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fayes-fics · 3 months

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Friends & Family

Friends + Masterpost

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU

Summary: Anthony has a very important question to ask, but the universe appears to be conspiring against him. Threequel. Set a year after the first fic in this series

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI. Public sexual acts, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, woman on top, back-to-back orgasm. Also, on a non-sexual front, all sorts of emotions and thwarted proposals.

Word Count: 5.4k

Authors Note: This is VERY, VERY belated request fill for the divine @colettebronte. She has had the patience of a saint as I have grappled with this request for many months. I hope this is worth the wait, but to be honest, after this delay, I'm not sure anything could be. Thank you to @sorryallonsy for betaing. Please enjoy <3

“Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, what is this??”

There is an undignified yelp, and a spatula drops to the floor with a loud splat. Apparently, he didn't hear you come in.

“Bloody hell! You scared the shit out of me… And what is the full-name business all about?” he exclaims, spinning around, holding his hands aloft as if in a hostage situation. The sight is made even funnier by the fact he is wearing one of your novelty aprons, complete with floppy bunny ears.

You have walked in from afternoon coffee with old friends to find your kitchen in absolute disarray. Pots, pats on every surface, opened containers, the contents of your spice cupboard all pulled out and haphazardly dotted around. There is a large pile of reusable shopping bags with half-open veggies in and what looks like a sourdough loaf cut open and likely going stale next to the complete wrong knife for the job at hand. There is almost no worktop surface that is left unused or covered in some sticky-looking residue from god knows what.

“I said yes to you making dinner while I was out; I did not say you could conduct some kind of controlled explosion in my kitchen,” holding your hands up in exasperated resignation.

Frankly, it’s a mystery why he offered to make dinner in the first place; you have never seen the man so much as boil an egg in all the years you have known him. And certainly not in the twelve months you have loved him. His idea of cooking is usually stopping at Whole Foods to pick up a hot rotisserie chicken.

He walks towards you with that adorable puppy dog expression, his perennial get-out-of-jail-free card. You pick a fleck of what you think is broccoli from his hair as he reaches you.

“Points for effort?” he pouts, a tiny smile toying with the corners of his mouth, seeking forgiveness. You let him pull you into his arms and kiss your cheek. “Do you still love me?” he teases, pulling back to shoot you that perfect-toothed charming grin.

“I’ll love you even more if you tidy all this up,” you counter, raising an eyebrow as he chuckles. “Although I’m intrigued. You have never once made dinner since we’ve been dating; why now?”

“Well, I wanted to do something special…” he says pointedly, pulling away to switch off the hob when there is a slight burning smell in the air.

“What’s so special about today?” You frown.

“Really?” He spins around to look at you, a slight pout as you wrack your brains. “What happened on this date one year ago?”

Ohhh…

You feel bad you had completely not realised it. Exactly one year ago to this day, you got together after many years of combative flirting. Heart melting in your ribcage as you suddenly realise this is him attempting to cook an anniversary dinner for you.

“You secret romantic, you,” you murmur, contrition and affection burning inside as you can't help but seek his touch.

“Don’t let anyone know,” he jests as he pulls you into his arms again and kisses your temple. “I have a reputation to uphold….”

“Of course…” you giggle, resting your head on his shoulders as you sway together in the bombsite that was your kitchen. “And here was me thinking you would do something far more risqué…”

“Such as..?” he prompts, intrigued by where your thoughts have gone.

“Oh, I don't know….” you run your fingers into his lush hair, pressing into him. “Maybe take me back to that same penthouse your friend owns. Maybe make it to that overpriced sofa this time…” his eyes flash dark and dangerous, licking his lips, and you feel compelled to continue, “Maybe even that enormous bed. And the balcony….”

He groans gently as his mind no doubt fills with the same images as yours. “Fuckkkkkkk….” he rues, “I should have done that. I’m definitely no Gordon Ramsey….”

You laugh and run your hands up his biceps. “Maybe not. But I do have a suggestion…” you offer, dropping your voice a little smokier.

“Tell me…” Anthony rumbles, nudging your cheek until your lips brush, fingers digging into your flesh where he holds you.

“Let's work up an appetite and then order from our usual. Tidying up can wait…” you whisper, mouth ghosting over his, fingers opening the top button of his shirt and toying with the patch of chest hair.

“You’re fucking perfect.”

You squeal gently as he picks you up and strides towards your bedroom. The little navy velvet box burning a hole in his suit jacket pocket can wait for another day. Perhaps.

—

During a boring editorial meeting the following morning, your phone buzzes in your lap.

AB: Can you be at mine at 7pm tonight?

Y/N: Yes… but why?

AB: All will be revealed 😉

AB: Come hungry for delicious protein

Y/N: Filthy. I like it. 😉😛

AB: OMG NO! Not THAT. Bloody hell…

Y/N: Shame…

AB: Well, okay, maybe a bit of that. Afterwards. 😉

Y/N: *victory dance* 💃

AB: I love you, you filthy animal 😛😘

—

You walk into Anthony’s kitchen at precisely 7pm that evening to find some very posh-looking man in a bowtie pouring some wine into the good glasses. The ones you are too scared to use.

“What is all this?” Your curiosity piqued.

“Cooking was a disaster, so this is recompense,” Anthony greets you with a hug and a brief kiss on the lips.

He looks handsome in his usual crisp shirt, undone just enough at the chest to be distracting, and custom-tailored trousers that cling to him just right. It takes some effort to tear your eyes away from him, but when you do, you now see a smorgasbord of cheese on his expansive, pristine white marble kitchen island, with fruit, crackers and all manner of chutneys.

“Oooh, lovely. Fancy cheese and wine night?” you guess.

“Indeed,” he replies warmly. “Baxter here is a world-renowned expert on such things. He will be taking us on a cheese world tour paired with the very best wines.”

“Sounds lovely. Thank you,” you nod to the man, then crowd into Anthony again. “The anniversary of our first proper date?” you guess, kissing his jaw, enjoying the slight rasp of stubble there.

“The lady is learning…” he ribs genially, taking your hand and pulling you along to take a seat on one of the stools.

Baxter speaks engagingly and knowledgeable, and admittedly, every cheese and wine pairing is exquisite. Just a bite from each, but after 10 countries, you are a little tipsy, leaning into Anthony and shooting him goofy smiles, resting your chin on his shoulder, cheekily grabbing his thigh where the fabric pulls taut right over his quad muscle so temptingly. You want to climb into his lap and wrap around him.

After an hour, the man politely takes his leave, mentioning he has left some more “adventurous” choices in sealed boxes in the fridge.

“What does adventurous cheese mean?” you tipsily ponder after the man has left. “Do you think it's abseiled down a mountain?”

Anthony laughs accommodatingly at your goofiness, taking your hand and leading you outside onto the balcony. “I assume strong-flavoured maybe. But I’m quite sure it's all bravado,” he assures.

You lean on the railing, looking down upon the Thames below, all of London seeming reflected in its inky depths, a thousand lights twinkling in its choppy waves, like a sea of stars beneath you.

“I could never tire of this view,” you declare wistfully, a warmth behind your ribs as he crowds into your back, placing a light blanket around your shoulders.

“It is yours to enjoy for as long as it is mine,” he breathes into your hair, kissing your temple and wrapping his arms around your waist.

You sway together gently in the breeze, your hands over his, pushing back into his warm body.

“I love you,” you say quietly, turning to nuzzle his cheek.

“I love you too,” he responds immediately, “and I have for so long now; it feels wrong when you are not with me,” his tone ardent, gentle. “Wait here….” he whispers, a waver in his voice that makes you pause.

You wait patiently as he slips back inside, the breeze dancing through your hair as you inhale deeply and soak in the city. Although you are high above street level, the sounds are still there, like a background hum. It’s as energising as the country air at his rural ancestral home in Kent, just in a different way—so vibrant and teeming with life.

Anthony seems to be gone for a while, so out of intrigue, you wander inside to the fridge, grab one of the containers Baxter left and take it back onto the balcony before he reappears. When you peel it open, you are taken aback by the smell. It's very pungent, even out in the open air.

“There is an important question I wa…” Anthony freezes mid-sentence. “Dear god, what is that smell?” he exclaims, his face scrunching violently.

“Oh, I think it's the cheese Baxter left.”

You swing the container around so it's right under his nose and watch him go white as a sheet and then double over to one side, dry heaving.

“That's disgusting!” He gags, quickly putting something small from his hand into his trouser pocket as he coughs roughly, almost bent double.

“It’s not that bad, is it?” you frown, bringing the container back to your own nose, closer than you had it before.

Then, a wave of nausea hits you, too. It smells of decay and bad feet and turns your stomach so violently that you have to grab the balcony railing to stop yourself from stumbling.

“Fuck that's terrible,” you stutter, trying hard to keep down the rich wines and cheeses you have already consumed.

“Throw it!” Anthony blurts, somewhat frantic.

“Where?” you panic, holding it away at arm's length, desperate to stay upwind of it.

“Off the fucking balcony! Fling it in the Thames! I can't even have that shit in my bins….” he yelps before another wretch doubles him over again.

Gripping the container, you fling the contents as hard as you can, watching the blob of cheese sail downwards in an arc for twelve storeys, hitting the river below with a distant but satisfying plop. You both stand there wheezing and gasping as you reseal the container immediately, fearful of any residual scent.

“Dear god, am I going to inadvertently ruin every one of these special evenings?” he grumbles under his breath, sounding more like a rhetorical question than anything.

You have no idea what he could mean, but you don’t have the capacity to ask - you have to run to the cloakroom as the mere olfactory flashback makes you nauseated.

When you reemerge ten minutes later, full of regret and needing toothpaste, you find him in his en suite bathroom in a similar fragile state. You both crawl into his bed feeling delicate, curling up foetal and holding hands across the expanse of the bed, him muttering apologies.

—

III

The following week, Anthony takes you back to the same restaurant where you had your second date, one year to the day later. Seeing the pattern in advance, you wear the beautiful little black dress he bought you recently. And you are pleased to make him temporarily tongue-tied when you slip off your coat to reveal it, whispering coquettishly in his ear that you are happy to skip dinner and return to his.

“Oh, we will,” he rumbles, a promissory note that lights a fire low in your belly.

After perusing the menu, you decide to order the same dish you had last time. You are certain everything is terrific, but you remember it being so delicious it had you making noises only Anthony usually can. Also, you are hoping for a complete repeat of the same night from a year ago. Memorably, it was the first time he managed to give you three orgasms in one night—you are very keen to repeat that.

But rather strangely, Anthony’s energy seems slightly off, almost nervous. You can only assume it's apprehension that this night does not go as the previous two attempts at anniversary celebrations have.

While you are sharing a delicious starter, a familiar face over the room at the bar catches your eye.

“Is that Benedict?” you frown, causing Anthony to twist in your booth and look.

“Probably,” he sighs.

You are nonplussed by his reaction, so you take it upon yourself to wave to him, to Anthony’s seeming chagrin.

When Benedict wanders over, you notice his shoulders are hunched, a shuffled gait. Not the usual mister sunshine he is.

“Hey Ben, everything okay?” you check as he pulls up nearby, hovering a little.

“I got dumped,” he exhales. “So I’m drowning my sorrows,” he explains, holding his whiskey tumbler aloft in a rueful toast.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you grimace, knowing he has been more unlucky in love than not, which seems a shame; he’s a sweet, good-looking man but often gets used, attracted to people who take advantage of his giving nature.

“Anyway, I don’t want to interrupt your dinner…” he placates modestly, glancing at his older brother, who seems to be brooding.

“Don't be silly, you can join us,” you beckon him into the booth.

“No, he can’t,” Anthony interjects.

You frown at him. “Why not? It’s just dinner,” you dispute.

“No, it’s not; it’s our anniversary,” Anthony argues before turning to Benedict. “Brother, I love you and all, but would you kindly fuck off?” Anthony grouses, gritting his teeth.

“Anthony!” You admonish. “Don’t be a dick!” You roll your eyes. “Ignore your grouchy brother, Ben; of course, you can join us,” you offer again, seeing the hesitancy but also the sadness tugging at the corner of his eyes that means you are worried about leaving him alone.

He acquiesces, and as he wanders across to the bar to grab his jacket and join you, you scowl at Anthony. “He’s just been dumped. You could be nicer,”

“I could… just not tonight,” he says, almost harangued.

You decide not to dwell on why he seems unduly hung up on this evening’s plans, being so particular, watching him seem to fiddle with an item in his jacket pocket, then look askance across the restaurant, defeated.

“Anthony, are you okay?” You check quietly as Benedict walks back over.

“Yeah, I just….” He sighs and finally meets your eye squarely with a tinge of sadness. “I had other plans for us tonight. Not babysitting…”

At one point during the main course, Benedict excuses himself to the bathroom. Anthony has been mostly monosyllabic, almost sulking, and you feel guilty; perhaps he did indeed have other ideas for the evening.

You shuffle around to lean into him and grab his hand, placing it high on your thigh under the table, the message unmistakable.

“We can still have our plans for later…” you whisper hotly into his ear.

He seems to perk up immediately, his hand grasping your flesh in a way that catches your breath. “You always know what to say to make me feel better…” he murmurs, at once playful and reverent.

“Touch me…” you whisper, the need for him an instant, tart taste in your mouth.

“Here, in the restaurant? With my brother coming back to join us any moment?” His tone is incredulous but unmistakably aroused.

“Yes…” you hiss, pushing his hand up higher to the junction of your thighs where you burn molten for him always.

He growls when he realises you have made another style choice, this one scandalous—no underwear.

“I’ll do more than that, you wonderful minx,” he huffs, pulling your thigh over his lap under the tablecloth. He plunges two fingers into your aching pussy and presses his thumb over your clit. You gasp and grip the table hard, just as Benedict reappears.

It certainly does wonders for Anthony’s disposition, like he is a different man now. Chatting amiably to his brother as you subtly try not to look flustered, dripping silently into his palm as he holds still.

“Whatever you did to put this one in a better mood, thank you,” Benedict jests at one point.

“I just had to give the old grouch a hug and his favourite toy to keep him entertained,” you joke back, him not realising exactly how true that is. Anthony’s fingers flex deep inside you at your cheeky riposte, and you can feel his smirk as you have to cough to hide your moan.

“Well, thank you,” Benedict smiles, “you bring things out in my brother I never thought I would see. So whatever magic trick you are pulling, keep doing it.”

Anthony’s fingers curl hard against your g spot, and you have to laugh loudly to not scream.

“She’s the very best brother,” Anthony replies, lips brushing your temple as he flicks his thumb teasingly over your clit. “I hope one day you find someone as special as she is,” he offers, his first sympathetic noise to his brother of the evening.

“I should be so lucky,” Benedict adds quietly, tone pensive, glancing at his phone as it lights up by his elbow.

Anthony withdraws from your pussy; you whimper mutely, feeling bereft but also relieved, not sure you can act any longer. You watch as he brings those fingers up to his mouth and sucks them decadently as Benedict is distracted by his phone.

“Thank you for dessert, my love,” he thrums into your ear, “and the show,” he adds cheekily, your clit and pussy clenching, denied, so very aroused.

“Take me home right now, Anthony!” Your order is through gritted teeth, quiet but brokering no argument.

And he does.

—

A tide of relief hits you as the door to his sleek penthouse clicks softly open; tossing aside your umbrella and slipping off your shoes in the fancy hallway. It's been a taxing work day; all you can think about is climbing into the shower, then curling up and watching something mindless until Anthony gets home.

“Y/n…”

An enticing but distant call in that familiar voice.

“Anthony?” you respond, puzzled. “I thought you would be out late tonight?” you add, wandering forward, trying to find the source.

“Change of plan….”

You cross the open-plan lounge area with its floor-to-ceiling view across the rooftops of London. It's been more than a year of dating, and still, you aren't entirely used to the sheer scale of his place compared to yours. It feels like it takes ages to get across just his living room.

“Where are you?” you frown, hands on hips. It sounds like he's likely in the bedroom.

“Follow the sound of my voice,” he entices, and yep, it's definitely from that direction.

However, when you wander in, the room is empty, the early evening sun blazing onto the soft, luxurious white duvet on his vast bed.

