by extension—had proven Steve and the others right, and you found it unlikely they’d ever listen to another suggestion from Peter about you ever again. Or at the very least, not for a long time.
Besides, Peter wasn’t the aggrieved party.
Bucky was, and such a thought made you shudder. You’d done well to avoid attracting Bucky’s ire even though he reminded you of Steve in some ways. Although, unlike Steve, Bucky didn’t seem the type to look for any and every excuse to punish you as he’d prefer in a contrast to Peter’s methods. Bucky seemed—if nothing else—fair to you, and that’s what scared you the most.
Bucky now felt wronged by you.
So, there was really no telling what was in store for you.
You recalled the way he’d reached for you, desperately trying to get past Peter in his efforts to get his hands on you. You didn’t want to imagine what he would’ve done had he succeeded, and you swallowed as your mind went rampant with the possibilities. Your hand came up to graze the tear in your sleeve, wincing at the slight sting you felt when your finger came in contact with the skin. Some part of you knew that had Bucky succeeded, he just might have killed you in his rage, and where you once would’ve welcomed such a thought…
It only made your heart ache, now.
You didn’t want to die, and when you thought about why, your stomach only twisted into knots once again. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you keeled over, throat tight as you tried to swallow down another sob. Your chest hurt so much, feeling like someone had an iron grip on your heart and was just squeezing and twisting it to their content. When you gasped, a cry escaped with it, and the only other time you could recall feeling like this was the day you realized your friends were dead and you were all alone.
You cried until your throat felt raw, and you didn’t fight your body as it started to collapse to the floor, sliding off of the bed in a heap. Covering your face with your hands, your lightly dragged your nails down your skin, frame shaking as you rocked back and forth. Your stomach wouldn’t stop hurting, and you couldn’t stop shaking. In fear or anger or despair—you didn’t know.
You did know that this was all Peter’s fault. He was the one who decided he had to have you, as if you were some thing to be acquired instead of a human being with a life and feelings and autonomy. If it weren’t for him, your friends would still be alive, and you wouldn’t even be here. If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t be feeling ripped apart by how you felt about the man who kidnapped and raped you. All of this was Peter’s fault…and even still…more than anything…
All you wanted was for him to hold you.
It was hard to say how long you stayed in the basement. The darkness and silence was endless, and it felt like months, but in reality, it was probably mere days. You did know that it was long enough for your stomach to ache from more than just fear and for your nightgown to stink from more than just sweat. You didn’t think you were capable of feeling embarrassed about that anymore. After all, Peter never made you feel like it was something to be embarrassed about, but that was before you heard the sound of the locks on the basement door.
Despite your shame, you couldn’t bring yourself to move.
Until the light from the top of the stairs outlined a familiar silhouette.
You merely stared at him as he stood on the first step, yours on him and his eyes on you. You couldn’t hear any noise coming from the main part of the house, and you said nothing when he closed the door behind him. Peter wasn’t good. You knew that since the beginning when he told you that everything he did was so that he could have you, making it all okay. Peter had never been good.
So, why did looking at him now hurt so much more than it ever had?
As soon as Peter was close enough, the first thing he did was take your face into his hands. You couldn’t really feel them, realizing that you got your wish to feel numb, and that just made your chest ache more. Just days ago you were desperate to feel the comfort of Peter’s touch, and now you couldn’t feel it, at all.
“Hey, pretty girl,” he murmured, face a mere inch away from yours.
When you didn’t say anything back, you noticed the way his face fell, lips pressed together as he eyed you. His gaze lingered on yours for the longest, thumbs just grazing your skin, and you watched the way his tongue darted out to swipe between his lips.
“We need to get you cleaned up.”
His words had you blinking, and it was only then did you notice the fresh dress resting on the crook of his arm. You didn’t ask him what day it was because it didn’t matter. You only knew what would be happening today, and it’s why the dress on Peter’s arm was so pretty. It was why you’d been locked in the basement for days. It was why Peter looked at you the way he did as he helped you stand.
“I’m so sorry,” were the words he murmured into your hair as soon as he leaned you against him.
What was he apologizing for exactly? For killing Michelle or lying to you about it? For taking you and ruining your life in the first place? Or for failing to protect you from the wrath of the other husbands? Maybe he was apologizing for what was to come, and that made you shut your eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered again as he brought your head to rest in the crook of his neck.
You didn’t respond—didn’t know how to—only allowing him to guide you into the bathroom after unlocking it. You couldn’t really say how you got naked, only feeling as if you blinked before finding yourself sitting in a tub of hot water with Peter raining water down over your head. He was talking to you, saying something that went in one ear and out of the other. All you could focus on was that dress on the toilet, wondering what they planned to make you do while wearing it.
When you felt the weight of Peter’s gaze, it was only then did you take note of the silence. You didn’t know if he’d asked you a question or if he simply opted to stare at you, but when his hand came up to graze the side of your face, you assumed it was the latter. Perusing you, you watched as his gaze became distracted by the shallow scrape on your arm from Bucky’s nails, and when Peter’s jaw tightened, you knew that he realized where it came from too.
“Peter,” you softly forced out, throat tight.
He gave you his undivided attention, and you licked your lips.
“What are they going to do to me?”
Your question came out almost inaudible, just barely above a whisper as you found yourself almost too afraid to ask—too fearful to want to know. When Peter’s face fell some, your own frown deepened, and when he sighed, your heart sank.
“I don’t�� I don’t know,” he slowly told you, and you could see that he was telling the truth.
You knew that Peter would have no say in this, you’d known that, but faced with the knowledge that was completely in the dark only served to make your stomach twist more. Only this time, you weren’t able to stop it, and it was Peter who kept you from falling as you hurried to get out of the tub. You only just made it to the toilet in time, and with nothing in your stomach to throw up, all you expelled was bile.
One of Peter’s hands were on your waist, the other soothingly rubbing your back as you vomited again. With every heave of your stomach, you shook more and more, and when you were done, you could only stare at the wall behind the toilet.
“You’re sick,” he said, tone strained with worry.
You shook your head.
“No, I’m just… I’m scared,” you honestly told him, lifting your gaze to meet his. “…and heartbroken.”
Peter sadly tilted his head, and your lips quivered.
“Why did you lie to me?” you breathed. “Why did you…? Why did you minimize your part in it?”
You continued before Peter could lie some more.
“Why did you hold me and comfort me and tell me you weren’t as bad as them when you’re much worse?”
“I’m not,” he argued, grabbing your shoulder.
“…but you are,” you said with a frown. “At least with Steve and Tony and Bucky I know who they are. I fear them because they’ve shown me why I should.”
Peter pulled you closer, resting your head on his chest as he rocked you.
“You made me love you.”
The words came out small and choked, your face crumbling as Peter stilled, and you’d stupidly thought you had no more tears left. Your body proved you wrong, frame shaking as your chest tightened, a cry escaping you in the otherwise quiet bathroom. Peter didn’t respond right away, just holding you as you cried.
“I’m still the same person I was before you found out,” he whispered, rocking you. “…the same person you begged to run away with.”
You squeezed your eyes shut.
“I’m not proud of what I did,” he confessed. “…but it’s why I can hold you every night for as long as I want.”
He leaned down to gently kiss your forehead, and your vacant and tearful gaze was on the bathtub, now.
“You don’t have to agree with it, even I don’t agree with it, but it had to be done if I wanted you all to myself.”
You knew that justified it all in Peter’s mind, and the part of your brain that was conditioned to normalize your new reality wanted to pull him closer, but the part that desperately missed your friends and family and old life only wanted to be sick.
When Peter rinsed you off and dried you, his fingers grazed your skin as he helped you get dressed. Soothing words left his lips that didn’t really mean much because how could he calm you against something that was unknown to him too? He didn’t even know what he was comforting you from. Once dressed, he stood before you, looking you over with his fingers grazing over yours.
When your eyes met his, his gaze softened, and you didn’t stop him when he leaned in to press his lips to the corner of your mouth. Like every touch and kiss of his, now, you didn’t really feel it, and when Peter pulled away, you felt that the numbness that consumed you reflected in your own gaze. He heaved a sigh, fingering the ring on your finger.
“I still love you,” he assured you, looking at you from beneath his lashes. “That’ll never change…and even… Even when I have to do whatever it is I have to do today, I’ll be doing it with love.”
Those words didn’t exactly comfort you, and your eyes briefly closed when he walked you out of the bathroom. The stairs were hard to take, courtesy of your lack of food and what little sleep you’d managed to get. You shook beside Peter, and you knew that it was from more than just not eating. In fact, you were sure you were going to throw up again.
The house was unusually quiet—as well as empty—and that did nothing to alleviate your uneasiness. Peter’s hold on your hand was gentle, and as much you loved to hate him in this moment, you appreciated that he walked outside with you instead of walking you outside like a prisoner. You were surprised by how early it was in the day, bringing your hand up to shield your eyes from the rising sun. Days in the darkness had them hurting from the harsh natural light.
Just as you got used to it, a familiar and intimidating voice spoke.
“Leave her right there.”
Only, it wasn’t the voice you were used to being on the receiving end of. Your eyes met familiar blue ones as Peter was forced to step away from you, Bucky’s gaze very much transparent as he looked at you. His anger and disgust were palpable, and you found that you couldn’t hold his gaze.
That was a mistake.
“You will look at me,” he sneered, hurrying over to you and harshly gripping your chin.
Behind him, you could see Peter take a step forward only to be stopped by Sam. Bucky’s fingers were painfully pressing into your skin, and as difficult as you found it, you held the brunette’s gaze. It was in that moment that you realized why the house had seemed so quiet on your way out. You noted that the only person missing was Jane, and you guessed with her pregnancy and a need for someone to watch Margaret and Sharon’s children, they decided to kill two birds with one stone.
They clearly didn’t want to stress her, and that only made you more fearful of what was in store for you.
“We’re not stupid, you know,” Bucky said to you, and you swallowed. “We expect the odd escape attempt here and there.”
You weren’t used to being on the receiving end of Bucky’s venomous gaze, blue eyes icy.
“We look forward to it even,” he confessed. “None of you will ever succeed, so it helps you realize that, and you get it out of your systems.”
You blinked back tears, and Bucky took note of them, lip curling over his teeth.
“In fact…we had been anticipating yours from the moment we let you out of that basement, but I guess you really were too docile to fight back properly,” he continued, voice growing bitter. “Too docile even to tell one of us when our wife was trying to escape.”
When you blinked again, a tear finally escaped, and you didn’t know if you were supposed to respond. Evidently you were.
“What?” Bucky wondered, roughly letting your chin go. “Nothing to say for yourself?”
Your chest heaved with a deep breath, and you started to glance around.
“No, don’t look at them. Look at me,” Bucky ordered. “After all, it was my wife who anything could’ve happened to.”
When your gaze met his again, more tears spilled over, and you sniffed.
“I’m sorry-.”
“We expect you to fight back…try and make a run for it… What we don’t expect is more loyalty to a traitorous wife than the men of the house,” he interrupted you, spitting the words out and making you flinch. “…because anything could come of that. You could kill one of us.”
“I… I’m sorry,” you said again, knowing it wouldn’t change anything but also knowing it was what he wanted to hear.
Bucky stared at you for a long time—too long—just looking down his nose at you as if he could barely stand to look at you. You were all too aware of the eyes on you, all too aware of the example being made out of you. You were in the dark about what was going to happen, now, and it made you want to be sick. However, of all the things you expected…
You didn’t expect Bucky to quickly grab your arm, twisting it—and you with his other arm—before violently shoving you to the ground. It happened so fast that when you finally cried out in pain, clutching your wrist, you were already looking up at him from the grass. He wasn’t looking at you though, hands behind his back as he stepped away from you.
“There are two outcomes for you today,” he started, making his way towards Peter who looked like he was moments away from committing murder—again. “Personally, I’m partial to either outcome…”
When you started to push yourself to your feet, the dark-haired man heard it, pausing to look at you with a wag of his finger.
“No, no. You don’t get up yet…”
Heart sinking, you sat back down, clutching your arm to you as you looked between him and Peter.
“The first,” he dragged out, resting a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “We finally get to see what Peter has in him…”
You froze, skin growing cold and heart dropping to your gut.
“…see if he has what it takes to make you…” Bucky turned his gaze to you, eyes glinting wickedly “…beg him to stop.”
You couldn’t stop more tears from spilling over, the realization of what this day could possibly bring crashing down on you like a wave. When you glanced over, your eyes met a familiar green pair, and Nat’s disgust and regret was plain as day on her face. She looked at you like she wanted to take your place in a heartbeat, but you both knew that wasn’t going to happen.
You couldn’t hold in your sob, pressing your hand to your mouth.
“You can’t cry, now,” Bucky’s voice reached you as he neared you. “We haven’t even started yet.”
He forced you to your feet, and his hands were the only thing keeping you from collapsing.
When you first got here, Peter promised that that would never be you. He told you that he would never, but considering the circumstances of your offense, that choice was no longer up to him. You couldn’t stop sobbing, choking noises climbing out of your throat as Bucky continued.
“The other option is two months in the basement.”
When your eyes met Bucky’s again, there was a gleam in his eye and a curve to his lips that told you it wouldn’t be so easy as choosing which you’d prefer. You didn’t even want to say that the choice would be easy if given one because while your worst fear was recreating what Margaret had to go through during your first days here…you also knew that two months down in that darkness would break you beyond belief.
Two months down there, and you were sure you wouldn’t even be yourself when you emerged.
“It all depends on who gets to you first,” Bucky softly said, making you frown at him.
When he stepped away, you swayed on your feet, but his hand met your arm again when he turned you towards the small pond, free arm gesturing towards the dense trees behind it.
“Those legs that are near and dear to Peter’s heart are going to take you as far as you can go…”
His whispered words made you frown.
“Now, don’t think that you’re getting away…” he looked at you and you slowly looked at him. “…because you’re not. Someone will catch you, it’s only a matter of who, and that determines if this pretty little dress is coming off or not.”
His reminder of one of the possibilities made you lightheaded, and you pressed your hand to your chest when he walked away.
“If Peter catches you, then Peter will do what he has been instructed to do…”
The man in question spoke up, quietly pleading with Bucky, but the older man ignored him.
“…and I was going to participate in this little game,” Bucky said, jaw ticking as he looked at you. “…but you deserve to be terrified after what you did.”
You pressed your lips together, blinking away tears as you wrapped your arms around yourself.
“So…” he backed up, a small smile on his pink lips. “If Steve catches you…”
You couldn’t stop your knees from buckling, world spinning as you caught yourself on your hands and knees. Your skin pricked, and you felt almost on the verge of a heart attack.
“He gets to put you in the basement…” a pause. “Again.”
The sounds of the world were going in and out, and once again, you felt like you were going to throw up. Both options were the last thing you ever wanted, and once you ran into those trees, you didn’t know what would relieve you less—the sight of Peter or the sight of Steve. It was sick, really, because obviously you would rather be caught by Peter, but not if it meant…that.
…and if Steve caught you, you just knew it wasn’t going to be that simple
“Whenever you’re ready.”
Bucky’s words were mocking, filled with a mixture of disdain and satisfaction, and as you looked up at him, you didn’t know who you hated more—him or Steve. The blond in question was someone you had avoided looking at since you stepped outside, bitter to see the sick satisfaction that no doubt covered his features at your humiliation.
Your comeuppance.
Pushing yourself to your feet was a struggle, and you didn’t look at Peter, too afraid to realize that he might be who you wanted to catch you, after all, even if it did mean public humiliation beyond comprehension. You felt beyond alone as you walked down the small decline, the dewy grass so nice against the soles of your feet despite the circumstances.
It was only when you got to the tree line, staring inside, did it hit you.
You were going to be hunted and chased down like some animal, and depending on who caught you first, that was what your punishment would be. Both options were enough to make your stomach flip, and for the life of you, you just couldn’t decide which was better. With a panicked sob, you forced your feet to move.
Every tree looked just like the other to you, and there was nothing in these woods to signal some kind of progress as you ran. It was crazy to think that there had once been days when you dreamed about being in these woods, closer to freedom and away from the craziness you’d been forced into. Now, however, you were in said trees and all you could think about was who would get to you first.
Bucky’s words echoed in your mind.
It wasn’t a matter of whether either of them would catch you. Both of you knew that you weren’t getting away from here, let alone from Peter or Steve in these woods. One of them was going to find you first, and even as you brushed past harmful branches and stumbling vines, you still didn’t know which choice presented to you was better. More than anything, you wanted it to be Peter to find you, but could you be okay with being raped for the whole household to see? This wasn’t like that day with Margaret…
Both Steve and Bucky wanted to make the biggest example out of you, and so the entire household would be there to witness your humiliation. However…it was one day. One hour even at the most of Peter doing what he normally did whenever you were alone…just in front of everyone else. If Steve caught you on the other hand…
Two months in the basement was a thought that actually made your knees shake, causing you to stumble against a tree. You knew—you knew—that you couldn’t handle that, and you knew that Peter knew it too. One option was just one bad day, that was all, but the other option would turn you into even more of a mess than you already were. You’d spent less than a week down there at the most, and both times were hell for you.
The second more so than the worst, and you didn’t want to unpack why that was.
When you heard a tree branch snap, you felt yourself freezing. The tree you were next to was larger, much larger than you, and you remained perfectly still as your hand rested against it. You had only stopped for a few moments, and the whole time you’d been lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t even heard any footsteps. In fact, something in you told you that you were supposed to hear the snap of that branch.
When you dared to peek around the trunk, all of your breath left you.
The sight of Steve’s blond hair and back was a stomach turning one, and just as quietly as you peeked around, you hid yourself behind the tree once more. With one movement, you could end this torture and not have to be fucked for the whole household to see, but no matter how much you didn’t want that…you couldn’t bring yourself to move.
…because you didn’t want the alternative either.
Steve terrified you beyond belief—something Bucky had acknowledged—and something in you just knew that he wasn’t going to find you and take you back to the house as easy as that. Outside of raping Margaret, you had never heard of Steve doling out any kind of physical abuse, but you had a sneaking suspicion that Steve would strike you square across the face if he could get away with it.
Peeking around the tree again, you watched him walk away, scanning the area before him for any sign of you. Your nails pressed into the trunk, and with a sinking heart, you both accepted and hoped that Peter would find you, making peace with what that meant for you. With Steve completely out of your sight, you didn’t know which way to go, and so you went forward, adjacent to the direction Steve went.
You felt like you were getting so turned around the further you walked, and you wondered what would happen if you just decided to go back to the house. You wondered how the punishment would be decided then—provided you actually made it back without being caught. The thought of being caught by Steve prevented you from remaining calm and thinking clearly.
Or maybe it was everything else that did that.
You could feel a familiar burn behind your eyes, and you struggled to swallow, throat feeling incredibly tight. You’d thought that you cried enough in the basement, but that kept proving to be untrue. A few tears skipped down your face before many more followed behind, and you took in a shaky breath.
How was it that you hated Peter so so much for what he did…while also wanting nothing more than to just return to your bedroom with him when this was over? You didn’t want to go back down there, alone and bathed in darkness. You wanted to sleep in your bed with Peter and you wanted him to hold you while you cried about the very thing he’d done that caused the tears.
You hated him, but you wanted to be near him.
You didn’t want to hate him from afar. You wanted to hate him while staring at his face every night and listening to the sound of his breathing and feeling his hands on your shoulder as he sat behind you in the bathtub. You hated Peter so much for what he did—and lying about it—but it just wasn’t the kind of hate where you couldn’t stand the sight of him, and you hated him all the more for that.
You were pulled from your thoughts by the sound of footsteps, and considering you’d gone in the opposite direction of Steve, you were prepared to meet your fate when your gaze would meet that of a familiar brown one. Only, the eyes that met yours weren’t brown…they were blue…and you felt your lips part.
You didn’t hesitate to run the other way, a scream climbing out of your throat when you were tackled to the ground. Steve’s hand was pressed to the back of your head as he slammed your face against the leaves and sticks, making you gasp, and when his arm snaked around your neck, a choked sound left you.
You weren’t surprised when he threw you to the dirt again.
“I knew…” he started, slowly following you as you attempted to crawl away. “From the moment Peter gave us that crock of shit about a gentler method, I fucking knew.”
You clawed at the dirt when Steve reached down to pull on one of your legs.
“I knew then that he was being too soft with you,” he spat, flipping you over. “I knew that it would come back to bite us.”
Steve squatted over you, one hand tightly curling around your throat, and you struggled to breathe as he slowly forced you to your feet. Your scraped at his hand, gaze tearful and pleading as Steve stared you down, nostrils flaring. His blond hair was a mess, an unusual sight for you, but those blue eyes were as cold as ever.
Steve really hated you.
“Bucky is better than me,” Steve hissed at you. “…because if Margaret had gotten as far as Nat did because of you, I wouldn’t make Peter stop until you were begging for him to put you out of your misery.”
You pushed at his hands, panicked, and he only shook you in response.
“You think he’s your best fucking friend,” Steve breathed through clenched teeth, sizing you up. “Instead of the man who owns you.”
When he threw you down, your head spun, and you struggled to right your vision. You pressed your hands to your temples as you cried, fighting the urge to curl in on yourself.
“That ends today…”
Steve’s words were spoken with finality, and you didn’t quite understand the meaning of them as you heard approaching footsteps. You heard Steve exhale, and when you dared to look up, your heart skipped a beat at the sight of Peter.
“Peter,” he acknowledged. “Love that timing of yours.”
Peter didn’t hesitate to hurry towards you, placing a hand on your head as you sobbed. As you’d suspected, you knew it wasn’t going to be that simple if Steve caught you instead, and you realized just how complicated it was going to be at the sound of his next words.
“We need to make sure nothing like this happens again, Peter,” Steve told him, and they shared a look, something unspoken between them that had Peter’s jaw clenching.
“So, is that why you forgot who she belongs to? Is that why you treated her like you used to treat Peggy on her really bad days? She’s already terrified of you. What more do you want?” he sneered at him, briefly looking at you and brushing his thumb over your cheek.
“I need her to be terrified of you,” Steve answered, hands on his hips. “I told you from the beginning that you were too soft with her. I told you what needed to be done for her to get it.”
“Yeah, Steve, alright, I get it-!”
“…but you don’t,” Steve yelled at Peter, staring at the younger man just like a brother would. “You don’t get it because if you did, this would’ve never happened.”
Steve gestured around, cutting you a scathing look that made you wither.
“She would’ve never felt more loyal to Nat than the men who run this household. She would’ve understood that she exists to serve you and the house as a whole by extension.”
You hated the way Peter’s hands slowed on your face, and when you looked at his own face, he looked to be deep in thought.
“Not just the wives and whatever they think is best, but what’s best for the family,” Steve paced. “You are going to make her understand that she’s not your friend and certainly not your fucking equal.”
You watched Peter defeatedly exhale, eyes falling closed.
“You are going to make her understand that, right now,” Steve snarled.
“Steve…”
Peter’s tone was pleading, and that was when you finally sat up, looking between them with a racing heart. You scooted back, but Peter’s hand on your arm prevented you from going far. When your gaze met his, his eyes had softened, something in them pleading with you.
“I will make you, Peter.”
Steve’s tone was scarily calm, and you glanced at him, lips shaking at the malice in his eyes.
“Do you understand me? I will not rest until I catch her slipping up again, and depending on my mood that day, I just might make you fuck her right there in the garden for all to see,” he quietly told him. “So, it’s either now or it’s later…but it is happening. You decide.”
In truth, you didn’t know why you were crying. You had already accepted that you’d rather get the bad thing over with than drag it out for two months. However, that was the thing, wasn’t it? Steve was going to make Peter do this and still turn around and throw you right down in that basement. Even though there was less humiliation involved, it still seemed unfair.
“Do this and…maybe I can convince Bucky to only leave her down there for a month,” Steve proposed, and by the tone of his voice, he knew that he’d won.
You barely had time send Steve a scathing look of your own before your back roughly met the ground.
Peter’s mannerisms were rough, and while you knew it was because Steve wanted them to be, it didn’t mean you had to like it. You didn’t think Peter had ever been rough with you, and you cried out at the harsh pull on your hair, his other hand painfully digging into your waist.
“See, you need to understand, sweetheart,” Steve’s voice reached your ears as he circled you. “That you belong to Peter. You exist as an extension of him, now. You exist to exalt him, and the only way that you will get it in your head that you’re his property…”
Peter had flipped you onto your stomach, now.
“Is if he treats you like it.”
You yelped when your chest was forced to the ground, Peter manhandling you in the way he knew Steve wanted.
“…and what better way to do that than to show you that he can and will take you wherever and whenever regardless of who is around to see it,” he slowly said, making sure he was heard loud and clear.
The humiliation of feeling Peter push his cock into you before Steve’s very eyes had you squeezing yours shut, a harsh sob escaping as Peter’s skin slapped against yours. His hand was on your throat, and you clawed at it, gasping when his teeth pressed into your shoulder.
“You don’t have autonomy over your body anymore. You don’t exist independently of Peter, and that extends to this family…”
Peter’s harsh thrusts made your toes curl, and what was once a rough entry had become much smoother. With no warning and feeling wholly unprepared for this turn of events, tears escaped your eyes, and your fingers dug into the grass and dirt. The feel of Peter’s cock pushing into your walls was a familiar one you’d grown to love, but the sound of Steve’s pacing steps and voice made you want to crawl in a hole.
You felt torn apart.
“Had you previously understood that, all of this could’ve been prevented.”
Steve sounded pleased with himself—and Peter—and the thought made you sick. When Peter pulled your head back, you winced, and you started to move away from him, wanting this earlier and regretting it now—especially since you were going back into the basement anyway.
When Peter’s lips grazed your ear, you shuddered.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to you, hand painfully pulling at your hair, making you cry out again.
You recalled Peter’s words from earlier, and you knew why this was happening. You understood the hierarchy in the household, understood that what Steve said went, and you knew without a shadow of a doubt that Steve would’ve absolutely made this happen for the whole house to say. You understood that this was the better alternative, but that understanding is what made you cry more.
This wasn’t something to be understood. The man thrusting into you had killed your friends and kidnapped you, and the man before you had helped. Peter wasn’t your husband or your lover but instead your captor and rapist. Nothing about any of this was right, and in this moment, you shouldn’t be rationalizing or understanding anything.
…but you did.
You understood why Peter grabbed you with no hesitation and proceeded to fuck you under Steve’s watchful eye. You understood why being raped for all to see had briefly been the better choice to you than being sent back into the basement. You understood why Peter was murmuring sweet nothings and apologies into your ear as he roughly held you down and plunged his cock into you.
You understood it all, and you hated it.
