How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have
Dick had to give it to the kid, he'd somehow thought of everything. It was a little concerning, actually, but the kid had brushed off every attempt had probing for answers. Who trained him? If he was trained at all. ...had the kid gone into vigilantism alone? Oh, dear. THat's not good fro Dick's current worries.
Reading the file Danny had handed him, Dick had to wonder how long it had taken him to put together this cover story. Also, where he'd managed to get the equipment to do it. At a glance, the kid didn't seem to have much on him. Not even a phone!
He closed the folder and set it back down on the table. "Really?" he asked, "'Congratulations, it's a boy'?"
Danny's cheeks turned a bit red as his gaze shifted to the folder. "Well, yeah. You're stuck with me now until I can get you into good habits and a healthier schedule."
"That implies that you're planning on leaving."
Danny shrugged, all his confidence now fading away. Is this what he's really like? "Well, I mean, I'm sure you don't want me sticking around at all, let alone for a while."
Dick frowned and looked back at the black folder and the binder sitting on his coffee table. God, his apartment's a mess! He smiled at Danny. "My name's Richard, but everyone calls me 'Dick'. You can stay in the guest room."
Danny lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. "Really?"
"Yep. You went to all this work, it'd be a shame if it all went to waste."
The grin on Danny's face was more than worth the security risk that he now posed. "You won't regret it, Mr. Dick!"
Dick smiled back at him, "Please, drop the formalities. We're cousins, apparently."
Was he attached? No. He wouldn't allow himself to get attached. Sure, maybe he was letting this kid - he really needs to start calling him Danny - stay with him for a while, but he wasn't going to get attached. Getting attached meant losing him. Dick wasn't sure he'd be able to survive if he lost someone again.
...damn it.
***
First order of business, now that Danny was officially Dick's - why would he willingly go by that nickname? - ward/cousin, Danny was going to make sure he got some sleep. Today was Dick's day off, so Danny had sent him to his room to take a much needed nap. The man was basically dead on his feet and Danny would be damned if he let him wander around this mess of an apartment with blurry vision.
The second thing he did, once he was sure Dick was asleep, was start to clean up. The place was a stereotypical bachelor's pad, complete with questionable stains in the carpet, rips in the cushions, dishes piled up in the sink, and old take-out on every table and counter. Gross.
He made quick work of the old take-out by throwing it all away and hitting it with a very small and controlled ectoblast. He was so glad Dick had disposable gloves on hand.
The dishes were the next thing he handed. The water was cleaner than in Gotham, so he didn't worry about washing the dishes by hand when they all didn't fit in the dishwasher. He dried the ones he'd hand washed before putting them away. Dick had no organisation in his cupboards, so Danny fixed that, too.
The fridge and freezer weren't too bad. Sure, the dairy products had all expired and most of the food was freezer bitten, but none of it was moldy yet and the appliance itself was in perfect working order. He'd have to go shopping later.
Danny had never liked cleaning, but he'd had to when his parents refused to follow any OSHA laws or Lab Safety courses. So, when he found the cleaning supplies, he took a deep breath and began scrubbing the bathroom. It wasn't too bad, thank god, and was already fairly clean. It was quick and he was able to move on very quickly.
The counters, tables, walls, and tile and wooden floors were all easy to clean with a wet rag and a broom. He wasn't going to even try saving the rug because it looked well beyond the point of no return. The couch and chair cushions could be sticked up, but he didn't have a sewing needle and thread with him.
The last thing he did before taking his backpack into the room he'd been given was to write down a shopping list and leave it on the counter. It wasn't a lot, just food and some dishes and toiletries. He'd have to figure out with Dick a way to pay rent, too, but that was a later Danny problem. He'd tired himself out and was still running on pretty much empty. So, he allowed himself to fall asleep. He'd check on Dick when he woke up.