“Getting warmer,” he offers, quieter now, and you recognise his voice has an echo. He can only be in his en-suite bathroom.

You round the corner into that tastefully masculine room - all slate and birch - to be greeted by a sight that makes your lungs feel too tight.

There, in his sizeable sunken whirlpool tub, is one Anthony Bridgerton. Very naked and very wet. Standing so that the bubbling waterline hugs his hips—acres of toned torso, water droplets meandering down the washboard of his stomach and glistening in the thatch of hair across his chest. You bite your lips without even realising it, shifting your stance as you feel a ripple of excitement over your skin.

“Hello, Ms y/l/n,” he preens, knowing exactly how much the sight before you makes you tongue-tied and aroused.

“Hello…” you stutter back, eyes still feasting. “What is the CEO of Bridgerton Enterprises doing taking a bath at….” you glance down to check your watch, “... 5:25 pm on a Thursday?”

“It's a special occasion…” he smirks, wading towards the edge of the tub closest to you. “I thought a bath would be nice.”

You can't seem to look away from the wake of waves cresting his Adonis belt as he does so. The sight of something delicious just below the surface is almost hypnotic.

“My eyes are up here, you know,” he mocks gently, tongue literally in cheek, as you cut your gaze to his triumphant face.

“Wh… what special occasion?” you manage to stumble out.

“Surely you recall what happened on this night exactly twelve months ago?”

When you look nonplussed - frankly, you can barely remember your own name right now - he mock sighs.

“I surprised you on my way back from the airport?” he prompts.

“Oh!” you suddenly cotton on, “it's been a year since we exchanged keys!”

He nods, and a fetching beam breaks out across his face. “Ahhh, the lady remembereth,” he winks.

“So this is how you’re celebrating?” your eyes again drag covetously down his body.

“No, this is how WE are celebrating…” he corrects and gestures towards a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket at one corner of the tub, along with two long-stemmed flutes.

You can't help but match his grin now. “Well, I can’t find fault with that idea,” you admit, taking a step closer until you are at the edge of the tub surround.

“Hmm, I thought not,” he says silkily, closing the gap between you.

Grabbing the back of your neck with a firm hand, he draws you down into a deep, sensual kiss. His mouth claims yours. You shiver as warm water trickles down inside your top from the hand in your hair. He crowds into you, soaking your clothing with the press of his body as you kneel on the sunken tub surround.

“Oh no, this is all wet,” he feigns, tugging lightly at your sleeve, “you will just have to take it off.”

“Hmmm. I rather think that is your doing. How about you take it off?” you challenge, the banter between you never seeming to get old.

“Maybe I’ll just pull you into the water fully clothed?” he posits, raising an eyebrow.

You laugh and take a step back, revelling in his undivided attention as you strip for him, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his expression hungry; the only sounds are his panted breath and the bubbles roiling in the tub. You are down to your underwear, a new matching lacy set, as if you knew, on some subconscious level, it was a special occasion, when he lunges forward and makes you squeal as he effortlessly picks you up and hauls you into the huge tub with him. The warm, effervescent water is a balm and tonic, making your skin tingle.

“What is the point of celebrating anything if it’s not an excuse to get naked?” he offers silkily, cupping your jaw with both palms, his wet thumbs rubbing over your cheekbones, then his lips are back, plundering, seeking, his tongue tangling with yours as his hands roam your skin, arranging so you are straddling his lap, his cock a solid press against your inner thigh.

This is indeed how you always want to celebrate every milestone of your relationship—with wonderful, sensual intimacy. Anthony pulls back from the kiss, and you stare into his rich eyes, blissfully tracing the lines of his face with fingertips as he easily unhooks your bra and pulls it gently over the rounds of your shoulders. This close-up and soaked, his face is all sharp contours and smooth, lightly tanned skin.

“You are too handsome,” your internal monologue spilling out with a light mewl as his thumbs brush your nipples.

“I love you too,” he chuckles drolly to make a point.

“Oh yes, that too,” you append with a playful pout. Then, a more sincere “I love you.”

“Wonderful to hear,” he rumbles into your ear as his hands slide underwater to tug down your underwear.

He pulls you deeper into his lap, your thighs pushed wide around his slender hips. His rigid cock nudges your slit promisingly, and you wait with bated breath for his much-wanted invasion. But he pauses, and you feel the curl of his smile against your cheekbone.

“Champagne?” he teases, holding still.

“Now?!” you splutter. “How about you get inside me first?”

“I thought you'd never ask,” he answers, wry and laconic.

Any witty riposte you may have dies on your lips as he surges into your body, knowing you need no warm-up, ready for him the minute you rounded the corner of the room.

“Happy key day,” he murmurs as your eyes flutter closed and you moan loudly, him nudging that spot that makes you so addicted to him.

“Happy key day,” your response is a ragged exhale as you adjust to his deep invasion.

Every time it still feels like the first, like it's just too good, and you just want to cling to him and be fucked into oblivion or fuck him into oblivion. A potent, heavy feeling inside that makes you crackle with energy and feel sated at the same time.

“Fuck me, Anthony,” you sigh into his wet hair, pushing closer into his embrace, voicing your exact desires.

“With pleasure.”

You squeak as his hands grasp tight around your waist and haul you up until just his tip is still inside you, then slams you back down, a curse falling from your lips as he does. His handling is slightly rough in a way that feels perfect, his teeth glancing your earlobe before he sucks it into his mouth and bites lightly.

Then it's a wondrous carnal dance, your joint noises echoing up the slate tiles as you fuck wantonly. Taking over at one point and gripping the edge of the oversized tub, you ride him for all your worth, chasing that feeling only he, his cock, has ever given you. So addictive ever since that very first night.

“I only ever want to fuck you, always…” the words tumbling from your lips unbidden, no filter between your thoughts and mouth as you spiral higher.

Even in the full throes of passion, his expression softens as you confess it.

“Forever?” something vulnerable in his panted tone as you rise and fall upon him.

“Forever, Anthony Bridgerton,” you vow, sensing his need to hear it, wrapping your arms tightly around his shoulders, pressing all of your being into him, wanting your bodies to be forged together somehow.

His thumb slips between your legs, and you cry out as he snags your clit perfectly, eyes rolling, feeling like a live wire.

“I need to feel it; please give it to me,” he implores desperately, thumb flicking almost violently over your engorged pearl.

It doesn't take much more, and you are fracturing around him. Crying his name, fingernails leaving crescent shapes on his shoulders as you reach that high, unable to stop slamming upon him as you flutter, your whole body spasming in pleasure but unwilling to stop. Him roaring his approval as you squeeze his cock tight, rippling around him.

“Please don't come,” you plead to him, “I need more, Anthony, more,” a wrecked sob, wanting to orgasm again. He snarls, his teeth on your cheekbone, his grip tightening around your hips, staving off his orgasm as best he can.

You grab his face and babble nonsense, saying you need his cock forever, strung out on the edge, almost a mania in your being, needing everything he can give. He pants harshly into your open-mouthed, sloppy kisses as you keep riding wound so tight like a coiled spring, wanting to be speared open by him always.

“Marry me!” he cries as you both reach that peak together, an explosion in both of your beings, feeling him come inside you harsh and deep, moaning your name like a prayer.

You collapse upon him, the bubbles of the jetted tub tickle your skin as you heave breaths, wracked and sated to your very core. A high like you have never known.

“Did you just…. propose?” you stutter as your brain comes back online, his cock still buried inside you.

“Shit…” he laments. “That was NOT how it was supposed to go! I had it all planned out!” he decries, burying his face into your shoulder where you still sit upon him.

“Anthony….” there are no other words, shock tying your tongue.

He pulls back and looks contrite. “Please allow me a do-over?” his face so beseeching.

Raw emotion and victory crest hard in your veins, and you can't help but banter with him - as you always have, as you always will, until death do you part now.

“No, Viscount Bridgerton,” you rag, holding his face, “No do-overs. You will just have to live with the fact you proposed to me as we came together….”

His face is a jumble of warring emotions as you realise you have kept him on tenterhooks about your answer.

“…And you will just have to accept that I said yes with you still inside me,” you add silkily.

A handsome grin claims his whole face, relief and devotion coursing through him. “We can’t tell anyone,” he whispers as you resurface from another kiss.

“Our little secret,” you smile back as he finally slips from your body.

—

“You know I might be the first-ever Viscountess with a garden flat in Zone 3,” you chuckle, sitting in matching fluffy robes on his balcony, the sky a riot of colour as the sun sets.

A few minutes before, he had gotten down on one knee and produced a little velvet box. You squealed and said yes again, watching transfixed as he pushed a flawless, elegant three-carat diamond onto your finger.

Anthony frowns deeply. “Err, no. You are moving in here with me,” he asserts loftily.

“I’m not selling my place!”

“You can rent it out!” he waves dismissively.

“Urgh, tenants. Hassle.” You roll your eyes.

“Okay, fine, then we can just use it to store all of my stuff you hate, alright?” he counters, catching your gaze with a fiery challenge. Your insides ablaze that your trademark flirtatious antagonism will always be there, even once you are married.

“Oh, Viscount Bridgerton, you have a deal…” you whisper coquettish and swing off of your lounger onto his, straddling him and sealing the pact with a kiss.

“I’m just so glad I could finally make it happen.”

You flip around and settle between his legs, your spine on his chest, lacing your hands together over your robe. “What do you mean?”

He barks a laugh you feel echo into your back. “So this is not the first time I have tried to propose to you. Remember that disastrous cooking? Attempt 1. Cheese night when we almost died? Attempt 2. Benedict interruptus? Attempt 3.” He holds up a hand before you, counting each on his fingers. “I almost gave up.”

You laugh and realise with hindsight how he seemed off kilter on those occasions, a soft ache behind your ribs in empathy. “I’m so glad you didn’t. Give up, that is,” you murmur, running your fingers over his lovingly once he lowers his hand back to your belly.

“I jest; I would never give up trying to make you my wife,” he pledges solemnly into your hair, kissing the shell of your ear. “And I hope you will never give up on me, as terrible of a husband as I will likely be….” he demures.

“I can do that, old friend…” you tease, a callback to that first night you got together.

“Less of the old,” he chides, immediately picking up your invitation, an exact repeat of your words to each other that first night you got together, heart melting as you realise he remembers the conversation word for word, too.

“I've known you my whole life, Anthony,” you continue, that conversation etched into your brain, turning back over in his arms. “You can't lie to me…”

“I never will,” he goes offscript, and you exchange laden looks. Then, a dangerous smirk takes over his face as he leans closer. “But you can handcuff me to our bed anytime,” he adds, a nod to the joke you made that night.

“You wish, you lucky fuck,” you respond, aping his line.

He grins widely and pulls back, handing you a champagne flute from the nearby lounger table.

“From old friends to new family…” he toasts, sincere and ardent, clinking his glass softly against yours.

“Friends and family…” you smile, your diamond ring afire in the setting sun, as you take a sip and pull him in for a blistering kiss.

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jamespottersdaisy · 1 year

Text

It's nice to have a friend.

Remus Lupin x fem!reader

"No one loves a monster like me."

"I do."

warnings- cursing, the prank (with major changes), angst (?), my writing

13k

author's note:- i wrote this listening to taylor and lana. english is not my first language, so beware <3

"What time do you call this?"

You bit down your lips at Remus's flat tone. He looked up from his book with an expression you couldn't figure to be irritated or nonchalant.

"I'm so sorry, Remus. I got carried away with astrology," you said as you attempted to sit beside him. He quickly put his books on your seat with a loud thud. Fortunately for him, the library was empty.

"Then go and play with your stars."

"What?" you asked, a bit confused. "Aren't we supposed to study together?"

"We were. But you're late," he said, shaking his head.

"I'm only twenty minutes late," you furrowed your brows at his uncharacteristic rudeness.

He was staring at you as you glared back.

"You damaged your brain while studying Transfiguration without me, didn't you?"

You arched a brow uncomfortably, getting ready to talk again, but Remus's face softened and changed into amusement. The next thing you heard was his light laughter.

"Hilarious, prick."

"I'm a funny bloke," he chuckled as he lifted the books to grant you a seat, which you took.

"You're not really, James and Sirius are way funnier."

"Weren't you the one throwing a tantrum over their prank yesterday? You certainly weren't laughing."

"They died my hair to green! And don't act like you had no part in it."

"I only told them green is your favourite colour. Was I wrong?"

You blankly ogled his smirk.

"Green suits you."

"You know what suits you, Remus? Purple. Should I do something about it?"

To your irritation, his smirk widened. You turned your hand into a fist. "Which eye is your favourite?"

"I only have two."

"That's not an answer."

"Is there supposed to be an answer? The two are the same."

"Well then," you threw your fist at his eye, Remus raising his arm to protect himself.

"Did Sirius bribe you to hit me?"

"No, but he did offer me some galleons in exchange for your chocolate this morning."

"That was you?!"

This time it's your turn to smirk.

"Time is of the essence, Remus, we have to study." you opened a book before you, waving off Remus as he grumbled something under his breath.

You started to study together, helping each other occasionally.

It was a habit now; you two would study together every week for at least four evenings.

Remus was frustrated today; you could tell from his bouncing leg and twitching lips. But you didn't point it out; you knew he felt uncomfortable when someone coddled him. It was one of the perks of being best friends for five years.

From the first year of Hogwarts to the sixth year, you learned almost everything about Remus by heart. How he scratched the hairs on the back of his neck when deep in thought, or how he never looked up from his book while reading, even if his friends were trying to converse with him.

In return, he knew exactly what to tell you when you were overwhelmed by the studies or how to make you laugh when you were feeling like crying.

You two had always been there for each other, listening, understanding, and supporting one another through everything. You had stayed in the hospital wing all night for Remus when he broke his arm in the third year, and he had been there for you when you were burning with a fever two years ago.

There were too many incidents like these which you and Remus shared that proved the special bond between you. James, Sirius and Peter were also your friends, but with Remus, it was different; unique.

He had made you feel appreciated and loved, never let you down or never let anyone look down on you. Sometimes James and Sirius would mock you two for this affection, but that would always earn them a smack on the head from Remus.

You knew everything about him, and he knew everything about you.

Well, almost everything.

He didn't know that your affection for him was something more; It had been for quite some time now.

At first, you thought it was an innocent crush because of teenage hormones or something, and it would fade away with time.

But it didn't. You grew out of 'I fancy Remus Lupin' to 'I love Remus Lupin'. Of course, you never confided in anyone about your burning infatuation, keeping it secret, burying it deep inside your heart.

The same secret that was fighting to break free from your heart's walls every time Remus smiled at you.

The same secret that was clawing from its grave to get up and fly, bleeding your heart every time Remus embraced you and called you a friend.

The same secret that prickled your eyes with tears every time you remembered that you weren't the only one keeping secrets.

He was keeping something from you, too.

You had always felt it in his eyes, glancing away when you would ask about a scar on his arm or a cut on his thumb.

The first time you fought on it was when you saw the huge scar on his face in the second year. You had worried so much that you pushed Remus's patience, and he had yelled at you. For twelve years old, it was a big hit in their friendship. You hadn't talked to each other for two weeks. In the end, Remus approached you to apologize and explained how the Marauders' prank had backfired, resulting in his scar. You had cried that day because of how much you had missed your friend. Remus hugged you tight, but you could swear you heard a sniff or two from him as well.

Remus would always say the scars on his body were because of a prank, and you would pretend to believe it.

Until this year.

You may be a Gryffindor, but you weren't stupid. You had noticed how he would disappear every full moon and "get sick." You didn't push him before because you thought maybe he needed time, but his distrust was turning the understanding in you into resentment.

It hadn't been to hard make speculations about the situation, but you wanted him to confide in you.

"Are you asleep with your eyes open?" Remus startled you, pulling your focus back to the present.

"Are you calling me a dolphin?"

"You two have a lot in common," he patted your head with his quill.

"Freakingly cute?"

"Freakingly evil."

You elbowed him but regretted it the moment he grimaced with pain.

"What's wrong?" you asked, albeit you immediately guessed another injury under his brown jumper.

He forced a smile. "You just proved my point."