You didn’t want to simultaneously hold Peter closer and push him away as he roughly fucked you against the grass, face to face with you, now. You didn’t want him to obey when Steve told him to fuck you harder. You didn’t want to understand that Peter didn’t actually want this because if that were true he simply wouldn’t do it, right? You didn’t want to accept that this house didn’t follow the rules of the outside world and that so long as you were here—and you would be here forever—neither would you.
“Are you sorry, now?” Steve wondered, somehow able to hear his voice over the sound of your cries. “Hmm?”
You didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer, but you knew you gave him that anyway the moment you started crying. When Peter’s eyes met yours, he shushed you, a poor attempt to make this better somehow, and his next words made you blink.
“Do you see how much worse I could be?” he whispered, too low for Steve to hear. “How much worse they want me to be?”
You stared at him, nails digging into the skin of his arm, and with another harsh sob, you nodded.
“Do you understand what I’ve been trying to protect you from?”
Again, you nodded.
Peter’s nose grazed your own.
“Do you get it now?” he sadly asked you.
When you nodded again, unable to find your voice between cries, Peter shushed you. His fingers pressed into your skin, and his hips painfully came down against yours. When his lips pressed against yours, they swallowed the noises that escaped your throat.
“I never wanted this for you.”
…and you knew Peter was telling the truth.
#peter parker x reader#dark!peter parker#dark!peter parker x reader#peter parker fanfiction#dark fic#peter parker imagine#marvel fanfiction#marvel imagine#cop au
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What We Want - Chpt. 5 - Meet The Adams Family
In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe
(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!
SUMMARY
Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.
Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?
As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.
And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.
Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?
(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)
PREV - NEXT
The first thing you’d done when you woke up, still somehow in the Wayne manor, was pull out not-your phone and check the date. When it tells you that you are not, in fact, in some weird version of a time loop, you feel some measure of relief. The second thing you do is look your own damn name up on Google. There were over 3 million results. You have a Wikipedia page. If that hadn’t made you want to gag, the press from last night had you bumbling your way into the ensuite bathroom and puking into the toilet.
It’s still sitting on the bathroom floor, nauseous and achy and sweaty, your mouth washed out but still tasting foul, that you continue your research.
It’s just as you had suspected, your family was dead. Still dead. Well, shit. In the light of day, you supposed that made more sense. That there was no real reason to assume otherwise. You hadn’t for most of yesterday, but as soon as you’d thought that maybe there was a chance, your hopes had been dashed. Which was good, rip the bandaid off and all.
It was good. Things were good. They were fine, you were fine. You really wish you were a better liar.
Again you wash your mouth out. Root around the cabinets for some medical-grade mouthwash, do it again, and then you throw yourself into the shower. Again. You notice the soap smells like whoever’s clothes you stole. Refreshing and awakening, that mint and earth again. You think you can detect something floral in it too. It’s still masculine, but…
Wow, you are such a freak! You put down the fucking soap and manage to resist the urge to slam your head into the tiles. Your headache was bad enough already.
When you leave the bathroom, you glance at the door, and then down at your towel. Guess you’re stealing some more apparel. You find a Superman shirt, give it a judging glance, and then pick out a black T-shirt with ‘The Beatles’ across the front, and some sweatpants. You have to roll up the pant legs so you don’t trip and fall flat on your face.
One hand scrolling through Twitter and TikTok and Reddit and every single piece of social media you could find, getting the people’s source of news and you get the high overlords’ one when you turn on the huge TV attached to the wall. The remote kind of confuses you at first, but you manage to find the good ol’ Gotham news channel.
Immediately, you’re greeted by your miserable mascara-streaked face. You turn the TV off. You take a deep breath. Turn it back on. Luckily it’s not just you getting your private moment of trauma blasted open in the media. Your party had been filled with Gotham’s elite, after all. You weren’t the only rich idiot left crying by the side of the road.
You weren’t the only one who had to suffer. There had been twenty-eight casualties, in total. A small amount, considering the man behind the deaths. The Joker wasn’t known for his cleanliness. You tell yourself that, and yet still, you can’t make them just numbers. They’d been standing right next to you, after all. All in the same boat, all waiting for the axe to swing, secretly hoping you’re the one who lives to the next day. Only one of the party guests had been shot, and that’s because you think they’d personally pissed off the Joker. That’s what Twitter says, anyway. There were multiple video recordings of the altercation, and it didn’t look like he’d been the smartest banana in the bunch. The TV is a lot sweeter on the dead soul.
You feel sorry for all the dead. You still don’t think this rich heir should be the face you see, though. When you check his name, you find several forgotten assault cases. Assault, rape, just like that disappearing bastard had tried to do to you. That female janitor you’d seen shot had done more for this city than that guy ever had.
Did her family know? Did she have a family? Someone to mourn her? You’d never thought about that before. How many people out there wouldn’t have anyone to even remember them?
It’s none of your business, in the end.
After a whiles more research, you switch the TV off and tuck your cracked phone into the sweatpants. You know where your mother’s grave is, on the west side of the estate. Wikipedia knew all, which was now kind of creepy to you as it knew all about you as well. Really, you couldn’t believe it. Your mother, buried with the Waynes? You’d always thought she should find someone new, someone who’d appreciate her, unlike your father who had dipped as soon as Sam was born.
You couldn’t even remember the guy. Still, you remembered that he’d smelled bad and made your Mum do everything, and was just generally all around the worst choice for a husband.
But, Jesus Christ, Bruce Wayne? Absolute insanity. You had no idea how the two of them would’ve even met. Let alone fall in love and get married. Your mother was one of the loveliest women on earth but… they had absolutely nothing in common, other than having troublesome kids. And you hadn’t seen her getting lovey-dovey with the other PTA mums.
You walk out of the room you’ve borrowed and into the hallway. In the light of day, the Wayne manor is much less creepy, and you can find it in yourself to appreciate the antique space. Warm sunlight falls over dark oak furniture, illuminating your bare feet as you walk along the Persian rug. Your fingers trail along all the tiny little decorations, some annoying part of you demanding you leave traces of yourself behind. Your fingerprints dirty an old clock, a golden candelabra, a lamp and a tiny spinning globe.
You might’ve gotten lost in a place this huge if you couldn’t hear people’s voices floating down the halls. They were too far away for you to be able to tell what they were saying, but you could still hear them. They’re to the west, so you’re definitely going to have to go past them.
You follow the voices and eventually come to a stop in a hallway. You can smell food. Good, real food. The type that makes your instant-ramen-powered body salivate. The people are in the kitchen, right around the corner. You duck your head and quickly sneak past the mostly closed doorway. On the other side, you pause, your curious self unable to leave just yet.
“She needs help,” Bruce says, and you mentally curse. Balls. You didn’t want to hear this. You guess this was instant karma for snooping. Maybe they weren’t talking about you?
Why did that sound very unlikely…
“She went through a lot last night,” he continues, which, well, yes, you did go through a lot, “And he said that she saw a woman get shot right in front of her. It makes sense if she doesn’t want to talk yet.”
He? Who’s he? Who ratted you out? Wait, dumb question, the four other witnesses who saw the janitor get shot. You were still pretty sure the Waynes weren’t supposed to know that, but everybody knew those GCPD pigs were always just a dollar away from whatever you wanted them to do. It’s not surprising that the Waynes know details only the police should know at the moment.
…It is a bit disappointing, though. You chose to have hope in them, that they’d gotten that information legally. Your fatal obsession with the Waynes wasn’t going to disappear after one miserable party. You wished it would.
“She was acting strange before that,” Timothy Jackson Drake’s smooth voice drifts from the kitchen. You were still a little starry-eyed over him, which was… bad, you think. It’d definitely make whatever relationship the two of you had been forced into a whole lot more difficult. It did not need to be any more difficult.
“Are you accusing her of something?” Bruce Thomas Wayne’s voice is gravelly in comparison, angry, maybe. Also, ‘accusing’? What could he even be accusing you of? It was pretty obvious you weren’t capable of anything nefarious, you were far too stupid for that. You were a plastic bag drifting along the Gotham river, barely able to affect which direction you flowed in.
“God no. And I definitely wouldn’t do it with her listening, that’d be rude.”
Your breath hitches, and you push off from the wall. Busted, damn. Your face feels unbelievably hot. As you leave, you can hear Mr Wayne scolding his adopted son. You walk until you can’t hear their voices anymore, and then a little further, finding an exit door.
You stumble out onto a stone staircase, probably a servants’ one in the olden days. You move down it, hand gripping the railing. You’re barely conscious of where you’re going. There’s a path that leads away from the stone manor and further into the estate, and you follow it. When you spot a small gated area, with stone obelisks and angel statues, you veer off the path and onto the grass.
Hissing out a breath, it’s only now you realise you went outside without any shoes on. Your toes curl in the cold, wet grass. It’s a miserable feeling, and you want to walk right back inside. And then you think about the awkward conversation waiting for you, take a breath and keep going. The gates swing open easily under your hand, the golden embossed ‘W’ glinting in the light.
A guardian angel stands before you. Its stone face is disapproving, glaring down at you from above. ‘Interloper,’ it calls you, but you move past it without pausing. It’s pretty obvious which graves are the new ones and which are the old ones. They’re all clean and well-kept, but the ones to the left have dates going back hundreds of years, and the ones to the right only decades. Your eyes follow the rows of graves. Thomas Wayne, Martha Wayne…
Your breath whistles out of you, nearly muffled by the grey morning wind.
And your mother. She has a different last name, now another Wayne. Your siblings don’t, which makes sense. You’re surprised to find many of your extended family also in this graveyard. Your grandmother. Your uncle and aunt. A few of your cousins.
It’s cold this morning, and you’re out here with only a thin T-shirt on. Shivering, you rub your palms against your bare arms. It doesn’t do much. Still, you don’t want to go inside yet. Instead, you crouch in front of Sam’s grave, eyes reading the tiny epitaph. It’s not the one you wrote.
‘Beloved Son and Brother.’
Simple, clean-cut, formal… unfamiliar, you suppose. Yours had been much more flowery, ‘All the colour in the world is gone without you’. It was a bit silly, but you’d never said you were a poet. You’d just known you’d wanted something that represented them, if poorly.
Sam was a beloved son and brother. But that wasn’t who he chose to be. He liked colours. He’d change his favourite every other day, so he liked everything rainbow. It made it easier to choose which one he’d like next, he said. You were always buying him more and more coloured pencils because he’d wear them all down to the tips, he dyed the cat a bright red headache, much to your mother’s horror, and considered it his personal job to make every single birthday, christmas, and easter card. He’d paint on the walls in washable markers, and you’d often been the one to volunteer to help him get it all down. In school, he always had the best art project out of the entire class, even if you were slightly biased.
He was a colourful kid. He wasn’t… a plain grey tombstone. Nothing to help remember him, because you were always losing more and more of their precious memories.
The others had similarly impersonal graves. Just what they were, not who. Mother, sister. Nothing that spoke of how they’d lived their lives, what the world had lost when they’d died. It was… you didn’t think it was right. It was a disaster, really. Even when you’d had to rely on the Wanye Foundation donations, you’d managed a better resting place than this.
You suppose you’d never gotten them into the Wayne family’s personal graveyard, though. That was a bit of an upgrade, you guess.
“You need to come back inside. You’re worrying my father.”
“Jesus Christ!” you shriek, leaping backward. Your foot catches on one of the cobblestones, and you end up tipping back farther than you mean to, your ass bruising against the ground. You bump another gravestone, and there’s a horrible moment where it gives a little and you think it’s going to knock over.
It doesn’t. A shining miracle on your day.
From your slightly wet seat on the ground, you look up, finding one such Damian Al Ghul-Wayne. His towering height is the first thing you notice, second his stunning emerald green eyes. Both were incredibly shocking in their own ways, but his height really was almost dizzying. Perfect brown skin and a stylish 'long on the top, short on the sides’ black haircut, paired with the sort of face some European model might have, all come together to make sure you feel as pathetic as possible. His posh-looking outfit doesn’t help.
Neither does the fact he just watches you. He doesn’t even pretend to bend over to help you up. Which you’re sort of grateful for, honestly. It’d just make you more embarrassed. You didn’t know if you could hold the hand of your celebrity crush and… well, be normal. Pretend to be normal. You weren’t doing a very good job of it anyway.
You have to wonder, which was the worst introduction? The drunk, the bloody, or the one where you fell on your ass? God, you really are screwing this all the way up. You wonder how you’re inevitably going to make it even worse. There’s a part of you that desperately doesn’t want to meet any of the other Waynes, even as another part of you is screaming that it needs to.
If they knew they had a fangirl in their graveyard, you’re sure they’d kick you out. That was why you were lying about everything, not because you had intimacy issues.
Stop thinking, you idiot! You’re only making things more difficult for yourself with all your worrying and fretting. And maybe you should get off the ground, you looked stupid. You push to your feet, wiping your dirtied hands on the sweats.
He still doesn’t say anything when you stand, still just staring at you. His open staring is far too intimidating, so you scrounge for something to say.
“Your father? You- Is he alright?” you stammer over your words, giving Damian Wayne an awkward smile. He doesn’t return it, instead canting his head towards one of the windows.
You look toward where Damian Wayne gestured to, find nothing but an empty window frame, and then back to the ridiculously tall man. You swear, the guy had grown like a bean pole. He had to be something ridiculous, like 6’5, or maybe more. You were fairly certain you’d been taller than him at twelve, or thirteen, whenever it was he was first introduced to the world as Damian Wayne. Now, now… not so much.
“There’s nobody in there?” you ask, like you’re questioning your sanity. You are.
“My father’s shy,” He says, coolly shrugging one shoulder.
What. Bruce Wayne? Shy? Was he joking or something?
Damian Wayne stares down at you with narrowed green eyes, and dark brows in a harsh frown. His arms are crossed over his rich kid sweater, shiny black shoes tapping against the cobbles. That’s not the face of someone who makes jokes, you think.
You swallow, mind whirring as you try desperately to fix this conversation, “Right. Okay. I’ll… I’ll come back inside, then. Sorry for bothering you guys.”
He keeps staring at you. He doesn’t seem bothered.
“Sorry for bothering him?” you correct.
Damian gives one slow, cat-like blink of his eyes, and then turns with a tsk and walks away. It takes you a moment to realise you’re meant to follow him. It takes you even longer to actually catch up with him because he’s so fucking tall.
On TV he didn’t look this tall. You feel kind of betrayed, which is weird.
As you’re walking along, getting closer back to the manor, a stick or something pokes you in the foot. You curse, grabbing your foot. Thankfully you don’t start bleeding or something. You’d already be tracking dirt all over the inside of the impeccable space, you didn’t want to bring blood in as well. It takes a moment for you to realise the sound of Damian’s footsteps crunching in the grass has stopped, and you glance up.
He’s staring right at you again. He looks even less impressed with you, raising an eyebrow and mouth ticking downward. You put your foot down and tuck your hands behind your back in a very obvious anxious display.
“You went outside not wearing any shoes?” Damian Wayne asks, incredulous.
“I was… yeah, I forgot to,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. Not your best moment, but you weren’t really having any of those today. Or yesterday. Or the day before. Maybe you should stop thinking about that, actually.
“That’s disgusting,” The young Wayne sneers, and then turns and gives you his shoulder.
You think your heart maybe cracks a little. Well, they do say to never meet your idols. Maybe whoever wrote that quote had you in mind specifically, because now you were in… this situation. Ex-step-sister. If that was a thing. Your Wikipedia page said that you said that a lot, very insistent that you had absolutely nothing to do with the Waynes.
…It didn’t really look like you had nothing to do with the Waynes, from an outsider's perspective. Which obviously didn’t make any sense, since you were… you. You were not an outsider, not anymore.
This was too complicated. You needed a coffee. With like, so much sugar it’ll make you bounce from the walls.
Damian strides up the side entrance’s staircase and through the door, leaving it open for you to follow through. You hesitate at the doorway, looking over your shoulder to the graveyard. The statue calls you names in the distance, and although you feel like a stranger who doesn’t belong here, you manage to step back into the house.
You force yourself to walk through the hallway and into the kitchen, fists clenched tight at your side and your shoulders bunched up to your ears. Bruce Thomas Wayne, Timothy Jackson Drake, and the butler from earlier. Damian Al Ghul Wayne steps around the trio, picking some drink from the counter and moving to sit at the dining table at the edge of the room. There’s an open book on the table that he starts flicking through, and well, apparently that’s the end of your first conversation with the youngest Wayne.
You did… well, alright might be pushing it. You're still going to say you did alright.
Tim Drake gives you a sweet smile, catching your attention. The silky raven hair of his heart-shaped fringe falls over his beautiful, pale face, and for a moment there you totally forget that he’d called you out earlier like that. Which was just, such an odd thing to do. His hand lifts to scratch at the buzz cut under the floppy strands of hair. The movement mesmerises you. You look away from his sky blue eyes, very quickly realising they’re robbing you of the few remaining brain cells you have. And you need those, damn it. Especially because you’d already made the decision to hide from all your problems like a baby. Negative, negative…
“How’re you doing today?” Tim asks you, giving you a friendly greeting. It’s a welcome olive branch.
“I’m good,” you lie like you breathe, eyes glancing around the space. Bruce Wayne has his phone out and a mug of coffee in his hands. He sips from the cup, his focus swallowed by the tiny screen. You glance back over to Damian Wayne. Huh, it really does run in the family.
Your neck prickles, and you glance back at Tim again. You get a brief vision of his tired, unsmiling expression, and then it’s back to the angelic and gentle smile. You smile back at him, a wretched, awful twisting of the lips that you hope doesn’t look like a grimace.
Tim’s smile turns into a grin. It’s really too pretty and makes you shift in your seat uncomfortably. Damn it all, look away!
“Would you like some breakfast, young miss? I’m afraid we’ve run out of pancakes, but I’d be happy to make some more for you,” the butler says in an awfully familiar British accent. You think you know this person, but you can not remember from where. Shit. Your memory was bad on the best of days, much less after… after an event like last night.
Anyway, the food from earlier had been pancakes. Despite the delicious scent, you really didn’t want to make him make any more food for you. You felt like you were intruding as it was.
“Do you have any toast, or… cereal?” you suggest instead, wondering if rich people even bother with cereal. The butler chuckles, and you think, ‘Oh, yeah, probably not’.
“We have both, miss. Master Grayson has a particular fondness for cereal, in fact,” he informs you, which, oh, cool. You did in fact know that, you stalker you. You’d totally forgotten about that weird fact or the weird fact that you knew that weird fact. Dick Grayson has an Instagram where he posts reviews of different cereals, which of course you have notifications on for.
“It’s more of an obsession,” Tim says, resting his palm in his hand as he… continues to stare at you. Nobody else thinks his ogling is strange, so you try to ignore it as well. Try is the choice word.
“I like cereal too. It’s normal,” you say in defence of Dick, a natural and instinctual urge.
And apparently, the fact that you like cereal is fucking shocking, judging from the open-mouth looks the group gives you. Oh no, you’re supposed to hate him, right? You’re supposed to hate them all, actually. What had you called him on your phone? Something about being annoying and a dickhead?
Swallowing your inner scream, you move around the counter and towards the cupboards. Whatever, they’ll have to deal with this new and improved version of you, which didn’t despise everyone in the room. Along with being a terrible liar, you were also pretty bad at keeping secrets.
You don’t want to think about that, so instead you turn to Alfred.
“So,” you start, “Can I see your cereal collection?” you ask, like a totally normal person. Man, this cupboard’s looking pretty head-smashable right now.
This family has more tact than yours did, because they all manage to put their eyes back to what they were doing and pretend you weren’t acting really, really out of character. Rich people. They’re good at overlooking the crazy.
“Of course,” the butler clears his throat, “In here, you’ll find Master Dick’s collection-” score! Not another fan can claim this right, “-and in the fridge a carton of milk. Are you sure I couldn’t serve it for you, miss? I understand you might still be a little…”
His voice trails off. Little what?
He glances at the others and then leans in close like he’s going to tell you a secret. Behind a hand, he whispers, “Hungover.”
Ah. Well, yes, but you were a big girl who could make her cereal, even on hangover days. Kind of embarrassing it was that obvious, though. You were usually better at hiding how much of a mess you were.
“I’ll be fine, thank you,” you say, and the butler nods and backs off. You’re pretty sure at this point that he was the one who called you yesterday morning, but you still couldn’t quite recall his name. When you were out of sight, you’d check your phone for his contact information.
See? You could do this. Stealthy.
As you start perusing through the cereal options, Tim gets up from his spot by the counter and comes to stand next to you at the breakfast bar. He heads straight to the coffee machine, and you glance at it longingly.
It’s one of those cafe-quality fancy espresso makers, with an Italian name embossed in silver on the top. Tim manipulates the machine like a master, which you’re very jealous of because it might as well be alien technology to you. You miss your shitty drip coffee, at least that dingy little machine was loyal to you. Better than George.
“Coffee?” Tim Drake offers, glancing at you. Ah, the starry eyes are back. While Damian Wayne had been a mildly disappointing introduction, Mr. Drake was just reinforcing your celebrity worship. And of course, because your brain works against you, his offer reminds you of the daydreams you’d had on your first twenty-first birthday. Coffee shop au real person fiction- a new low, even for you.
Flustered, you look up at the ceiling. The old mansion is decorated in every single available corner, the plaster above spreading across the entire surface with delicate filigree and pretty curling patterns. It’s gorgeous, absolutely entrancing. That’s what you tell yourself at least.
“Please,” you say, your voice just the slightest bit too quiet. He hears you anyway.
It’s surprisingly domestic. Of course, you don’t know any of these people past face value and Wired YouTube interviews, but… it’s quite indulgent. This is sort of your dream, isn’t it? A full house of people enjoying their morning together. Peaceful bird song drifting in through open windows. The comfort of being around people you trust, not having to perform or put on a show. Well, you are very much putting on a show right now. It’s the thought that counts, or whatever.
“What would you like in it? We have sugar, milk, oat milk, and I like having a few syrups on hand,” Tim chatters excitedly, listing off the different ingredients he has on offer. Your poor ass stares at his rich one, and you are very rudely reminded these people live in different tax brackets than you.
Who the fuck had coffee syrups in their house? You could barely afford the little treats of caramel syrup you get every couple of months. The disappearance of the middle class was one you had witnessed personally.
You rattle off a very basic, bland order. Tim looks sort of disappointed in you which… well, you could be a coffee snob. You just didn’t have the time, usually. A flat white kept you going through the day, you didn’t need anything else. And so, Tim hands you a very bland coffee, and it is god sent. You can’t imagine how good it would be if you had mustered up your courage and asked for some caramel syrup.
Huh, you could be a coffee snob. You could be anything you wanted, really. And your first thought is being a coffee snob. Good God.
“Are you going to be staying?“ Bruce Wayne asks, immediately putting you on the spot. You weren’t ready for this, you were thinking about the coffees you could buy. Oh no, you really aren’t ready for this.
“At least for now, right?” Tim Drake says, just making it all the more stressful. You let out an awkward chuckle, fingers tight around your drink.
“Oh, I don’t want to be an inconvenience-”
Damian Wayne slams his mug down on the table, so hard a crack splinters up its side. He picks the cup up, strides across the kitchen, narrowed green eyes meeting yours for a second, and then he dumps the cup in a secret rubbish can. He murmurs an apology to the butler and then is out of the room.
Okay, well, you certainly feel like an inconvenience.
The butler clears his throat, and says, “Please forgive young master Damian. He’s been having a difficult time recently, I hope you can understand.”
And you think, ‘bitch, a difficult time?! He’s not the one who almost died last night!’ but what you say is, “Of course, I completely understand. I don’t want to bother him anymore so I’d really like to leave today.”
Mr. Wayne laces his fingers together, blue eyes giving you an assessing look.
“Stay for the day, and you can leave tonight. I want to make sure you’re truly alright,” he eventually says, and the mere presence of the man has you yielding to his commands. Didn’t really matter you were an adult who’d managed to survive this long on your own, you were listening to the big scary guy when he told you what to do.
Well, that’s that! You make your cereal and have a very quiet breakfast. You can’t tell if they’re being quiet because you’re here, or if mornings are usually like this. You hope they’re usually like this. Once you’ve finished your very nice cereal (one of the highest rated on Dick’s Instagram) you place the bowl by the sink. You want to wash it, but when you ask Alfred he gives you a look like you kicked his dog. Okay, you’ll just go then.
You’re about to sneak away, when you realise Tim’s staring at you… again…? But this time he seems quite focused on your clothing. His eyes follow the double lines on the side of your sweatpants, before settling on the Beatles logo on your shirt. He hums at it. Raises his brows.
“I’m sorry, I borrowed this because I didn’t have any other clothes. Is there something wrong with me wearing this?” you ask, and then experience a moment of horror, “This doesn’t belong to you, does it?”
“Hmm?” Tim chirps, “Oh, no, don’t worry. It’s not mine.”
And then he turns away from you in a very clear dismissal. Nice, you really wanted to go hide for an hour or two. With one last awkward wave to Bruce Thomas Wayne, you scurry out of the kitchen and back to the bedroom you’d started thinking of as yours. You need to figure out how you're going to handle all this, and you're going to do it alone. Maybe with some dessert, if you can find it. You wouldn't say you think better with sugar running in your veins, but it definitely makes you more willing to deal with the bullshit that is your life. Hopefully it'd work in your new one, too.
-
Tim listens to your retreating footsteps, waiting till you’re far enough away to begin talking to Bruce. Humans were creatures of habit, so you’d probably be going back to the same room you slept in last night. He thinks Damian and him were the only ones who noticed whose shirt you were wearing, B’s off his game today. You’ve really managed to mess him up, to Tim’s delight.
“See? Dames was totally fine with her being here,” Tim says, cheerily enjoying his youngest sibling’s suffering. Bruce sighs, witheringly, lifting his hand to rub against the headache he always has. He’s probably noticed the excited, slightly fanatic gleam that’s entered into Tim’s eyes.
It was sort of obvious. This was all so exciting! You’d come back, sporting absolutely none of the defensive vitriol you usually have, and ate breakfast together. You took a coffee out of Tim’s hands. You’d willingly spoken to the devil, who everybody in the family knew hated you as much as you hated him, and even more than that-
You’d spoken to Bruce. Tim was sporting the idea that you’d gotten head trauma, at this point in time.
“Okay, fine. You get the mission, but-” Tim has to resist the urge to clap his hands together like a gleeful child “-but no extra cameras. I’m serious, Tim, if I find out you’ve invaded her privacy just after she’s starting to warm up to us again-”
“She wouldn’t know,” Tim complains, cutting the Bat off with a roll of his eyes.
“She’s smarter than you’d think,” Bruce shakes his head. Tim has to disagree, after the catastrophe that was last night. Unless of course, you were just playing with them all. So many options, it’s dizzying.