Part 4 Part 6
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@flame-343 @ghestie93 @anarinette @aglmry @peachtreewriter @evix-syne666 @loudlypanickinginvenezolano @lumosfeather18581
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Got me awe struck how you write so well kinda wish i had that skill too! Anyway, how about boyfriend praising reader(who felt insecure) starting from sweet then getting creepier. Like something in the lines of "praising their kindness, so lucky to have them" to "he knows , he will kill for them."
A/N: A/N: sacrificed my soul for this one and it didn't turn out as slayful as I wanted.. Anyway, I hope this is what you were thinking anon :D sorry for any mistakes and thank you!
Synopsis: Your boyfriend's compliment goes a little too far when he tries to cheer you up.
T/W: Mildly graphic threats of violence, forced kissing, manipulation, insecure reader, yandere themes/behaviors
WC:3000
You found yourself in a bathroom stall for the fifth time in one evening, sitting on the toilet with your head in your hands. You just wanted it all to go away: the people, the drinks, the music that boomed in your ears. You had already stained your sequined clothes with spilt champagne earlier that night, the stickiness of it on your chest beginning to mix with the thick sweat crawling down your neck. It was too damn hot in here, the buzz of the bathroom fan making you claw at your updone hair.
The mass amounts of club goers here were far more accustomed to this lifestyle than you. Which was intimidating, to say the least. They all looked so perfectly dolled up-- not a smudge of makeup out of place, delicious scents of colognes and perfumes mixing together. Not to mention, they could hold their alcohol far better than you could.
One bitter cocktail and you were already hazy-eyed, your face warm and balance a little loopy. You were by no means drunk, but the contents of your drink had certainly offered a level of instability to your emotions and movements.
The image of men in their chic dress shirts that showed hours of gym time and girls in their tight party dresses made you want to curl up in the corner and marinate in self-pity. It was hard not to compare yourself, not when you spent hours searching for the right clothes that would fit with your boyfriend’s stylish accents, constantly perfecting your concealer to hide the dark bags beneath your eyes.
And yet, even with your hard work, you still felt out of place, still felt the pinch of hundreds of passing stares and biting grins of condescension as you stood next to your overly charismatic significant other.
Through your pounding headache and shaky breaths, You could hear the winding creak of the bathroom door being pushed open.
Narrow-footed shoes echoed on the white tile floor, slowly passing each bathroom stall and sink basin.
“Sweetheart?” A voice questioned. “You in here?”
You stayed silent, covering your mouth and lifting your feet from the floor. You didn’t want him to know you had spent the past 20 minutes in here wiping away stinging tears from your eyes, shoving paper towels down the front of your dazzling shirt to soak up champagne. You smelled like alcohol and whatever cleaner they used to permeate the bathroom with, and it certainly wouldn’t be a sight that you wanted your boyfriend to see.
However, despite your attempts to make yourself disappear, you saw his clubbing shoes patiently make their way to the front of your stall. You looked within the separating crack of the door and the wall, seeing a blur of black clothes and sun-kissed skin. Your eyes focused and without warning you made eye contact with him, his face showing a worried, yet sly grin. He was waiting-- peering in on you sitting there in ruin.
You jolted in surprise, your foot slipping from the toilet seat as you looked away. You hoped if you moved fast enough, that maybe he would think you were someone else.
“C’mon, let me in.” He pressed against the door, trying to open it from the outside.
Well, seemed like tricking him didn’t work.
“Don’t come in here Ezra! I--” You weren’t sure how to convince him to go away. “I don’t want you to see me.”
He went quiet, keeping his hand atop the door handle and watching the door.
“Why not?”
Panic rose in your chest again, forcing you to try to come up with a way to get him to leave you alone, atleast long enough to make yourself look presentable.
“I-... I just--”
“C’mon, I promise I won’t make fun of you or anything, just open the door,” He raddled the handle, pressing his face against the crack of the door.
“Don’t!” You shout, trying to cover the crack with your hands.
Your boyfriend let out a low grunt, annoyed at your stubbornness.