"I didn't even hit you that hard!"

"You tell yourself that," Remus stood up, nodding simultaneously. "That's enough for today."

"Already? You sure you okay?" you worried a bit, standing up. "It's only been forty minutes."

"For you, lazy lady. I've been here for an hour, remember?"

"Go on, rub it in, or I won't hear the end of it until tomorrow."

You two were walking to the exit now with relaxed paces.

"Yeah, about that. I won't be able to study with you tomorrow."

You inhale a deep breath and huff it out.

Here goes nothing.

"Again?"

"Yes," his voice is rusty now.

"Why?"

"Marauders thing."

Same excuse as the last month.

You didn't say anything, giving him one more chance again.

"That's bollocks, Remus."

Remus simply curved a side of his lips to a tiny smile, almost unnoticeable to anyone. Well, anyone but you.

However, you were too irritated to mellow at his smile.

Only for one day, you didn't see him, and he had a new scar, and what a coincidence that the same day was a full moon.

"You really shouldn't curse."

"What truly happened to your arm?"

"Sirius accidentally cut it," he said for the third time that day.

"Stop lying."

Maybe you were wrong to push him like this, but you didn't care at that moment.

"I'm not lying, Y/N," he said before grabbing both his and your books and pressing them between his left arm and torso. "Let's go, we have class in ten."

When you didn't budge, his smile grew, and he stretched his free hand towards you.

"Come on, move your arse. We'll be late."

"You shouldn't curse," you said firmly, trying to look as angry as you could. You were on your limit and had no intention of backing off this time. "And I'm not coming with you."

"Why is that?" he pulled his outstretched hand back to the pocket of his trousers, wearing a soft expression, which his mocking tone contrasted with.

"You know why."

"I'm afraid I don't know why you are not coming to class."

"I will go to class, just not with you," you scowled at his nonchalance.

He pressed his lips into a thin line.

"And why is that?"

"Because I've decided that I'm not talking to you."

"That's not fair."

"Yes, it is," you snapped, standing before him. You waited a few minutes for something, eyes narrowed. When Remus chuckled at your annoyed expression, you walked past him, hitting him with your shoulder.

Striding to the common room's exit, you ignored Remus's call. Only after leaving his sight, you fathomed that you had left your book with him but shrugged it off. You two always sat next to each other, and Remus was too nice of a friend not to bring it back.

"Hey, angry lady." his playfully soft tone danced in your ear, making your heart flutter in your ribcage.

"Go away."

"We're headed to the same class."

"Go away from me, then."

"I'm carrying your book."

"No one asked you to," you still hadn't spared him a glance but could feel the soft smile on his lips.

"No one needed to. I'm a gentleman."

"My arse."

"What about it?"

Your head snapped in his direction. Remus was smirking at you, acting like you weren't almost about to fight ten minutes ago.

You walked into the classroom from the door Remus held open for you straight to your seat.

"Give me my book back."

"You forgot the magic word, lady," he sat next to you. "You know, the one starting with 'P'."

"Petrificius Totalus?"

"That would also work, but I had something nicer in mind. Try again?"

"Periculum."

"What would you need the flames for?"

"To burn you."

"You're so violent this morning. Hadn't had your morning coffee?"

"Just give the bloody book back."

"Now that I think about it, you've been violent for the last three days."

You groaned when the professor started the lesson.

"Don't be bitter, Y/N," he pleaded, watching you snatch your book back. He hated when you were angry at him. "I already told you the truth."

"That's rubbish, and you know that," you whispered so the professor wouldn't hear you. "We're not twelve anymore."

"You were a lot nicer when you were twelve, though."

"And a lot stupider."

"Aye. You'll hear no argument from me."

You knew he was merely attempting to lighten the mood, but he didn't realise it only made you more furious.

"Why are you keeping a secret from me?" you finally blurted out the question gnawing on your insides.

Remus's smile ebbed. He exhaled sharply before turning away from you.

"I am not keeping anything from you."

"Then you must think I am gullible because that's the only explanation for you repeating the same 'prank injuries' lie over and over again."

"That's not a lie."

"Is there a problem?"

You clenched your jaw when you heard the professor's rough voice.

"No, Professor," Remus shook his head, ending the chatter.

You didn't talk for the rest of the lesson. However, to your frustration, you couldn't help but sneak glances in his direction only to find him doing the same.

The moment the class was dismissed, you immediately got up and left the room. The last half an hour in the boring potion class made you question some things. You were at odds with yourself.

And now, in the middle of the hallway, with your books to your chest, your mind was hosting a party for questions.

Was it really about you? Maybe no.

Did Remus deserve some secrecy? Maybe yes.

Did your infatuation with your best friend get in the way of your judgement? Breaking your heart not because he had a secret he didn't want to share but because he didn't love you back? No, of course not (It did).

But you deserved his trust. At least, that was how you were feeling based on the years of friendship.

Were you wrong? Probably.

"Y/N!"

You took a deep breath and blew it out as you turned to face Remus, who quickened his pace to catch up to you. He's smiling. Again.

"What?"

"You still pissed at me?"

"Yes? No? I don't know, Remus," you shrugged and carried on walking to the Great Hall. "I don't understand why you won't share it with me. Don't you trust me?"

"I do," he drawled, and you waited for him to continue. He hesitated at first but gave up after your determination not to make a sound.

"Listen, it's not something about you. I just don't like sharing it."

"Does James know? Sirius? Peter?" you arched a brow, desperately hoping for him to say no. You watched him he open his mouth and close it without a reply.

Well, that was it.

He didn't want to tell you, and you were supposed to be okay with it.

You nodded, hurt at something you didn't want to voice.

Remus stopped you from your arm, turning you so that you would face him. His hands made their way to your sulked shoulders and caressed them back to your hands to hold them tight, sending shivers through your body.

"When the time is right, I will tell you," he said. You looked up into his brown eyes, forcing yourself not to peek at his lips. You had always loved his eyes, and his lips.

"I promise. Just trust me."

You lowered your head, closing your eyes to the pleading in his words.

"I just don't understand why you don't trust me."

Remus stepped forward, letting your head lay on his chest.

"I told you, dove. This is not about you. Truly."

You knew it too.

You knew the reason you were so angry was not Remus but your love for him.

You knew you were not resenting Remus but your own inability to suppress your feelings.

So you nodded, hugging him back.

"What do you smell?" you asked Remus, trying not to sound too eager or excited. You were hoping he couldn't hear your racing heart and couldn't see your trembling hands.

Remus inclined his head to the potion, taking in the smell the Amortentia was radiating.

One, two, tree...

He frowned, looking lost. He clenched his jaw, blinking fast. Something must be wrong.

Six, seven, eight...

He cleared his throat, locking his eyes with yours.

Twelve, thirteen, fourteen...

Remus straightened his back, curling the side of his lips upwards awkwardly.

"What do you smell?"

You gulp, lips parting and then closing and then parting again. You weren't sure it was the right thing to tell him what you smelled from the love potion.

Parchment, coffee, melting chocolate.

Everything that reminded you of him.

"I asked you first."

You sounded taut, internally having a fight between your heart and your brain over the control of your body, mind, and soul.

You didn't know what you wanted to hear from him exactly, but what you did know was that you were praying for it to be something, anything that would remind him of you.

"It's- it's nice," he simply said.

"Mine, too."

"What is it?" he asked, his voice so low that if you weren't so close to him, you wouldn't hear him from all the chatters in the classroom.

You longed to tell him.

Tell him and get it over with. Put down the weighing affection in your shoulders, your lungs and your heart, even if it meant having it broken.

You looked up at him, biting your lower lip so hard it almost bled.

Remus waited and waited and waited for you.

"It's uhm, it's parchment... and uh,-"

"Mr Lupin, are you two done with your potions?

You quickly put a distance between you and Remus. Professor Slughorn stood by the pot, smelling the potion.

"Ah, you are. Well done, you two."

You refused to turn back to Remus, your eyes examining every student in the classroom as Remus cleaned the desk.

James Potter was grinning at Lily Evans, who, in turn, had an unreadable expression on her face. You hoped Lily had smelled James; it would make your friend foolishly happy.

It was a bit chaotic in the room; happy, angry, sad and confused faces were scattered around. A student had even managed to blow up his potion somehow.

You saw Sirius and wondered what he had smelled, but soon your thoughts took a turn when you noticed Sirius was not alone. He was muttering something to Severus Snape with a devilish grin on his face.

"You guys have another prank coming?" you asked Remus, your eyes not leaving Sirius.

You didn't see Remus flinch and almost drop the knife.

"No? Why?"

"Oh, nothing. Then Sirius must be messing with Snape for his own amusement."

Remus hummed softly.

"I love James and Sirius, but was this really necessary?"

It was cold, and you were freezing, not because you had clothed lightly but because it was seven in the morning and in the middle of winter. Remus, seated next to you, was in no better condition. All because your friends insisted you watch them fly around on a broom.

"Well, he had said we were a great support."

"Do I look like any kind of support at this moment?" your teeth were starting to chatter. You closed your eyes at Remus's chuckle, hoping, wishing and praying that you would never forget its sweet melody.

"You look anything but."

You laughed at his words, totally oblivious, his gaze lingering on your smile.

"When is even this game?"

"In two weeks, that's the only thing Pads and Prongs talk about. Where's your head at?"

"I usually tune them out. They're disturbingly loud."

James screamed loudly at Sirius; you threw an 'I told you so' glance at Remus, who rolled his eyes in return. You liked when he did that.

"Try living in the same dorm room with them."

"Must not be fun since you're carrying the scars of the battle in your body."

"And in my soul," he nodded swiftly several of times. You adored the way his brown locks messed into each other, still looking fluffy. "Are you cold?"

"No, I'm sweating," you snarked, peeking at Remus. Maybe you were wrong because he definitely appeared more decent than you were. He beamed at you, sneaking in closer, his leg brushing yours.

Without further ado, he pulled his arm over your shoulder, tugging you to his chest. Your breath hitched as his scent filled your mind.

You hated how your heart reacted every time you were this close to him; a hand away to hold his hand, a breath away to kiss his lips-

"Better now?"

You pushed the image deep into your mind, heat blossoming in your chest, colouring your cheeks.

"Cheers."

The next you-don't-know-how-many minutes later, the practice was over, and the players were now descending to the ground. Remus hadn't let go of you yet, not that you wanted him to.

You watched as James and Sirius joked around, Peter joining them later on.

"Hey, lovebirds! Come down!" James yelled, his hands around his mouth.

You raised your head to see Remus frowning at them before smiling at you, which you returned shortly as you stepped out of his warm embrace.

"Who's hungry?" James asked as you two also joined them and answered before anyone else could. "I am. Let's eat."

"Evans still won't tell me what she smelled in Amortentia."

"Drop it, mate. If she wanted to tell, she would've," Sirius slapped James's back before stepping into the Great Hall before everyone.

"If you push her, she might get irritated, you know," you reasoned with James, albeit you knew it was in vain.

"With me? Impossible, I'm lovely."

"Not to her, apparently."

"Not everyone has a Moony around to cuddle, Y/N."

Peter snorted and dodged the hit from Remus's hand.

"What? James, that's not even relevant!" you hid the crimson of your checks with feigned annoyance, refusing to glance at Remus.

"It doesn't have to be relevant," he shrugged, grinning ear to ear. You shook your head, grabbed a toast and didn't see Remus arch a brow at James.

"Where's Sirius?" Peter asked, making all of you turn around.

"He was there a minute ago, was he not?" you questioned, aimed mainly at James. If there was only one person you could ask about Sirius, and he would have an answer, he was James.

Obviously, not this time because James simply shrugged.

You were jealous. You had never been jealous over Remus until now.

You knew Lily Evans was his good friend, you liked her too, and you knew Remus would never even think about her in that way.

But still, you couldn't help but feel like you were on the edge of a cliff, waiting for someone to push you every time Lily would put her hand on Remus's hand, grazing the tiny cut lightly with her thumb. Your heart was a target to all sorts of knives when you heard Remus chuckle at Lily's words.

You couldn't help but wonder if she knew Remus's secret.

"Jealousy is not a good look on you, Y/N," Sirius cut your thoughts short.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you dismissed him with a shake of your head, pulling your gaze from Remus to the potion top. "Did you add the Powdered Root of Asphodel?"

Remus had always told you that you were the girl closest to him, and it would always stay like this. But you couldn't get rid of the doubts in your mind you were so certain that were emerging because of your feelings.

"Yes, stir twice clockwise," Sirius started working on Sopophorous bean juice. "I'm talking about Moony."

"What about him?" you bit down your lip and hoped your voice didn't shake when Remus's nickname startled your train of thought. How you loved that nickname...

"Others may be oblivious but don't be ridiculous, I see how you stare at him."

You didn't know how to reply to that claim, so you kept silent but turned your eyes to the long-haired boy. He smiled at you as if an encouragement, which almost crumbled your defences. You were on the verge of giving out.

Would it be bad if there was at last a person to share your feelings with?

"So, is it a monthly 'I fancy him' situation or..?"

"Something more," you finished for him, earning a croon. Here, you had said it with no guarantee that he would keep your secret but with the hope that he would help you carry the burden.

"Am I that transparent?"

"Only when you're jealous, love."

You nodded, smiling a little.

Sirius watched the way you were picking the skin around your nails.

"Hey, stop worrying. I'll tell no one."

Relief had hugged you at that moment, thankful that Sirius took your feelings lightly and didn't make a big deal out of it. Also, happy that you weren't alone anymore in this secret; you had someone capable of understanding.

"Sirius?"

"Mhm?"

"Do you think he'll ever...love me back?"

He sighed, drying his hands. You felt his hands on yours, returning the gesture.

"You know Moony, he doesn't talk about feelings," you laughed bitterly, placing your head on his shoulder. "But he is a plonker if he never returns your feelings, and I'll make sure he gets a new scar if he ever hurts them."

"Thank you, Pads," you melt into his hug as you feel his arms around your waist.

"You smell of strawberries," he took a strand of your hair into his hand, sniffing it. "What shampoo are you using?"

"Stop smelling me like a dog!" you pushed him away, giggling when he gasped in fake hurt. "Focus, we still have to finish that potion."

Sirius carried on with his Sopophorous bean, and you looked around for a sloth brain.

"Did you forget the sloth brain?"

"I thought you were going to get it," Sirius shrugged, looking up. "Moony and Evans have one more. Go and grab from them."

You glanced at the pair, noticing that Remus was already staring at you. He didn't budge when you smiled at him and changed his focus back to Lily.

Red hair, green eyes, dainty freckles and graceful stature. Why did she have to be this beautiful?

You sauntered to their seat, passing near a bunch of students that were requiring the Professor's attention. Remus refused to look up to you when Lily offered you a kind smile.

"Hey, Remus, do you mind sharing an ingredient with me and Sirius?"

"You don't have it?" his tone was not kind, and his eyes were cold.

"I thought he was supposed to take it, but it turns out he thought I would take it," you mumbled real quick, still not fathoming the reason behind his coldness. "So here we are."

"You guys were pretty out of it. How do you even manage to get the job done?"

"We are doing fine," you frown. What was wrong with him?

"Yeah, I saw."

"Are you going to let us borrow the ingredient, or should I ask James and Pete?"

His gaze finally changed into something you couldn't quite name. He turned to Lily, who was trying her best not to pry.

"We won't need the spare," she consented in an instant. Remus dashed to the other side of the desk, clutching the jar and dashing back to you.

"Thank you," you mumbled as you clasped it in your hand. He merely nodded one time before carrying on with whatever he was doing.

You could swear you heard Lily whisper to him, 'What the bloody hell is wrong with you?' before parting, but you ignored it.

You couldn't find Sirius when you were back, so you finished the last steps of the potion on your own. He didn't pop up when the Professor checked the work or when he dismissed the class.

"Why are you pissed at me?"

"Moony is pissed at you?" James hopped in as you made your seat next to Remus, who was busy with his meal.

"Yes–"

"I'm not."

You stared at him in disbelief and bemusement.

"You certainly are. Now tell me why."

When Remus looked at you, a smile inched his lips up though his eyes were still grumpy.

"Where's Sirius?" he asked.