“We’ll shelve that argument for later. So, I want full control of the case, and in turn, I’ll do another two weeks as CEO,” Tim waves off Bruce’s complaints, going straight into haggling. The CEO position was tossed between the two of them like a hot potato, and it was one of Tim’s favourite bargaining tools.
“I am absolutely not agreeing to that, a month and nothing less.”
“This is why half your children don’t talk to you, but sure, whatever. Chase away your last, loyal loving son-”
“My God, Tim. Three fucking weeks, and if I hear another word I will hand this matter over to Grayson,” Bruce sighs, sounding a bit defeated.
Tim gives an offended gasp, placing his hand against his chest. And then he realises Bruce might actually be serious, and freaks out a bit.
“He’d be bad for it. Far too personally involved. You definitely don’t want to do that,” he says, leg bouncing under the table. Of course, the Bat notices, but he doesn’t mention it. He wouldn’t take this from Tim, they both knew he was getting too frazzled around the edges. He needed something to focus on, to ground him.
You were the perfect project. He loved his projects.
“I am aware. But the girls are out of town, and uncontactable. And I think if I gave Damian this assignment the two of them would kill each other.”
“No Jason option, sir?” Tim says because he’s a shit-stirrer and wants to get to work.
Tim succeeds in chasing Bruce away. He’s left to have his coffee in peace as the old man quickly flees the room at the mention of the son he's on the worst terms with. For the next few hours, Tim taps away on his computer, enjoying his time.
And when the front doors open, his ears prick, and a decidedly evil grin spreads on his face.
“I’m home!” Dick calls out, words travelling through the grand manor.
Tim gets up from his seat and wanders leisurely to the main hall, where Dick stands. He’s got a suitcase by his side, filled with all the things he’s brought up from the Blud. When he spots Tim, Dick’s face spreads in a familiar sunny smile. He quickly rushes to Tim’s side, swallowing the younger brother in a hug. Tim groans at the tight squeezing.
Despite his clinginess, it was good to see him. His tanned skin glowed healthily, and his curly black hair was messy over his brow. Sapphire blue eyes sparkled. He was happy to be home, despite everything that was going on. Dick always looked like he’d just gotten back from a run because he usually had. It was hard to get the guy to sit still for even a minute, much less stop parkouring over every imaginable surface.
“Tim! How’s it been? Ah, it’s so good to be home,” Dick starts, and again, Tim groans. When Dick starts yammering he never stops.
“I’m good, man. We can talk later, you should go put your things away before Alfred does,” Tim reminds Dick, and Dick pouts. It was a general rule that unless it was cooking, the family wasn’t supposed to rely on Alfred for everything.
“Alright, alright. I’ll be down in a minute! I have so much to tell you,” Dick relents, hand lifting to mess with his hair. Tim pushes him off, glaring at the man, and Dick laughs.
Tim gives Dick a tired wave as the gymnast bounds up the stairs to his bedroom. Tim watches him disappear down the hallways, and thinks, ‘I wish I could see this happen.’ He sighs, guess he’ll just have to hear Dick retell the story later. The distant sound of your shrieking voice has him chuckling. Yeah, he’ll hear about it later, he’s sure.
MASTERLIST - NEXT
#Series:WWW#yandere batfam#batfam x reader#yandere dc#yandere batfamily#yandere x reader#dick grayson x reader#nightwing x reader#jason todd x reader#red hood x reader#tim drake x reader#red robin x reader#damian wayne x reader#robin x reader
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For Her
Joel Miller x female reader
Co-written with @absurdthirst
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 10k
Warnings: Cursing, food, panic attack, references to unplanned pregnancy, past pregnancy, mentions of Sarah, general post-outbreak mood.
Summary: Low on supplies and needing rest, Joel and Ellie stop in a colony he has heard about to restock on their journey west, but Joel finds far more than be bargained for within the city walls.
Notes: We are so, so excited to debut our first Joel fic! We’ve been looking forward to this for ages and can’t wait to explore with the character some more!
There aren't many things that are better now than they used to be. Most comforts are gone and there hasn't been any such thing as safety in twenty years, but Lake Erie is more beautiful than ever and sunrises over the water do have a certain amount of appeal that they lacked before now. You had come here on camping trips with your family as a kid and can't remember it ever being this pretty. Not that sunrise is typically your favourite time of day, but the little bundle wrapped in blankets in your arms seems to love it, and she coos happily now at the rising pinks and oranges in the sky while she wiggles her little fist in the air. Everything is better now that she's here, and you press a kiss to her coffee-brown curls. The rest of the world may be in shambles, but you're going to keep this little bundle safe and sound.
******
Joel's eyes are wary, watchful as he looks around. The rifle in his hand lowered, but still ready to lift and fire, the safety switched off and his finger on the trigger guard. "How much we got?" He demands, peeling his eyes away from the surroundings to glance down at Ellie where she has the supplies scattered out, taking count after a bag had been lost during the last run in with a group of clickers.
"Not much." Ellie frowns at the spread, realizing that the pack they'd lost was the one with most of their food. "We have a couple of days here, at best."
"Shit." Joel hisses, tapping his hand on the guard as he thinks. Trying to decide the best course of action. "Gimme the map." He huffs after a second, holding his hand out so he can look at it.
"Here." Joel's map is marked out in codes and colors that Ellie still hasn't figured out yet, but she's been trying ever since they left Boston. She hands over the map now and starts repacking their supplies. "We just crossed the border into Pennsylvania."
"No shit we crossed the border into Pennsylvania." Joel grumbles at her, aware that the moss covered sign they had passed thirty minutes ago proudly proclaimed them to be inside the boarders of the old state. He shuffles the rifle onto his back and starts studying the map, trying to remember where she had told him there was a colony the last time he left the Boston QZ.
"Cranky." Ellie rolls her eyes as she ties up the drawstring on the bag and shoves it into her backpack.
"Shut up." He grunts, running his finger along the road that the two of them are on. Tracing it up to a small town on the edge of Lake Erie. "Lake City." He taps the map as he remembers her smile as she talked about it, making it seem like it was a haven. "I know a place." He decides, folding the map back up and holding it out to the girl. "They should have supplies."
"A lake?" That perks Ellie up, and thoughts of an actual bath in the fresh water and clean clothes are suddenly at the forefront of her mind. "Fuck it. Let's go."
She hikes her pack up higher on her back and steps past him like she's eager to get there. Making him look after her for a moment before he huffs in amusement and starts to follow. "Hey kid, wait up." He orders, not wanting her to get too far ahead of him.
"You got longer legs than me, old man." She throws the taunt behind her with a smirk, not bothering to turn around and look at Joel. "Catch up."
******
It takes nearly three days to get to Lake City. Joel had to keep the girl in a warehouse for an extra six hours when a group of clickers had come by, huddled down and silent as they wandered through. His finger on the trigger and his body in front of her to protect her if necessary. By the time the tall, cobbled together walls come into view, he can barely see twenty feet in front of his own face. It would have been better to have found a place to bunk down for the night, but the supplies were gone and the girl's stomach had been growling for hours.
The watch lights on the catwalk at the top of the walls outside Lake City aren't exactly anything fancy. There's no FEDRA presence here and therefore no Fireflies. No one waving their gun around or murmuring codes around alley corners. The community of Lake City takes care of itself - self-sufficient and self-supporting in every way they can manage from crops and farming to security and back again. There are two people on the catwalk tonight, carrying two of the only guns in the colony to make sure that no clickers come near the gates. They aren't expecting to see anything, and are chatting between themselves about some gossip or other when one of them stands straight up and points the barrel of his rifle down at the two figures approaching the gate. They don't have the movement patterns of any clickers he's seen, but no one takes chances anymore. "STOP!"
"We're alive!" Joel calls out, lifting one hand up and holding the rifle securely with the other as the two of them slowly approach the light. Squinting at the spotlight that is aimed towards them and he moves his hand to shield his eyes from most of the harsh light.
"I can see that." The voice calls out from the top of the wall. "Put down your gun and stay where you are!" The other figure on top of the wall moves out of sight, presumably to come down and inspect the new arrivals.
"I ain't dropping my gun." Joel calls back, not willing to unarm himself. "Not a chance."
"Hold it out. Finger off the trigger. Stay where you are." The voice from the wall instructs. Down below, the much smaller city door swings open, revealing a smaller figure clad in mismatched armor with a gun directed at the new arrivals. "Stand down." The smaller figure orders from behind their helmet.
Joel holds the rifle out, finger lifted into the air but his eyes are watchful, making sure that no one makes a sudden move. He doesn't trust anyone.
It's not until the figure gets closer that they stop, standing stark still in the open field in front of the gates. They don't speak and Ellie keeps herself from fidgeting. She just keeps her eyes moving between Joel and the person in armor until they nod and turn back to the wall. "Let them in!" The figure calls, without testing or checking or finding out anything.
Your eyes widen when you recognize Joel, grateful for the visor that keeps him from seeing your face and potentially recognizing you as well. Although maybe he wouldn't even remember you, you don't know. It was one night well over a year ago, when you were coming down through what used to be New England and ran into him on the road. The idea of sharing supplies and safety in numbers for one night had ended up with the two of you tearing each other’s clothes off and spending all your frustrations in passion. A night that has ended up being far more consequential for you than it ever could be for him.
Joel frowns, standing straight and immediately moving towards Ellie. The protective stance easy for anyone to see as he eyes them. It's unusual that anyone would let people into their colony without questions or testing. Even without the FEDRA influence. "Thank you." He nods towards the figure who is seemingly giving the orders. "We're just passin' through. Need supplies."
“When was the last time she ate?” Deflecting more than slightly, you nod toward the girl, wondering if she’s his. If you aren’t the first woman that had a night with him and ended up living with the consequences.
"Yesterday." Joel answers, making Ellie cut her eyes up at him.
"She can answer for herself." She blows out and looks back at the figure dressed in tactical gear. "Yesterday." She repeats without a hint of irony.
"Then we'll get you something to eat." You nod back to the gate and start walking, knowing that no one left in the world would be dumb enough not to follow. There's shelter, food, and safety on offer for them inside the colony walls. It's literally what they came here for.
Joel looks at Ellie, nodding towards the figure that is retreating. "Well?" He huffs, "better follow." He readjusts his rifle and starts out after the gear covered leader, frowning slightly as he watches their gait. Something seems familiar about it, although he doubts he will run into you here. You had told him that you were planning on going west.
"This place is weird," Ellie mutters, though she follows at the promise of food. "No test and no interrogation? Weird." Inside the gates, the third member of night watch usually doesn't do much. They're there for support, and to keep the rotation going so the people on top of the wall are always alert. Tonight, though, he looks completely appalled that you're opening the gates for new arrivals. "They need food," you tell him, keeping your helmet and visor in place so no one can see how poorly you're dealing with him appearing out of nowhere. "And someplace to sleep. They'll be gone again in no time."
"Keep your eyes open." Joel watches the person's back warily and cuts his eyes around. "Stick by my side. I don't know what's going on, but I don't trust 'em." If this place is half as lax with security as they seem, it's a wonder that it's still standing. Although it seems a lot cleaner than the FEDRA Boston QZ. Hard to see in the dark, but he imagines it's as picturesque as you had described it.
"Shiiit." On the other side of the gate, Ellie stays at Joel's elbow as they follow the guard through to another room. An empty table and a few chairs standby but not much else, and they stand apart from the furniture when you turn to nod to them. "Someone will bring you food and show you where you can sleep. And they'll lock the gates behind you when you leave tomorrow." You have no expectation that he'll stay here, and even though you had dreamt plenty of times of this man coming to find you - and all the tenderness that that might bring with it - you aren't going to say a word. Not when you have your own secret.
"That's it?" Joel shifts slightly, eyes narrowing as he glances around the room suspiciously. "You're just gonna...let us stay?" His tone is disbelieving and it should be, nothing is free in this world since the Outbreak day. "What's really goin' on here?"
Your head drops a little, and you hate him for being so cautious that he can’t just accept the proverbial gift horse he’s being given. “You want to be turned away? Kicked out for asking questions? Fine.” You point to the door. “Get out.”
Joel doesn't move, just stands there watching. Rocking his jaw for a second before he purses his lips. "Lift your visor." He demands, his gut telling him that he knows why he was just let in. "Show me your face."
You could say no. It would be easy. Two letters. One syllable. But you hesitate. “Put down the gun,” you bargain instead. At the very least you don’t want him blowing you away the second he’s confronted with his past.
Instead of putting it down, he takes his finger off the guard, simply holding it by the pistol grip and he lowers it towards the ground in a relaxed position. "As good as it's gonna get." He tells you simply.
It draws another sigh from your lips, but since the Joel you knew was as thorough a son of a bitch in every way as you had ever met, you know he won’t let it go. If you try to retreat he’ll just follow you and pull the helmet right off your head. “I’m not looking for trouble,” you tell him honestly, but pull up the visor on your helmet with two fingers anyway.
Joel's slight scowl immediately softens into a mixture of confusion and satisfaction at being right. Your name comes off his lips in a soft whisper as he takes half a step back in surprise. "You're— you were supposed to be going west." He mumbles, looking you up and down as if what you were wearing would tell him the story of the last year.
Astonished but quietly glad that he actually remembers you, you shrug your shoulders as nonchalantly as humanly possible and take your helmet clean off. No use hiding now. “Circumstances change.” Motioning to the girl beside him, you try not to look to curious or affected by it at all. If he had a wife that he was stepping out in, you don’t want to make waves. “For you, too.”
"Who, her? Joel points at Ellie and shakes his head. "No, she's cargo." He huffs, not wanting you to believe that this girl is his. "Transporting her." He doesn't want to admit it, but you look good, softer - even with the harsh tactical gear.
“Well…I’m sure you’re not aching to rehash old times.” Although now that he’s seen your face, you have to admit that you are. “I’ll go get your food.”
"Wait." Joel steps forward almost instinctively, not wanting you to leave right away. He's wondered about you since that night, no matter how he's tried to just forget about it. Wondering if you had gone west like you planned and he wonders what had kept you here.
"Well, that's interesting." Ellie huffs, making him turn around and glare at her.
"Unless you need to go." Joel adds, feeling foolish.
“I’ll see if Zach can take over on the catwalk for me.” As much as you’re trying to guard yourself, you do want to talk to him again. You’ve literally dreamt of seeing him. Of a night or day just like this when he would come walking up to the colony gates looking for you. Except he wasn’t actually looking for you. He’s just hungry and transporting some teenager. “Sit with you for a little?”
Joel nods, slightly relieved that you aren't just walking away. "Yeah." He rasps out. "That'll be good." You turn around and walk away, leaving him with a smug Ellie, smirking at him like she knows something he doesn't. "What?" He demands harshly, sending her a glare that would make other men piss themselves but she just smirks harder.
“Who’s your pretty lady friend?” Ellie snickers, enjoying the hell out of Joel’s discomfort. He doesn’t show his cards often, but she loves it when he does.
"None of your fuckin' business." He grumbles, relaxing a bit now that he knows you're here. He sets the rifle down and shuffles the back off his back, relishing the relief from the weight. "I don't ask you about your life."
“It means something,” she argues, taking his relaxation as a signal that it’s safe to plop down in one of the folding chairs at the table that takes up most of the room. “You’ve fucking slept with your finger on the trigger. Now she’s here and you’re all trusting? It’s worth asking questions about.”
"It means I've met her before." Joel counters, shucking his jacket and rolling it up to tie to his pack. He wishes he had known you were here. He would have tried - well, there was nothing he could have done if he had known. It wasn't like he was going to pick you flowers and bring them to you like a beau coming to court you. You had one unforgettable night and for all he knows, you've got someone in your life.
“Yeah,” Ellie laughs. “From old times.”
"Aren't you like 13?" He rolls his eyes and pulls out a chair to sit down, groaning slightly at how good it feels on his back. "A year is old times to you, kiddo." It's shocking sometimes how much she can remind him of Sarah. The sass is a little sharper, but the smart mouth of the teenager has made him snort several times when she wasn't paying attention.
“So you knew her a year ago?” Ellie has been quick to pick up on his dropped facts, realizing he does it when something scratches at a particular thought or memory.
Joel narrows his eyes at her in warning but she just raises her brow at him. "Last time I was outside the walls." He admits, reaching up and rubbing his jaw with his hand. "She told me about this place."
“So she’s why we’re here?” Interesting that Joel actually listened to someone long enough to even absorb what they were saying. He’s not exactly chatty.
"No." Joel shakes his head, looking around the room. "We're here for the four-star accommodations." He jokes, knowing the girl doesn't have a clue what he is talking about.
“And for dinner.” Appearing in the doorway with three bowls of soup, some bread, and glasses of clean water, you carefully balance the tray until you can get close enough to the table to set it down. Luckily you’ve been in and out of this room enough times that you know exactly how many steps it takes to get from the door to the table. Six.
Joel leans forward and takes one of the glasses of water but he doesn't touch the soup or the bread. He trusts you, but that's not why he isn't eating. Instead he moves a bowl and a large portion of the food in front of the kid and nods to her. "Eat."
Ellie doesn’t have to be told twice, applying herself to the meal that’s available to her enthusiastically in the hopes that Joel will forget she’s in the room and talk freely. Gossip is the best she can do for entertainment half the time.
“You too.” The second bowl of soup and the last of the bread is set down for Joel, and you take the third bowl off the tray for yourself before handing out spoons.
"After the kid eats her share." Joel takes a sip of his water, knowing that he won't eat a bite until she is full. He hadn't eaten yesterday so she could have more. He could do without.
“Joel.” You would roll your eyes but you know what it is to be hungry. “There’s more in the kitchen. There’s plenty. Please, eat.”
He watches you for a moment before he nods, pulling the bowl towards him and immediately starts eating with the same tenacity as the kid.
You have to wonder how long they've been out in the wilds. It's a long way from the Boston QZ and they had said yesterday was their last meal, but you aren't sure it wasn't longer ago than that. Instead of asking questions you just have your own bowl, letting the silence be filled by nothing more than the sound of eating for now.
Joel is a fast eater. Has always been one. Oftentimes swallowing down meals to beat a timed clock to get to work on time, or to have a few minutes to rest before the lunch break was over on a job site. So he's the first one that is pushing the bowl away, not completely satisfied but the hollow ache is gone for now.
"There's more," you remind him, not trying to push but wanting - for your own reasons - for him to be taken care of.
"Maybe in a few minutes." Joel nods his head towards the girl. "Don't want her to throw it all up. Waste of food."
The girl grumbles and makes a face, but doesn't say anything, and you nod for now. "So...you're headed through? On your way from Boston to wherever?" For some reason you just can't bring yourself to ask if he would stay, which is what you really want to know. Even for a single day.
Joel looks at the door and then at Ellie for a moment before he looks back at you. "Got to get the kid to the Fireflies." He tells you quietly. "Just left Pittsburg and had a little trouble there." He admits, the run in on the road making them abandon the car when it crashed into the bookstore.
"Shit." Your shoulders fall a little, finding out that he's been in danger, but you don't reach for his hand like you want to. "Do you need to lay low for a little bit? How much trouble is a little trouble?"
"It wouldn't hurt." Joel acknowledges, knowing that he had pushed the kid hard for the past week, wanting to put as much distance between them and the city. "Be even better if you had a car we could have."
"I can ask around." A few people have pieces they've been cleaning up to sell to travelers exactly like him, but you had sold yours before the baby was born to get formula powder, diapers, and the other necessities that came with raising a child. "There's...there's room at my place but..." When you exhale you shudder slightly, suddenly terrified at having to actually tell him what happened. Never having thought this day would actually come, you hadn't exactly prepared a speech. "There's something you should know first."
Joel tenses immediately, knowing that news is never good. This time he is expecting to hear that you have some man in your life. That you don't need him bringing up the past. "You don't have to worry about it." He tells you immediately. "Won't say anything about it." He doesn't want you to think that will say anything if you hadn't been free to have him touch you like he assumed.
"What?" It takes you a second, but your mind catches up to his defensiveness relatively quickly. "No, no...that's not...that's not it at all. It's actually...kind of the opposite of that." Glancing at the girl he's got with him, you swallow a solid ball of nerves and try not to grimace. "Not sure what you're okay with me saying..."
"Well if it's something to do with where we're stayin' she's gonna find out." He frowns, trying to figure out what the hell has you so flustered. "Might as well tell 'er now."
"That's fair." But it still makes you blow out a slow, anxious breath and look down at your hands in your lap instead of even trying to look him in the eye. "It's just...if either of you has an issue with being around a baby...I'll find you somewhere else to sleep."
"A baby?" Joel's eyes widen and he frowns. "You found a baby out here?"
"Not quite." Found isn't really the word you would use. "I..." Your fingernails bite into your palms, nerves making you close in on yourself. With no idea how Joel will react, you just dive in headfirst. "She's seven months old. A-and her name is Caroline."
It doesn't take long for Joel to put the pieces together. You look like you're about to shit a brick and twisting your hands together nervously. Seven months old plus the eight—nine months carrying her. Puts her conception right at the time where he had been outside the walls and met up with you for one night. Joel's chair scrapes the floor as he pushes it back abruptly and turns to stalk out of the room, needing fresh air before he passes out.
"Oh fuck," Ellie murmurs, eyes going wide as she looks between you. Whatever gossip she thought she was going to get, this is way better. "It's not like I could just call you." Immediately ready to defend yourself, you're also ready to collapse inwardly from the anger and hurt on his face. "Show up to a FERPA QZ unauthorized and they hang you, so it's not like I could go to Boston, either." Calling the baby Caroline had been your nod to the city where her father supposedly lived, and she's had Sweet Caroline sung to her as a lullaby every night of her very short life.
Your words stop him from leaving, his back turned to you and he tries to breathe but all he can see Sarah's lifeless eyes, unable to protect her. "I-I need— to go-out-outside." Joel chokes, out, stumbling for the door.
"Joel!" Turning to follow him right away, you pause only for a second to point a finger at the girl. "Stay here," you tell her firmly before going after the man who has no idea how to navigate the colony he's about to be ambling around blindly.
Joel hits the door, stumbling into the colder night air, stumbling off to the side and bends over as he tries to suck in lungfuls of air and put his head between his knees at the same time. Blind panic taking over as all he can hear is the rapid, panicked breaths of his dying daughter's last breaths, not realizing it's actually his own breathing.
"Joel." Shooting after him, you find him hyperventilating against a tree in the courtyard beyond the gate. This isn't the first time you've ever seen somebody have a panic attack - it's a regular occurrence to a certain extent - but since it's the first time you've ever had to tell a man that you gave birth to his child, you're a little shaken. "Joel, you gotta breathe, okay?" You kneel down beside him and gently put your hands on his shoulders, trying to figure out if touching him will be soothing or just spook him more. "Deep breaths. Long, steady exhales."
"I c-can't – you— you— ba-bab-baby—" Joel closes his eyes and stops breathing at one point before he starts to drop down to his knees in the dirt. Inhaling roughly and sounding like a man starved of oxygen finally getting a breath. Trying not to pass out from the rush of oxygen to his brain and he clenches his fists on his thighs.
"I don't want anything from you." What the hell could you even ask for? Child support? That's fucking laughable in the world you live in now. Dropping to your knees in the dirt next to him, one hand is one his back but you're trying to search his face for some kind of reaction beyond panic. "Caroline and I are as good as anybody can be with the way the world is, okay? You just concentrate on deep, looong breaths."
"I don't— I can't—" Joel chokes out a sob and his hand wraps around his watch. The last thing he has from his daughter. "Sarah." He manages, trying to steady his breathing.
"Sarah doesn't need to know." Finding out he does have someone waiting for him is a disappointing twist to your gut, but you can't be focusing on yourself right now.
He shakes his head, shoulders slumping down and he takes a moment before he manages to take an even steady breath. "Not—" He stops himself and reaches for your hand. "She's okay?" He asks. "You're okay?"
"Yeah." You nod and squeeze his hand, wondering what the hell is going through his mind. "Yeah, Joel. We're okay. One of my friends is watching her while I'm on night shift, but we're good. She's...she's my angel."
Joel closes his eyes and absorbs the news that once again - twenty years later - he's a father. He nods, squeezing your hand back before he opens his eyes, more in control of himself than he had been minutes before. "Okay." He rasps out.
"You don't owe us anything, and I'm not asking for anything." He hasn't taken his hand back and you're shamefully glad about it, enjoying the warmth of him again after so long. "You just...you deserve to know she's yours."
He doesn't think that you would lie about something like that. You weren't that type of person. "I— Ellie—" He twists his head around to find the girl outside and staring at him with wide eyes.
"You guys are safe here." Whoever this girl is she's more than just cargo, but you're not going to ask questions. You always got the feeling that Joel was into far more dangerous shit than you could ever stomach, and while that was part of the sex appeal it did also mean you weren't going to stick your nose in his business.
"You shoulda stayed inside." Joel manages to sound like himself when he addresses Ellie but the girl just shrugs.
"But I didn't." She counters back with a smirk. "I wanted to see you freak out over having a baby. Old fart."
"Accidents happen in the world." Shit happens, you know that, and while Caroline was unplanned you wouldn't trade her for the world. "We all process shit differently, Ellie."
"He doesn't." She mutters, some of her joy fading as Joel stumbles to his feet and turns to her.
"Take your time." Your hand on Joel's arm is solid and would be comforting if it weren't for the situation at hand. "I'll take Ellie back inside. Give you...ya know...time to absorb."
"No." Joel shakes his head, the same calm that he normally shows settling back over him. "I'm good." He looks towards Ellie and grimaces. "Can the kid get a bath?" He asks, knowing it's been a while. "Some clean clothes?"
"Yeah, of course." Anything he needs is his, you know yourself well enough to know that you'll give him anything you can without sacrificing what Caroline needs. "A bath, clean clothes, food, place to sleep, whatever. I meant it, you can stay with me as long as you need to."
The invitation to stay shouldn't be appealing, but it is. Right now, Joel just wants to see this daughter of his and get some sleep. He's exhausted and now that his stomach isn't growling, he wants to rest. "Okay."
"Go grab your packs from the room," you urge them both, glad to see Joel looking a little more like himself again. "I'll go check in with Zach and then I'll show you where you're staying."
Joel is quiet as the two of them collect their things, ignoring the obvious looks from Ellie as she tries to catch his eye so she can grill him. He can't do that right now. Meeting you back out front and Joel holds the rifle loosely in his hand. "Lead the way."
******
The small house you've been living in is one of the lakefront cottages that some rich family once upon a time must have used for vacations. It's a little thing with just enough room for you and Caroline and your friend who drops in a few times a week to look after the baby so you can relax or work your night shift for the security team. A lot of your time is spent with the other mothers in the colony anyway, giving a whole lot of proof to the phrase 'it takes a village'. "This is it." A half mile from the gates, you point out the little house that once had white paint and blue shutters, and now looks exactly like the windswept relic that it is. "Home sweet home."