He tried rattling the door once more, pulling hard enough to make the hinges creak. You feared that if he pulled any harder, he might rip the entire door off.
“You’ve been in there for almost a half hour,” Ezra impatiently replied, putting his hand on the top of the stall door. “If you don’t open up, I’m going to force my way in there.”
He began to pull, jerking the door hard enough that the other stalls began to clatter.
“No-- wait okay okay okay!” You panicked, trying to pry his hand away from the top of the door.
Instantaneously he grabbed your wrist, pulling it upward to get a good handle on you. His fingers were warm, as if he had his hands clenched for a long period of time.
“I’m not letting go until you do.” He said coldly, squeezing your hand. He was serious, holding your wrist securely enough to show he meant business: he’d stand there all night if that's what it took. Your several disappearances had worried him enough.
His thumb moved up to caress the dip in your palm, turning your hand to face outwards. Ezra’s face was still pressed up against the door crack, looking to provoke you further out.
Stomping your foot, you wracked your brain for something-- anything, to deter him away. But the lingering threat of his hand left your mind to draw a blank.
“....Fine.” You mutter, pulling the paper towels out of your chest. You try to wipe away any leftover tears, but you know it does little to lessen the redness of your eyes.
With a shaky breath, you ask him to stand back, and slowly unlock the door. Purposely taking as long as possible, you keep your feet moving at an inchworm's pace, hardly stepping away from the stall.
Your boyfriend tears open the stall door now that its unlocked, not yet releasing your arm.
You see his figure in front of you but refuse to look up, instead turning away and allowing him to drag you out of the small confines of the stall. He pulls you to the large sink basins, reaching for your chin. You flinch a little as he turns your head, looking at your tear stricken face. You felt like a mess, but he didn’t seem to change expression as you stared back.
“Now, what’s been the matter sweetheart?”
You feel the cold of his rings against your balmy cheeks, his thumb running over your wet eyelashes to brush away unfallen tears.
“I just don’t feel good…” You say, relishing in the affection, even though it makes your stomach churn.
“What doesn't feel good?” He asks, letting go to inspect the rest of you.
You relax against the low counter, feeling it hit your tailbone.
“Did someone hurt you?” He searches your body for marks. “Are you feeling sick? Had too much to drink, baby?”
You shake your head, suddenly feeling like a child answering to their mother.
“You’re going to have to tell me what it is, then. I can’t read your mind.” He lightly scolds.
There’s a gentleness in the deep vibrato of his voice as he bares the blunt words, looking at you with an expectant gaze.
You fidget a tad, beginning to pace in a small two-step dance.
“I just--” You turn away, fidgeting with your fingers. “I feel, ridiculous.”
You move to grasp your forehead, avoiding your boyfriends gaze.
“Dressed up in this stupid get up, surrounded by these people who-- who I don’t belong next to, who make me look like a fool for being here…!”
You fold your arms over your chest defensively, turning away from the man.
“Did you see the way everyone was looking at me? I looked so stupid, standing next to you! Or even next to them, as if I could convince them that I belong here, next to someone of their own.” You turned to stare at your reflection in the mirror, not recognizing the person who stared back. “I just.. I don’t belong here, with you… with these people… I feel absurd for even trying.”
You hear your voice shake at the last few words, not realizing you were getting worked up enough to cry. But then there it was, that burning in your nose and the blurriness of tears in your eyes. You felt your face scrunch and tense up, the ugliness of your cries breaking out to make you feel even smaller.
Putting a hand to your mouth and turning away from the mirror, you hoped your boyfriend hadn’t seen or heard the way you appeared ready to sob.
But a heavy, commanding hand pulled your shoulder back, turning you around with ease as you let your body fall to whatever whims he desired.
Your nose was shoved against Ezra’s chest as he pushed your head against him, wrapping his arms around you. He stroked your hair, pushing it off your sweaty skin. It was almost suffocating, the way he trapped you against him. But it made you feel secure, knowing that he couldn’t see your face full of tears and shame, that you didn’t have to continue to spill your heart out to him.