"I-I don't know," your head sought him out, giving out in confusion. "How is he any relevant?"

You ignored James muttering, 'You really do like that word, huh?' as your eyes desperately tried to understand why Remus was being weird. But instead of an appropriate reason, all you got was a shrug.

You shook your head in dissatisfaction and stretched your arm for the pumpkin juice. Seeing your attempts, Remus's hand had already grabbed it and now was pouring the juice for you.

"Thank you," you whispered before clearing your throat. "So, we'll study together in the library again, right? Now that you're not 'angry'?"

Remus shook his head when you drew quotation marks with your fingers in the air.

"Today, yes. Not tomorrow, though."

You quelled the rising anger and heartbreak in your heart. In a trice, you twisted in your seat, facing James.

"What are your plans for tomorrow?"

He was taken aback by your sudden query. By the state of his full mouth and the bread crumbs around his lips, you figured out that he wasn't paying the slightest attention to you and Remus.

"Quidditch practice before breakfast?"

"In the evening, I mean."

"We're supposed to–"

"I wasn't talking to you, Remus."

Remus pursed his lips, cursing himself for not talking to James that morning. James's face crinkled in bafflement.

"I am supposed to finish my star chart with Sirius."

You nodded and glowered back at your best friend. James made a face at Remus behind your back as if asking what was going on.

"You don't take Astrology, Remus."

"I'll study with Lily tomorrow," he said, and you froze.

You were supposed to study together. You and Remus. Together. Like the way it had always been.

He wasn't supposed to study with the prettiest girl in the house. The graceful girl with a delicate smile and silky fire-kissed hair.

You didn't know when or how the familiar burn in your chest surged up, but you recognised what it was. You welcomed the acute sharpness of its thorns and the way it cut through your heart.

"Oi! Why didn't you tell me that? I could've finished the chart earlier and joined you!"

You tuned out James's protest. You wished you could tune out Remus mumbling to him, 'We decided in the potions.' too. But if there was one thing you could never turn a deaf ear to, it was Remus's voice; soft yet stern, melancholic yet hopeful. You wanted to tattoo the tune into your brain the way it was engraved into your heart.

You heard Remus call your name. You hated the way you loved your name from his lips. He had always chanted your name so gently, like an incantation, caressing your soul's most hidden-away parts.

"Yes?"

"I couldn't say no to Lily," he said apologetically.

"Yes, of course," you rose from your seat, offering Remus a smile you hoped covered the hurt behind your eyes. "I understand."

"Where you going?" he attempted to grab you by your wrist, but you were agile. You snatched your wrist away unobtrusively.

"I'm going to look for Sirius."

"Hiya, love," Sirius greeted you at the curtail step of the Grand Staircase. You had looked for him in the castle, but you stumbled on him when you finally gave up and decided to head to the Gryffindor Common Room.

"Where were you? I couldn't find you close to the end of the potions," you asked him, feeling a bit better now that you're out of Remus's company.

He shrugged, denying you the answer.

"You, too, Pads?" you stopped your steps, making Sirius do the same. He looked confused.

"I, too, what?"

"Somehow, I never get an answer to any of my questions these days, and it's bloody frustrating," you blurted out the grudge that had made home in you within a breath.

"Someone's getting ready to throw a strop," his mocking tone brought you to your senses. You pouted, sighing away the anger and resentment building up in your core.

"Don't sulk, love," he said as he dropped a hand on your shoulder, which impeded your movement on the stairs. "If it is any consolation, I have a problem with Snape."

"What problem?"

"You remember our last prank on him, right?" he smiled sheepishly. He continued when you nodded. "Right, so he may or may not have been trying to get back at me for it."

"So you two have been fighting like two little third-years for the last week?"

"Uh-huh," you rolled your eyes when he showed you his ridiculously white teeth. "I'm setting the ground for something big, but can't tell you, so don't ask."

"Fine."

"Your turn."

"It's silly," you cringed at the thought. Everything always made sense in your head until it was time to actually voice them.

"Good. Then we'll have a laugh. Come on, now," Sirius squeezed your arm as reassurance.

"Remus is a liar. Sometimes..." you purposely left out the once-in-a-month fact, "He stands me up, saying it's a Marauders thing-"

You held your hand up to interrupt Sirius, who was about to back up his friend.

"Don't. It is a lie. I know something is going on, and I have speculations, I'm not stupid, Sirius–"

"Never said you were."

"And it's okay, you know? We talked about it, and he told me he needed time, and I didn't argue. But now he tells me he isn't gonna study with me because he promised Lily, and I know it's an excuse because he couldn't use the 'Marauders thing' lie this time–"

"Don't forget to breathe."

"It's just...she's pretty and smart and–"

"In love with Prongs."

"You don't know that."

"No, but she will be, and you don't even need to worry about Evans. She's just a good friend of Moony."

You exhale heavily, begging for your endeavours to suppress the ache in your throat to work.

Yes, she was a good friend of Remus. But you're supposed to be his best friend.

Howbeit, more importantly, what was muddling you was the thought that Lily knew Remus's secret.

"I know, Pads. I just can't help it."

Sirius said the password to your common room and gave you the way first.

"You should talk to him, you know," he said as you threw yourself onto a sofa.

"And tell him that I'm ridiculously jealous because of his friendship with Evans, yeah?"

You smiled at Sirius's laugh. "I pity you, love."

You pitied yourself, too.

You grimaced when you felt the metallic taste of blood. Pulling your teeth from your lips, you pushed them together so the blood on them would dry.

You've been pacing around your dorm room, contemplating whether to get down to the library.

Part of you yearned for Remus's presence, while the other part wanted to avoid him forever, not ready to face and voice your thoughts to him. You knew he never left any quarrel unsolved, never letting you stay upset.

Ultimately, your love for him overwhelmed your resentment, and before you knew it, you grabbed your book and ambled down the stairs.

Your knuckles were white from clutching the book hard when you entered the empty library. The only thing you could think about was if Remus was going to be there.

And he was.

He raised his head from his book the moment you crossed his sight, brown eyes full of different emotions that you couldn't sort.

You chose to ignore how his leg was bouncing and how his hair was way messier than usual.

He softly smiled at you when you sat next to him. You smiled back.

You hoped maybe he would act like everything was alright and you wouldn't have to think about your feelings.

But you inhaled sharply when he didn't.

"We're fighting a lot these days," he said, looking at your fingers rather than your eyes. "I hate it when we fight."

"We didn't fight."

"It may not be a fight, but," he took your hands into his, "I know you're hurt."

When you kept silent, he took this as his cue to go on.

"I'm sorry, dove. I should've known it would hurt your feelings to stand up our evening studies."

"You know well that it is not the matter," you said, pulling your hands back. "Stop acting like you don't."

"I'm going to need you to be more specific."

Dozens of questions raced through your mind, but you only managed to ask the one tearing you apart with jealousy. You pushed to voice that screamed at you, saying 'you're being too blunt' back in its place.

"Does Lily know your secret?"

Remus sighed. He parted his lips and then pushed them back together. You fathomed that he was getting irritated from the twitch of his hand.

"I thought we agreed that you wouldn't bring this up again–"

"Does she?"

"She does."

"You told her."

"She figured it out herself," he arched his brow at you eloquently. You despised the meaning behind that expression. It mocked you, claiming that you were not as bright as another.

"Of course, she did," You turned your side to him and opened the cover of your book. Little did he know you had figured everything, too. Except, you waited for his confiding.

"Alright, that's it," Remus shut the cover back to regain your attention. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What?"

"Y/N, you've been picking fights for the last bloody month. And I try, I really, really try to be patient but I don't understand what your problem is."

Your face wrinkled in confusion.

"Remus, what are you talking about? We were fine until this morning."

Remus held back for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Maybe. But we're having the exact bloody conversation every once a month, and it's getting on my nerves."

This was the last straw for you. Getting on his nerves?

You had been patient with him since the day you became friends.

You had been understanding towards him every time he pushed you away when he was upset and pulled you back for support.

You had been gentle with him every time he snapped at you before full moons and every time he broke your heart after full moons.

And you had been loving him for the last five years, first as your friend, then as a boy, despite his flaws, blemishes and imperfections.

And now he couldn't even handle your resentment?

Anger climbed its way to your chest, burning down every wall you've ever built to keep your heart's secrets hidden away.

Words were scattered across your mind, ready for you to use them as your weapon against the pain havocing in your soul.

You couldn't keep anything in anymore.

"You know what's getting on my nerves, Remus? You being a liar–"

"I am a liar?"

"Yes. Yes, you fucking are. You have been lying to me for the last five years, and I've been bloody patient.

You think you're being patient? Well, try being best friends with yourself. Someone who lies to you, keeps secrets from you, but tells you you're his best friend, and then fucking repeats everything again."

"I asked you to give me time!"

"And I did! I've been understanding towards you and acted dumb every time you gave me nonsense excuses like you did today."

Remus shook his head.

"You're being selfish."

"I am being selfish?" your eyes widened in disbelief. He truly had the gall to call you selfish after five years of his lies, excuses, and your espousing only for his sake.

"It's not always about you, you know. I just wanted to spend some time with Lily tomorrow, it's not an excuse."

You sniggered, awed by the way he could lie so easily.

"How come even Evans knows you better than me?!"

Remus clenched his jaw and rose up to his feet. You knew he was trying his best to keep himself collected, not to take out the anger on you, but you had had enough. You looked up to the veins popping up on his neck from your seat when he raised his voice.

"She figured everything out herself! It's not my fault that you can't do that!"

"So, now I have to try to solve you out by myself? That's not how friendships work, Remus! You're supposed to trust me-"

"No! I don't have to do anything! I've had fucking enough. I don't owe anyone anything, including you. Remus this, Remus that. Everyone has something they want from Remus. Everyone rubs their so-called favours and sacrifices into my face, always demanding something in return-"

"I've never even once harped on anything I did for you! I only wanted you to open up to me-"

"And the only thing I asked from you was patience! Fucking patience!" he dashed at you, grabbing you by the sides. "But here you are, bringing up the same bloody thing every month like a broken record! So yes, you are the most selfish girl I've ever met!"

His words cut through your heart like a sword, the same sword you had placed in his hand.

You looked at his dilated pupils and how they almost swallowed the gentleness of the brown you always loved.

You blinked the tears away that were threatening to invade your vision and swallowed the lump in your throat down.

Patience, he had said. Time, he had said. You were selfish, he had said.

An unfamiliar surge of acrimony washed you down, anger flaming in your chest. Its white flames swallowed your love for the boy whole, echoing his words from nothingness.

You pushed him away as hard as you could. He tottered a few steps back, eyes softening at your raged visage. In a blink, you were up from your seat and closed the distance between you two.

"You want patience? I have been patient when you let everyone in but me. I've been patient when you pushed me away in the second year after learning about your father. When you snapped at me for worrying about you. When you yelled at me because I wanted to touch the scar on your face."

Remus parted his lips, but you held your hand to stop him from talking. With every sentence, your tone was soaring, the tears were prickling your eyes, and you had let go.

"Don't interrupt me! I'm not done. I gave you time when you got 'sick' every month and didn't let me see you or when you cried in my lap but refused to talk to me later. I gave you time when you didn't speak to me for days because you were angry and when you lied to me every month because you didn't trust me enough!

You want time and patience?!

I have given you my time and patience for the last five years and have been loving you for the past three, Remus! So don't you ever dare to call me selfish!"

You snapped your mouth shut, letting the wave of fury and relief wash over you. Remus's eyes changed into something new, something you had never learned about him.

Only then did a stronger feeling hit you: dread.

You had confessed your love for him.

His eyes were heavy with emotion, the crease between the brows still reminding you of his anger, while the benign brown lit up the hope inside your soul.

"You what?" a whisper left his mouth, so low that you wouldn't be able to hear it if it wasn't dead silence in the library.

You didn't repeat yourself. You didn't even reply to him. You simply turned away and dashed out of the library.

xxxxx

When you woke up the next morning, all you could think about was that it was a full moon today.

You didn't think it would be a good idea to see Remus today, but you were worried about him. You wished to know how he was, where he was, and how he would endure this night. Would he have new scars the following day? Or a headache? Did he love you back?

So many questions and not enough answers.

James and Sirius were in the Quidditch practice, probably Remus and Peter as an audience. You had decided not to join them this time, trying to drown the chaos in your mind with homework instead. Or maybe you were too embarrassed to acknowledge Remus.

Anyhow, one can only tolerate writing an essay to one point.

You slapped your book shut, groaning to yourself when you relived your last memory with Remus. Yesterday was the reason why you hated being angry; you would either cry or lose control of your mouth. And since you had bone both of them in one evening, you were planning on rotting in your room. However, your short span of attention was not helping. With every sentence you managed to put together, Remus's brown eyes would pop up in your mind.

You glanced at the weather; grey clouds and chilly wind. Who would even want to be outside in this weather?

James (and maybe you).

You shook your head and decided that maybe rotting yourself until everyone would forget about your existence was not a good plan, as it was getting boring. Checking the time, you smiled because the Quidditch practice should be finished by now. Thus, you got up and left your dorm room. If only you could make it out of the common room without being seen by Remus.

Sauntering down the stairs, you slowed your steps. Before revealing yourself, you checked the common room and saw James and Peter laughing. No Remus or Sirius. You wondered if Remus told them about your love confession. You hoped not.

Stopping into the room, you made your way to them, putting on a genuine smile. You tried to suppress the anxiety rising in your throat and reminded yourself that these boys were your friends.

"Look who's here," James narrowed his eyes at you. "The traitor."

"I missed only one practice, James."

"He and Sirius are way more dramatic today. James almost asked Evans to marry him this morning."

"Seems like a normal morning, Pete," you said, even though you couldn't help but chuckle. "Where's Sirius, though?"

"He went to see his brother. Said he'll be back in ten minutes or something."

You hummed at James, pushing your lips together.

"And Remus?"

"With Evans, I wager."

The familiar burn in your chest resurfaced.

"I'll go find Sirius. See you guys later."

"You have a death wish, I see?"

You jumped at Sirius's voice. As opposed to what you said to James and Peter, you didn't go looking for Sirius. Instead, you were strolling around the castle yard. You liked how the frigid air sent shivers down your spine, it was refreshing. And you, without a doubt, needed refreshment.

"How'd you know?"

"You're walking around in nothing but your sweater?"

You smiled and shrugged, waiting for him to catch up to you. When he did, he removed his black leather and placed it on your shoulders. You caught the burn on his hand.

"What happened to your hand?"

Sirius glanced at his hand shortly and yanked it back into the pocket of his trousers.

"Ah. Nothing. Snape and I had a little duel just now."

"Sirius, this is getting out of hand. You need to stop."

"Yeah, don't worry. It's going to end tonight."

Your heart dropped.

"What do you mean?"

He burst into laughter, worrying you more.

"I'm going to scare the hell out of that prick, he'll never dare touch me again."

You attempted a smile, though you weren't sure it came out smooth.

"What do you mean?"

Sirius turned to you, patting your arm with his fist. "Don't worry about it. Tell me what made you take a walk in such weather."

Now you were both worried and uncomfortable. Embarrassment was burning your ears up, making you wish that the ground would split in two and swallow you whole. However, you decided to bury the worries and awkwardness. You deserved someone listening to you, after all, so you shared everything with him.

After a few gasps and woahs, you quietened while Sirius was contemplating what to say and how to say it.

"You haven't seen him since?"

You shook your head no.

"Well, he was grumpy this morning, but I don't think it's related to you."

Yet, you were certain that it was related to you.

He was grumpy because he was angry at you. He was grumpy because he didn't return your feelings, and you made him uncomfortable by confessing them. He was grumpy because you just shattered your friendship. Or maybe he was grumpy because it was a full moon.

"I think he hates me now."

Sirius snorted at your declaration. "You're one hell of an overthinker, aren't you?"

When you didn't reply, he pushed you with his side softly, "Hey, come on, it's Moony we're talking about. He can never hate you."

"You can't possibly know that."

"Yes, I can. Remember in the third grade how he literally hated all of us for burning his paper?"

"I mean, he wasn't exactly wrong. We did destroy two weeks' work."