It's the closest that he's seen to normal since the outbreak. His face relaxing even more, and he gives a small half smile as he looks at it. "You sure you want us in your space?"
"You have more right to it than anyone else." The shrug you offer him is a little lax, but it's the best you can do. "And Ellie here needs a good night's sleep."
"I'd fucking kill for a pillow." Ellie moans, her eyes fluttering in at the idea of it. "Hey." Joel bumps her shoulder and frowns at her.
"No, it's alright." You wave him off, not wanting him to worry about propriety when you pull the front door open. "There's a spare bedroom with a whole bed with blankets and pillows and everything for when my friend stays over." Nothing is exactly high quality, but at least it's there. The glancing look you give Joel, though, is cautious. "I can sleep on the couch so you can have a bed. It's okay."
“I’m not takin’ your bed.” Joel huffs. “I’ve slept in worse places than a couch.” He’s not going to kick you out of your bed, not when you’ve got a baby to take care of. “Keep your bed, honey.”
What you really want is to offer to share it, but you're not sure if that would be weird to say in front of the teen. "Kitchen and living room down here, bedrooms and bathroom upstairs." You lead the way into the house with your voice lowered and point down the left side of the hallway. "That's the guest room and the bathroom, Ellie. Knock yourself out. There's a towel in the cupboard after you're done and I'll find something of mine you can wear for pajamas. We'll wash your clothes at the lake tomorrow."
“I get a bed to myself?” Ellie’s eyes are wide and she’s not too interested in a bath but she knows she will feel better. “For real?”
"It's not big, but it's all yours." You nod and watch her disappear down the hall at top speed. "She's sweet. Mouth of a sailor, but sweet."
“She’s a pain in my ass.” Joel corrects you, even as he smirks listening to her squeal of delight and the heavy stomping of her feet since she knows she’s safe.
"Do you..." Motioning toward your bedroom door lamely, you can hear your friend on the other side murmuring softly. "Do you want to meet your daughter?"
Joel takes a deep breath and after a moment, he nods. Just one short tilt of his head. Exhaling slowly so he doesn’t freak out again.
When you open the door two sets of eyes find you immediately. Your friend Emma is confused, obviously, but Caroline's little face lights up and she starts babbling happily the second you appear. "Home early tonight," you explain, offering both girls a smile and reaching for the little bundle in Emma's arms. "How's mama's little angel tonight? Did she wake up wanting snuggles again?"
A baby. It’s been nearly thirty-five goddamn years since Joel has interacted with a baby. Unable to do anything but watch as a little human, a miniature version of you - thank God - coos and babbles at her mommy. Hands grabbing and an occasional squeal coming out of her tiny, yet forceful, mouth.
"She got a little fussy a half hour ago," Emma tells you. Her eyes never leave Joel, though, regardless of the fact that she's talking to you. "One a.m. like clockwork." Bundling Caroline up in your arms is easy. It's like the most natural thing in the world despite how scared you had been to bring a baby into this insanity of this world around you. "Well, I got news for you, baby girl," you coo at her and bounce her softly in for your arms. "You have somebody extra special to meet." Stepping just barely to the side, you nod to Joel and smile. "Emma, this is Joel." The introduction is simple, but that's because your friend knows exactly who Joel is to you. Why he's so important. "Caroline, baby," you press a kiss to her forehead. "You wanna meet your daddy?"
Joel can't even spare a glance for the girl once he sees the kid. Fear, joy, bone deep sorrow and relief that she looks healthy all bloom in his chest at the same time. Eyes focused on her, absorbing every minute movement as you interact with his daughter. He moves forward, barely an inch, without even realizing it. Leaning in so he can see her better. See the child that he had created with you even though he had pulled out and thought that he had been fast enough. He knows that's not foolproof, and the evidence is right in front of him.
“Do you want to hold her?” Not knowing anything about Joel’s life before the Outbreak, you have no idea if this is the first time he’s held a baby or the millionth. He might hate them for all you know. Some people do, after all.
“No.” Joel rocks back and shakes his head immediately. “I’m— I’m dirty. I shouldn’t. I’ve been outside and who knows what I’ve picked up.” The idea of infecting this innocent baby makes his heart pound. “I— no.”
“Okay.” The panic on his face is unexpected, and surprisingly disappointing, but you nod and continue to bounce Caroline gently. “I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…you don’t have to be her father. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s not—” Joel cuts himself off and sighs. “I’ve been traveling for weeks. And had to— the clickers….” He mumbles, looking down at his filthy hands. “I need to clean up.”
“I’m gonna go.” Emma murmurs, grabbing her sweater from the old rocking chair and eyeing the two of you awkwardly. “Come by tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” You nod, reaching to squeeze her shoulder with one hand in silent thanks for everything she does to help you. “Thanks, Em.”
Joel listens as she goes down the stairs and out the door. Alone with you after over a year and there’s this baby in your arms. Taking him back to his early twenties, reminding him of when Sarah was that size. He clears his throat. “I— can I clean up?” He asks, knowing you might not have clothes for him to wear but it would be good to scrub the filth from his body.
“Y-yeah, of course.” You have your own bathroom, attached to your bedroom, and you know for a damn fact that if you hadn’t repaired this place yourself when you got to Lake City you’d be sharing it with at least one or two other families. But you put your foot down and you leaned on the pregnancy sympathy and you got it for you. Or really, for Caroline. “Through that door. I’m not sure if I have clothes you can wear, but I’ll look.”
“Thank you.” With one last look at the baby, Joel strides into the bathroom and closes the door. Amazed that there is a private space for you, that he’s got a baby he helped create. The mirror above the sink is old, the silver coating peeling but he looks into it and wonders when the hell he got so many grays in his hair.
Caroline frowns heavily when Joel disappears from her limited line of sight, and you coo at her quietly while he cleans himself up. “It’s okay, sweet Caroline,” you murmur, cradling her close. “Everything’s okay. He’ll be right back, baby girl. Don’t be sad.”
In the bathroom, Joel strips down, eager to be clean for the first time in who knows how long. The water isn’t warm but it’s fresh. Making him groan under the spray and watch as swirls of dirt and filth rush down the drain.
The sound of the shower running only lasts a few minutes, but you knock on the door when he’s done and call his name quietly. “Joel? I’ve got some things that might fit you. I’ll leave them in the bed for you while I get Caroline a snack, ok?”
“Thank you.” Joel calls out, stepping out and wrapping a towel around his waist. It’s the cleanest he’s felt in a long time and the lure of clean clothes is hard to resist.
******
You’re downstairs with a happily babbling little girl thoroughly enjoying her applesauce when Joel appears in the doorway, dressed in sweats and a t-shirt. He looks like an entirely new man - fresh and clean like he just washed up after work and it’s a completely normal day in a completely normal world. If not for the peeling paint and candlelight, you could almost pretend the Outbreak had never happened. That this is just life with your baby and the man who gave her to you.
"Hey, uh..." Joel frowns slightly, feeling awkward and not wanting to overstep in any way when you have been so kind to him. "I left my clothes in the bathroom. Didn't— they need to be washed." He explains, lifting a hand to run it through his squeaky-clean hair.
“I’ll take them to the lake tomorrow when I do Ellie’s.” You offer, assuming they’ve been traveling hard and will need to rest. Joel isn’t a gentle kind of guy.
"I can wash our clothes." Joel tells you. "You don't need to add more to your plate for us. You already have enough." His eyes turn back towards the baby and he is still startled by the large dark eyes watching him. Reminding him again of Sarah as a baby.
“Then we’ll go together.” That’s fine with you, it’s an excuse to spend more time with him. “This one keeps things plenty messy.” You grin and blow Caroline a kiss. “Don’t you, sweetie?”
Joel nods and licks his lips slightly as he watches the girl react to it. Waving her hands and grinning at her mother. She's getting sleepy, her eyes starting to drift closed before she wakes herself up and waves her arms around with a squeal. It makes Joel smile, just a tiny one, but he does.
“Looks like it’s bedtime.” There aren’t baby monitors or fancy cell phones to use as video equipment anymore, but you have Caroline’s bassinet set up in the corner of your bedroom and that’s all you need, putting her in her basket-turned-carrier anytime you leave the house together. “If you’re tired, we can talk tomorrow?” There hadn’t been much talking with Joel a year ago. It was fast and needy and amazing, but it certainly wasn’t romantic dinners or dates strolling through the park philosophizing about life. Wanting to know him now is just because of Caroline, you tell yourself, even though you know that’s a lie. You hadn’t ever stopped thinking about this man. “If you want, I mean.”
He wants to talk to you but he's also knows that you need to sleep and so does the baby. "Yeah." He nods, shuffling slightly. "We can talk in the morning. Go put the baby to bed and get some rest." He suggests, not hearing Ellie upstairs and he knows she's probably passed out.
“Sure.” You nod, hoisting Caroline up in your arms and picking up the hat of applesauce to put it back in the barely functioning refrigerator. “Just, um…” A smile cracks your tired face when you look at him, you just can’t help it. “It’s good to see you, Joel.”
"It's good to see you too, honey." He remembers calling you that during that one night. It wasn't like he didn't remember every single second of that night after he had left you. He isn't in love with you, that would be foolish, but you had stayed in his mind and now he's seeing you again.
“There’s blankets and extra pillows on the couch.” You want so badly to have just the casual intimacy that would allow you to kiss his cheek, but that night was a long time ago and things are different now. Or at least you tell yourself that they are, because it makes you behave yourself. “Good night.” You turn for the stairs, gently patting Caroline’s back as you go, wanting her to settle in and sleep through as much of the night as possible. You don’t know if you’ll sleep, with Joel so near, but she should be able to have wonderful dreams.
******
Joel, when he's not popped any pills, is a light sleeper. Not sure when it is, but the sun is still down, jerking awake and listening for a moment for what had pulled him out of restless dreams of Sarah when she was a baby. Then he hears it again. A small cry. Not loud enough to really upset the household but the first unhappy sounds of a baby. Grunting, Joel rolls off the couch and stands. Starting to slowly make his way up the stairs. Expecting to hear your voice as he goes, but he still just hears the kid. Until he pushes the cracked door open and sees the small light, the baby moving in her bed in a corner and Joel looks over to see you sprawled out, still asleep. Another small grunt makes his head snap back towards the cradle and he moves towards it slowly.
She looks up at him with curiosity - not scared of him or disliking the look of him, apparently - just upset that in this exact moment there is no one holding her. Whatever the reason, whether it was a bad dream or an upset stomach or general discomfort, little Caroline reaches up her arms to ask to be held as another small cry escapes her trembling lips.
He doesn't hesitate more than a second, watching her as he reaches down and picks up the small girl. Instantly flashing back to when he routinely carried around another baby. He cradles his daughter in his arms and cuddles her close. "Hey baby girl." He croons softly, not wanting to wake you up but happy that she isn't crying now that he's holding her.
It’s sometime after that, that the nightmare starts. You’re oblivious to the world while you sleep heavily in your bed, and the nightmares come out of nowhere. Memories of the Outbreak mix with Caroline’s birth, with terrifying thoughts of losing her or seeing her turned as a child or even a full grown woman. Fear of infection grows in you exactly like the fungus the whole world has grown to fear, and you wake up in a panic that has you covered in sweat. Only to see Joel sitting in the rocking chair under the window with Caroline against his chest like nothing in the world has ever gone wrong in the first place.
"You woulda liked her." His hand is firm on her back, the warmth from her little body against his skin keeps him grounded. "Or she woulda loved you. She woulda fussed and cooed over you like you were the most precious thing." He thinks Caroline likes the rumble of his voice, the vibration from his chest. "She always wanted to be a big sister."
“Wha—what?” You can hear Joel talking but can’t quite make it out. Digging your way out of the mire of nightmares is like slogging through mud. “Is everything okay?”
Joel startles slightly, not enough to disturb Caroline, but he turns his head towards you. "I didn't wake you, did I?" He asks, frowning slightly at the thought. "Didn't mean to."
"No." Wiping one hand down your face, you shift to sit up in bed and get a better look at Caroline in his arms. "No, I, um...nightmare." You shrug one shoulder lamely.
"I was tryin' to let you sleep." Joel looks back down at Caroline and then back at you. "She got a little fussy but she was good as soon as I picked her up."
"I don't normally sleep so deeply." Damn nightmares kept you from hearing Caroline, which you hate, and you scrub both palms down your face in dismay. "I'm sorry she woke you up."
"Don't worry about that." Joel can't help but lean his head over, running his nose over her soft head and down her cheek. "I was just talkin' to her. Tellin' her about things."
"What kind of things?" Instantly you wish he was sitting on the couch or in bed with you so you could cuddle up together. A domestic thought that makes you wish you were a family.
Joel rubs her back gently when she squeals and then settles back down against his shoulder, chuckling softly. “I was tellin’ her about…Sarah.”
"Who is Sarah?" He had said the name earlier, but you weren't about to interrogate him in the middle of a panic attack.
He closes his eyes and nuzzles the baby again, remembering how soft and sweet they could smell when they are clean and sleepy. “She…she was my daughter.”
You don't miss the was in the sentence, and you suck in a cautious breath. "I'm sorry." Now that you have Caroline, you can't imagine the pain of losing her. No wonder he panicked when you told him he had another.
“It was a long time ago.” Joel mutters softly, his eyes opening and finding yours, seeing the sorrow in them. “She woulda been 32, laughing her ass off at her old man finally givin’ her the sister she asked for for Christmas every year.”
Before the Outbreak. You swallow, nodding as you absorb this new information. “If she was anything like you, she’d rib you mercilessly.” What little you do know of him, Joel teases as a sign of affection.
“Endlessly.” Joel knows what it’s like being a single parent, he hasn’t forgotten. “Her mother…left us when Sarah was three months old.” He decides he owes you this, you are connected with him in a way that fundamentally changes things. “I raised her, she had a...a way that just made me marvel at how smart she was. Quick witted.” His foot pushes off the floor and rocks the chair gently. “Until….”
“You don’t have to tell me if I’m you don’t want to.” If it will hurt you. The last thing you want is to hurt him in any way. Not when…when you feel about him like you do, and when he’s given you something as incredible as Caroline.
The baby squirms, capturing his attention for a moment and he rubs her back soothingly. “It’s okay. She— the day it happened – ‘Outbreak Day’ – it was my birthday.”
“Shit.” Shifting forward in your bed, you instinctively reach out to touch his knee. “I’m so sorry.”
“You know how it was.” Joel grunts. “Chaos. A plans crashed and the truck we were in flipped.” He can see it, plain as day. “Her ankle was hurt so I carried her and the Army— they—” He closes his eyes and squeezes them tight. “They shot us.”
“Assumed infected.” You sigh, looking down at your hand on his knee before realizing it’s probably an overstep and recoiling. “The Army took at least one person from all of us. People who could have survived. Who were fine.”
“They killed a twelve-year-old girl.” Joel hisses. “My baby girl.”
“And they killed my seventeen-year-old sister.” He’s not the only one who lost someone, but it’s obvious that his loss is still as fresh as the day Sarah was shot. “I-I’m sorry, Joel. I am.”
“I’m sorry about your loss.” He rumbles out softly. “We’ve all lost people.”
“We have.” You can agree to that without hesitation. “But…we also gained someone. Tiny and fussy and she’s got the best laugh in the whole world. I’m just…I’m glad you got to meet her.”
“I’m sorry.” Joel shakes his head, even as he cuddles her closer. “I didn’t mean to – I shoulda pulled out sooner, I guess.” He knows that he could have gotten you pregnant from precum but he still feels guilty.
“I appreciate that, but…now that’s she’s here? I wouldn’t trade her for the world.” The times of being angry with him for what happened are far behind you at this point. You knew the risk you were taking having unprotected sex - you had just wanted Joel too desperately to care.
“I never expected to see you again.” He admits quietly. “Thought you would be out west somewhere. Thought about it some.”
“You thought about me?” You probably sound more surprised than you should, considering how often you think about him, but you had assumed he would have forgotten about you fairly quickly. He had nothing like your reason to remember.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Joel frowns slightly and tilts his head at you. “Thought we had a good night. Conversation…what happened after.” He smirks slightly.
“I thought we had a fantastic night.” And you hadn’t wanted to let yourself be overly sentimental in dreaming that he might still think about you sometimes. “I just didn’t know what you were going back to, so I kind of…didn’t want to let myself get sentimental, ya know?”
Joel snorts and shakes his head. “Some things you just don’t do.” He murmurs. “End of the world or not.” He and Tess hadn’t been exclusive, hell – she hadn’t even really been in his bed for a month before he had met you. Not that it matters now.
"Doesn't mean you couldn't have met somebody else since." There had been a million different ways that you had talked yourself out of getting maudlin over his memory or overly attached to fantasies of him, and you shrug a little while you watch him rock your now sleeping baby. "It was easier not to let myself dream about you."
“Naw… nothing—” He clears his throat. “Nothing that actually matters now.”
"I'm not expecting you to drop everything because of her." That's not something you would have asked of him even in the time before, and you're certainly not going to ask it of him now. The world has changed, even if people are fundamentally the same. "But we won't say no to visits now and then if you're still traveling."
He’s quiet for a minute, stewing as he contemplates what to do. “I’ve got to go.” He admits after a long moment. “Get the girl to the Fireflies.”
"Yeah, you said." It hurts more than you want to admit, because you want him to drop everything and stay with you. To be with you and Caroline. It's such a juvenile fantasy in some ways, but the way you've felt about Joel for the last almost year and a half is undeniable. "But like I said...if you ever came back this way...we would be glad to see you."
He can hear it in your voice, twisting his head so that he can look at you. “She’s important.” He tells you quietly, hoping that he can trust you. “Special.” He adds meaningfully.
“She seems like a good kid.” A little foul-mouthed maybe, but you had been too, at her age. And that was without the world collapsed around you. “I just want you to know you’re welcome here, that’s all. Caroline is…she’s your blood. And if you want to know her, you should be able to.”
He should be grateful that you are telling him that. That he can live his life and not worry about the baby he’s fathered. But it irritates him. “You aren’t goin’ west anymore? You could.”
“I can’t protect her on my own.” It’s something that you struggled with. The change to your plans to go west and find what remained of your family had been abandoned when you figured out that your sickness was pregnancy and not any of the thousand other things it could be. “I stayed and worked on the house so she could be safe. I have no business going west anymore.” As much as it hurts you, you really can’t. Caroline instantly became and will always be your first priority. “Not until she’s older, anyway. A lot older. And by then who knows what will have happened.”
“I’ve got to get to Jackson. My brother Tommy, he’s missing’ and that’s where he was last.” Joel shuffles Caroline so that she’s cradled in the curve of his arm.
“Wyoming?” He said west, not south, so it’s an informed guess. And an ironic coincidence, if it’s true. “I…I used to have people out there. I don’t know if they’re still there or still alive, but they were in Jackson last I heard.”
Joel nods, confirming he meant Wyoming. The idea of traveling with a baby isn’t a pleasant one. It makes things hundreds of times more complicated, but he also knows that he doesn’t want to leave the two of you, wondering what would happen to you.
“Could I send a letter with you, maybe?” Just being able to tell your surviving family that you’re okay - safe and with a baby - would be such a relief. “If you don’t run into them or can’t find them, that’s fine. But just in case?”
Joel is quiet for a long minute, mulling over everything. “If we had a car, we could go. All of us.” Joel murmurs quietly, unsure of your willingness to travel with Caroline.
“You want us to go with you?” It honestly wasn’t something you had expected. If anything, you would have been ecstatic to have him come back to you when everything was over.
“Only if you think you can handle it.” Joel tells you quickly. “It’s not going to be stroll. It’ll be dangerous. And the baby will need to be protected.”
“I’ve been out there before,” you remind him. It’s how you met, after all. Or at least it’s where you met. Out in the wilds. “It’s how I know I can’t do it alone. But two of us? That’s…that’s different.”
Joel looks at you, “how much can we get?” He asks, wanting to know about supplies. A car, horses, whatever could be had here.
“A lot of people want this house.” A safe place to live is invaluable, and this one has the benefit of the small garden Emma helped you start. “I’ve got good food stores and medical supplies. Clothes, soap, a knife and an axe.” You had built up this house to be where you raised your daughter, so you had stocked up supplies, too. “We could trade the house for a car and whatever else we need.”
“If you’re wantin’ to stay here, I won’t blame you.” Joel strokes the baby’s face gently and smiles when she reaches up and grabs his finger while she sleeps. “It’s a nice life you have here and it – it’ll be hard out there.”
“This is as good a life as we can hope for anymore.” That’s true, and it makes a part of you ache that you actually aren’t very happy here. You have everything you need, Caroline is safe, and there’s less violence than in a lot of other places - but you feel isolated regardless. Even the friends you’ve made feel like placeholders compared to your family. “But I really don’t know.” Is it worth giving up security for happiness? How will you know which will make Caroline happier?
“If you want to go, I’ll get you there.” Joel promises you, serious about that. He will do anything to protect you and the baby. Ellie too. “I promise.”
“I miss my family.” It comes out small, more ashamed than you’d like, as you watch Joel cradle your daughter in his arm. “I think I’d give anything to have my family back. Anything but Caroline.”
“Nothing wrong with missing family, baby.” Joel hums quietly, thinking about Tommy….and Sarah. “Sometime the only reason to go on if for people we care about.”
“Do you keep going for Tommy?” It’s an intensely personal question, but the connection you share with him now just as intensely personal as you could have with another person.
“I did.” Joel admits, his brother the most important person in the world to him until recently. Or tonight.
“Did?” You ask, your eyebrows knitting together, wondering why he’s talking like his brother is dead when he just said he was going to find him.
“Did.” Joel murmurs softly, leaning down and pressing his lips to Caroline’s forehead. “Now I’ll keep going for her.” He tells you, looking up when he pulls away from his daughter.
______
Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger
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#Pedro Pascal#Pedro Pascal character fanfiction#Pedro Pascal fanfic#Joel Miller#Joel Miller x female reader#Joel Miller x you#Joel Miller x reader#The Last of Us#TLoU#doing our best to be canon compliant
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:O !!! Wait a second... GHOST DINOSAURS!!!
They died. There are ghost animals. You CAN NOT tell me getting fuckin nuked from space by a GIANT rock that blasted you and everything you've ever known into near instantaneous oblivion, wouldn't leave some Unfinished Business and a shit ton of Ectoplasm.
BILLIONS of things died all at once.
Did most move on? Probably. We're any of them sentient? We have no idea! Maybe! Unlikely, but maybe! Still a MASSIVE, countries wide, molten earth lined, crater of instant death. World shaking and history making. Death in the blink of an eye.
If you're lucky.
But! I hear the arguments now. That was one event. The X or Y dinosaur lived before that! What I'm interested in came AFTER! Good points! But not RELAVENT!!! Because you know what ELSE that giant fuck-off meteor is good for? Aside for Death(tm)?
Television.
Makes for some damn good documentaries. Exciting graphics and neato visual effects. Ooooh~ look at our dramatic recreation! The cute baby animals, unsuspecting of their Doomed Fate~! Tense music! And now, a world from our advertisers!
You know who LIKES Space Documentaries? Danny. He's all ABOUT that Science Channel. Granted, they've been pulling more and more of these mid-tear "aliens built the pyramids" and "look at these swords!" Shows... but! Still! He grew up on this channel! He doesn't WANT to give up on it!
And, yeah, this is... kinda hammy... but it's still watchable!
He's enjoying the live tweeting from paleontologists who are ROASTING the thing to a lovely golden brown. Has choked on his noodles like three times already. It's great! But now? They are arguing over what the dinosaurs actually looked like again... and??
And, look, maybe it's the good mood and boredom. Maybe it's having the house to himself. Maybe it's his parents finally encouraging him to use his "ghostiness" for SCIENCE(tm)(!) the other day. Could even be his bad idea impulse acting up again, buuuuut.....
Teeeeechnically?
Nothing? Is STOPPING him? From finding out? He DOES have Zone compatible cameras. And can probably back trace where they should-ish be? He can find out. The colors might be off, but it's a starting point? Right? And heck, he's pretty sure inverse coloration in standard unless someone's shape-shifting, so he'd just have to inverse it AGAIN to get an approximately correct coloration for them!
....eh, as long as he leaves a "not exact, this was the best I could get" note, it should be fine.
Road Trip time! Better call Dani and see if she wants to ride a few giant mammals and some lizards!
(Needless to say? Some researchers get VERY exciting emails. And only accept they are POSSIBLE, because this is a DC crossover. So there is aliens and magic regularly popping up in their field of expertise, so WHY NOT? Just the other day, a whole ass TOWN that has been wiped out... got UN-wiped out! 23 years later! It's made headlines. Weird shit happens.
So gib. Release to them the Dinosaurs, mystery email man. Fork them over before they begin biting. You think this corduroy jacket means they won't hunt you down? HA! You know NOTHING of academics! WHERE ARE THE EXTINCT ANIMALS? Where are you hiding them!?!?)
@the-witchhunter @hypewinter @nerdpoe @ailithnight @hdgnj @mutable-manifestation
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Lovey Dovey
Jill Roord x Doctor!Reader
summary~ Jill just had her ACL surgery and is still high on the anesthesia.
Jill wasn’t a fan of surgery’s, how could anyone be. She was nervous about this whole procedure. Tearing her ACL in her prime had done a number on her, not only physically but mentally too. But the surgery had to be done and she knew that.
You’ve been dating Jill for about a year now. You met through your mutual friend, Vivianne Miedema. The first few months were long distance, with you working in England and Jill in Germany. You hadn’t really seen eachother throughout the World Cup but kept in touch, texting her good morning and goodnight and recording voice notes. And sometimes you took in into yourself to make her a vlog about your day, she liked those most.
Driving was Jill’s thing, she enjoyed it and you loved that she loved it. You had certain tasks without really agreeing on them, they had just become your unassigned jobs in your relationship. Your girlfriend was a little sceptical, letting you drive in her still quite new car.
Jill had hidden the keys to her car and you were not having it. “Jill tell me where the fucking keys are.” you sighed, having searched for it everywhere by now. She simply shook her head with a childlike frown.
You simply had no other choice than to threaten her. “Jill you better tell me where they are or i won’t kiss you until you can play full football games again.”, now that got her attention. “That’s just mean, you can’t do that to me baby” the woman groaned sinking even further into the couch.
“Watch me.” you said, arms folded under eachother. “Fine, under the blue vase in the kitchen.” she finally admitted. You leaned forward to place a kiss on her forehead to thank her.
Finding the keys you sigh, “Let’s go baby.”.
The drive to the hospital was rather chaotic, well it was for you. You had to watch the road in front of you and listen to your stubborn girlfriend telling you how to drive and how she thought this was just a horrible idea, she should’ve never ‘given’ you the keys.