“Baby….” He said. It was in such a soft, understanding tone that you didn’t think it came from his lips at first. “How could you ever, ever, compare yourself to these… strangers?”
You sniffled against his dress shirt, hiding yourself in his chest and expensive cologne, a scent so familiar and potent that it put your body at ease.
“I mean, you? Versus them? These half drunken idiots who can barely hold themselves up?” Your boyfriend chuckled, shaking slightly against you. “Darling why would you ever want to be like them?”
You wiped your eyes, trying to keep your emotions at bay.
“I thought thats what… you wanted. How else am I supposed show up when I meet your friends.” You mumbled.
Your boyfriend pulls your chin, lifting you to face him.
“I brought you here to meet everyone because I wanted them to meet you, not whatever persona the rest of the assholes here portray.”
You looked away, letting his words sink in.
“Besides, they were only looking at you because you were the most captivating thing in that room,” He ran his pointer finger over your bottom lip, the cold of his rings hitting the bitten skin.
“The most,” He cut himself off with a kiss to your neck. “Stunning,” kiss, ” “kind,” another kiss, “and amazing thing in that room. They were just how awestruck I was when I first saw you.”
He softened as he saw you squeeze your lips shut, preventing a smile from escaping.
“Though I won’t let them make the same moves on you like I did.” He joked, laughing as he saw you roll your eyes.
Brushing his thumb on your cheek, Ezra took away the remnants of tears. A pit of shame grew in your stomach when you saw him frown at your saddened state.
“But listen,” He bent closer to your face, shifting his warm hands to cup your cheeks. “You’re the best thing to happen to me, hands down. And I wouldn’t trade any of the bastards in here for you, so enough self-loathing.”
Your cheeks squish as he pressed his palms against them, forcing your head to nod as you went limp.
“Good.” He smiled, grinning at how you seemed to wait for his next response.
You let him let go, even though you wanted to stay in that position of safety for longer.
He ruffled your hair back in place, fixing the few scraggled strands that he could. Ezra talked while fetching a paper towel to clean the goo beneath your eyes, originally from your tears.
“I mean, honestly, do you think I wouldn’t kill the bastards in here if they tried to look at you wrong? Come on, no way I would let that slide.”
You smiled at hearing that, thinking he was just being dramatic.
Paper towel in hand, Ezra lifted you up from the ground slightly. He put you down on the sink counter, keeping his hands planted to the sides of your abdomen.
Letting out a low laugh, he continues to wipe away at your eyes. His demeanor shifted to be quieter; something you aren't used to from your blab of a boyfriend.
Dark hair covers to his eyelids, sticking to his skin as the heat from the bathroom has begun to her to him.
The humming of the bathroom fan is all that fills the room for a few moments, Ezra’s concentration on your eyes leaving you both quiet. Though, you could tell he still had something he wanted to say.
"I mean, you don't understand how many times I've had the urge to mutilate the men in this club for staring at you, just from tonight alone" he licked his lips, curling his unmoving hand beside you. He seemed to be… nervous. "I'd pull their teeth out first, working my way down. Tearing each fingernail off one by one, pulling the veins from their wrists… I'd remove anything they have to witness you with."
He looked back up at you, staring within your eyes as if he was lost in them, as if he was looking inside of you. Despite his tender look that seemed to crave your cooperation, that should have made you blush– your smile fell. The warmth once spreading in your chest was now going cold, sinking to your stomach.
"You captivated the whole room, and I can't stand it…" he didn't seem to notice your fallen expression, or the shaking in your hands on the counter. "I hate the way they can hear your laugh, sit beside you and feel your warmth… how you can smile at them and let them make you feel as if you aren't the best thing to ever walk into this club. I hate it so fucking much."
Your boyfriend trailed his finger down the sequins on your clothes, trying to hold himself back from getting too close.