"Exactly. He rained hell upon us for a month. Well, most of us. He didn't touch you, and whenever we would ask him why, he would hit us before saying, 'It would hurt her feelings'."

You smiled at the thought of thirteen years old Remus coddling you.

"I didn't know that."

"You don't know why James changed his wand last year in the middle of the semester, either."

"I thought he broke it."

"Nah, Moony broke it."

Your eyebrows shot up in bewilderment, amusing Sirius. He nodded before resuming to talk.

"James had a brilliant idea to cast a spell on you that would twist your tongue every time you talked. Remus wanted to waver him from it, but he was stubborn, that bastard. So before he could cast the spell, Remus broke his wand in our dorm and made it look like an accident to James."

Your smile grew wider, your eyes tearing up from intense emotions. Remus always knew about your anxiety, and he had always cared enough to help you through it. Whenever you would fidget with your fingers because you were about to give a big speech, he would put his hand on yours to calm them down. Whenever you would sweat because the professor was criticising you in front of the whole class, he would touch his knee to yours to let you know he was there. Whenever someone would make fun of you, he would be the first one to stand up for you.

"I didn't know he had it in him."

"Oh, he has a lot more in him when you are the matter," Sirius side-hugged you, letting you lean in. "You can ask him if you want."

You frowned, about to ask him what he meant but stopped in your tracks when your eyes sorted Remus from the other side of the yard. He was with Lily. Before you could ask Sirius to return to the castle, he yelled from the top of his lungs to make himself heard.

"Oi! Moony!"

"What are you doing?!" you whisper-shouted at Sirius, who was dragging you to Remus's side.

"You can't avoid him forever."

As you got closer and closer to his side, your heart picked up the pace. You didn't feel ready to talk to him today. You were sure you wouldn't be ready tomorrow either.

Lily waved at you two when you made it to their side. You noticed the bags under Remus's eyes and his bouncing leg. You refused to lock your gaze, focusing on Lily's glorious smile. Still, you could feel his burning gaze piercing your heart.

You had tuned out their talking, alerting your mind only to Remus's presence. You didn't hear Lily's giggle or Sirius's mocking tone; you didn't even care what they were talking about.

You only cared that Remus was bouncing his leg, snapping his fingers and rubbing his temple.

You longed to put your hand on his leg to calm it down, hold his hand so that he would stop hurting them, and kiss his temple so maybe it would tender the ache.

Your heart was burning up in your chest, clenching in agony. The agony of being so close and yet so far away from him.

Every tune around you was muffled, slave to even a whisper from Remus, but he wasn't making a single sound.

You had lost count of how many heartbeats were beating in your chest, wasting time by beating away from Remus's heart.

Suddenly, they stopped.

"I have to go," said Remus.

His hoarse tone shattered everything into nothing.

He got up from Lily's side and walked back into the castle. You didn't follow him.

You missed his voice.

The weather was dark and still cold. You clung to Sirius's jacket more tightly. He hadn't asked for it back and said he would take it from you tomorrow.

You should return to the common room; it was neither safe nor clever to wander around at night. And you did. You turned around and started striding to the castle, only to flinch when you saw a figure exiting it.

It was hard for you to distinguish the person, so you followed him. You waited for the light of the full moon to reveal the silhouette's identity to you. You bit down your lip when you saw Severus Snape sauntering towards the Whomping Willow.

He must've lost his mind.

Your heart fastened with Severus's every step, dread of what was about to come sending tremors down your body. Your fingers itched in anticipation.

You hid behind a bush and watched him with terror. It was dark at night. It was a full moon. You were near the Whomping Willow.

Why did you even follow Snape?

When he finally crossed the safe proximity, the tree started moving. Your hand covered your mouth, your eyes unable to blink.

You waited for the tree to frantically shake and sway its branches. You waited for it to injure Severus or maybe even kill him.

But it didn't.

The moment it started to move an inch, it stopped. You thought maybe Snape had cast a spell; you could only see his back.

He slowly approached the tree, disappearing into a hole under it.

You rose to your feet and took a few steps towards the tree. You felt uncomfortably vulnerable at that moment, standing out in the open where you could get attacked by every side and wouldn't even be able to prevent it.

What if the tree starts moving when you're near?

Where did Snape go?

Should you even be here?

If there was only one question you knew the answer to, it was the last one.

You wanted to return to the castle and forget about all this in the morning. You truly did. However, you figured that there was no turning back when you heard a howl and a scream coming from the hole.

You jumped back with fear, oblivious to the yelp that left you.

Your first instinct was to run. Run away as fast as you could, without looking back, but something deep in your conscience didn't let you flee.

What if Snape was alone out there, and he needed help?

What if he was injured?

You cursed under your breath and took one more step towards the tree.

Your heart was pounding in your ear, competing with the sound of the howl down on the ground. You convinced yourself that it was the fear that made the howling sound closer than before.

One, two, three.

You exhaled sharply and started running to the hole.

You prayed that the tree wouldn't move.

Your legs made a stop before you could fathom what was happening.

More than one figure emerged from the ground, but your eyes only saw the big, ugly beast. Moonlight was glistening through its thick grey fur, displaying a horrendous sight. The tawny glow in its eyes was impossible to miss, as well as its tall and scrawny bone structure. The snarls from the beast were threatening to change into something more dangerous.

Snape was screaming. You could swear you heard James, your name or maybe your own scream too.

However, your eyes never left the beast.

You had seen it in the pictures. You knew what it was.

A werewolf.

Remus.

And it was planning to attack Severus.

Your Remus.

You took out your wand, not even once looking away from the beast. Your mind was chasing every charm you've ever chanted, looking for the best one for the situation.

The beast pounced on Snape with a growl.

Snape slumped into the ground.

The beast towered over him, ready to attack.

You aimed your wand at it, screaming the first thing that came to mind.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

You had diverted the beast's attention, presenting an opportunity for James to save Snape.

"No, Y/N!"

When James's cry tore your mind from the shock, you understood that you had made a mistake.

Spells don't work on werewolves.

A gasp left your mouth when the werewolf directed its attention from Severus to you. You didn't see Snape fleeing or James carefully walking to you. All you could see was the icy light in its eyes glaring at you, sending sheer panic down your spine.

You hesitated to make any more sound, no matter how much you wanted to yell James's name for help.

You didn't know how to fight werewolves, no one had ever taught you that. You didn't want to die, either.

The growl from the beast intensified, sending you enough signals that the inevitable was close. With your every step back, it was taking a step forward.

No, no, no, no, no, no.

"Y/N RUN!

And you did.

You ran until your lungs gave out, your legs crippled, and your heart burst.

You ran until your eyes watered from the chilly air, your nose hurt from the sharp breaths, and your ears echoed the beast's growls.

A branch cut just above your cheek, but you didn't stop.

You ran until you lost control of your mind, giving it up to your body, performing purely under adrenalin.

But the beast ran with you, too. It followed you into the forest, howling and growling, letting you know death was close. Letting you know that the screams drowning in the night were in vain. Letting you know that the tears staining your face were in vain.

Your breaths mingled with your screams, your hair getting into your mouth. Sweat and tears melded into each other, burning up the cut on your face.

Before you could understand what had happened, your body hit the cold ground with a thud. Your eyes clenched shut, taking in pain vibrating through you. You felt the soil staining your face and body. Your weeping turned into a shriek when you felt yourself yanked into the dirt on your stomach.

Your eyes widened with fear when you finally fathomed the claw grabbing your ankle. It dragged you back, hoping to get the claws on your throat, too. Your fingers dug into the earth. You fought to free yourself from the beast. The jagged stones on the ground gashed your forearm. The dirt stung the gash. Your blood glistened under the moonlight. The beast howled. It turned you on your back.

Remus, Remus, Remus.

One last cry left you. The beast raised its claws, towering over you.

Remus.

You closed your eyes. The tears didn't stop.

Moony.

A high-pitched whine soared in the sky. You were sure it didn't come from you. Something hit your hip. You opened your eyes.

A stag.

A stag stroke the beast with its horns in the underbelly, tossing it away from you. The stag jumped over you, attacking the werewolf again. Animalistic voices ascended in the middle of the Forbidden Forest.

You crawled behind a large rock and took deep breaths. You knew you had to run. This was your opportunity to flee for your life, but you had exhausted your body. You needed time to recover.

The growls and whines never stopped. They got louder and quieter. Closer and farther. You didn't know.

You raised your head. The Moon was gleaming, casting light your way as if telling you to get going. You couldn't. Not now.

You lowered your head at your hands. They were filthy with dirt, the soil blackening the insides of your nails.Y̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶f̶i̶n̶g̶e̶r̶s̶ ̶d̶u̶g̶ ̶i̶n̶t̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶e̶a̶r̶t̶h̶. You moved your left arm, checking the backside of your forearm. T̶h̶e̶ ̶j̶a̶g̶g̶e̶d̶ ̶s̶t̶o̶n̶e̶s̶ ̶o̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶g̶r̶o̶u̶n̶d̶ ̶g̶a̶s̶h̶e̶d̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶e̶a̶r̶m̶. You winced at the scar and the fresh blood around it. Y̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶b̶l̶o̶o̶d̶ ̶g̶l̶i̶s̶t̶e̶n̶e̶d̶ ̶u̶n̶d̶e̶r̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶m̶o̶o̶n̶l̶i̶g̶h̶t̶.̶

Without warning, a sob left put your mouth, startling you. You pressed your uninjured hand on your lips, listening around. The voices had stopped. Neither the stag nor the beast was there. You were safe.

Your hands didn't leave your mouth, so terrified that if they did, you would make a noise and lure in the beast again. You knew your body was reacting to the shock and exhaustion, but you despised the tears flooding from your eyes. You needed to get it together and leave the Dark Forest. Albeit the beast was gone, the forest was still dangerous.

You stood up with a groan, not lowering your wand for protection. Your clothes were spoiled, and you were hurting. You looked around to find a familiar way back to the castle.

"Y/N!"

You aimed your wand at the voice, your heart retaking the pace. The voice was familiar, but you were not in the right mind to identify it.

"It's me, hey. Lower your wand," James's gentle voice weakened your muscles, your hand shaking and breath hitching. Relief surged you from head to toe.

You didn't remember when you dropped your wand into the ground and threw yourself into James's warm embrace. You only remembered how he soothed you as you sobbed with exhaustion.

"You alright?" he put a hand on your shoulder and the other on your wrist to check you out after you pulled away from the hug. You nodded, feeling his gaze on your injured arm.

"Where were you?" You didn't recognise your own tone, rasp and brittle.

"Here. With you."

Something hit you in the gut. A realisation twinkled in your mind, finally comprehending the depth of 'Prongs'.

"You were the stag."

He smiled at you. "I knew you were a bright witch."

James Potter being an animagi wasn't the first priority for you tonight.

"What happened to..." you couldn't let out the rest of the sentence. The beast. R̶e̶m̶u̶s̶

"I led it back to the Whomping Willow."

The next moments passed with silence, you two walking together to the castle and James subtly keeping his hand behind your back to make sure you were fine. You relived everything from the beginning, this time making sense of the incidents. You had so many questions and even more feelings gushing in you.

"I don't understand, James."

"Hmh?"

"Why was Snape there? Where were Sirius and Peter?"

You heard James clear his throat. His tone changed from gentle to furious in a moment.

"Sirius told Snape how to get into the Whomping Willow. That bastard thought it would be a good prank. He told me later because he had started to second-guess himself," he retorded, "Peter was also there, you just didn't see him. I sent him to make sure Severus gets into the castle safely."

No.

You shook your head, not believing your ears. This couldn't be what Sirius meant by handling the Snape problem. You didn't want to believe it. Not because you were thinking too highly of Sirius but because you imagined how devastated Remus would be the next morning. You knew how much he trusted his friends.

"Remus..." you muttered under your breath, earning a hum from James that signalled him thinking the same thing.

"Sirius will be in big trouble. I'm sure Snape had already run to Dumbledore."

You turned to James with widened eyes, he talked before you could panic.

"Don't worry. He didn't see me as the stag or see Peter at all. That's why I was belated. I'm sorry I couldn't make it there sooner."

"Thank you for even making it there," you whispered, closing your eyes when the castle entered your sight. You avoided thinking about the possibility that James might not make it in time. What would happen then was something tragedic you never wanted to admit. "Will you see Remus tomorrow morning?"

James looked at you with such intense emotion that you thought he was pitying you.

"I will but–"

"I want to be there with you."

"No, Y/N, listen," he scratched his chin. You stared at him in question.

"I will have to explain everything to Remus tomorrow. And by that," he said, "I mean everything."

"James, I want to–"

"No. I don't want you to be there when I tell him how he almost killed you. I'm sure he wouldn't want you to be there either."

"But it's not his fault–"

"That's not what he's going to think in the morning. I'll talk to him alone. Don't insist."

This was the most serious you had ever seen James Potter. Thus, you knew he wasn't going to back down. So, you didn't insist.

By the time you were in the common room, your body had calmed down, now only exhibiting exhaustion symptoms. James hugged you one more time before sending you to your dorm room.

"Shower with warm water and go to bed. I'll be in the common room if you can't sleep."

You wanted to ask him why he didn't go to sleep, but you couldn't even part your lips. So you simply offered him a weak smile and headed straight to the bathroom. The girls in your room were already asleep, meaning you had to be extra careful not to wake them up.

You scoffed at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. Frantic hair, shrunk pupils, a cut on your cheek and dirt on your face. As if all these weren't enough, the gash on your arm was throbbing with pain, blood staining your sweater and maybe even Sirius's jacket too.

You stepped into the shower and let the warm water clean you thoroughly. You clenched your teeth to suppress the groan you wanted to let out of pain from your cuts. The black dirt left you as the water stroke down your body, helping you get this night out of your skin.

Your eyes were glued to the dirt getting washed away, harking back to how the beast hauled you onto the ground. Your skin still remembered the burn from the rough friction.

You couldn't close your eyes, you couldn't even blink. Every time you did, a pair of two glistening yellow eyes would stare at you, threatening to hunt you down if you kept your eyes closed a second more. If you thought about the beast a little bit more, you were sure you would have a panic attack.

So you let your mind wander around something else.

Brown locks, chocolate eyes and pink lips.

Your lips curved when you recalled his soft voice, the way he called you dove. You warmed up, and not because of the water but because of the memory of how Remus gently stroked your hair. How he wiped away your tears. How he braided your hair perfectly after begging Peter to teach him. How he had always given you something hand-made on your birthdays because he couldn't buy anything.

You missed him. You missed the gentle smile he was always offering you. You missed your tender bickering and his teasing innuendoes.

You had missed your best friend, and no matter what would happen tomorrow, you were going to talk to him.

You couldn't sleep well that night. You even had a nightmare about what happened.

James was late in the dream; you died in the end.

So you stayed up all night, only being able to dive into sleep when the air was lightening up, turning into sapphire blue. At the same time of the day, Remus was turning back to his human self. You would chuckle at the irony if you weren't sleep deprived.

When you woke up, your heart was hammering in your chest. Your roommate was beside you, a glass of water in her hand. You felt sweat drops in your neck and temple; you must be having another nightmare, then.

She offered you the glass, which you gladly accepted.

"Thank you," you said rather hoarsely.

"It's almost five in the afternoon, hun."

You sat up in your bed, brushing your hair back with your hands. You had a terrible headache.

"It is?"

"Aye. You sure you're alright?"

"Yes, Lizzie, thank you," you smiled at her before leaving the bad. You were both grateful and uneasy that you had missed the most part of the day. This meant that Remus had already learned about the prank.

You eyed yourself in the bathroom mirror. You looked way better than yesterday night, undoubtedly. Your face had gained its colour back, and your frenzied eyes were glistening with something other than horror. The only flaws were the small cut on your face and the new eyebags.

You got ready and went down to the common room. Because it was Sunday today, the common room was crowded with students.

Your eyes searched any of the Marauders but failed. They weren't here, and you were hungry. You made your way to the Great Hall, accompanied by nice growls from your stomach. Fortunately for you, it was dinner time.

You were too focused on the food before to find yourself a seat, so you didn't notice anyone approaching you. You flinched when a kind hand touched your arm.