It was a wonder Jill was still alive after that trip, she could’ve sworn she had atleast two heart attacks and went into multiple cardiac arrests. But luckily for her a docter was driving, well lucky to some extent.
You wheeled her into the big building, you knew her anxiety was spiking but you’ve talked her through the procedure multiple times. “Jilly, you’re gonna be okay. I’ll be with you, when you go to sleep and i’ll be there when you wake up.” you said, squeezing her shoulder to reassure her.
The Dutch Lioness had to change and got ready for her surgery. With a peck to the lips she let go. “I love you” she told you. “Love you too, you’re very brave Jilly.” you kissed before she fell into a deep slumber.
Waking up from the surgery you expected her to be a bit dazed out but she was more than that.
Stroking patterns on her arms you soothed her. Her eyes slowly fluttered open, a groggy groan caught your attention. “Hey, you’re with us again. I bet you’ve had some pretty weird dreams hmm?” you said getting her to look at you.
“Why’s the light so lightly?” her raspy voice sounded. Laughing at her sleepy state you answered, “Hospital lights are supposed to be like that baby.”
Jill was taken aback by that. “Why are you calling me baby? I’ve already got a liefje.” Jill frowned. You had to hold your laugh in at that.
“Jill look at me, i’m your liefje.” she finally fully opened her eyes and took a good look at you. Satisfied she hummed, “I’ve done really good. You’re very pretty and nice and pretty.” your girlfriend slurred, dragging the ‘really’ out. “Can you do a spin for me liefje? Pretty please.” she asked you sweetly.
Standing up you did a ballerina like twirl. “Good enough for you baby?” you asked her, hand on your hip. She approved your twirl and demanded a kiss. “I want a kiss now.” you walked towards her to give in but apparently you didn’t move fast enough and she started getting out of the hospital bed.
“Jill! Stay there, you’re not supposed to be on your feet already!” you yelled a bit annoyed. She probably couldn’t stand on her leg yet and definitely not now that she was still so dazy.
Quickly she let loose of the bed railing and laid back again. “Okay okay, but i need a kiss to make it better!” she was gonna be the death of you.
You got into bed with her and almost immediately she wrapped herself around you, kissing every bit of your face. “I” kiss “love” kiss “you” kiss “so so so so” kiss “much” she snuggled into you. “Jilly, i love you too” you giggled into the crook of her neck.
The two of you got to go home after a few hours but Jill was still a bit out of it. You tried to get her to sit in the passenger seat but she wouldn’t let go of you. “Jilly, you need to let go, i can’t drive us home like this.” you told her.
And even in het dazed state she caught on to the fact you were driving her car. “You don’t need to drive us home schatje. Uber and i’ll drive it home another day.” she negotiated with you.
“Oh shut up. You’re not gonna die, you baby.” you rolled your eyes at her. Jill placed her hand over her heart and acted like she just got stabbed in it. “Big baby.” you laughed.
Arriving home she still wouldn’t let you go. You had to carry her out of the car and placed her on the couch. “I’m gonna die if you won’t stay with me. You’re a doctor, don’t let me die, you signed to safe all the life’s you possibly can!” she yelled when you got up to make the two of you some tea.
“Stop saying that! You’re not gonna die.” you yelled from the kitchen. “You don’t know that until you find me dead on the couch in a few seconds.” you heard her mumble when you walked into the living room with two cups of hot tea in hand.
It was a hard day for her and you knew that so you kept her close. If you were all she needed you would be there. And after what must’ve been a tiring day for her she fell asleep next to you, holding your hand as tight as she could in her sleep.
y/n_y/l/n posted on their story
A/N i just realised that the anon might’ve meant that Jill and R met at the hospital but well.. too late now sorry
#jill roord x reader#jill roord#nedwnt#oranjeleeuwinnen#woso x reader#woso fanfics#woso community#engwnt#man city women#leah williamson#arsenal wfc
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poisoned mercury | close as strangers (post chb)
a/n: okayyyy so i didn't give them an angst ending but i had to give into the angst monster at least once for this series so here's a bonus chapter for poisoned mercury. miscommunication galore. long distance is hard! two dumbasses in love!
song: close as strangers by 5sos
series masterlist | previous | next
"i'll talk to you tomorrow, yeah?" luke whispered, trying not to wake his bandmates up. the tour bus was large enough to house them while they were on the road, but it didn't really give the privacy he hoped for. chris was just across the narrow walkway from him and luke could hear his soft snores through the thin curtain that separated them.
luke felt his heart hammering in his chest when you didn't reply to him. he could still hear your breaths through the phone and you were just talking to him a second ago, so he knew you were still awake. you both had equally busy lives which meant that your phone calls were getting shorter and shorter each day. luke knew it was because you were booked with school and tournaments for field hockey and he was always exhausted after each meeting now that the band was working on their second album. luke knew all of this, but it didn't stop him from missing you. he was lucky to get a ten-minute call with you nowadays.
"baby?" he tried again, chewing on his bottom lip. he turned to face the ceiling of his bunk, the light from his phone casting a shadow on his face as he waited for you to say something. anything. "can i call you tomorrow?"
you sighed, "i don't know, luke. i have a busy day. it's a travel game tomorrow so i don't know if i'll be up late."
"oh," he cleared his throat, trying to hide his disappointment. he felt a little stupid that there were tears pooling in his eyes. so you can't talk tomorrow, it shouldn't be a big deal, right? except that luke felt like you were pulling away from him. little by little. and he didn't know how to stop it. it wasn't like he could drop everything to show up at your doorstep and fix things with you. if it was up to him, he would do it in a heartbeat, but you'd probably get mad at him for it, for abandoning his responsibilities as the lead singer of the most popular band in the world. not to mention the boys would be livid and mr. d and his mom would be equally furious.
"sorry, maybe next week?"
"yeah, sure," he replied, thankful that you weren't on facetime tonight. he didn't want you to see his face. "alright, i'll let you get some rest. go kill it tomorrow. g'night, five star."
"goodnight," you said, ending the call as soon as the last syllable left your lips.
luke groaned quietly, tossing his phone on the foot of his bed. he knew long distance was going to be difficult. it's been months since he last saw you, months since he was at camp half blood, sleeping in your bed and waking up to the feeling of your lips peppering kisses on his face. maybe he shouldn't have gotten so attached so fast, but it wasn't like he had a choice in the matter.
he got out from his bunk, tucking his feet into his slippers and made his way to the living room area of the bus. he sat on the couch, peering out the window to watch the empty roads ahead. they were on their way to nashville to meet with a producer that mr. d recommended. the second album was almost done, but it was missing something and none of them wanted to put out a record that didn't meet their expectations.
mr. d was already in tennessee waiting for them. he'd flown in from houston a few days ago with luke's mom and the rest of the poisoned mercury team while the boys were in atlanta for a movie premiere. they decided that a road trip was needed to de-stress after the glitz and buzz of the red carpet. it was nice to have some alone time with the boys. in their tour bus, luke felt like they were back in connecticut, just four friends fucking around, writing music, and eating junk food until their stomachs hurt.
he turned on the tv, switching to some random channel that he wasn't paying attention to. he just needed some noise to drown out his thoughts, but that didn't seem to work. all he could think of was you, his five star, and how much he missed you. luke wondered if you were having second thoughts about this whole thing. maybe he'd been too optimistic about things; maybe you weren't on the same page as he was; maybe you realized that it was too difficult to be with him.
a shiver ran down his spine as he spiraled into his thoughts. admitting to himself that something was wrong between the two of you left a bitter taste in his mouth because he didn't want to believe it. he saw you as his endgame, like nobody else in the world could compare to you, and to think that you may not feel the same about him... well, it was a difficult pill to swallow.
he wondered if he came on too strong, showed his cards too early, and seemed too clingy and lovestruck before it was deemed appropriate. you'd only been together, officially at least, for four months, most of which were long distance, but luke knew he was a goner for you way before that.
he silently cursed as the chill of the december air hit his skin. he should've worn a hoodie. he grabbed the small throw blanket draped over the armchair and placed it around his shoulders. he wished he got to see you over thanksgiving break because maybe you two wouldn't be in this rocky situation right now, but your coach ordered you and clarisse to stay on campus over break to sharpen your skills since you missed summer training. luke and chris were less than pleased with the idea, but they knew it was out of their control.
luke fell asleep on the couch that night after succumbing to the tiredness in his body. the sun was beginning to rise by the time his eyelids fluttered shut. he hoped that he'd wake up to a text from you, but when he woke up to the sound of the bus screeching to a halt in nashville, he realized it was the hope that kills.
-
“are you guys going to the fall concert?” silena asked, poking her head out of the bathroom. she was part of the planning committee for the unc fall semester concert and she’d been stressing over the logistics of it for weeks.
“lena, if we even tried to miss it, you’d kill us,” clarisse chuckled, putting on a coat of mascara. “you’ve been talking about this since we got back.”
the three of you were getting ready in your dorm. you and clarisse were roommates this year, thank gods for athlete privileges, and silena lived in the building next door in a single since she was an ra. how she had the time to be an ra, be a member of the music festival planning committee, and be a full-time student was truly beyond your comprehension.
“lena, calm down. it’ll be good,” you squeezed her shoulders as you passed by behind her, grabbing your lipgloss from the counter. “and even if it sucks, half the people in the crowd are either drunk or high or both and will probably not remember it.”
“true,” she snorted, curling the final piece of her hair. she unplugged her hair curler and gave herself one last look in the mirror, “i’ll see you guys there? i gotta go make sure shit didn’t hit the fan.”
you and clarisse nodded as silena said her goodbyes. you dabbed on some lipgloss, glancing down at your phone every few seconds. clarisse side-eyed you, unable to hide her smile, “you waitin’ for a text?”
“shut up,” you rolled your eyes at her teasing tone. she didn't really know that your relationship was a little muddy at the moment. you weren’t the best at talking about your feelings and it felt wrong to talk about your relationship drama when clarisse and chris seemed to be going strong. “they’re supposed to land in los angeles ten minutes ago.”
“their flight probably got delayed, y/n,” she replied, “happens all the time.”
“no, i know, but just wanna make sure they’re safe, y’know?”
clarisse crossed her arms over her chest, “they’re safe or he’s safe?”
you ignored her question, opting to busy yourself with the weather app on your phone to avoid any follow-up questions, “how are you not checking your phone for a text from chris right now?”
she shrugged, “he always knocks out on long flights so i don’t expect a text until he gets to their hotel.”
“how are you and chris, by the way? i know we live together and shit, but i feel like we haven’t gotten to talk about it in detail since we’re always so tired from school and practice.”
“we’re good,” clarisse hummed, “just miss him loads, though. i haven’t seen him since we left camp– what? four, almost five, months ago?”
you were in the same boat, kind of. you and luke hadn’t seen each other in months and you were getting antsy. they’d been on the road for the past few months, meeting with producers and fulfilling their contractual obligations. they hadn’t been in a set location long enough for you to be able to fly out to see luke, even just for a weekend.
at first, there were movie dates where you’d order each other food and eat and watch the movie on facetime together. there were weekly phone calls and daily texts, but nothing compares to the real thing. being with luke in person was something that you were craving. camp half blood spoiled you with having him all for yourself and now that you were back in school and he’s out in the world, it was beginning to weigh on you.
you missed him. a lot.
you missed kissing him and feeling his lips break out into a smile when you’d mumble something stupid. you missed feeling his arms around you, hugging you from behind while you got ready for the day. you even missed waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of him scribbling random lyrics on pieces of scrap paper he found in your room when he slept over.
long distance is hard and sure, luke wouldn’t be the type to cheat or do anything to jeopardize your relationship, but it still didn’t stop a knot from forming in your stomach every time a picture of him or the band popped up on your social media with a gorgeous singer, actor, or model that they ran into on the red carpet. what if he realizes one day that he wants someone who lives the same life as him? wild and adventurous, not tied down by school or sports?
a part of you felt silly for being so insecure about things. it was too early in the relationship to have this conversation, isn’t it? you knew that your avoidance of the topic was starting to affect your relationship with luke, as much as you wished it didn’t, but what if the minute you voice your concerns, he’ll realize that being with you was more than he bargained for? after all, you weren’t the same five star with all the time in her hands, care-free, and relaxed that he met at camp. there was a chance that luke would call it quits on this if you said anything and it felt like too big of a risk to take.
your phone buzzed on the counter, indicating a text.
from: luke <3
‘landed and jetlagged. gonna sleep for a few. enjoy the concert babe!’
you hearted the message and slipped your phone into your back pocket after sending him a quick goodnight text. the three dots popped up for a second, then in a blink, they disappeared. read at 8:43 pm.
“you ready?”
you snapped out of your thoughts at the sound of clarisse’s voice. you nodded and grabbed your small purse before heading out the door. you ran into a group of your teammates who were heading to the amphitheater across campus for the concert. the walk seemed to fly by as they cracked jokes and shared stories about random things. you stayed silent for the most part, only laughing along when it seemed like the right time, but your mind was somewhere else. your mind was in los angeles.
by the time you got to the venue, you and clarisse separated from the group to enter the vip tent, courtesy of silena. a small crowd was beginning to form in front of the stage, taking up the grassy field. charlie was already at the tent, sipping on an ipa when he saw the two of you. his face broke out into a wide smile, giving you and clarisse a quick hug before leading you to the seats he saved.
“season’s looking promising for you guys, charlie,” you commented, accepting the high noon he offered. “the team’s looking good out there.”
“thanks,” he beamed, “don’t think we’re on the level of national champs just yet like you guys, but we’re trying!”
“you guys are doing great,” clarisse chimed in, “the energy in the stadium is electric this year. makes me love college.”
“are you telling me the papers and tests aren’t what makes you love college, la rue?” charlie teased.
she snorted, “oh yeah, because i just love staying up until 1 am writing a paper on greek mythology for classics 101.”
the three of you fell into a comfortable conversation about the class you were all taking. it was a prerequisite class that most athletes choose to take because the professor was flexible with deadlines when it came to athletes. it was helpful especially when a team has to play beyond their season for tournaments or championships. about ten minutes before the opening act got on stage, silena rushed into the tent.
“guys, please you need to come with me. i need your help,” she said frantically. she was nervously tugging on her ‘staff’ badge around her neck, already halfway out of the tent as she waited for the three of you to follow her. “please, it’s an emergency.”
“woah, lena, what’s going on?” you asked, getting up to comfort her. you followed her through the crowd, grabbing clarisse’s hand to keep her close.
silena shook her head, continuing her march through the sea of people, “just come with me, i’ll explain when we get backstage.”
you and clarisse looked at each other, feeling bad for silena. she put in her blood, sweat, and tears into this concert and you knew that she would beat herself up over it if something went wrong. silena always put her all into the projects she’s passionate about, but sometimes things outside of her control happen and unfortunately, she blames herself for it.
in the whirlwind of ‘excuse me’s’ and ‘sorry’s’, the four of you managed to make your way backstage. it was chaotic. people were running around everywhere making sure everything was set for the opening act. the girl who was opening the concert was waiting by the wings, her guitar strapped across her chest as she took some deep breaths. the crowd wasn’t full yet, but you knew that if you were in that position, you’d still be sweating buckets. going out there on stage to perform for strangers was nerve-racking. you didn’t know how luke did it. you admired that about him.
“lena, are you gonna tell us what’s going on?” clarisse questioned, picking up the pace of her steps to match silena.
silena stopped in front of a door, slowly turning to face you and clarisse. suddenly, her stressed facade faded as she twisted the doorknob, “why don’t you see for yourself?”
if you weren’t so confused about what was going on, you would’ve seen charlie lift his can up to his lips to hide his smile at how proud he was of his girlfriend for her acting skills. when the door opened, your heart stopped.
luke was here.
he stood in the middle of the room beside chris with a nervous smile on his face. he was wearing a black leather jacket on top of a white tank top and black pants. his poisoned mercury chain hung from his neck, shining under the overhead lights. his hands were stuffed in his front pockets, shy and timid, as he waited for your reaction.
clarisse screamed when it hit her that chris was actually here. she ran to him and nearly tackled him to the floor. chris wrapped his arms around his girlfriend and laughed as she giggled into his neck. the two of them shared a heartfelt reunion before rushing out of the room to get some privacy. the sound of the door shutting behind you made you blink.
luke cleared his throat, right hand scratching the back of his neck, “hey, five star.”
the nickname brought you back to your senses. you ran to him, engulfing him in a tight hug with an ‘umph.’ at first, luke was tense under your touch, unsure if you’d be happy with his surprise, but quickly, he melted into you. he buried his face in the crook of your neck, sighing in content as your familiar scent surrounded him. he felt sparks coursing through his veins as you hugged him tighter and all he could think about was how good it felt to have you in his arms again. his mind was still reeling at your reaction. he didn’t expect you to run to him like this, especially not when it felt like you’d been avoiding his calls over the last few weeks.
“what are you doing here?” you asked him, pulling away to hold his face in your hands. your eyes twinkled as you raked over his face, still in disbelief that he was actually in front of you. “you’re supposed to be in la.”
luke couldn’t stop the lopsided smile on his face, “well, i lied? we were in nashville recording with your dad and he mentioned that he didn’t schedule a session for us this weekend in case me and chris wanted to take a trip to north carolina, so here we are.”
you ran your thumbs over his cheekbones, whispering, “here you are.”
“god, i missed you so much,” he said, voice breaking. “you have no idea how hard it’s been.”
you gulped, your hold on his face faltering a bit. if luke wasn’t on edge, he wouldn’t have noticed the falter in your step, but he felt the slight hesitation in your actions. your warm touch slowly peeled away from his face and he instantly regretted saying those words. here he goes being clingy again. he removed his hands from your waist, clearing his throat. he sat on the couch, motioning for you to sit beside him. he tried to keep his hands to himself when you left a space between the two of you.
“i still can’t believe you’re really here,” you said, staring at him. you wanted to lean over and hold him in your arms again, but there was a weird tension in the air that made you feel queasy. “i feel like i’m dreaming right now.”
“i hope you’re not mad that i’m here,” luke looked down at his lap, flexing his hands. he had to keep his hands busy or else he’d surely reach for yours and he didn’t want to come on too strong. he had to keep his distance. he didn’t want to scare you off any more than he already did. “there was just an opening in the schedule and i-i wanted to see you.”
“i’m not mad at all.”
“good, good,” he replied. silence. he forced himself to look up from his lap, twisting his body to face you. he bit his bottom lip, trying to build up the courage to ask his next question. “are we okay?”
“we’re okay.”
“okay because i feel like things have been different between us lately,” he pursed his lips, looking at you with sad eyes. his tongue poked out the corner of his lips, eyes darting between you and the wall behind you. “i don’t know. i feel like we haven’t talked in ages, y’know? and i know you’re busy and you have a great life here that i’m not really a part of, but uh, i wanna be, y’know? i don’t know much about school or field hockey, but it’s important to you and you’re important to me so i wanna hear about it.”
he was met with more silence. luke continued, “maybe i’m asking for too much when i ask you to let me be a part of this life, but uh, i miss you? and i just feel like i’m losing you and that’s the last thing i want. so you gotta give me something, five star. tell me what i can do to be better.”
“if you need me to back off, i’ll do it, you know? you call the shots. you tell me what you need from me, and i’ll do it, okay? i just– i can’t lose this. i don’t wanna lose you,” luke mumbled. “maybe this is all in my head too. i don’t know anymore.”
you shuddered, lip quivering, “i feel like i’m holding you back.”
“what?”
“come on, luke,” you flicked away the tear that trickled down your cheek, “you’re out there in the world doing what you love. meeting new people. living your life and i don’t want to hold you back from that. we met each other when i didn’t have all these responsibilities and who i was at camp is not who i am here and i know you love those impromptu adventures and trips and spontaneity. a-and i can’t give that to you.”
“you deserve someone who can live this life with you and i’m stuck here for two more years, luke. i can’t do that,” it was getting hard to breathe. your throat felt like it was closing up, cutting off your airflow. you’d been putting off this conversation for weeks. it didn’t feel right to talk about this over the phone, and you thought that you had a few more weeks to figure out what to say to him when you saw him for winter break, but he was here now. “you deserve more than facetime calls and text messages, and that’s all i can offer.”
“is this–” he paused, licking his lips. “is this not what you want anymore?”
“what?”
“this, us? is this just not what you want anymore?”
an involuntary laugh escaped you as you wiped under your eye, “castellan, i don’t think i could stop wanting you even if i wanted to. and you know when we first met, i really wanted to.”
luke moved closer to you, just an inch or two, trying to gauge your reaction. you didn’t move away, which he took as a good sign, “i’m confused. why do you sound like you want to end this then?”
“i don’t want you to settle for this,” you sighed, “i know what you deserve and it isn’t this.”
“bullshit.”
you furrowed your eyebrows, looking at him in disbelief, “what?”
“i’m sorry, five star, but that’s bullshit,” a small smile was tugging on his lips. he reached over to place a hand over yours. his fingers traced your knuckles, running the pads of his fingers across the familiar ridges of your skin. “i don’t understand how after all this time you still don’t realize that all i want is you. it’s ridiculous, really.”
“it’s ridiculous?”
“it’s ridiculous,” he chuckled wetly. his other hand rubbed at his eyes, clearing his foggy vision. “our situation isn’t ideal, i know that, but i’d take long distance with you over anything else with anyone else. don’t you get it, five star? you’re it for me. if this isn’t what you want anymore, i’ll accept that. but if you’re only doing this because you don’t think i want this… five star, i want it all with you. long distance. phone calls. text messages. weekend trips when we can get them. distance has nothing on how i feel about you.”
leave it to luke castellan to make you blush. you shyly looked at him, eyes twinkling with something more than either of you bargained for when you first met in that secret spot you call yours, “how do you feel about me?”
“i’m not gonna say it right now because i don’t want to have the first time be while we’re in a fight,” luke laughed. the air was starting to clear. “but i have a feeling you know.”
“i know,” you squeezed his hand three times, “i do too.”
“will you put me out of my misery and kiss me please?”
“always so fucking dramatic,” you scoffed, playfully rolling your eyes, but you leaned over and pressed your lips to his.
#frances writes#poisoned mercury#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan imagine#luke castellan pjo#luke pjo#luke castellan#luke castellan fanfic#luke castellan x you#luke castellan x yn#luke castellan x y/n
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kinktober day 10 boot riding
daddy kink, amab reader yes ill post the missing days i swear sjdkf
cis women dni
The longer you stayed at a party, the more boring it got.
Sure, getting drunk and high and fucking around with your classmates was a good time. But after hours of huddling together with sweaty drugged up teenagers and having generic music blasted into your ears, it got a bit boring.
But Billy always found a way to make it more entertaining. Normally by pulling off a rather impressive keg stand. For once, he’d offered to be the designated driver (mostly because you’d done it for the past four parties and refused to do it again), so you were downing your second drink, talking to some junior you barely knew. The buzz of a high was clouding your head, though it wasn’t enough to impair your judgment.
But apparently your boyfriend felt like pissing you off tonight.
Eventually the junior wandered off, probably to flirt with someone interested. Billy, on the other hand, was chatting up some girl from your math class. You didn’t remember her name, but you most certainly remembered the way she talked to Billy.
She gave a fake laugh, making sure to lean forward and give him a decent view of her cleavage. Not that you blamed her for trying to sleep with your boyfriend. Billy was pretty, and it’s not like she knew he had a boyfriend. So no, you didn’t hold any resentment toward the girl.
Billy, on the other hand, was in a world of hurt.
He had every chance to turn her down. Every chance to make up some half-assed excuse or just plain tell her he wasn’t into it. But no. He joked and gave her some cheesy pick-up line. The brat even had the nerve to look your way while he was doing so, giving you a wink.
You watched for a minute longer, waiting for him to make some excuse to leave. But when it was obvious he had no plans of doing so, you decided to step in for him.
“C’mon Hargrove, you’re my ride home.” Luckily your head was clear enough to make walking out easy.
Billy frowned, trying to look as disappointed as possible. “Already? But I was having fun!” The girl next to him looked sad as well, as if begging you to let him stay longer.
“Sorry, I gotta get up early tomorrow,” You said, shrugging. Tomorrow was Saturday, neither you nor Billy had anything to do. But she didn’t need to know that.
“Fine, buzzkill.”
Billy, tap dancing on your last nerve, gave the girl a wink, causing her to let out an airy giggle. You rolled your eyes, stomping out of the house. You could hear Billy mumble what was most certainly a sarcastic comment under his breath.
You sat in the passenger seat the second he opened the door, waiting as he slid into the driver’s seat a second later.
After a second of him realizing you weren’t going to speak, he started driving, the music from the party fading into the background as he did so.
“Your mom and that bastard home?” You knew the answer was no. He’d made quite a big deal about getting the house to himself while Neil dragged his step-mom and Max on a ‘family outing’. Even with Max asking, Billy was left home alone.
“No, why?” He asked, glancing over to you before his eyes returned to the road. He was perfectly aware of ‘why’, you knew that much.
“Gonna let me stay over, pretty boy?” You asked, your tone low. He nodded, quickly taking a turn to head toward his house.
The trip was short and Billy got out of the car almost immediately after you arrived. You chuckled at how eager he was, fumbling with his keys in an attempt to get in quicker.
You followed closely, heading to Billy’s room without much hesitation.
The second you got in, you closed the door, pressing Billy up against a wall.
“You got some fuckin’ nerve, Hargrove,” you spoke quietly and quickly, though you knew he heard you from how he shivered. “You tryna get my attention, or just tryna whore around with some poor girl, hm?”
He shook his head rapidly, gulping down a breath.
Billy tried his hand at being a brat often. Always teasing you, getting your attention in public. But the second you were behind closed doors, he practically melted.
“Words, baby boy.”
“No, Daddy.”
God he knew what buttons to press.
“Then why were you flirting?” You spoke softly, loving how his eyes glazed over with lust when you did so. “Giving her hope for no reason. That just seems mean, baby.”
He made a noise of disagreement, shaking his head again. “Didn’t mean to, just wanted your attention.”
You chuckled. “No, you knew exactly what you were doing.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but you slammed your lips into his before he could. You took over the kiss quickly. His arms twined around your neck, one of yours on his hip and the other gripping his hair. You gave a soft tug to his hair, forcing a loud moan out of his throat.
You slotted one thigh between his legs, giving him the chance to messily rut against you. Both your pants were tight, his jeans no doubt uncomfortable at this point.
“Pleeease just fuck me.” He was practically begging, arms tightening around you. “Please, I’m sorry for flirting with her, I won’t do it again.”
You both knew damn well he’d do it again.
“I don’t think I feel like forgiving you yet, baby.” He huffed at your words, hips still moving against your clothed thigh.