You shifted uncomfortably as your he leaned up close to your mouth, just far away enough to where he couldn't indulge in how badly he wanted to kiss you. There was this suffocating desire inside his chest to paint his claim violently upon your body in this bathroom right now, to let you walk put of this club with everyone staring at the little pieces of him only, forcing them all to know who you really belong to.
You didn't know what to say to his confession…. Should you thank him? Run away? Beg him to go to therapy?
Instead you stayed quiet, searching for the right words to not tick him off, now that you knew what he was potentially…. Capable of.
"They want to hurt you, to use you and then throw you away like some brainless sex doll. They only have bad intentions, baby."
Your boyfriend slid down to your knees, crouching down as you sat on the counter above him. He pulled your left leg toward him gently, kissing up from your ankle, to your shin, to your knee.
"But i'll take care of you, I won't let you be tricked.."He looks up at you with fluttering lashes, raising your leg ever so slightly to press his lips against your inner thigh.
"You know how much I adore you… right?"
Your skimpy clothes gave him even more access than you felt comfortable with, seeing the adoration pulsate within his eyes and the desperation in his hands.
"Of course," you reply, hesitantly bringing a hand up to his cheek, hoping he wasn't thinking of murdering you too in this bathroom.
His warm, damp hands molded the flesh of your bare thighs in his fingers, pushing in between the tight layer of where your tiny shorts and your skin meet, trying to dig beneath them. He wanted to hold all of you, to keep you in his arms so you couldn't even think of leaving, of running to someone else.
"You know that I'd never hurt you… that I only want what's best for you… that I'd kill for you--…" he mumbles the last bit, pressing your hand deeper against his cheek as he looks up from below at you, giving a cheeky grin.
You nod your head, hoping his homicidal thoughts were just that-- thoughts.
He was quick to fool you again with that sweet, lovely smile that seemed to bask in your presence, the smile that made you feel like the most desirable person in the world. No matter how many threats he gave out they never seemed to deter the fact that his soft, adoring expression made you feel like he'd choose you in a room full of thousands.
Your small assurance gave him the confidence to press his head further between your legs, running kisses back up from your knee to your thigh.
He trailed up your skin, kisses growing hungry. Pulling your sequined shorts, your boyfriend buried his head between your thighs– trying to get where he knows he'll have full control over you.
"Not here," you said breathlessly and bewildered, trying to push away his head. "We can't do that here–!"
His hair was soft, even with the thin spread of gel that kept it in place as you ran your hands down to his neck. Tugging at tufts of his hair and using your legs to push him away, you found little to nothing dispirited him.
"Just let me show how much I love you..."
Each time you tried to use your knee to push him, Ezra pushed it against the sink countertop with the heavy weight of his hand. He looked up at you with a sick grin that meant: “just try and beat me.” A part of you felt panicked, not just from the compromising position-- but from how insistent he was. Like he was trying to prove something to you.
It wasn't until the echo of the bathroom door swinging open and hitting the wall, did he lift his head. His eyes went wide, jaw clenching as he whipped around to look. The fearful expression would've been funny if you weren't just as scared.
You quickly jumped off the counter and pulled your shorts back into position, watching to see someone peak around from the corner. But the sounds of drunken laughter faded away, and no one made themselves apparent.
You and Ezra sighed simultaneously, the heat from the stuffy bathroom showing to have been too much for the both of you.
He reached for your hand, pulling you towards him. Ezra goes quiet, and you keep your gaze to the ground. He had shown sides of himself tonight that you weren’t exactly sure how to process.
“Lets just go home, okay?” Ezra says after a few moments, whispering with a grin.“I wanna finish what we started.”
What were you to say? You stuttered, thinking to protest, to run away or maybe even admit how afraid you were.
But with a kiss to your sweaty forehead, your boyfriend slung his arm over your shoulder and began leading you to the exit of the bathroom.
Your feet had moved on your own, your mouth still lingering to form words. As Ezra opened the door, the stench of alcohol and cheap perfume hit you once again.
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