"Y/N?"

"Oh, hiya Lily."

The red-haired girl smiled at you with emerald eyes. She pointed to a corner around the table with her finger. "Potter asked me to call you."

Your eyes found James, who looked as tired as you but still managed to put on a simpering smile. "Cheers," you said to Lily.

You sat next to him, stuffing your plate. Your stomach growled harder at sight.

"How are you feeling?" James asked, watching you nibble on a toast.

"Have been worse. You?"

"Have been worse."

You knew what you had to ask him, but you also knew you needed your appetite at the moment, or you would starve yourself. So you simply hummed and hastened to finish your meal.

You tried not to think about the two empty seats as you sipped your drink. James and Peter were having small talk, trying to lighten the mood. You didn't listen to that either.

You swallowed your last piece as slowly as possible, delaying the inevitable. James looked at you briefly, and you understood what it meant. He raised from his seat, having you follow him.

When you two found an abandoned corner, you turned to him, tuning out the racing of your heart.

"You didn't sleep, did you?" he pointed under your eyes with a nod of his head. You shook your head.

"Did you talk to him?"

Unfamiliar gloom darkened James's features. "I did. Told him everything."

He glanced at you before averting his eyes away again. "He just listened. Thanked me in the end and said he wanted to be left alone."

Your heart clenched in pain. You didn't want him to be left alone. "Where is he?"

"Dunno. Didn't look for him."

"Where's Sirius?"

James stayed silent for a few seconds. "Dunno, either. We had a fight, but my guess is somewhere in the forest in his animagi form."

You didn't dwell on it any further. You loved Sirius, but you loved Remus more than anyone. Albeit you weren't furious at him, you still didn't plan on seeing him any sooner.

"I need to talk to Remus, James."

"I truly don't know where he is."

You had to find him. You had to find him and tell him that it wasn't his fault.

You nodded at James, mumbling a quick bye before wandering around the castle, trying to figure out where he could be.

He wouldn't go to the library. It would be an easy guess for anyone trying to find him.

James said Sirius would be outside of the castle. You were sure Remus wouldn't risk encountering him.

That left you two or three places that you knew Remus would run whenever he wanted to avoid people. So you got going.

You didn't find him at Room of Requirement or Hospital Tower. You cursed the school for being this large in area. It took you almost an hour to get from one side of the castle to another. Fortunately, you were sure Remus was on the Astronomy Tower.

As you got closer and closer to the tower, anticipation chased your heartbeats high, your hands fidgeting with their fingers. You took a moment to regulate your breathing, which had no effect on your pacing heart.

Without wasting one more moment, you entered the tower.

There he was, sitting on the ground, his head low between his hands. Around him was cold and dark, gleaming with the light from the Moon and stars. Your heart ached at the sight of him. You stepped forward, letting the sound of your footsteps alert him. He didn't acknowledge you, but you were sure he had heard you. Heartbreak burned through you, maiming you because of the distance between you two.

Your steps stopped next to him. He still hadn't looked up to you but hadn't asked you to go away either. So you sat next to him, raising your head to gaze at the stars while his head was low between his hands.

"The stars are beautiful, Remus."

He didn't budge. He didn't even move. You peeked at his chocolate-brown hair, suppressing the urge to mess with them.

"Your hair looks nice today."

Silence. You didn't know if he was ignoring you or simply ignoring everyone, and it wasn't something about you.

"Doesn't your neck hurt?"

"No."

You gulped when his voice echoed in the air.

"It must hurt if you've been keeping it like that for a long time."

"It doesn't."

"Liar."

Silence again. You yearned for his voice once more.

"You can put your head on my shoulder, Remus."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Go away, dove."

His voice was fragile and pleading. It broke your heart, shattered it into million little pieces. A lump made its way to your throat.

"Why?" you asked, a voice as broken as your heart. "I don't want to go away."

"But I want you to," he loosened his fingers from his hair, dropping them to his lap.

You turned to him. "Don't push me away, Remus."

You reached for his hand, but he gently pulled them away. "Remus, please."

He shook his head, still not looking at you.

"I need to know why you don't want me here."

He left your side, ambling to the parapet of the tower and leaning to it. You stared at his back in disbelief.

"Remus-"

"Go away, Y/N."

"You won't even look at my face when you kick me out."

Finally, he snapped his head and locked eyes with you. His eyes looked tired, blazing into yours. He had a new scar under his lower lip, from James's horns, probably.

"Go away."

You stood up, frowning in annoyance. "No, I'm not going anywhere," you took stern steps in his direction and closed the disturbing distance. "We need to talk, Remus."

You adored his amber eyes despite your annoyance. You loved to dive into its depth and get lost, sorting out every colour one by one.

He stayed where he was, but you detected his eyes lowering from your eyes. He stared at the cut above your cheek, clenching his jaw.

You unconsciously turned away and hid it from Remus. Memories flooded in a blink and raised the panic inside you. You could still feel the wind hitting your face and the sting from the branch that cut your skin as you fled for your life from the beast.

"It's nothing," you uttered.

Remus scoffed at your face. You saw his eyes change into something harsh and his brows furrow.

"Yeah, sure. The cut in your arm is also nothing."

You didn't ask how he knew that. After all, James did tell you that he would let Remus know everything.

"It'll heal."

"And why is it there in the first place?"

Remus took a step forward when you didn't answer.

What were you supposed to say? Because his wolf form chased you down, and you got injured trying to flee?

"I'll tell you why," he said, voice raised. "Because I hunted you down, tossed you to the ground, and yanked you around. I only did it so I could kill you."

"No–"

"Is that what you wanted to talk about? How I'm a bloodthirsty monster whose first instinct is to kill?"

"You weren't yourself."

"What would happen if James wasn't there?"

You pushed your lips together and closed your eyes. This was the last thing you wanted to talk about.

"No, open your eyes," he raised your head by your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye. "Tell me what would've happened if James wasn't there."

You blinked away the tears that were threatening to invade your vision. Remus made you relive the same nightmare you had that night over and over again.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because I need you to understand! I need you to understand that I'm not someone you can fucking love!"

You startled in your place, both by his anger and claim. Something had burst into flames inside you now that he had finally acknowledged your feelings.

You opened your mouth to quarrel, to tell him he's wrong, and that you loved him more than anyone or anything in the world. But he didn't let you interrupt him.

"You think I haven't thought about what you said in the last two days? You haven't left my mind for even a bloody second!" his tone was raised but broken.

"You were the one pushing me away!"

"Because I wanted to keep you away from all this shit! I wanted you to see me as something other than a cursed boy. Why do you think I never shared that secret with you?!"

"That secret is part of your story, Remus. If you thought that I wouldn't love you with it, you must've been out of your mind."

You didn't think he understood the depth of your love for him, and you needed him to understand. It didn't even matter if your feelings were not returned.

He shook his head no.

"No one, Y/N, no one loves a monster like me."

"I do," you pleaded.

Words weren't enough to convince him or express your love for him, but you were trying.

He took your arm in his hand and pulled the left sleeve of your sweater up, revealing the gash. You tried to pull your arm back, but he overpowered you, tightening the hold on your arm. You grimaced when his fingers pushed on the scar.

"This is what happens when you love someone like me."

You used your whole strength and tugged your arm back. You marvelled at your tone when you spoke.

"Stop it! You weren't yourself, Remus!"

"How does that even change anything?!" he screamed, his voice breaking and his eyes tearing up. "Don't you understand? I am a danger to you!

"Remus–"

"You think this is easy for me?! I have fucking lost my mind these last two days because you were the only one in it! My brain wouldn't think of any name other than yours! My heart wouldn't beat for any name other than yours! And when I am finally ready to tell you that I love you, too, James comes and tells me that I almost fucking killed you!"

His eyes were blood red, and the veins in his neck had popped up. Tears left his red eyes and paved the way down from his jawline to his neck.

Remus was crying.

It was a sight you had never got used in the last five years.

Your mind refused to work, denying to comprehend the words that left his mouth. It was all too much, and all in one moment.

"You love me, too?'

You didn't recognise your own voice, probably because all you could hear was Remus's confession. You expected your heart to race this time also, but instead, it was dead silent. Or maybe you were just too focused on Remus's eyes.

His tears never stopped, and he never tried to stop them.

He was breaking down at last.

You walked up to him and closed whatever distance was left. You looked up into his eyes as he lowered them to you.

"But you didn't kill me," you whispered, bringing your hand to his cheek. He closed his eyes, raining more tears on your hand. You gently wiped them away.

"I'm here, Remus. I'm here, and I'm telling you that I love you. I don't love you despite your curse, I love you with it."

Remus scrunched up his face, letting out a sob before sinking his head down your shoulder. You felt his tears on your neck.

At that moment, you knew no words would ever soothe the storm in his heart.

So you held him as he bawled like a child.

His crying sent daggers to your heart, ripping it open.

You begged for his pain to become yours so that he would never hurt the way he was hurting now.

You didn't know how many minutes past. All you knew was Remus's sobs and whimpers hurt you like nothing else ever did.

You didn't let go when the heavy sobs turned into heavy sighs or when the tear-fall in your neck turned into warm breaths.

You caressed his hair and kissed his neck when he calmed down. When he talked, it was gritty and low.

"I'm a monster, dove. A monster that will tear you to pieces if you get near."

"I love you," you whispered. You felt him let a short, breathy scoff to the crook of your neck.

"I attacked Snape last night like a beast."

"I love you."

"I almost killed you."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

You shut your eyes, breaking your face into a tiny smile. Four words, one sentence, and his lips close to your neck was all you needed for revival.

Remus inched away from your neck, lingering his lips next to your wound. The red in his eyes hadn't worn off, but the brown of his eyes was blazing with affection.

You drew a sharp breath when he kissed above your cheek.

He caressed the nick lengthwise with tender pecks. His hand grazed your other cheek while the other one made its way to your waist.

You held your breath when he lowered his lips, hovering them above your lips. His hot breath tingled your face, you fought the urge to close your eyes.

He whispered your name, and that's when you gave in. You closed your eyes and unknowingly parted your lips.

One second lasted one year.

Something flamed up down in your chest when you felt Remus's soft lips on yours. He kissed your lips gentle and soft, but short. Pulling back, he stared into your eyes, chestnut brown darkening with every second.

"I love you," he whispered.

Within a blink, his lips crashed into your lips again, this time more intense, more passionate, taking away the air in your lungs. You melted to his touch, letting his lips savour yours while his hand on your waist tugged you closer. Your breaths mingled together, leaving your heart fluttering in your ribcage.

If time had stopped and trapped you at this moment, you wouldn't complain.

You craved his scent on your soul, his touch on your body and his lips on your lips. But most importantly, you were more than glad to be buried in his love.

He pulled away and smiled at the way you filled your lung with air. You felt his thumb caress your face.

"There's no getting rid of me, now, dove."

His smile was tired, his eyes still carrying the heartbreak of yesterday. You knew he was still a broken boy inside, but you loved him anyway.

Thank you for reading. Let me know what you think!

if you enjoyed my writing and this fic, please, buy me a cofee <33

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ariicandy · 3 months

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give me little kisses from my head down to my toes

Summary : what started a small kiss to now being peppered with kisses all over your face

More — kiss don’t tell matchup @bl4cktourmaline yue!! I dearly hope I have live up to your promise of one of your characters in this idea I thought of!! I’m excited to see more of your work & get 2 know u more!!

Note — grammar errors may appear, I will edit them as this is queue being 1am finishing this

Credits to @/cafekitsune for dividers!!

After a successful performance by Lyney & Lynette’s show as watching and being picked as a “volunteer” tho we all know it’s cause Lyney will always choose you when you see his performances, which is almost all. Heading back stage to go and congratulate the twins for their hard work, you can see the 2 twins and freminet look tired while their younger sibling is trying to help them relax. “Congrats for an amazing performance lynette!! You were fantastic on the tricks you did from practice, they look so amazing on stage and was your moment!!” Clapping your hands to congratulate lynette seeing her say thank you with a small smile from the praise, you went to grab a small towel from the tables nearby to help poor freminet not be alone. But it seems you missed one person to applause and is shock at you, or maybe you aren’t & teasing him waiting for him to say something. Helping lynette under her hair a bit so her head doesn’t start hurting due to having to tighten it, giver her some water and help clean up & put away the props. A certain magician was feeling a little jealous from his sister getting his lover’s attention than their attention being to on him.

————————. Mini time skip —————————

After arriving home in your shared room with Lyney, Lyney immediately wrapped his arms around you, “[Naaaammmmeee] !!! Why didn’t you say anything when praise lynette and not me too!! ‘Oh lyney you did such an incredible job”. Giggling from how your dear Lyney couldn’t handle being ignored and not being complimented on how well he did the show, he was like a small puppy wanting attention. “Sorry it was a bit funny seeing you so shocked on not saying any to you!! You did amazing on the tricks you did!” You gave him a kiss on the cheek as a small sorry to little stunt you did on him. He immediately returned the kiss on your lips, holding your face to shock you from his sudden move. He then started to place kisses all over face, on your nose, next to your eye, cheeks, ear, and on your lips. It was hard trying to speak when his kisses kept making you giggle, “What’s gotten into you Lyney? You usually aren’t like this unless something you plan??” “It nothing! It just shows atleast I can keep you to myself anytime and give you kisses whenever I like whenever I desire!” A small blush formed on your face realizing he was right, you really can’t complain when you pepper him with love and attention all the time and he does the same with kisses & his attention on you all the time

You and Dan heng were in the Archives, relaxing while he was looking at data, seeing if he has missed anything or has recalled what the data has in store. You were a little bored and feeling like messing with your lover for a bit, nothing harmful but it gets boring sometimes when you wait for him to review something. Walking up next to him you blur out, “Dan heng, can I kiss?” And you certainly got his attention, he looks at you and peeks a kiss to your lips with a small fond smile from it. “Can I have one here?” He get a little confused by your request for kissing your cheek, received a hum, but he does not complain and kisses your cheek. “The other side too!” “If you want my attention you know you could of ask, you are my girlfriend after all.” Having to ruin the fun you just giggle and respond with, “it’s more funnier to do something than ask!” Ahh, now he sees what your trying to do, you are trying to make him kiss your face. He decides to join your small game and start kissing your face to which your shock seeing him obey what you were trying to do. Small laughter comes out of you from just attacking you with kisses and finally ends it with a couple of your lips! Your lover dan heng now is his turn to laugh from seeing your flustered face of being attacked with his kisses, your laughter and smile always makes him smile even if he doesn’t realize it shows on his face, atleast you can see yourself and believe. “Isn’t this want you were trying to grab my attention for? No?” “Well yeah! But I didn’t think you would actually do it!!” He laughs again from successfully caughting you off guard, he loves these moments with you two together. All sweet, fun laughter with one another, with each other’s love. “Come on, it’s almost time to eat let’s go get something before march comes barging in for us to eat and ruin the moment.” And he gives you one last kiss and leaves, leaving you flustered again.

Fun fact I do not know how to write about Dan heng so I hope it��s okay🙏🙏

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charmwasjess · 4 months

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something that lives rent-free in my head is the casual reference in Master and Apprentice that Dooku chose his Padawans on the younger side of the usual age range, because that's what Yoda also did. Which is sweet linage bullshit, but also hilariously means that he almost certainly had to be the one to give both Rael and Qui-Gon The Talk.

What's even funnier, it means YODA probably had to be the one to give DOOKU The Talk.

#disaster lineage #yoda #dooku #qui gon jinn #rael averross #jedi sex ed #you can guess what was my favorite scene to write in Milk Run

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loganlermanstanaccount · 1 year

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Just to kiss me (Part 4)

pairing: Finnick Odair x reader

(AO3 mirror)

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Five, My Hunger Games Masterlist

summary: You take care of Finnick, in the aftermath.

warnings: mentions of drug use, depictions of a psychotic breakdown, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt comfort, aaaangst, fluff.

required reading: The song "We'll never have sex" by Leith Ross <;3

a/n: a short but sweet chapter, I hope. Calm before the storm, etc etc

wc: 2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was simple, it was sweetness

It was good to know

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“....Are you mad at me?.” Finnick winces as you dab at the cut above his eyebrow.