“How about this,” You suggested. You placed your hands on his shoulders, lowering him to his knees and placing your boot between his legs. “You cum in under two minutes, and I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t remember your damn name.”
He nodded rapidly, head collapsing into your leg.
He moved his hands towards his jeans, only stopping when you firmly questioned what he was doing.
"I can't use my hands?" He asked, looking slightly hopeful. As if he'd get off that easy.
“If you really want me to fuck you, you can cum like this.”
He paused for a moment. “Like ‘this’?”
You smirked, tilting his head up slightly with one finger. “You think you can cum in your jeans for me?”
He shivered, nodding fervently.
"Good boy."
He started off slow, moving his hips against the firm leather of your boot. It was just enough stimulation for his sensitive cock. He was burying his face into your jeans, mouthing at your dick over the fabric. You just let him, watching as he desperately tried to get you to force your cock down his throat.
"One minute left." He whimpered.
His thrusts sped up, messily humping your boot in an attempt to get off. Barely decipherable mumbles of "please" "Daddy" and "more" tumbled out his lips, the words jumbled together and high pitched.
"You gonna cum, whore?" You asked, spitting out the term as if it was his name. He moaned, nodding.
"Please can I? Please Daddy? Wanna cum for you so you'll fuck me, please?"
You'd barely said yes before he buried his face into your thigh, hips stuttering and slowing. Cum slowly seeped through the fabric of his boxers, and suddenly he was thankful you'd waited until he was home to ruin him.
"Good job handsome," you said, leaving down and placing a surprisingly soft kiss on his forehead. "You get your reward now."
He was practically buzzing already.
#male reader#dom male reader#top male reader#x reader#billy hargove smut#billy hargrove x reader#billy hargrove x male reader#kinktober 2023#stranger things x male reader
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So I have an idea for a dp x dc fic and I'm going to throw it here since i need to get it out of my head and i'm not sure i'll ever actually write it (and as always if anyone finds my rambles interesting any/all of it us up for grabs to run with):
Elle ends up crashing into the DC universe while exploring, but despite all the dimension/multivariate nonsense that always goes down (or maybe because of it) she can't actually get back, and the levels of ectoplasm are a lot lower than most dimensions which weakens her quite a bit.
There's enough for her to survive, and use her powers a little bit, but using them too much makes her get really weak/maybe even causes serious harm depending on how much she uses.
She finds this out when she tries to open a portal home and both fails to open the portal & passes out as a result of trying. Cut to Elle waking up in Cadmus and realizing "ah, fucked up unethical science, I am familiar with this fuckery" and escapes.
In the process of escaping she comes across Kon, who isn't "finished" yet. He's alive and aged up to a teenager, but isn't quite done with his programming/whatever (this idea came to me based entirely off what I've gleaned through fandom so I don't know the canon of Kon's whole time with Cadmus). Elle immediately realizes "Oh clone baby, that's not good" and breaks him out and takes him with her.
Kon in this doesn't know he's a clone of Superman, he doesn't know a lot of things considering how early into the clone info-dumling process he was in when Elle broke him out. He barely knows language and how to read. What he does know for sure though is that Cadmus is Bad and Getting the Fuck Out is Good so he's down to go with Elle
Queue them becoming friends and being on the run together, learning about this world/dimension together and coming to see each other as family. Eventually they end up in Gotham because it's one of the places that naturally has a higher ectopalsm level and because if you're in the right area no one cares if you have no legal ID (in some circles it's a plus).
Kon gets a lot of odd jobs before eventually ending up working at a strip club or burlesque bar or something (my idea is that it's years after escaping so he's in his early 20s at this point and not just a fresh baby clone anymore and he gets into it because he likes it and it's good money) while Elle uses her ghostly knowledge/what powers she can to work as like a psychic or something like that.
Meanwhile Justice League (with alive again Superman) have found out about the escaped Superman clone and, along with Cadmus, are desperately trying to track him down. The info they have is a bit murky, so they think it's actually *two* clones, one that had Martian dnd also thrown in to the mix based off a short clip they managed to find of Elle phasing through walls.
My idea is that it'd all finally come to a head when Constantine pulls Tim (and maybe also Damian) in on a JL Dark case that involves the Lazerus Pit and for reasons ends up having to hire Elle to help. I'm thinking it's a thing that Elle is a pretty respected name in certain magic circles due to her expert knowledge on the Infinite Realms, though she refuses to work for most people who seek her out - even though the money would be good - because usually it's only evil assholes that want to hire her.
She makes a deal with Jon to help (in exchange for something that would let her get a message to Danny letting him know what happened or something like that) and Kon joins in because there's no way he's trusting a dude Elle calls the "drunk soul slut" with his baby sister unattended, he doesn't *care* if she could handle herself it's not happening.
Anyway, Tim/Kon (and maybe some Damian/Elle) shenanigans during a Lazerus Pit/demon hunting road trip where eventually everyone figures out who Kon & Elle are, Elle manages to get a stable portal setup so she can go home and come back whenever she wants (Kon getting adopted by Danny? Kon getting adopted by Danny) and Kon joining Young Justice and having a good relationship with Clark (who had a lot more time to deal with things before meeting Kon and learned about him as a person before learning he was Clark's clone).
Anyway there would be a scene at the end where Kon would be in his superhero suit for the first time and just:
Clark: Did you choose a hero name yet?
Kon: Yeah, I figured I'd go with Supernova.
Clark, feeling touched: Yeah? Any particular reason?
Kon: It's cool, it has 'Super' in the name, and really it just seemed the easiest option, I'm used to responding to Nova, so *shrugs*
Clark: Yeah? Why's that? Nickname?
Kon: I guess kinda? It's my stage name at the strip club I work at
Clark: what
Tim, brain shut down by this revelation: ...do you do private shows?
Clark: w h a t
#dc x dp#dp x dc#danny phantom#danielle fenton#dani fenton#danielle phantom#dani phantom#connor kent#kon kent#kon el#kon el kent#tim drake#timkon#clark kent#john constantine#damian wayne#also love the idea of John begrudgingly agreeing to Elle doing a tarot card reading for him#and Elle making a big show out of it enough that Constantine is actually curious#Constantine: what do they say?#Elle - as dramatically as possible: they say you're a bitch#clone club shinanigans#clone club#i just think Kon would really enjoy pole dancing#and that between his super strength and TTK he'd be able to pull off some super insane tricks#(poor Tim would never recover lol)#also imagine Kon & Elle living in the same building as Jason
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Part three of my s4 art series
This time: Will having the audacity to come into the kitchen and accuse Hannibal of doing things he actually did while he's innocently trying to cook dinner, Will rescues a dog, a museum trip (with consequences), Will killing someone who recognized them at the museum after the guy confronted him a couple days later, Hannibal lovingly washing the blood out of his hair<3, and Jack getting to their house in Cuba a little too late. At least Hannibal left him a letter.
(I hope you like this I've been working on it for months)
#my art#will graham#hannibal lecter#jack crawford#hannigram#murder husbands#fanart#nbc hannibal#worlds most fucked up road trip
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hiiia I was wanted ur Ranking on enha on level of unprovoked horniness and whose most likely to act on their horniness idk why I thought of this but- yeah! (also how r u)
I’m super!! Thanks for asking! I hope you are doing well– that everything is flowing smoothly for you and that you’re enjoying your week so far.
I also hope you enjoy my ramblings. It's hard to decide who I think is the most likely to act up unprovoked but here we gooooo…..
Jake: The man is a Scorpio (so am I– we’re passionate lovers, I don’t make the rules, okay?!). He will get turned on by the simplest things either because he loves the person doing the action or the action a person is doing is a trigger for his arousal. You take such good care of him and everything in the little world the two of you have created. You’re washing the dishes and he’s just watching you, your hands are covered in suds as you take great care to make sure that each item is absolutely spotless. Harmless domestic chore, right? Jake is bricked up just thinking about how diligent you are even when it comes to sex. His cock needs that kind of attention. NOW. Before you know it, you’re being railed on the kitchen floor.
Heeseung: I think he’ll try to hold back a little. But if you notice he’s horny and play into it– You’re gonna get it. You lick your finger to turn the page of a book. It’s a habit you’ve never really even thought about until he noticed it. Why is that so hot? The way you swipe your index finger down your slightly extended tongue just makes his cock twitch. He moves closer to you on the couch. Out of the corner of your eyes, you see that mischievous grin he does when he’s being a shameless flirt. But he doesn’t say a word. It’s when you see his mouth twitch as you lick your finger– that’s your revelation. So you have to tease him, right?! Sucking on your finger as you pretend to continue reading. You let out a soft moan and BAM he’s launched your book across the room. Lips on lips. Eager and messy. It’s like he’s trying to eat your face, as he desperately humps your thigh.
Sunghoon: You’re arguing with him about something totally stupid. But he’s already stopped trying to be sincerely logical to win the debate. He just wants to frustrate you a little bit more so he can fuck you. The thing is you’re never big mad at him. Just annoyed with him. He doesn’t ever want to really hurt your feelings or make you truly upset. BUT the sex hits differently when you can’t stand him for a little bit and then you two “make up.” He closes the gap between you as you’re still yapping away. He touches your face and kisses you to shut you up. He picks you up and puts your back against the wall. Between kisses, he’s telling you that you’re 100% right and he’s never thought about it that way.
Jay: He loves your big brain. He’s trying to work out a situation in his head and he’s running into a wall. You offer assistance. So he runs through the scenarios and you immediately rattle off practical suggestions, with pros and cons. Listening to your thoughtful considerations makes his heart flutter and that makes him want to show you his appreciation for you– with his cock. Once the problem is solved, he pulls you into his arms and kisses you. He thanks you for being so helpful, showering you with compliments and praise as he slowly peels off your clothes.
Jungwon: When you’re a little mean to him– in a playful way. On a road trip with Wonie. You made him pullover so you could run through a field of wildflowers. He finds it so cute. He wants to take pictures. But you refuse by running off when he points his phone at you. He’s chasing you through the field. When he tackles you, you surprisingly gain the upperhand. You take off running back to the car and lock him out. Once you’ve gotten him to aegyo his way into convincing you to let him in, he unleashes on you– in the best way. Car slightly rocking. Windows fogging. At least you’re in the middle of nowhere when he makes you howl.
Sunoo: I put him last because despite being a sassy cutie, I think he would get a little shy to act on his unprovoked horniness unless you’re alone together and you really push him into it. He’s trying to figure out what he wants to wear for date night. You’re helping him pick out dress shirts. Your hands graze his neck, you run a hand over his chest, trying to smooth out a wrinkle. All of your tiny, harmless touches are making him a little antsy. He is trying to focus on getting ready because he knows you’ll be late if he doesn’t make up his mind soon. But you notice his slight erection in his dress pants as he assesses himself in the mirror one last time. You don’t say anything about it as announces that he’s ready. When you bend over to strap on your heels, and he takes in the full picture of how hot you look, the internal struggle is real as his erection grows. He offers to help by sitting you on the edge of bed and kneeling at your feet. You lift your legs and put them over his shoulders. Instinctively, he’s kissing your leg… Guess you’ll have to be late for dinner tonight.
…I forgot why I’m here….
#jungwon#kpop smut#enhypen#enhypen smut#kpop imagines#sunghoon#enha#kim sunoo smut#kim sunoo#sunoo#yang jungwon#enhypen jungwon#heeseung smut#heeseung x reader#lee heeseung#heeseung#jay smut#jake smut#jake sim#sim jaeyun#jay x reader#park jay smut#jongseong#park jeongseong#park sunghoon#sunghoon smut#enhypen sunghoon#sunghoon enhypen#jay enhypen#enhypen heeseung
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Short imagine + Headcanons for Schlatt :)
☆ Schlatt X Reader
☆ Headcanons
☆ Fluff/suggestive
☆ If you are going to request: please check at the pinned post if requests are open,otherwise I will delete your requests which I have already been doing
☆ Creds to @cafekitsune for dividers :)
Masterlist | Pinned post
☆ Schlatt is going to announce your relationship by posting a photo of you two cuddling (you cuddling him because he doesn’t want to seam “weak”) and saying something like “I’ve bagged a woman”
☆ Schlatt is honestly so sweet off camera,the different personas really making a switch. Like if you came onto his stream he would make constant jokes about you but if he’s not streaming let’s be honest,he cuddling up to your chest.
“Ignore that it was a moment of weakness chat.” He’d say if you came into stream
☆ “Guys I hate Valentine’s Day it’s all bullshit-“ Buys you roses,chocolate and a small necklace for you
☆ If you ever joined one of his streams and got hate in dms,twitter etc he would definitely post something on twitter like ; “I love my girl and if you don’t fuck off,fucking idiots hating on someone you don’t know,get a life.”
☆ “Schlatt come to bed it’s late” You know what he would do? Mock the shit out of you before coming to bed to cuddle with his little girl ; “Awh does baby want some hugs?” || “Awh can you not sleep without me?”
☆ Honestly I feel like he wouldn’t actually go too far with his jokes, he knows the limits and boundaries of what he can say/joke about and wouldn’t cross them to save himself.
☆ Honestly a sweetheart but tell him that and he’s immediately a tough guy ;
*You and schlatt laying in bed together with schlatt on your chest*
“You’re such a pretty boy.”
“Don’t push it.”
☆ And adding to that,he secretly loves every nickname you have for him because he knows that it’s special to him and you don’t share that nickname with anyone else.
☆ The dominant one in the relationship,massively,not just in bed but all around the house he’s a very masculine presence. Need help with something? He’s on it immediately. Need help getting off?he’s going down.
☆ Will constantly let you have your way with his hair,though he would sit there and complain in actuality he has all the time in the world for you and so if you want to fiddle with his hair,put it in small pony tails etc. go ahead.
☆ If you needed it he would definitely help you with more feminine typical things such as hair,makeup and nails. (Disclaimer: I’m not saying these are feminine things I’m just saying it’s feminine typical!)
☆ If you are on your period he’s immediately by your side. “What do you want? Chocolate,hot water bottle?” || “I heard that *insert thing* helps”.
☆ He’s not letting anyone talk to you the way he talks to you,at all. If someone calls you a nickname he uses he’s making his presence known in the most intimidating way. Jealousy.
☆ He has the best music taste,long road trip? Turn that shit up !! Definitely the type of person to listen to any genre of music,as long as he likes the tune,he doesn’t care.
☆ Would help you with stream/youtube set ups. Would buy you lights/leds/cute little toys he’s found etc. Just to add a bit of himself to your set up.
“Babe I got you some more Leds for your room!”
“Awh you didn’t have to,thank you.”
☆ Would definitely brag about you to his friends. Ted has heard every single positive description of you along with multiple pictures of you whilst he brags about how pretty you are.
☆ Would absolutely spoil you. You know when you mentioned 3 months ago that you wanted a new pair of converse in that new colour you saw? They’re now at your door
“Jay you have to stop buying me things!”
“You’re my girlfriend,I’ll do whatever I want.”
☆ Would definitely call it weakness whenever he showed affection on stream. He would joke about it enough on stream but the moment he’s off camera he’s showering you with affection and praise.
“Chat you didn’t see that,that was weakness.”
☆ “Schlatt + His girlfriend,cute moments!” They come up more regularly on your YouTube feed than Schlatt himself.
☆ He isn’t a huge fan of PDA but he will wrap a light hand around your waist,kiss your forehead etc. he wouldn’t do any big gestures in public.
#spotify#smut#song#romance#cute#fluff#schlatt x reader#schlatt#jschlatt smut#jschlatt x reader#jschlatt
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When William says, "You'll have my credit card to purchase whatever you want while I fuck you," you don't know where to begin. Is he doing this because of the tense conversation you had earlier today, or is this just a fantasy of his? Your moan echoes as he presses his tip against your cunt. As you stare at your screen, you're taken aback by everything. He encourages you to "Come on, baby." He slowly drags himself into you, his hips eventually hitting your lower back when he gives you all of him. You feel your body tremble in pleasure as he takes his time to move in and out of you. His pace quickens as he pushes deeper into you, and you let out a loud moan. You find yourself completely and utterly lost in the moment. "Good girl," he says. "What do you want next, huh? A purse? Shoes?" "I… I don't know," you admit. "What you need is to be spoiled," he says sternly. We all know Willy loves exploring his fantasies with the inexperienced reader. #SlutsforPresidentNylander
Ah, at last, I've managed to get to this! 🤍 My apologies for the delay 🙏🏼
But let's pause for a moment and relish in the thought of William's desire to spoil his girl endlessly! 😏🥹
This chapter ended up being merged with [Cock-ring] [Bikini] and [Reversed Cowgirl] - And as always, I hope you enjoy it 🙏🏼
Warnings; 18+ smut (as always); public fingering (in dressing room), oral sex (f receiving), penetrative sex (p in v), cum inside, sex toy (cock ring), more penetrative sex (p in v), more cum inside; you know the drill 😂
「Inexperienced!reader x Willy」
"du är min vacka prinsessa" = You are my beautiful princess
"Och du är min underbara prins..." = And you are my handsome prince
Word count; 6K
・✶ ｡ﾟ
All good boys go to heaven - But bad boys bring heaven to you pt XIV I William Nylander 🖋️⚡️💦
No one discussed what went down last night. It had been one of the most disappointing, frustrating, and painful games in a while, as the Leafs had had the upper hand, leading 3-0 in the second period. However, things then took a turn for the worse, and the match against the Hurricanes ended 4-4 in regular time, with no goals in overtime, and after five saves, Guentzel managed to score the winning goal during the shootout.
Everyone on the team was devastated. Although they knew they had fought hard, they were all disappointed in themselves for letting go of the lead, resulting in a loss. And you knew there was no way to console your boyfriend, William Nylander. He had definitely given his all, but in the end, it didn't make much of a difference.
You could sense that he was trying to stay positive and keep his frustrations in check during the post-game interview, but not even all the cheerful green colours in the spirit of St. Patrick’s Day could bring much joy to the situation. Even when you got back home, William remained quiet. Although he usually had a knack for not letting things get to him for too long, that night, he just wanted silence.
But he knew you were there for him, no matter what, and that meant the world to you. So, as you settled into bed, you gently cuddled, watching a few Instagram reels together as you ran your fingers through his hair, knowing it helped calm and soothe him.
And as you slowly drifted off to sleep, he wrapped a strong arm around you and quietly whispered 'thank you for being with me' in your ear.
It was a tender moment, slowly giving way to a new day where William returned to his usual self and the loss was behind them. For now, he just needed to focus on the upcoming road trip.
And Sunday turned out to be nothing short of exciting. With green decorations adorning the city, everyone nursing hangovers from the St. Patrick's Day celebrations, you and William enjoyed your morning coffees, planning out your day together.
"So, where do you want to go?" William asked with a gentle smile as you both sat at the dining table.
"Well, I thought you'd be in charge today, considering you're the one known as 'Styles'," you chuckled lightly, referring to the nickname his teammates had given him for his keen fashion sense.
"Are you sure you want to give me that kind of power?" He grinned confidently, and you couldn't help but let out a laugh.
Pretending to consider his question for a moment, you flashed him a sweet smile. “Actually, this might just be the one thing I do trust you completely on.”
And you didn't regret it. William loved shopping, and taking you along was something he truly enjoyed, as he relished the opportunity to spoil you rotten. Whenever you browsed through clothing, shoes, or accessories, he just wanted to buy them all for you.
Not that you were in need of his financial support or anything like that. He understood that perfectly well. But he simply wanted to lavish you with gifts. In his eyes, you deserved the world, and he cherished the chance to share his hard-earned money with someone who made him happy.
Of course, you weren't with William for his money. That would be a dreadful thing to suggest. However, whenever he treated you, whether it was to a meal or a shopping spree, you naturally appreciated his generosity. Anything else would be ungrateful.
Still, you made it clear that you didn't always want him to pay the bill. You wanted to maintain your independence and feel like the strong, self-sufficient woman you were, having worked hard for your own money.
But then William just chuckled, pulled you close, and planted a kiss on your forehead. “I know you're a strong and independent woman with your own money, älskling, but you're still my princess, and if I want to spend my money on you, you can't do anything about it.”
And that pretty much settled the matter.
What did stir up some other emotions within you, though, was when you were strolling around in one of the stores and some of the sales ladies were more than willing to help the two of you out. Well, at least when they saw William, giving him their undivided attention.
Their interest in him was glaringly obvious, and you had to maintain your composure to avoid reacting too hastily or strongly. You wanted to appear like the cool and confident girlfriend that you were, knowing that William was yours and they could droll over him all they wanted because he was with you.
But as always, William saw right through you. And he couldn't help but grin.
"What?" You almost snorted.
"Oh, nothing, baby," William chuckled as he approached you in the middle of the upscale boutique. "You just don’t need to be so jealous."
"I'm not," you tried to assert confidently, but it was futile.
"Yes, you are, and I love it, älskling," William spoke gently, leaning in a little closer to you and placing a kiss on your forehead.
And of course, he was right, so you simply let out a humph and turned back to your browsing.
William had already taken you to all his favourite shops in the city, and as you felt your shopping trip slowly winding down, you decided to seek out the last thing you felt you needed: a bikini. Sure, summer was still a few months away, but as the girlfriends and wives of the team had a tendency to treat themselves, including you, to the occasional spa day, you felt that a new bikini was in order.
And naturally, you couldn't try it on without your boyfriend giving his opinion. He insisted on you modelling every piece of clothing so he could make a proper decision. Yet you knew it was just an excuse for William to join you in the dressing room.
"Mmm," he simply nodded as he sat on the stool inside the changing cabin, a smile spreading across his lips as his eyes hungrily admired you.
“Mmm?” You questioned with a raised eyebrow, catching his gaze in the mirror. “Is that all you’ve got to say?”
“There’s not much more to say, baby,” your boyfriend chuckled lightly, slowly rising from his seat as he moved closer to you, coming to stand behind you, leaning into whisper in your ear, his voice tinged with desire. “We both know you look fucking hot, and I'm having a hard time not just taking you right here, right now.”
The air felt heavy in the confined space of the dressing room, William's body gently pressing against yours as he let his hand explore your skin, tracing down past your belly button to the hem of the bikini bottoms.
“Willy… we can't do this in here…” you whispered, fully aware of his intentions and the presence of the sales staff just on the other side of the door. “There are people right outside…” your voice carried a hint of panic, though you were already feeling incredibly aroused by his light touches.
“Hasn’t stopped us before…” he murmured into the curve of your neck, planting a tender kiss just behind your ear.
And you couldn’t help but release a breath as he continued to pepper your neck with feather-light kisses, his fingers slowly slipping beneath the fabric.
You struggled to keep yourself composed as your body instinctively surrendered to him. Your palms sought the support of the mirror in front of you as you gently tilted your head to the side, offering him more access and closing your eyes.
“You’re just so fucking hot…” he hummed against your skin, steadying himself with his other hand against the mirror.
William's touch felt nothing short of magical. And as his skilled fingers found your sensitive spot, you couldn't help but gasp, doing your best to stifle a moan.
You could almost sense the hint of a smirk on his face as he gently teased your clit, circling it with care, making you concentrate on your breath.
"Does that feel good, baby?" he playfully asked, receiving a subtle nod from you.
Of course, it felt good. And he was well aware of it.
William observed you in the mirror as his fingers danced over your sensitive skin, tracing them lightly along your folds, eliciting soft moans from you. Despite feeling himself getting harder in his trousers, he paid it no mind. All he wanted was to bring you pleasure.
"Mmm..." you softly hummed as he intensified his touch slightly. Your legs were gradually growing weak as your body yearned to surrender completely, yet you remained composed. Simply allowing the mirror to support you as your mind drifted into a blissful haze. It was slow and sensual, yet undeniably pleasurable.
"Shit, baby," William exhaled as he watched your reaction to his touch, seeing your eyes narrow and your lips part. And when he felt the wetness between your legs, he couldn't resist and slid two fingers inside you.
You let out a gasp as you felt him fill you up, biting your lip to stifle any sounds, but you couldn't help it. Your breaths became deeper and heavier as William began to move his fingers, stimulating your walls with each motion.
"Willy..." you moaned, your fingers pressing against the mirror as you felt a familiar wave of pleasure building up.
"Yes, baby…," he murmured huskily in your ear. "Don’t hold back... you’re mine, and I want them to know it."
His words, coupled with his skilled fingers pumping inside you, sent your mind into overdrive, and soon you felt yourself nearing climax. William was intimately familiar with your body, knowing exactly how to push your buttons.
So, there you both stood in the dressing room, William pressing his body against yours as he expertly pleasured you, your hands gripping the mirror for support as your moans grew louder, he propelled you into ecstasy.
"Shit..." you cried out, and with just a few more thrusts of his fingers, you allowed yourself to lean your head back against his shoulder, surrendering to the pleasure as you reached your peak all over his fingers.
It was incredibly intense. Never had you imagined that a man could bring you to orgasm with just his fingers. Then again, in the past 8 months with William, you'd experienced at least 20 times more orgasms than in all the years with your ex-boyfriend.
And as William withdrew his fingers slowly, you gradually descended from your high, opening your eyes in the mirror to see William's smug expression. "Damn you, William Nylander," you sighed, still amazed at how he always managed to leave you in such a state.
"Oh, you love it, älskling," he chuckled, planting another kiss on the side of your head. "And I absolutely love it when you get jealous."
Giving him a small smile, you let out a laugh, shaking your head before turning to face him and starting to remove the bikini. "Well, I suppose we'll have to buy this bikini now..." you pointed out the damp patch on the bottoms, prompting him to join in your laughter.
"Yeah, I guess we do."
And as you exited the dressing room, you couldn't help but notice a few stares, while making your way to the register. With William sporting a noticeable bulge in his trousers, you leaned in close and spoke seductively, well aware of the curious glances from the sales assistants.
"Sorry I didn't get to take care of you too," you smirked up at him, gently pressing against his throbbing member. But William just returned your smirk.
"Don't worry, baby, we both know I'll get my revenge later," he raised an eyebrow, and you felt a pulsating sensation between your thighs as he made the final purchase.
Shopping with William always brought heartfelt laughter, making it simply delightful. And as you returned home, you couldn't help but admire all the items he'd generously gifted you.
"You know," you began as you sorted through the clothes from today's haul, "you could have let me pay for some of it."
Casually snacking in the kitchen, William turned to you with a puzzled expression. "And why's that?"
You looked at him with a thoughtful smile. "Because sometimes I just like to pay for myself as well..."
"But why? I can easily cover it for you," he replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Well, yes, but that's not the point... Willy, you already pay for this apartment, and whenever we go out for dinner or if you fly me out for an away game..." you tried to explain.
You knew it might sound odd. Most people would probably enjoy not having to pay for anything and letting someone else handle it. But a part of you felt a sense of pride when you treated yourself to something with money you'd worked hard for.
"So what?" William shrugged, his smile fading and his expression turning more serious. "Y/n, why can't you just enjoy the fact that I like taking care of you? I have more money than I need for myself, and with you, I finally have someone else to spend it on... It's my money, and I get to decide how to spend it!" His voice rose almost to a shout, indicating this wasn't a topic to argue about.
A moment of silence hung in the air as you processed his words. It wasn't just about buying things because he could. It held deeper meaning for him; gifting you everything you desired was his way of expressing love.
So, with a soft sigh, you approached him slowly, wrapping your arms around him and offering a gentle smile. "You're right... I'm sorry. I've just... I've been so proud of being independent, of doing well on my own, that it's hard for me to let go. I know I should be grateful for all you do for me... I just don't like feeling too reliant on you. Willy, I love you so much, but after what happened with Liam... how lost I felt when we broke up... I just don't want to feel that way again."
William allowed a moment for your words to sink in. Though he found your stance somewhat unreasonable, and he believed you should embrace his desire to take care of you both, he respected your perspective.
His hands settled on your waist as he pondered for a moment before speaking again. "You know... it's cute that you're saying that... but the thing is, it'll never be like with you and Liam, because that would mean we would break up, and... I kinda don't want that to happen."
You couldn't help but smile. Despite his boyish charm and occasional difficulty in expressing his thoughts and emotions verbally, you could tell he meant every word.
"I don't want that to happen either, Willy," you gazed up at him, then planted a quick kiss on his lips. "And I promise, I'll try to be better at just... enjoying the fact that you're treating me like this – I guess I've just never been a princess before."
William let out a heartfelt chuckle, knowing he'd been calling you his princess quite often lately. "What can I say... du är min vacka prinsessa," he said sweetly, leaning down to let his forehead touch yours.
You took a deep breath, cherishing the tender moment, before mustering the courage to say some words you'd been practicing. "Och du är min underbara prins..."
William pulled back slightly, his eyes widening as a smile spread across his lips. "What did you just say?" he chuckled lightly.
"Impressed?" you smirked sweetly. "Just something Amanda has been teaching me..."
"Really? What else has she been teaching you?"
Once again, you paused to gather your thoughts. Speaking Swedish to William was a something you hadn’t done before, as you felt a bit insecure about it. However, his response encouraged you to continue. Keeping your gaze fixed on him, you pressed your lips together.
"Jag älskar dig, hjärtat," you said softly, the words flowing from your heart, and William felt the sincerity behind them. Amidst discussions about pregnancy and starting a family in the future, your attempt to learn his family's language stirred something in him.
"How are you so fucking incredible?" he exclaimed.
And with that, William drew closer, bridging the gap between you as he gently held your face and pulled you into a deep, passionate kiss.
It wasn't messy, but it was filled with longing. He then swiftly lifted you in his arms and carried you to the bedroom, where he could finally satisfy the desires, he had had earlier.
For the next 40 minutes, William showed you the depth of his love. Taking his time, he pleasured you as if he had been starved for days. Sucking and licking to stimulate your core, tasting every drop of your essence, he brought you to two orgasms.
Your fingers gripped the sheets beneath you as he devoted himself entirely to you. And what followed next was pure lovemaking. Although you both enjoyed exploring your boundaries and pushing each other's limits, there was something special about good old-fashioned missionary. Especially when all you wanted was to express your deep love for each other.
It wasn’t intense climaxes either of you reached, but it was heartfelt and passionate. As if you both were able to share your deepest thoughts and desire, creating a bond of endorphins between you.
**
It was just one of those laid-back days where you both unwound and enjoyed each other’s company. After a long day of exploring the bustling city, followed by a gentle session of lovemaking, the two of you curled up together for a nap on the sofa.
William's body was always the perfect pillow to cuddle against, his natural warmth comforting your soul as you drifted into a peaceful sleep.
However, after the nap, you found yourself needing a bit of space. While William was a fantastic cuddler, it could sometimes get a bit too warm. So, as William played some PlayStation hockey with a couple of his teammates, you lounged on your stomach with your laptop, scrolling through various websites.
Lately, you'd been considering purchasing some specific items but had been hesitating due to their high prices. And maybe they were a tad overpriced.
"Just go for it already," you suddenly heard William's voice, interrupting your concentration. Clearly, he wasn't addressing his teammates.
"What?" you asked, turning your head to him, though his focus remained on the TV screen.
"Just buy it! You've been staring at the same thing for like an hour, babe," William chuckled.
And with a sigh, you turned back to your screen. "Ugh, I know. I really want it... but these Valentino heels are just... a bit beyond my budget," you confessed. "And they're no longer in production, so their prices just keep going up..."
Your eyes were practically glued to the beige pair of heels as you envisioned them adorning your feet. So absorbed were you in your contemplation that you didn't even notice William pausing his game until he hovered over you, his arms and knees on either side as his face came close to yours.
"Hmm, they do look amazing," he remarked, his blue eyes focused on the photo. Then, gently, he reached for the mousepad, silently adding the item to the cart and proceeding to the payment page. Without a word, he entered his card details and made the purchase. "There you go. Now they're yours."
You couldn't believe it. Firstly, how he could remember his card number, and secondly, that he'd just spent more money on you.
"Willy, you didn't just..."
But William simply chuckled, still hovering over you as he planted a kiss on your temple. "Of course, I did, babe... and now, you'll have my credit card to purchase whatever you want while I fuck you."
His words took you aback. If you weren't already slightly stunned by his actions, you certainly were now. Although you were wearing rather short shorts while lying on your stomach, perhaps with your backside slightly raised, you hadn't expected William to be up for another round so soon.
But you were so wrong. Slowly, he began to peel your shorts down your legs, effortlessly removing your pants in one smooth motion, all the while planting kisses on the nape of your neck. You weren't sure what to make of it. Was he doing this because of the tense conversation you had earlier, or was it just a fantasy of his? Maybe this spoiling thing went beyond a love language, and it was actually a kink of his.
Nevertheless, you couldn't resist surrendering to his touch once again. And as his fingers found their way between your cheeks, gently massaging your core, you couldn't help but let out soft moans of pleasure.
"Willy..." you breathed out as you felt his thick fingers teasing your entrance, easing in to stretch you before withdrawing. William knew he was skilled with his fingers, as he had proven just a few hours earlier. However, in this moment, he desired something else.
Standing from his seat, he removed his bottoms before returning to kneel on the sofa, positioning himself on either side of your legs. Wetting his fingers with his tongue to taste you, he then ran them over your folds before positioning himself. With the laptop screen still in front of you, displaying more desired items, you moaned again as you felt William's tip pressing against your entrance.
"Come on, baby," he spoke huskily, his breath tickling your ear and sending shivers down your spine. His words alone had your mind reeling, and as he slowly penetrated you, stretching your muscles with each inch, you felt a deeper sense of pleasure. "Good girl."
You couldn't hold back your moans as your boyfriend slowly filled you, their volume increasing as he reached your deepest point, gradually pulling back before thrusting in again, harder this time. And then he repeated the motion, establishing a slow and steady rhythm, stimulating your walls with his firm member.
"Mmm, yes, Willy," you moaned louder, feeling his pace quicken, his hips slamming against you faster and harder, penetrating you deeper with each thrust. The lovemaking from earlier had transformed into something more intense and forceful, but you welcomed it eagerly. William's cock felt incredible inside you, and you surrendered completely to the sensations, lost in the moment as pleasure built within you.
Meanwhile, William's moans echoed yours, his breath heavy as he pounded into you. "What do you want next, huh? A purse? Shoes?" His words came out between breaths, but it was difficult to focus when he was pleasuring you so intensely.
"I... I don't know," you admitted, your mind clouded with bliss, your body tingling with the approach of orgasm as William's perfectly curved shaft repeatedly hit your sensitive spot.
"What you need is to be spoiled," William moaned, increasing his thrusts as he felt climax approaching.
You realised this was definitely a kink for him. And as he drove you higher with each thrust, you gripped the sofa cushions tightly. "Mmm... Willy," you cried out. "I'm... close..."
Your words spurred him on, his pace becoming faster and more intense. "Fuck... baby, me too... come with me," he managed to say in a husky tone as he continued to pound against your buttocks, leaving a rosy hue on your skin.
It was all quite overwhelming, but as always, it was nothing short of incredible. Your body belonged to William, and he knew exactly how to please you. Whether it was his fingers, his mouth, or his delightful cock, everything he did felt amazing.
And as he kept on thrusting into your sweet warmth, he pushed both of you over the edge, your moans blending in a beautiful harmony throughout the living room. Waves of pleasure washed over your bodies as you both reached climax, your minds lost in ecstasy while William released his seed into you.
Returning to reality, you chuckled softly, surprised by the new sides to William's desires you continued to discover. And turning to look back at him as he sat on the sofa, you couldn't help but smile.
"Twice in one day, huh? I guess I really am being spoiled."
It was the perfect end to a perfect day. And these memories would be the perfect reference when you found yourself fantasising about William during his five days on the road.
**
The road trip flew by faster than expected, but that was a good thing, especially since you had a little purchase you were thrilled to share with your boyfriend.
William was always generous when it came to buying things for you, no matter what it was. He even replaced your laptop after breaking it back in Sweden. He'd buy you anything, especially his favourite: sex toys.
He'd gifted you a few items to explore with, and you hadn't complained. However, this time, you wanted to be the one making the purchase.
And after your shopping spree and discussion about money, you felt it was time to reciprocate. So, on Friday, when William was back in Toronto, you cheekily handed him the small box containing your purchase.
Lounging on the sofa, William chuckled lightly as he took the box. "What's this?" he asked, pausing the movie which was about to start.
"Just open it," you smiled, sitting beside him, your eyes fixed on him as he revealed the cock ring you'd bought.
"Oh, thanks, but babe?" William chuckled again. "Don't you think I last long enough already?"
You couldn't help but smile, having expected this reaction from him. "It's not just about that, Willy... look! It vibrates too."
William spent a few more minutes examining the item, and as he realised its potential, he became more intrigued about trying it out.
"Oh... well, we better put this to the test then," he smirked, leaning in to kiss your lips.
But you stopped him. "I thought you were too tired after the road trip and today's practice," you said softly, echoing his words from when he had first arrived home. "And your feet hurt..."
"Hmm..." William grumbled, his eyes still fixed on yours. "That's maybe a little true..."
"It's okay, baby. We can use it another time. I just really wanted to give it to you," you flashed him a sweet smile. "Besides, you can't always get hard when you're this exhausted," you pointed out, and eventually, William had to concede to your logic. Although he yearned for your touch, his body truly felt weary.
"Do you still want to give me a foot massage though?" William asked in his overly sweet tone, the one he used when he wanted something from you. And you couldn't help but smile at his attempt to pull off a pleading puppy face.
"Hmm, alright, I suppose you deserve it - take off your sweats then, Mister."
Although the team had the best masseuses and physiotherapists on hand, William cherished nothing more than when you offered him a massage. Not that you were particularly skilled, but it meant he could admire the sight of you gliding your oily hands over his tired legs. And sometimes, it could even lead to a spontaneous round of sex.
But for now, you simply settled into position, straddling his legs with your back against him so you could still watch the movie. After oiling up your hands, you began massaging his large, weary feet, taking your time to ensure William felt relaxed and ready for tomorrow's match. And as the movie played on, you gradually worked your way up his legs, adjusting your position as you went to reach higher.
His muscular legs felt incredible under your palms. God, he was so sexy, and the sensation of touching him made your core throb with desire.
Meanwhile, William admired your body before him. Dressed in a sleek dress from your dinner outing, your curves and your pert derrière were a sight to behold. The way you took your time, ensuring every potential sore muscle received attention, made him feel nothing but amazing.
But it was when your hips pressed against his groin that he felt something else stir. Initially too tired for anything sexual, the touch of your hands and the pressure of your cunt against his clothed cock nestled in his boxers aroused him irresistibly.
"Mmm," you heard William moan behind you suddenly. You hadn't intentionally grinded your hips against him; it was just a reflex as your mind wandered, and you enjoyed touching him. But you had no doubt what those noises meant.
Turning your head to glance back at him, you raised a brow. "Oh really? Are you sure you can get hard?"
"Only one way to find out, right," William simply smirked, resting his arm behind his head.
And intrigued by the challenge, you slowly began to roll your hips, grinding your cores together. Both of you felt a thrill of satisfaction as your needy cunt grew wetter with each movement, and William felt his member slowly hardening, his boxers becoming tighter with each motion.
The movie was nothing but background noise at this point as you both became more and more turned on, your soft moans escaped your lips as you increased your motions, grinding harder and faster, feeling your clit being stimulated by your own movement.
Looking back at the man beneath you, you noticed how he kept his eyes half-closed and his lips parted to breathe deeply. "Does this help?" you whispered seductively, knowing William didn’t need to reply - his hard cock speaking louder than words.
Basking in the sight before him, William watched you through half-closed lids, his hands finding your thighs and unintentionally guiding your movements. "Yeah, just like that," he groaned softly, feeling the urgency to remove the fabric between you growing stronger by the moment. "Good girl."
Sensing that William was eager to continue, you paused your movements, sitting up straighter and pulling your dress up over your body, letting it fall to the floor.
His eyes followed your every move, especially as you then rose from your seat and slid down your knickers. And in response, William pulled down his boxers, freeing his hard member, and kicked them aside. "Pass me the cock ring," he commanded, and with a smirk, you happily complied.
William hadn't used cock rings much before, mainly because he'd never had any issues with lasting during sex, but this one seemed to offer a new experience. And as he slid it on, feeling the initial tightness before adjusting to the sensation, he then switched it on.
"Oh," he let out a small noise, feeling a new wave of pleasure course through his crotch.
"A good 'oh'?" you asked, hopeful that it wasn't uncomfortable for him.
"Definitely."
And soon, you were back in your previous position, at William's command, offering him the best view of your ass. It was a new position for you both to try, but what made it even more exciting was feeling the vibrations as you slowly let William's cock fill you up.
"Oh, fuck..." you moaned as he hit the end of your depth, your core pulsating against him.
"Please, baby... Move..."
And without hesitation, you began to rock your hips once more, allowing him to slide in and out of your throbbing cunt. However, supporting your hands on his legs as you moved, the massage oil made it a challenge to maintain your grip.
But William's firm grip on your hips helped stabilise you. And as you rode him in reserved cowgirl, both of you were surprised by just how good it felt. His shaft found your sensitive spot, much like in doggy style, while William's mind spun with pleasure as he felt your tight walls clenching around him, your ass bouncing right in front of him. Combined with the intense vibrations from the cock ring, you both felt an impending orgasm building.
"Shit... baby, it feels so good," William moaned softly, his eyes catching sight of your reflection in one of the decorative mirrors across the living room. Your face was breath taking as your parted lips gasped for air, your eyes struggling to stay open as you pleasured yourself on his cock. It was incredibly arousing, and his eyes were fixed on the sight as you slowly increased the pace.
"Willy..." you moaned, a mix of overstimulation and tiredness washing over you with every movement.
"Yes, baby... Mmm, I'm getting close..."
Not only had you managed to make William hard despite his fatigue, but your little gift and the new position had also brought him closer to climax sooner than expected. And you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride.
Usually, it'd be William taking charge, sending your mind reeling as he fucked you into oblivion. But tonight, things were different. William was the one struggling to hold back, his eagerness palpable as he tried to thrust into you.
Still, he tried to control himself, aiming for you both to climax together. Yet, it seemed as if the road trip had taken its toll on him. Without the chance to masturbate, he was more prone to reaching orgasm sooner than usual, and tonight seemed like one of those nights.
You felt your own climax slowly approaching, prompting you to push yourself to increase the pace, riding William with all your strength. Yet, it was overwhelming. Your legs ached, and the sensations of the vibrations sent your mind spinning, making it hard to keep a steady rhythm.
All you could think, was that you couldn't stop until William came to release, and thankfully, it didn't take much longer. With a few more minutes of fervent movements, William's chest rose and fell heavily, his deep breaths escaping him as he closed his eyes, letting out a deep grunt and released into you.
The living room felt oppressively warm, your bodies still connected as you both caught your breath. However, you knew you had to move, the sensations from the cock ring still coursing through you. And as you slowly disengaging from William, you couldn't help but smile at his satisfied yet slightly defeated expression.
Gently removing the toy from him, William looked at you with a tired but content expression. "Shit, that was hot..."
You returned his sly smirk, settling back onto the sofa, trying to avoid any of his release from staining the fabric. "It definitely was..."
"But I'm sorry you didn't get to come, baby," William said, sitting up to cup your face.
"It's alright, Willy," you chuckled softly. "I think I’m a few orgasms ahead of you... besides, this was pretty intense for me too, so it's okay."
William accepted your words, though he usually preferred it when you climaxed as well. But considering the spontaneity of tonight and your exhaustion, he let it slide.
"Well, thanks for the gift, baby. I hope it did something for you too," he said softly, a smirk dancing on his lips.
"Oh, it definitely did..."
You could almost still feel the lingering sensations from the vibrations in your cunt, and while you hadn't reached climax, you'd still experienced intense pleasure.
"I guess I don't mind you spending some money on me too then," William chuckled, pulling on his boxers before pulling you in for a cuddle.
"I guess you don’t."
It was another simple yet enjoyable evening, where you shared your deepest feelings, and the love between you was undeniable. Yet, there was one thing you wanted to discuss, something you'd been considering and were now ready to talk about.
"By the way, Willy, I've been thinking of giving up my studio completely..." you began, watching William's expression closely.
William couldn't help but smile. He knew this decision wasn't easy for you, but to him, it signified your trust and commitment to your relationship. It simply showed that you believed in him without reservation.
"Finally.”
#my asks#18+#Inexperienced!reader x Willy#william nylander imagine#nhl smut#wn88 imagine#william nylander smut#nhl hockey imagine#toronto maple leafs imagine#SlutsforPresidentNylander
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Ko-fi thank-you WIP excerpt behind the cut, as promised, friends; 7k of kidnapping your soulmate for fun and profit.
(and non-chrono link for anyone on the app.)
Tana Moon follows Leech over to the group, looking a little wary herself. Tim sizes her up in his peripheral vision, pretending not to notice her approach. He’s “just” found out who his soulmate is, so he can sell the illusion of only paying attention to Superboy right now. It’s not an unusual reaction.
It’s a pretty typical one, actually. The fact that Superboy decided to immediately show him off to everyone he knows is actually the less usual option, in fact. Not unheard of either, of course, but still. A lot of newly-discovered soulmates tend to just forget about the outside world for a few hours. Or days, even. A few missing person cases that Tim’s been involved in solving turned out to be cases of “I met my soulmate and we just eloped/ran away/went on a road trip/holed up in a hotel room without telling anyone”.
Tim had thought it was ridiculous at the time, if obviously preferable to ending up with either a dead body or a traumatized victim, but Tim is currently in the process of planning an ethically-necessary kidnapping less than twenty-four hours after first cracking into Superboy’s file, so he supposes soulmates just bring out most people’s less pragmatic sides.
Though he personally thinks carefully-planned ethical kidnappings are an improvement on spontaneous weekends in Vegas, pragmatically-speaking. But whatever.
“He showed you?” Tana Moon says, glancing Tim over suspiciously. Superboy’s face reddens this time and he tugs at the slash in his own suit.
“He, uh, saw mine first,” he says. “Kinda got into it with a dude downtown and Tim here was in the area, and like, he recognized it, obviously.”
“It’s fairly noticeable as a mark,” Tim supplies helpfully, figuring he should be being supportive of his soulmate here, and also be shutting Rex Leech up as efficiently as possible. “And Superboy came over to check on me after the fight, so it was hard to miss.”
“Sure it was,” Leech says, his face souring. “So then you won’t mind showin’ yours to–”
“Shut up, Dad!” Roxy hisses, kicking him viciously hard in the ankle. Leech yelps in pain. Roxy is immediately his favorite, Tim decides. By far Roxy is his favorite. The dog’s kind of cute and Dubbilex seems decent, but definitely Roxy is his favorite.
Her dad definitely fucking sucks, though.
And as for Tana Moon . . .
“You’re a tourist?” Tana says, just barely frowning down at Tim. She’s taller than him. She’s also taller than Superboy, because she’s a grown-ass woman and why, exactly, is a reporter even here right now? How is that necessary or reasonable?
. . . admittedly she’s also taller than Leech and he’s a middle-aged man, but that’s not the point here. If Tim has to “no comment” this situation and figure out how to get either his parents or Bruce to kill a story, he absolutely will. He isn’t even slightly gonna hesitate there. He is gonna the opposite of hesitate, in fact.
“Yes,” he lies, which might not endear him to Moon, given she’s a native, but is better than confessing to having premeditated designs on kidnapping a teen idol superhero. Especially to a reporter.
Even if it is legally salvage.
“I’m just in town for the day,” he continues. “I needed to get away for a little while, you know how it is.”
“Sure,” Moon says, narrowing her eyes at him. “Who doesn’t.”
“He’s from Gotham. And he helped the civilians get out of the area while I was fighting that guy downtown!” Superboy says eagerly, which is . . . odd, actually, and throws Tim off a bit. That seems like a weird thing for Superboy to be eager about, considering. Like . . . just very weird.
“Well, that’s a Gotham thing, probably,” Tim says, putting on a sheepish Civilian Smile (#7). “We’re used to rogue attacks with area of effect concerns involved, so we get pretty good at clearing a street.”
“You did awesome,” Superboy says, grinning excitedly at him. That is . . . still weird, yeah. Tim really doesn’t get it.
Well, maybe Superboy’s just relieved to have a soulmate who knows how to stay out of the line of fire and what to do in a crisis, given how often crisises probably come up in his life. That would make sense, considering.
“It was nothing, just a little light crowd control,” Tim tries, assuming that’s what a normal civilian would say. Probably, right? Almost definitely. “Nobody even needed any urgent medical attention. And you used your TTK really strategically and contained the guy too, that was much more impressive to pull off in a mess like that.”
Yeah, that was normal civilian talk, he thinks, pleased with himself for managing it.
Superboy turns pink, then grins again. Dubbilex . . . tilts his head.
Normal. Normal. Normal civilian. That’s what Tim is. A civilian! Who’s normal! Very, very normal!
Normal.
He smiles Normal Civilian Smile #4 and pats Krypto’s head again. Krypto makes an enthusiastic attempt at licking his fingers off.
Ew.
“‘Light crowd control’,” Moon echoes. That’s what Tim said, yeah, so he’s not sure why she’s repeating it. Well–reporter, again, so It’s probably a trap.
It’s almost definitely a trap, actually.
Really definitely it’s a trap.
“Sorry to just show up like this, hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he says to Roxy and Dubbilex with a smile, politely pretending not to be ignoring Moon. He is definitely ignoring Moon, though. Again: reporter. She may not be a Lois Lane or even a Vicki Vale, but he’s still not giving her any information he can avoid giving her. And he’ll just ignore Leech while he’s at it, too.
“I invited you, man!” Superboy says with a laugh, shaking his head. “We’re gonna hit the beach for a while, go hang out. Just swung by to grab Tim a swimsuit I can lend him.”
“You came to Hawaii to ‘get away’ and didn’t pack a swimsuit?” Moon says skeptically.
“Yup,” Tim replies with the most placidly innocent expression he’s ever worn in his life. Nothing. He is giving her nothing. Let all her reporter instincts strike against mirrored glass and high-security privacy windows and come to naught.
Moon stares at him in silence, clearly waiting for him to fill it. Tim doesn’t fall for the incredibly obvious bait and just keeps the placidly innocent expression on.
She frowns.
“C’mon, man,” Superboy says cheerfully, apparently–and fortunately–oblivious to their stand-off. He grabs Tim’s arm and drags him towards the front porch. Tim seriously doubts its structural stability, from the look of it, but tactile telekinesis is hard to argue with.
The steps manage not to collapse–possibly also because of tactile telekinesis, Tim can’t help suspecting–and Superboy pulls him straight into the house, which is . . . not particularly well taken care of, no surprise. The furniture looks like it all came from a thrift store, and not a nice thrift store.
Admittedly Tim’s upbringing might be showing here, but also the corners need swept and there’s random boxes of assorted Superboy merch everywhere, most of which looks like cheap junk, and a huge stack of mail and four empty pizza boxes on the coffee table and overflowing trash cans with random junk scattered around, and it’s just . . . it doesn’t look taken care of, no. Which is something Tim would expect from a teenager or two, and maybe Dubbilex doesn’t know how chore wheels work or whatever, but fucking Rex Leech should at least be capable of getting out the broom once a week.
Assuming there is one, anyway. Tim isn’t particularly optimistic on that one, honestly.
Superboy’s room is even messier than the living room, covered in dirty clothes and abandoned comics and crumpled-up papers, but Tim’s bedroom looks like a bomb went off in it so he’s not gonna judge. Anyway, that’s Superboy’s personal space, not a common area. He can keep it however he likes, Tim figures.
Somebody should really sweep that living room, though. And throw out those old pizza boxes, too.
Tim isn’t judging, just–well, no, he is very much judging, actually. Specifically what he’s judging is Rex Leech, noted asshole sleazeball manager with predatory business tactics.
Fuck that guy, seriously.
“You want trunks or a speedo?” Superboy asks as he lets go of his arm to fly over to the cluttered dresser. Tim turns seventeen different shades of red and nearly disassociates.
“Trunks,” he says quickly. “Please.”
“Gotcha, man,” Superboy says easily, and then all the dresser drawers yank out at once and dump out crumpled piles of . . . mostly swimsuits and super-suits, it looks like, yeah. Like, basically nothing else but swimsuits and super-suits and a couple of cheesy-looking Hawaiian shirts.
Well, that might be one lonely, lonely pair of cutoffs sticking out from underneath the swimsuits. But otherwise, that’s pretty much it, yeah.
Fuck, that’s depressing, Tim thinks.
Superboy comes back over with an armful of swimsuits, just about all of which have the S-shield either printed or stitched on them. Tim wonders why the guy even has this many swimsuits, especially considering he barely has any other clothes at all. At least not as far as he can see, anyway.
He also wonders if he’s gonna die if he wears Superboy’s clothes. Is that a thing that might happen? Because it really might happen, yeah.
Also wearing something with an S-shield on it feels like just a little too much to handle right now, so Tim’s hoping for a basic black option to be buried somewhere in that pile. Given Superboy’s apparent fashion sense, it seems unlikely, but hope springs eternal.
“Take a look, see what’s good,” Superboy says, dumping the entire armful of swimsuits on Tim. Tim’s just grateful he remembered to stick to just the trunks, at this point.
“So you spend a lot of time on the beach, huh?” he says wryly.
“C’mon, man, it’s Hawaii,” Superboy says with a sheepish grin. “And I mean, I look good in anything but wet leather is just not a comfortable fit, you know?”