You’re perched on his kitchen countertop, between his legs as he stands and leans towards you. Due to the height difference, it was the easiest way you could get to his injuries; the contents of his first aid kit strewn onto the marble. Still thawing from the cold; your fingers clumsily swipe at the wound. Your eyes are red-rimmed from crying; more out of frustration and exhaustion than anything. Your arms hurt, your back aches, and you’ve got a pounding headache. Finnick almost died and he’s barely fazed; giving you a lazy grin in the soft light of the kitchen.

Admittedly, you didn’t know what to expect from his house. It certainly wasn’t this: a modest home at the Capitol’s edge. You’d expected the sterile white and marble that you’d seen a thousand times over. Instead it feels like a home: warm lamps and clutter and throw pillows. It looks like someone lives a life, here.

You chewed your bottom lip on the way there, silk slip dampening the leather of the car seats. You were worried; eyes darting between the road and him - looking for jittery hands or glazed eyes. Every bump in the road puts you on edge; you can barely feel the warmth of the car’s heater - sitting in dull cold despite it all. Even Finnick was quiet, bundling you up the stairs and into his room with few words. When he hands you a sweater and joggers, there’s nothing to be said except in the brush of fingers; I’m sorry it hurts. The words die in your throat.

His fingers brush the soft fabric, his hands flat on the countertop. Pressing cotton heavy with disinfectant to his temple, Finnick hisses softly. He takes your hand in his to stop you, momentarily.

“I’m sorry.”

You can’t help but laugh. It’s insensitive, sure, and makes you look insane. The first time you’ve so much as smiled in the past couple hours, and he has no idea why.

“W-What are you-” You’re still laughing, soft and melodious in the hum of lights. “-What exactly are you sorry for?”

“Uh..” He cocks his head. Despite the circumstances (he thinks you’re delirious from the adrenaline of it all), your smile hurts him in a way he didn’t think possible. “For… everything. You didn’t have to do what you did.”

“You weren’t awake for what I did, Finnick.” And then, softer. “I thought you were dead.”

“I know.”

You tuck his hair behind his ear. Dirty blonde locs, curled from the spray of lake water.

“You keep surprising me.”

“Surprising you? How?” Cradling his cheek now, he waits with baited breath.

“Hmmmm,” you titter, pretending to think. “You’re funnier than I thought you would be.”

He smiles, crooning. “...Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His hand is still on yours. “And you’re perceptive. You see everything with those freaky green eyes of yours.”

Lidded, his eyes flit down to your lips. He’s in a trance, unable to think of anything but the way his heart swells when you talk to him like that.

“And you’re kind. You were kind to me, on the balcony. You didn’t have to stay, or remember me but you did. And… when you talk to me, it’s like I’m the only person in the world. You’re good at that; making people feel wanted. Making me feel...”

“I like you.” It tumbles out of his mouth, wincing at how desperate it sounds. Suddenly, he’s barefoot on the shores of District 4, gap-toothed and sunburnt. He’s stretching sticky fingers towards the other kids, trying to make friends. To be seen.

“I like you too. I-” you swallow, imperceptibly. He notices the quiver of your lip. “I know it’s not my place. You’re a grown man, and you don’t need a lecture - but whatever you were taking; you need to be more careful. I need you to be more careful-”

“I can’t sleep. That’s why I was taking them.”

“Okay.” Your voice is soft, free of judgement. You’re not satisfied with his answer, but it’ll do, for now. You don’t want to push him away. Gently, you nod. “You scared me.”

“I know. M’sorry.” He presses his forehead to yours.

“Stop apologising, Finnick.” You close your eyes, and lean into his touch.

You stay like that for a little too long; basking in the warmth of each other. Slow steady breaths to remind the other that you were both alive. When you separate, you brush light fingers at the apex of his cut. It stopped bleeding long ago, split and angry red on his flesh. Peeking out from under his sweatshirt, you see the dull mauve of bruises; older, they couldn't have been from today. Finnick looks as exhausted as you feel.

"You need stitches." He nods, resigned.

They're serviceable - likely to scar, but serviceable. His grey-green eyes follow your hands, your lips, the tilt of your head; and suddenly, you're grateful that you've learnt at least one thing from your years with the Junior Peacekeeper Scouts. The rest, you've learnt from your years around the capitol's elite: how to hide shaking hands under scrutiny. You're tying the knot on his stitches when you hear soft creaking coming from the stairs.

From the kitchen, you see a pale hand wrap around the bannister. Annie, in a nightgown and robe pads onto the hardwood. Her hair flows down her back as she steps into the warmth of the kitchen - like a ghost in sheets.

"Lucas?" Her eyes are wide and glassy - wet-rimmed like she's been crying. Again, she squeaks. "Lucas?"

His body language changes, but Finnick doesn't miss a beat. Slowly, he closes the gap. "You ok, Annie?"

Her voice cracks. "T-think I had that dream again."

You see his Adam's apple quiver. Hoarsely, he swallows. "Okay. Let's get you t-"

"No!" She clenches her fist and stumbles backwards, into the counter. "Please don't- I can't- please don't make me…. Lucas-"

"-to bed." He says, impossibly soft. You've fallen away to the sidelines as they are framed in lamplight. He throws a glance to you over his shoulder, unreadable. "Annie, let's get you to bed."

He stands in front of her, hands at his side. Hesitating? No, asking for permission. When she pulls at his shirt, manic, he wraps her up. The woman's eyes are frenzied; her breathing speeding up and hands clawing at her wrists and throat. He's gentle when he takes them and places them in his own; whispering something you can't hear. She stills, breathing erratically, but calmer by the minute.

"Finnick… F-Finnick, I can't-"

"I know… I know,"

"-where did y-you go? Finnick, I called for you and you weren't t-there. Where di-"

"I know… and I'm sorry," He soothes. She still can't see you. They make their way up the stairs; where you can hear the dance of their voices. Finnick: low and calm. Annie: frantic, strained.

You're left feeling bare in the aftermath. Like you've just seen something you shouldn't have. Her face is etched into your mind's eye - terror you've only ever seen on a screen. A voyeur, looking in through a dirty spyglass - gripped with the shame of getting caught. You look around, and reality slams into you at full force. You shouldn't be here.

You clean up, close to tears.

It's almost an hour before he comes down again. You've cleared what's left of the first aid kit from the counter, and curled up onto the sofa. Before you know it, you've passed out like that; knees drawn into yourself between plush cushions. Finnick finds you there, wading in fitful sleep. You look peaceful; in his clothes, in his house, nestled in his couch. It feels right, he thinks.

You start awake, blinking back sleep. You're met with Finnick above, arms full of blankets and pillows.

"Shit. Didn't mean to wake you." He sighs, collapsing onto the sofa.

"S'okay." You mumble. Stretching, you move to get up. "It's probably time for me to get going anyw-"

"-No! I-I mean…" Exhaustion creeping in, he rubs at his eyes. "You must be tired. Sleep, even for just a little bit."

And then, quieter. "Stay. Please."

You lean your head back and look at him, tilted 90 degrees. Even from this angle, his puppy-dog eyes claw at your heart.

"You can take my bed?" He adds, hopeful.

You scoff. "And where will you sleep?"

"Down here's just fine…"

"No, no. Absolutely not. Finn, you need rest - in a proper bed with back support, and silk sheets and-"

He cuts you off with a snort. It's cute, he thinks. When you get passionate and a little mad, you shake your fists at him like a fairytale villain. He shrugs."Haven't been getting much sleep anyways. S'how we got into this mess in the first place."

You purse your lips. There's a grab made at the pillows in his lap, but he snatches it away just in time. You feint, elbowing him playfully, before going for the blanket by his other side. Successful, you ball it up crudely, and stretch onto the sofa. Makeshift pillow under your head you fake a yawn, pointedly (smugly, he thinks).

"Goodnight." He rolls his eyes at your dramatics. The white woven blanket, the one that had been with you both for the night, ends up on your back. Finnick leaves the extra pillows at your feet, before turning off the lamps. He gives you one last look, before heading to bed.