“I guess it wouldn’t be, no,” Tim says, giving him Civilian Smile #4 again. Superboy’s ears redden a little again, and then he leans back and zips back across the room to shove all his drawers back shut. Tim lays out the pile of swimsuits on the bed, since it’s right there anyway, and then immediately feels embarrassed to be this close to Superboy’s bed. Which is stupid, even if they aren’t platonics. They’ve just met; it’s not like anything’s gonna happen.
. . . even if Superboy is a notorious flirt and totally shameless and–
Tim is just not gonna pursue that line of thought right now, he decides. Just for his own sanity and all.
He accidentally knocks some paper off the bed as he’s laying out the suits to get a look at them, and reflexively leans down to pick it up. The room’s a mess, yeah, but it’s Superboy’s mess. It’s still rude to just drop shit wherever.
The paper isn’t as crumpled as some of the others, and Tim sees a glimpse of color as he picks it up. His inner detective reflexively wonders what it is, and . . .
Tim uncrumples the paper a little, and blinks down at it in surprise. It’s a little kid’s drawing, it looks like. A sunny beach rendered in bright colored pencil and simple, awkward shapes all painstakingly but clumsily colored in and–
Superboy’s suddenly right back next to him snatching the paper from him and immediately hiding it behind his back, looking absolutely mortified. Tim’s confused, for a moment. What’s he embarrassed about? It’s obviously not anything he’d have drawn himself. It’s probably just something a fan or a neighbor’s kid gave him, or . . .
Tim pauses. Then he recontextualizes just how much of the crumpled-up paper is lying around Superboy’s room and wonders, very briefly, if a bunch of STEM majors with delusions of grandeur would’ve bothered programming their custom-designed “Superman” with anything resembling art skills.
So . . . maybe that is something Superboy drew himself. If Cadmus didn’t program him with the muscle memory or knowledge of how to draw . . . well, then he probably would draw like a little kid, wouldn’t he.
And given Superboy’s cocky, braggart personality and defensive ego and how all that paper is all crumpled up as if in frustration . . .
“Gift from a fan?” Tim “assumes” with Smiling Civilian Face #4, pretending to be oblivious.
“Uh–yeah!” Superboy blurts quickly as he jumps on the provided excuse, though he keeps the paper behind his back. “Yeah, just–you know, just some kid gave it to me at a signing, whatever. Uh, bathroom’s through there, if you wanna get changed. Or like, whatever.”
“Thanks,” Tim says, and resists the itching urge to peek at a few more of those crumpled-up papers. It’s just a lot of paper, especially if Superboy’s upset with the results.
He wonders why the guy draws so much, if he’s that frustrated and embarrassed by it. Maybe it’s a rebellion thing, since it’s something Cadmus didn’t want him to know how to do. Tim would definitely understand that logic, if he were in Superboy’s situation. Or maybe he’s just bothered not to know how and trying to teach himself to make up for the perceived failing.
Or maybe he just likes it, Tim supposes. That’s an option too.
Probably a less likely one, though, given that it’s Superboy. Not to be an asshole or anything, just it’s a lot easier picturing the guy assuming he should be able to do something and getting fixated on trying to pull it off than just, like . . . liking to draw. Also, judging by all that balled-up paper, it doesn’t seem like there’s much there for him to “like”, either.
Tim takes the plainest set of trunks with a drawstring waist, which are black and dark blue but still have an S-shield iron-on patch sewn onto their waistband, for whatever reason, and ducks into the bathroom with them. He realizes belatedly that said S-shield is probably going to rest right up against his soulmark, then feels like an idiot for feeling flustered by that idea and just sets his bag against the wall and starts getting undressed.
He’s definitely wearing one of the spare shirts in his go-bag for this, he decides as he stuffs his clothes into his bag. Just–definitely, yeah.
The trunks fit once he cinches the drawstring enough, but the S-shield definitely does rest right against his soulmark. Tim has never actually considered the sight of the S-shield to be, like . . . relevant or interesting outside of work, but he’s realizing that he sure does feel differently about it now that he knows his soulmate’s one of the people wearing it.
Which is a little ironic, really, considering Superboy wears the S-shield as a branding thing or whatever and lets Leech slap it on whatever cheap shitty merch he can think of. Like, he’s probably the least respectful S-wearer there is.
Tim pulls on a plain clean T-shirt and a short-sleeve button-down to go over it, figuring that’s beach-friendly enough. He should’ve packed sunglasses, probably, but he was a little distracted by his kidnapping plans and didn’t think to.
Seriously. He didn’t think to bring sunglasses to Hawaii.
This whole situation definitely has him off his game, yeah.
Soulmate thing, he guesses.
Tim eyes himself in the bathroom mirror, mentally decides he’s being an idiot to worry about how he looks right now, and then grabs his bag and heads back out into the bedroom. Superboy’s changed into low-waisted S-shield-themed trunks of his own and flip-flops and nothing else, which does in fact give Tim an embarrassingly good and embarrassingly distracting view of their soulmark. It’s not quite distracting enough for him to miss the fact that the amount of crumpled papers strewn around the room has noticeably decreased, though. And there’s definitely more of them sticking out from under the bed and dresser and in the back of the closet than there previously were.
Which is kinda cute, honestly, but Tim should probably not say that. Like, ever.
“Thanks for waiting,” he says, smiling Normal Civilian Smile #4 at Superboy as he hitches his bag up a little higher on his shoulder. “And for the loan.”
Superboy stares blankly at him for half a second, then seems to startle a little and puffs himself up.
“Uh–sure, yeah!” he says quickly. “No problem, man. Anytime.”
“‘Anytime’ seems pretty open, as an offer,” Tim jokes, because normal civilians make that kind of joke, and Superboy turns red.
“Oh, uh–you know what I mean!” he sputters awkwardly, holding his hands up, which seems kind of a lot as a reaction, and then somehow manages to nearly knock over his dresser without even touching it. Well–that'd be the TTK, Tim guesses.
It wasn't even that much of a joke. Like, lame suburban dad joke territory, that's all.
“I do, yeah,” he says with a wry smile. Superboy finds a way to turn even redder and shoves his dresser back into a corner. That also seems like kind of a lot as a reaction, but Tim doesn't comment. Just seems, well . . . awkward? Unnecessary? “Are we good to go, then?”
“Um, yeah, yeah,” Superboy says, clearing his throat and then zipping out into the hall. Tim wonders if he always flies indoors this much. “All good, dude! Let's head out.”
“Sure,” Tim says, keeping the smile on. Superboy is still red, but floats along down the hall. Tim follows. Okay. They’re almost definitely not platonic, but Superboy clearly isn’t any more sure what to do with that than Tim is, so . . . small favors, he guesses. Like–that they’re at least roughly on the same page there, he means.
Unless he’s just reading into things because of weird personal biases he didn’t even know he had, and Superboy is completely straight and just kind of socially awkward around civilians, and Tim’s just being socially pressured by the background radiation of living in a society that over-values romantic soulmates in comparison to platonic ones and sometimes disavows platonic soulmates altogether.
He supposes technically they could be familial, rare as that is. It’s not like he really knows how he’d feel about having a brother. Dick’s the closest thing to one he’s ever had, and that’s just . . . not actually the same thing, obviously, even if sometimes he wishes . . .
Anyway. It doesn’t matter. He’s pretty sure having a brother wouldn’t in any way involve this level of embarrassment and unexpected hormones and just general sexuality-questioning over every little thing. Like, that seems very much not like what having a brother would be like.
So–maybe he isn’t straight, or maybe Superboy’s not actually a boy, or maybe both of those things are true, or maybe he’s just really, really bad at having a soulmate.
Entirely possible, under the circumstances. Tim’s not really all that good at getting close to people. If he got a little confused about how to handle having a soulmate, well . . . that wouldn’t really be a surprise, would it.
Or maybe he just doesn’t want to have to figure out how to come out to his dad or Dana or the goddamn Batman.
One or the other, probably.
. . . statistically speaking, the likelier explanation probably is not wanting to come out to the goddamn Batman.
“Wanna fly someplace or just chill on the beach out front?” Superboy asks as he floats backwards into the living room. Krypto runs up and jumps on Tim excitedly, his tail wagging so hard his whole little body’s wagging with it. He’s a weird-looking little mutt, but he’s really friendly, apparently. “Krypto, oh my god, get off him.”
“I don't mind,” Tim says, leaning down to give Krypto a polite little pat on the head. Krypto barks happily and wags his tail so hard he knocks himself over.
Yeah, weird dog in general, Tim thinks. But again, really friendly.
“We can go wherever,” he says. “You're the local, you know the best places to get a little time alone to hang out, right?”
“‘Alone’?” Superboy repeats, his ears reddening again as he somehow manages to trip in mid-air and hits his head on the doorframe. Tim can probably safely write off the idea of “platonic” at this point, but is still a little bit wary of his personal bias interfering. Though . . . “Uh–yeah! Totally! Yeah! We can do that!”
Yeah, Superboy really isn’t selling the “platonic” idea here either.
Does Tim have a boyfriend now? Is this how boyfriends happen?
. . . well, or a girlfriend, maybe. He still hasn’t ruled out the “maybe Superboy’s just trans” option. That seems like a thing that might confuse his sexuality a little, if nothing else.
This is definitely not anything like any previous girlfriend-getting he’s experienced, though. Like, not even a little bit. He’s not complaining, exactly, because admittedly it’s actually a little bit easier going into a new relationship with a plan and a cover established, even if the plan is admittedly still in flux and the relationship’s “romantic" vs "platonic” status is still unclear. It’s still something he can approach like a case, which is much more straightforward than just floundering around trying to figure out how normal people work.
And Superboy’s about as far from a “normal person” as it gets, so really, this is a pretty ideal set-up on Tim’s end.
Hopefully Superboy feels similarly, though he also, like . . . is lacking some pretty important information there, so . . . yeah, that might be an issue. Bruce would definitely not have appreciated Robin telling Superboy he was his soulmate, though, and who knows how Superboy would’ve even taken that. Going in as a civilian is going pretty smoothly, though, so Tim’s pretty sure it was the right choice.
Hopefully it was, anyway.
“Cool,” Tim says, keeping up the placid harmless civilian face and thoughts and Totally-Not-A-Vigilante vibes. Superboy does a very bad job of pretending he didn’t just bump into the doorframe and ducks back outside, putting on a cocky grin of his own as he does. It occurs to Tim, briefly, that maybe Superboy has his own catalog of performative expressions. None of his friends really seem to, but Superboy is in the community too, so . . . well, it’d make sense, right?
Also he does sell his likeness via a sleazy manager’s sleazy business deals, so yeah. It does kind of make sense.
Huh. That’s . . . a thought, he guesses.
Not a thought he’d really had yet.
Just . . . something they might have in common, Tim guesses.
Though so is being in the community to begin with, obviously. And they're physiologically about the same age and have similar coloring, though Superboy is–well, not actually mixed with East Asian, because Krypton did not have an actual place called “Asia”, but he does have subtle hints of that look, same as Superman. Easy to mistake for just being white, but recognizable if you know what you're looking for. Superboy would be at least half-white given Westfield's DNA, Tim guesses, but . . .
Yeah, no, he doesn't even know how to begin to figure out the nuances of racial identity on a dead planet he knows next to nothing about, much less any potential experience parallels there might be for a second-generation half-alien immigrant with effectively zero access to their own culture, but maybe he could–
Right, okay, he needs to focus here. There's some fascinating stuff there that he can theorize about and investigate later, once he's kidnapped Superboy properly. The kidnapping is the current priority, though. Like, it is very much the current priority.
Tim follows Superboy back out onto the porch. Everyone else is still out there, which is fine in regards to Roxy and Dubbilex and not fine in regards to Leech and . . . well, jury's out on Moon, maybe.
Also the dog. He doesn't really know about the dog. Though said dog does run after him and jump up for attention wagging his scruffy little tail hard enough to wag his whole little body, which is sort of cute.
Or as cute as a wet dishrag can get, anyway.
Tim’s trying not to judge Krypto for that, since obviously he didn't ask to be born as the living embodiment of a wet dishrag, and anyway he's a really friendly dog, so judging by appearances seems like a dick move. Even if Tim kind of wants to iron him, to be honest. Steam-clean, maybe.
At least take him to a decent groomer, if nothing else.
“Down, you little shit, Jesus!” Kon says, scowling down at Krypto and trying to shoo him away. Krypto growls at him, which seems weird, then goes back to fawning all over Tim. Tim leans down and pats his head, figuring it might calm him down.
“It’s okay,” he says. “He is cute.”
“Whatever,” Superboy grumbles, folding his arms and inexplicably glowering at his dog.
“You gonna go swim, or just hang out?” Roxy asks curiously as she comes over to them again.
“Oh, we’re–” Superboy starts, but Moon cuts him off.
“Want some company?” Moon inquires, pleasant and suspicious all at once. Superboy looks–conflicted, momentarily, and then awkward.
“Um, well–Tim’s only in town for today, so . . . next time?” he hedges. Tim resists the urge to eye Moon. Can I just spontaneously insert myself in your first day with your brand-new soulmate? is incredibly rude, as a suggestion. And incredibly fucking disrespectful to boot. Like, what entitled-ass kind of thing is that to ask, exactly?
How old is she again? Twenty? Twenty-one? He should look that up later. Well–no, she’d graduated college and started her career by the time Superman had died, which was a good eight or nine months ago now, so unless she skipped a grade or two in there, she’s gotta be closer to twenty-four, if not twenty-five or twenty-six.
That’s . . . a thought, considering there is definitely news footage of Superboy kissing her in Metropolis. Like, Tim very definitely saw news footage of Superboy kissing her in Metropolis. And she was very definitely kissing him too.
In retrospect, that seems like something someone should’ve, like . . . done something about? Or at least addressed? And is definitely further proof of how fucking useless and slimy Rex Leech is. Sure, let the five-minute-old clone make out with a twentysomething reporter and hang out with her at home; all publicity is good publicity, so it’s fine, right? Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?
Tim is going to absolutely decimate that bastard’s credit the first chance he gets. Leech probably already has terrible credit, mind, but he’ll make it worse. He’ll find a way.
. . . though he’ll wait until he’s sure Roxy is eighteen and financially independent, he doesn’t actually know if she is or not. Roxy seems nice, she doesn’t deserve that particular fallout.
“It’d be nice to get to know each other later, I’m sure,” Tim says before Moon can say anything, smiling Gala Smile #1 at her, which is a targeted psychological attack and not actually very moral to be trotting out this quick, probably.
He has no regrets, for the record. Absolutely none.
Moon narrows her eyes suspiciously. Tim blithely strokes Krypto’s ears, Gala Smile #1 flawless and unphased.
“I’m sure,” she “agrees” frostily. Superboy remains apparently oblivious to the tension and grins brightly at both of them.
“Cool!” he says. Oh, sweet summer child who has clearly never socialized with sharks, Tim thinks resignedly, petting Krypto again. Has Leech taught him literally nothing about conversational warfare, for fuck’s sake? At least living with your sleaze of a manager should be good for that, dammit!
Then again, Leech is probably not actually competent enough to teach Superboy anything actually useful, so maybe that’s for the best.
If nothing else, Superman could’ve taught him a bit of “bless your heart”, but apparently that’s not a thing either.
Tim has a brief moment of dread that maybe underneath his personal list of performative expressions, Superboy might just be a straightforward and honest person, which is a concerning thought. He doesn’t even know how to talk to a straightforward and honest person at this point, after this long as Batman’s emotional support sidekick. How do you form a lasting relationship with someone who isn’t habitually using at least three layers of double-talk and constantly locked in on all your microexpressions, anyway?
That’s going to be a weird experience, yeah.
“Ready to go?” Superboy asks Tim, grinning brighter at him. Tim feels momentarily overwhelmed and just sort of . . . has to collect himself about that, a little.
Or a lot.
“Lead the way,” he says, smiling at him. He’s flustered enough to forget to use an appropriately-planned smile, which is embarrassing, but Superboy just grins even brighter–which should not be physically possible, but apparently is–and reaches out to scoop him up into his arms and into the air again as Krypto lets out an offended bark. It’s totally overkill and not even slightly necessary.
Tim isn’t complaining, just–well–
It’s really flustering.
“Air Superboy up, up, and away!” Superboy says cheerfully as they float up over the others’ heads. His face is way too close to Tim’s face.
Tim is gonna need a bit longer to collect himself this time, he’s pretty sure.
“Do I get an in-flight meal?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. Superboy laughs, which is even worse than his grin, and then takes off across the beachfront with him. It’s another bridal carry, which is quietly mortifying but could be worse, probably. Maybe.
Somehow.
Superboy flies them straight across the beach and then straight out over the water, skimming them along just above the waves. Tim makes a briefly startled noise, reflexively tightening his grip on the strap of his bag.
“This isn’t waterproof,” he says just as reflexively, and Superboy laughs again.
“I’m not gonna drop you, dude,” he says. Tim actually more assumed Superboy was intending to either dive-bomb them both into the water or just dump him in on purpose, because that seems like Superboy’s sense of humor, but maybe that was an unfair assumption.
He really is not prepared for how it feels to be held in close against Superboy’s bare chest and arms like this, even if he’s still wearing a shirt himself. The idea of possibly doing that while they’re both wet seems a lot worse.
Yeah. Definitely worse.
Tim should’ve worn long sleeves. And maybe a wetsuit. And maybe a few layers on top of that.
Jesus.
“I’m gonna hold you to that,” he says, barely resisting the urge to loop his arms around Superboy’s neck as the other hangs a right and swoops them back around towards shore. Flying over the water like this is a pretty cool experience, admittedly, now that he’s not worried about Superboy dumping him in the water.
Well. Less worried, anyway.
Camera next time, Tim promises himself, glancing back over Superboy’s shoulder towards the shining horizon. The sun reflects off the waves bright and beautiful, and the sky is a smooth and perfect blue dotted with sparse but billowing clouds, and everything smells like salt and sea and leather, which is probably Superboy, even without the jacket on anymore.
Definitely camera next time.
“Definitely holding you to that, actually,” he says, and Superboy laughs again and brings them down in the surf just past the tideline with a splash. Neither the splash or the water goes high enough to soak Tim's bag, so he figures it could've been worse.
Assuming Superboy isn't planning to toss him or anything before he can put his bag down somewhere safe, anyway.
They both settle down into the surf and onto their feet, and Tim becomes very aware of how close together they’re standing and also how very, very shirtless Superboy is, and in fact the only thing between their soulmarks is the very thin layer of cotton of Tim’s own shirt, and if he leaned in just a little bit . . .
Jesus, Tim thinks faintly, and forces himself to take a step back before he can make it weird.
He smiles Generically Pleasant Civilian Smile #2 just to make sure he doesn’t look like a creep or anything, and Superboy grins excitedly at him. Tim allows himself all of two seconds to be overwhelmed by that gorgeous expression and their physical closeness and the reflection of the light in Superboy’s eyes, as bright and perfectly blue as both the sky and water, and then reasserts standard operating procedures and keeps Generically Pleasant Civilian Smile #2 locked in place on his face.
“The water’s really warm,” he observes, glancing down at it. “Is that normal?”
It’s probably not an impending supervillain thing, he tells himself.
Maybe global warming or something, though.
“I mean, feels normal to me?” Superboy says with a shrug. Tim considers mentioning the average ocean temperature, comparatively speaking, or at least the average temperature of the water off the docks in Gotham. Admittedly, Gotham waters barely count as “water”, legally speaking, but that’s not the point.
“It’s pretty out here,” he says instead, and Superboy grins at him and leans in. He’s pretty sure it’s more an instinctive thing than a deliberate one, just from the way Superboy does it, but that doesn’t exactly make it less flattering.
Or flustering.
“I mean, it’s Hawaii, man!” Superboy says, grinning wider before kicking at the surf. “‘Course it’s gonna be pretty!”
Actually you specifically are possibly the prettiest damn thing that I have ever seen, Tim thinks, but isn’t stupid enough to actually let out of his mouth. Superboy, unfortunately, continues to be all warm and grinning and lit up by the island sun. Tim did not come prepared enough for this.
“I don’t know, I’m pretty sure I’d be the guy who came to Hawaii and got a monsoon,” Tim says wryly, and Superboy laughs brightly.
Tim really did not come prepared enough for this. Like, not at all. Not even slightly.
“Guess you’d just have to come back, then,” Superboy says, grinning wider again and kicking at the surf again as he floats back up out of it. It’s–weird, a little, looking up at him like this.
Well, not weird, just . . . yeah.
Something like that.
“Guess so,” Tim agrees, feeling embarrassingly flustered. Superboy’s friends can probably still see them from the porch, distant though it is, but part of him is still just considering very weird and dumb ideas like maybe tugging Superboy back down to earth and into the surf and just . . . confirming the little sexuality crisis he’s been having since breaking into the other’s file and seeing their soulmark in it, maybe.
Just, you know, ruling things out. Making deductions. Going through the process of elimination.
Kissing him, maybe.
He could very, very much kiss Superboy right now. They’re on a gorgeous beach in the surf and under the sun and Superboy is floating in front of him and grinning as happy and excited as could be and Tim’s stomach is fluttering in a stupid and also-embarrassing way, and . . .
He could kiss him. That’s all.
“I mean, it’s a nice place to visit, right?” Superboy says casually, linking his hands together behind his back.
“The tourism industry seems to think so,” Tim says wryly, and wonders what the “normal civilian who didn’t come here specifically looking for his soulmate to kidnap/salvage him to begin with” thing to say is here. He has absolutely no idea, because he actually has absolutely no idea how normal civilians react to superheroes. Robin is . . . not exactly an urban myth, necessarily, but definitely not a publicly-recognized superhero. He’s a vigilante that’s just barely allowed to operate outside the law, and not one with any kind of publicity or celebrity involved.
eSuperboy, on the other hand, is not only a superhero, but a professional superhero. He’s selling his likeness and doing events and has signed a stupid predatory contract with a sleaze of a manager that technically shouldn’t even be legal, given Superboy isn’t even considered a legal person by the government. Apparently no one has ever realized that, though, or at least no one’s ever let Superboy realize that.
Tim really doesn’t love that that’s a thing, to put it mildly.
Actually, he just fucking hates it.
Superboy laughs, and looks very, very pretty doing it. Tim continues to wonder what a normal civilian would do here, and for lack of a better idea falls back on small talk.
God, his best plan right now is small talk. What is his life, even?
No wonder he’s gonna have to take six months to kidnap Superboy, ugh.
“So, uh–this seems like a weird question to be bringing up this late in the conversation, but what’s your name?” he asks, because it’s occurred to him that he actually has no idea what Superboy goes by when he’s off-duty. He knows he doesn’t have a secret identity, of course, but there’s no way his friends just call him “Superboy”. Well–maybe his slimy asshole manager does, but otherwise. “I mean, if that’s okay to ask. Marks or not, I understand if you don’t feel like we’re there yet, given the whole superhero thing and all.”
Robin knows Superboy doesn’t have a secret identity, after all, but Tim Drake is a normal civilian and shouldn’t act like he knows too much about any superhero in general, so–
“Naw, it’s fine, I don’t even have one,” Superboy says, for some reason just beaming at him, which is . . . weird, Tim thinks, but nowhere near as weird as that answer is.
“You don’t . . . have one?” he repeats slowly, and Superboy shrugs easily. “Like–not at all?”
“Yeah, everybody pretty much just calls me 'Kid' or 'SB', when it's not Superboy,” Superboy says. “Oh, and Knockout calls me 'Pup' when she's around but like, that's really just a 'her' thing. So, you know, you can call me whatever.”
Tim stares blankly at him for a long, long moment, speed-runs all five stages of grief, and also discovers a couple of new and unexpected ones.
Alright. Well, he officially regrets literally nothing about this impending kidnapping.
“Oh, okay,” he says. “Um–sorry, I guess I just assumed you’d have a more . . . civilian-ish name too, I guess?”
“I’m a clone, man,” Superboy says, looking amused. “The only other name I’ve got is ‘Experiment Thirteen’, which is definitely not something I answer to."
Tim discovers a few more stages of grief that hit with all the subtlety of a spiked baseball bat and makes himself nod as much like a normal person as he can.
“Yeah, I don’t think I’d go for that one if I were you either,” he says. “Kind of a mouthful, if nothing else.”
Superboy laughs, then grins at him again. He is actually doing so, so much of that, Tim’s realizing. Tim was really not prepared for how much of that he’s been doing, in fact. He just did not come prepared for any of that at all. He’s got some nebulous kidnapping plans, but everything else here–from the supervillain attack to Superboy’s ripped suit and exposed soulmark–has been a crime of opportunity.
He probably should’ve done more research. Actually, he definitely should’ve done more research. He kind of just panicked and bought a ticket and flew right over, and just because Dick didn’t stop him doesn’t mean it was a good idea. He just–he should’ve done more research. Planned more. Not shown up without something concrete.
Admittedly Superboy doesn’t hate him yet or anything, but this was just . . . yeah, this was not his brightest idea at all. Not even slightly.
Why didn’t he do more research?
“You really can just call me whatever you wanna, don’t worry about it,” Superboy says with an easy shrug as he settles back down into the surf, which, unfortunately, puts him back into kissing range and is therefore incredibly distracting.
Dammit, Tim thinks, trying to beat his stupid teenage hormones into order.
“Whatever I wanna?” he repeats.
“Except for Experiment Thirteen,” Superboy says with another grin. Tim politely pretends not to notice the slight tightening of the corners of his mouth as he says the word “experiment”.
“Uh, okay,” he says, clearing his throat. He guesses Superboy doesn’t really care what his name is, then, but being told to just call him whatever he wants to is . . . well, a weird feeling, maybe. “What do you do when you just want to be a civilian for a while, though?”
“I don’t,” Superboy says.
“. . . don’t . . . what?” Tim asks slowly, not sure if he should be dreading the answer or not, but–
“Be a civilian,” Superboy says.
Tim’s running out of new stages of grief, he’s pretty sure.
“Ah,” he says.
Superboy–for a second, Tim thinks he looks self-conscious, but then he’s grinning again before he can be sure, and . . .
“Why would I?” Superboy says, puffing up proudly. “I’m Superboy, man! Nothing else I’d rather be.”
Given how limited Superboy’s options for anything “else” he could be probably are . . . well, Tim’s not sure what to think of that statement.
He doesn’t think it’s anything good, though.
Yeah, no, he thinks as he looks at Superboy’s too-bright grin and thinks about how he just said "nothing" and not "no one". Definitely not anything good.
Who wouldn’t pick being “Superboy” over being “Experiment Thirteen”, after all?
And what else would Superboy even know how to pick, if he thought those were his only options?
#timkon#tim drake#kon el#conner kent#dc robin#superboy#wip: kidnapping your soulmate for fun and profit
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