"Goodnight." You whisper into the dark as the sound of steps subside. No-one answers.

~~~

In the morning, you're woken up to the smell of coffee and something sizzling in a pan. Light streams in from where you lie, bundled up in blankets and pillows. A dull ache settles in your bones, as you try to blow away the morning fog - blinking back sleep. Through the doorway to the kitchen, you see a sliver of someone's bare arm.

Finnick stands at the stove top, dressed in a light tank top and sweats, a flowery tea towel slung over his shoulder. The tip of his tongue sticks out when he pokes at the pan with a wooden spoon; deep in concentration. You walk in and lean on the doorframe.

"Morning." The pan nearly goes flying, Finnick almost jumping like a startled cat. His hand grazes the heat of a burner, and he hisses in frustration. Without thinking, you leap to his side, quick to guide him towards the sink and run his burn under cold water.

"Morning," He says despite himself, leaning into your soft touch. You trace the lines of his palm under the running water.

"They say," You're careful to circle around the burn forming at its base. "…you've got your future written out in your palms,"

"And what do my palms tell you?" He says softly.

"It's not that simple, see," You huff. "Like…. roots in a tree. All mapped out before you were even born. This one," you trace one spreading the width of his hand "..is your heart line. It tells me all about the way you love the people around you. It says you give too much, despite yourself. The one below it, is your head line. Right now, it says you're stubborn and…" You laugh.

"…pig-headed."

"Really?" Unwittingly, he's been reeled in.

"No. Not really. I wouldn't know, Finn. Made it all up." Your lips pop at the last sentence, grinning up at him.

"Very funny." His tone is dry, but still he smiles.

"I've got a friend who's obsessed with it: divination, fate, destiny, all of it. She'll probably give you something a little more accurate than I can."

He hums. "Does that mean…. you want to see me again?"

You're standing shoulder to shoulder with him at the sink. You shut off the tap, and grab a piece of toast from a plate on the counter. His plate, most likely. Your answer comes in the form of a flash pink tongue.

"...Maybe."

"I want to see you again."

There it is; something red-hot at the base of your chest, spreading like a wildfire until it makes your fingers numb and face warm. You'd die before you admit how what he said made you feel; I want, I want, I want becomes a broken record on replay in your head.

"I'd like that," You breathe, and then clear your throat. “I’d like that.”

taglist: @starhastoomanyfandoms

#finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick x capitol!reader #finnick x y/n #the hunger games #the hunger games fic #angst #slow burn #Spotify #thg #thg x reader #kat_writes😼#hurt/comfort

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teriri-sayes · 1 year

Text

Reactions to Trash Boss's Chapter 135

TLDR; Cale is jealous of HD's appearance. Experiment delayed for a week because of successor selection. Cale's slacker plan destroyed again.

Soos? LSH = ❌ CJS = ❌

Cale's Jealousy Author-nim has a fave character. There was so much description about HD's appearance, but it was funnier because it all came from Cale's perspective.

Yes, Cale is jealous of HD's skin that was smoother than his. That HD was not that thin compared to real Cale and skinny KRS. That HD looked younger than CH despite HD being 39 years old. 😂

And then Cale began to think on who was older, KRS or Cale.

The Successor Problem HD is single and childless, so he had to choose a successor among 4 candidates before conducting the experiment. He also plans to drag our Cale in the selection because he is suspicious that there might be a spy or a Living Jiangshi among them.

And speaking of successors, Cale finally remembered the Orsena sisters! Or more like, the author finally remembered them.

Introvert Left Guardian This poor old man... He was an introvert and rarely spoke, and then this happened:

Left Guardian (LG): Young master, is it truly possible to cure him? LG: *thinks about the fire Cale used, plus some poetic descriptions of that fire* LG: ! Cale: It would be better to ask your lord any questions you may have. (This is HD's idea, why should I answer that?) LG: *bows very politely and apologizes* Cale: *flinches* (What's wrong with him?) Cale: There's nothing to apologize for, right? LG: *still bowing in apology* I apologize for my impatient behavior, Young Master Kim. Cale: (No, what's there to be sorry about?) *looks around* Wi, Fist King, and Cale's companions: ... Splitter Saint: *looks at Cale with sympathy* Cale: (Why is that Splitter Saint staring at me like that?) Cale: No need to worry about that. LG: *leaves* Cale: *shakes head* Dealing with the Demon Cult is certainly not easy. Everyone: ... LG afterwards: (Why did I say that? I almost made a mistake. It might trouble HD-nim's healing later. Me talking is a problem. Yes, I shall not talk again.)

🤣🤣🤣 Seriously, Cale. Why are you so dense? Look at what you did to that timid introvert... 😂Even the hostile Splitter Saint is friendlier than before 😂 Slacker Life Killed Again Ah, Cale's slacker plans got foiled again. Cale was happy that he had a week off, and then Brain Demon visited, inviting him to attend the dinner with the successors and lend his wisdom to them.

Cale was so shocked that he let out his true feelings, forgetting to be polite. Because of that, Wi flinched and Brain Demon stuttered and tried to explain why nervously, hahaha 🤣🤣🤣 Ending Remarks I'm quite happy that the Orsena sisters were mentioned again. But the part of Cale constantly comparing HD's appearance to himself and others was just so hilarious. Of course, slacker life dying again was also funny.

Anyway, that's it for this week. See you all next Monday~!

#tcf spoilers #trash of the count's family

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idyllic-affections · 1 year

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to keep the wind at bay.

summary. to block the wind out is to block venti out, but they supposed they couldn't hide forever. trigger & content warnings. heavily implied family issues, parental arguing/screaming. tropes, pairings, word count, & other notes. hurt/comfort. venti & teen!reader. 1.2k words. they/them pronouns for reader. author's thoughts. do you like venti? i love venti! /ref. ANYWAYS i really like him a lot and its a shame that hes so often mischaracterized in the fandom, like it genuinely makes me sad. on a funnier note, i cannot rhyme to save my life yet i love writing venti. help me /lh

It wasn't uncommon for the Anemo Archon to appear on their balcony, tapping on their window until they'd let him in—not that their window was ever shut entirely; like most children born and raised in Mondstadt, they'd fostered a characteristic fondness for the wind. They hated how stuffy their room got when their windows were shut tight. Him knocking was simply an act of courtesy.

What concerned Venti was that, for the first time, their window was locked, as if to keep the wind out. As if to keep him out.

He knew they were in there, awake, albeit faced away from the window. Surely they were aware of his presence? The bard's tapping was gentle, but certainly not so much so that it couldn't be noticed.

Their shoulders shook when he tapped again. They slightly turned their head towards the window, lower lip trembling. To little avail, they tried to compose themselves before greeting the poet at their window.

Oh. Oh. They were crying—well, almost. It was clear that they were holding back tears, and that was enough for his concern to be blatantly put on display.

They stood up, shuffling reluctantly to the window and flicking the lock before pushing it open. To block the wind out is to block Venti out, but they supposed they couldn't hide forever.

"Hi," they greeted weakly, voice strained and wavering. Their gaze was locked off somewhere to the side, hands clenched at their sides.

He was silent, and over the silence came the source of their distress from the first floor of their home. Ah. Now he understood why the window was so tightly shut; they knew very well that, had the wind heard such foul, bitter exchanges, he would have been there to whisk them away in an instant.

"...Oh, beloved," he whispered gently. It was cruel, he thought, that they were prisoner to their own home in the City of Freedom itself. As much as he wanted to resolve this issue and free them from their fear, this problem was one not so easily solved. His divine status was of no use in such a situation. "Again?"

They gnawed on their lower lip. "Yeah."

"Can I touch you?"

"Yeah."

With so much tenderness that it should've been impossible, the Archon took one of their hands in his, gingerly easing their hand from its clenched state and intertwining their fingers, even if it was only for a brief moment. He led them over to their bed. He situated himself first, then motioning for them to sit beside him. Their head fell onto his shoulder when they did, body curling against his side. Subconsciously, their fingers twirled around the tips of his braid, busying themselves with admiring the gentle glow his hair emitted.

"Can you tell me about your day?" they requested softly, the tears silently running down their face as they did. It was hard not to cry in the situation that they were in. Venti didn't blame them in the slightest.

He smiled endearingly, carding a hand soothingly through their hair. "Anything for you, dearest."

— flower of the universe !! 🌸

They supposed that, as a bard, Venti had his ways of skillfully animating even his most mundane tales. It was an impressive talent that they knew must have taken decades to cultivate, for he was born not as anything even remotely human; this was a fact they were very aware of.

Still, it wasn't enough to put them at ease.

That much was extremely clear, for when the resonating slam of a door echoed through the house, they nearly jumped out of their skin. Their heart stuttered uncomfortably in their chest, a shallow breath leaving their throat. They clung to the God of Freedom's side, as if trying to burrow into him. As if they were trying to hide. His lips twitched down into a frown as he held them, rubbing soothing circles on their upper arm, drawing them closer into a shielding embrace.

"Let's... let's go to Windrise, shall we?"

"Please."

— flower of the universe !! 🌸

The gentle breezes that constantly flowed under the Windrise tree immediately seemed to take some of their stress away, brushing tenderly over their cheeks and drying whatever tears remained.

Just being away from the toxic environment was enough—at least, for now.

"I think," they began from their place in the bard's embrace. "I think you aren't the only one who heals here. I always feel more at ease here than anywhere else."

He hummed softly in reply. "You always have."

The anemo crystalflies glowed brilliantly at night. They always did. It never failed to make their eyes brighten immeasurably in wonder.

Now that they thought about it, they'd known Venti for quite some time. He... never seemed to leave, actually. He was always there when they needed him, even when they were much younger. They had vague memories of being little and chasing the crystalfies around, constantly tripping over themsleves, only for the bard to catch them with a burst of anemo energy and a laugh. His fondness for them never seemed to dwindle and sometimes they couldn't help but wonder how they garnered the personal attention of a deity—one of the Seven, no less. Those thoughts were always brief and fleeting, though. It wasn't something they needed to linger on because really, to them, Venti was just... Venti. Him being the Anemo Archon was of little importance to them.

They wished they could return to being as free-spirited as they once had been. It was a feeling they missed dearly.

"Mora for your thoughts?"

"You don't have mora," they teased weakly, tone dry and void of humor. Their voice was soft as they continued, as if it would crack and shatter if they spoke any louder. "...That would've been funnier under different circumstances. Just thinking about how I used to run around here, chasing the crystalflies. Things were different back then."

"They were," he agreed with equal gentleness, fingers brushing through their hair comfortingly. "You may be visionless right now, but I assure you, the God of Anemo looks upon you favorably. In my completely speculative and third-party opinion, it seems he is quite fond of you."

They smiled against the fabric of his clothes. "Oh? What a bold statement. You shouldn't go around saying things like that, lest he rescind his supposed favor."

"Ehe, something tells me Lord Barbatos wouldn't be so easily swayed."

"Hmm, I can't help but wonder, is that simply your so-called bard's intuition talking?"

"Yep, exactly!"

A comfortable silence befell the two. A slight chill, one which didn't go unnoticed by the bard, ran up their spine in response to the cool night air. Mondstadt did have a tendency to get slightly chilly at such late hours, especially in the later seasons.

After a gentle glow of light accompanied by an equally soft burst of wind, the coldness was replaced with a soothing warmth. Here, held securely in the arms of the Anemo Archon with his snow-white wings encasing them, they were at their absolute safest. It was hard to imagine anything in Teyvat being able to bring them harm while they were here.

Despite snuggling further into the god, content with the warmth his feathered wings provided, they chided him. "What if someone sees you?" they huffed, fending off their tiredness in favor of scolding Venti. "I cannot believe I have to reprimand you. Aren't you, like... I don't know, two millenia old?"

He chuckled at that. "Don't worry about that. You've fought so, so hard today, so rest for now. I'll be here when you wake."

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

#aphelion writes 🌸#platonic #venti x gender neutral reader #platonic venti x reader #genshin x reader #venti imagines #genshin imagines #venti x you #venti x y/n #platonic genshin impact #platonic genshin x reader #venti x reader

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hexoskeleton · 11 days

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Okay hear me out, this theory is kind of crazy. (I’m not even sure I believe it, but there are some weird details and loose threads that I just can’t stop thinking about.)

Is Porter really the big bad? Seems like right now we’re working off of a lot of circumstantial evidence. Here’s what we know for sure:

Porter is an oath-of-ancestors barbarian/Paladin multiclass (the latter of these explaining why he can heal).

Porter can see Kalina/was probably working with Kalina.

Porter is around 6’5, so with an enlarge/reduce spell would be the size of the cloaked figure.

Porter is a descendant of giants from the mountain of chaos.

Here’s where it breaks down:

Why would Porter use that legendary stunning action after he (believed he had) learnt the name of his goddess? Is it because he suspected an invisible creature might be nearby—Kipperlily, for instance? But wasn’t Kipperlily working for him?

Who was he responding to when he said “got it” in his head (overheard by Adaine)? Jace, perhaps? Someone else working on this same case?

Do the names really match up? The house of Sunstone went into hiding after the Breaking of the Cliffs of Colcath—does it really sound like they were the ones doing the Cliffbreaking? No, they were defeated at that battle—so why would they call themselves Cliffbreakers? Wouldn’t something like, oh, I don’t know—Stardiamond make more sense?

Are we certain we can trust the magical evidence we’ve seen thus far? Nystal’s Magic Aura could easily make Jace’s chest look like a scar-sigil, or Porter’s chest look sigil-free. What if Jace wants us to think Porter is the bad guy, and poor poor kittycat Jace is just under his magic thrall? (Bear in mind, Nystal’s Magic Aura is not a sorcerer spell, but Brennan did mention that Jace cast it to disguise Porter’s teacher evaluation form, so I assume Jace has it somehow.)

For that matter—can we trust physical evidence? Take the ambrosia smoothies in Porter’s office, for instance: If star-sigils can bend you to the command of whoever placed them on you, then couldn’t Porter have merely been doing Jace’s bidding? Could Kipperlily (who we know was nearby) have planted some (or even all) of that evidence?

Is Porter definitely connected to the ongoing mystery, and almost certainly working on the side of the bad guys? For sure. Absolutely. Yes. Does that mean he is definitively THE big bad of the season? Well…. maybe!

But bear in mind this: Brennan works on comedy -> storytelling principles. Porter actually being evil is funny. But managing to convince Fig that Porter is evil, again, right after she’d finally gotten over all that… would be much, much funnier.

So, four final things to bear in mind:

If Jace is 6’whatever, enlarge/reduce could absolutely still make him the cloaked figure. Divine Soul sorcerers also get access to all cleric spells—including resurrection and revivify.

Brennan never said in-universe that the Sunstone family became the Cliffbreaker family.

It seems to me that it would make more sense for the Cliffbreakers to be the good guys who defeated the Sunstones at the sundering of the Cliffs of Colcath, and for the Sunstone family to become the Stardiamond family after that. Which would make Jace wanting to get revenge on/take over the mind and body of Porter make that much more sense. (Or Porter could even be working to stop Jace!—assuming we can discount the evidence from his office, which, to be fair, is a big leap.)

Between Porter and Jace, only Jace has been seen actually conversing with Kalina. Again, by Ragh Barkrock.

Maybe I need to take a nap or something. Brennan Lee Mulligan you have to stop or you’re gonna make me tear out my hair.

And Jace and Porter have known each other for years, so it would be easy for Jace to infect Porter with the Kalina curse (intentionally or not)—and then it was Jace who convinced Porter to heal Ragh after the Kalvaxus battle!

And what if Porter had all of that evidence in his safe because he’s investigating Jace? He could be in deep cover working for the Council of Chosen for all we know. It could be a years-long, destined-enemies type toxic yaoi situationship in there. After all, if Porter is the bad guy, what’s Jace getting out of the evil plan?

^And that could explain why he might need devil’s honey—unrelated to Jace/The Ratgrinder’s use of it—he needs to fool a Divine Soul sorcerer with Zone of Truth!

Brennan’s gone out of his way to avoid mentioning Porter by name (or even a recognizable title) in any of the Ratgrinder’s communications. Why? At this point he presumably has nothing to hide from the players… but if Porter isn’t involved directly with the evil plan then his name not coming up in their communications would make perfect sense!

EDIT: apparently i just need to drink less caffeine

#dimension 20 #fantasy high #fantasy high junior year #fhjy #fhjy spoilers #dimension 20 spoilers #fantasy high spoilers #fhjy speculation #am i still on my Jace Stardiamond Is Evil bullshit? yes. 100% absolutely.#have i been proven wrong many times before? uhuh. yep.#am i forging ahead with this insane conspiracy theory regardless? you betchya #long post #oh and to be clear. this isn’t because i LIKE porter. he sucks as a teacher. it’s just my red strings on the conspiracy board moment

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britcision · 1 year

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Hey guys guess what? We’re finally out of the dang gala! However, because we did go back in for the explosion, now the boys don’t get to kiss until chapter 15 at the earliest

This chapter’s a little darker than the rest, we’re getting back into Jason’s death and Tim has finally done a google on Amity Park

Most prominently featured is Jason’s self loathing however, so do prepare yourselves for that after the Mariokart

The link to AO3 is in the first chapter

First chapter:

Last chapter:

——————

Not Over Til The Goth Lady Says Fuck

Well, Brucie Wayne hadn’t died. Gotham escaped annihilation by a sliver. There might still be something of worth left in this dump.

Vlad wandered amongst the guests as they returned to the main hall, wondering idly where those bloody Wayne “children” had all gone.

For all that people were sooo protective of them, no one seemed to care where they were during the actual danger. Typical.

Not that he minded. Vlad would be quite happy not to run into any of them again for quite some time. He had fences to mend first, and no desire to provide more fuel to the fire.

There was some form of commotion off to one side of the hall, yet more yelling, and Vlad let himself drift over. Honestly, the voices were almost familiar…

Although some of the more choice words weren’t. Vlad assumed they were vile exhortations of some sort, especially from the gasps of those around him.

It was actually rather impressive. He thought he had a rather extensive vocabulary of curses, but someone was putting him to shame.

At least his little moving bubble of space was useful as he made his way through the crowds. People who got too close soon realised who he was and pushed their way into the crowds to avoid him.

No jostling for Vladdie today. Maybe it wasn’t the very worst after all.

He was honestly a little surprised to find Samantha and Pamela Manson in full duet. As much as Samantha always wanted to scream herself hoarse at these events, usually she kept a lid on it.

It took a moment for the words to sink in, to realise that Daniel and young Jason were at the center of even this little ball of ire. His jaw dropped.

“I CANNOT believe you?! Why is it ALWAYS like this, EVERY TIME?! I was DEFENDING YOU and you can’t keep your legs shut for a minute at a time!” Samantha bellowed, fists clenched and a glint of tears in her eye.

“You utter HARLOT! Shameless STRUMPET, leading that INNOCENT BOY astray! DISGRACING my poor baby girl, you are WORSE THAN YOUR PARENTS Daniel Fenton!”

Pamela was actually crying, being held by her husband to prevent her from either running to Sam or full on attacking Daniel.

Vlad was going to put his money on attacking. The Manson women had a worrying streak of rage. Although…

Brows furrowing he tuned out the noise for a moment (Pamela had clearly been reading a lot of period romances) and focused on the thread of emotion he’d picked up.

Samantha was… delighted. Vlad might have suspected it was just at the chance to finally scream at a gala, but there were no darker feelings anywhere.

She was having a wonderful time. And Daniel and Jason, for all that they looked contrite, for all that Daniel’s head was slumped, were equally delighted.

Something was going on here, something all three young people had orchestrated. From the content of the yelling and the state of undress…

Vlad’s eyes widened. Daniel was wearing Jason’s tie. Jason’s shirt was missing three buttons.

Well that would certainly put both young men in an excellent mood, but at a gala?!

He was quite sure his cheeks must have blanched at just the thought. He’d noticed they were fond of each other, but so soon?

Perhaps Jason would have to be a son-in-law rather than an actual son. He simply wouldn’t accept the other way round, no matter how much Daniel might resist.

Daniel was perfect… if apparently a little easy. Not disloyal though, which was something of a relief. He’d never have considered Daniel capable, since he was loyal to his friends long past the point of fault.

Even now, he was perfectly happy to be harangued by both Samantha and her mother to allow Sam to make some sort of point.

He was distantly aware of the crowd parting again, but didn’t turn to acknowledge the arrival of… Brucie. He looked a little the worse for wear, likely from the thermos more than the actual rogues.

A thin smear of blood at his hairline betrayed where the thermos had struck, and the faint shadow of an oncoming bruise. He should probably be having someone scan his head, but since it usually appeared to be empty that was probably of little concern.

Well, he wasn’t likely to pay Vlad any mind.

Not with this little display.

Bruce had barely had time to pull Damian aside in the hopes of a debrief before shrieks and yelling once more filled the dining hall.

It couldn’t be Harvey after all, could it? As annoyed as Robin clearly was by the distraction, Bruce had no choice. He headed to the center of the yelling.

No matter how much it made his throbbing head pulse.

It definitely wasn’t Harvey at least. While Two Face probably knew all of the words being yelled, he would never say more than half of them. Not even at his worst.

The thought almost dragged a smile out of him, but a particularly loud curse rang off the marble and set up echoes in his skull. At least one of the voices was almost familiar.

The crowd parted without him having to jostle through it, and he’d never been more grateful to Gotham’s high society. Didn’t quite think about why they might want to help him get to the center of the action.

Damian - no, still Robin until he changed, had disappeared into the crowd at some point, but Bruce forged on anyway. He’d probably gone back to help Red Robin watch over Croc.

For now, he just had to focus on whatever else had gone wrong this evening, finally stepping through into an almost clear patch of floor and what must have been the commotion.

And arrived just in time to see Sam Manson turning from berating Danny and Jason, to point an accusing finger at her mother. Pamela actually shut up in surprise.

“And YOU! This is ALL your fault! If you had just let me be with Valerie this NEVER would have happened! She would NEVER do this to me! I’m NEVER dating another man again!”

Pamela looked like she might faint, her face pale as her daughter’s words sank in.

It didn’t take Gotham’s best detective to work out what must have happened. A quick glance at Danny and Jason showed them both… far more dishevelled than simply making out in the closet would allow.

Bruce’s eyes narrowed, clocking the missing buttons, ruffled hair, Jason’s still partially open pants, and his stomach sank.

At a gala. Even in the height of his playboy days, Brucie had never gotten caught at a gala. He had a sudden sympathy for Alfred and resolved to give the man his most sincere apologies.

If Bruce’s heyday was anything like this for the old man, he owed him far more than that. Maybe a fruit basket. A nice new shotgun.

He stepped forward quickly, taking advantage as Sam drew in a breath to try and inject some calm.

“I’m terribly sorry, but what has happened here?”

All eyes turned immediately to him and he spread his hands, gesturing for peace. Pamela rallied at once, pulling free of her husband and shooting Danny an utterly poisonous look.

“Oh I am so sorry Brucie, this is entirely my fault! We should never have brought that awful Fenton boy, he’s been CORRUPTING your poor Jason, taking advantage of him, he’s a dreadful influence!” She fluttered, clearly unsure where to direct her attention.

Behind her mother, Sam snorted loudly.

“It was Jason’s dick in Danny’s ass, MOM, I’m pretty sure he was involved!”

And that seemed to fluster both boys more than any of the previous yelling, Danny’s cheeks burning as he clapped both hands over his mouth. Jason was doing his best not to laugh.

Bruce gave him a Look, because they Would be discussing this later, and wasn’t in the least surprised when Jason just rolled his eyes. Still, there had to be limits.

Danny clearly had a far greater hold over Jason than he’d feared. It was an effort to force himself to remember Danny’s youth.

Bruce had been that age not all that long ago. And, as he’d just realised, probably a lot worse in certain specific ways. Perhaps they were just indiscrete. It didn’t all have to be a devious plot.

He gave Pam his very best soothing smile, taking her hand gently.

“It has been a very dramatic evening already, I’m sure the boys were just over excited. They will go and wash up and then Jason and I will have a quiet. Word.” He layered the last two words with intent.

Honestly, this was perfect. An excuse to get Jason alone, get a report direct from the source. Jason wouldn’t tell the truth, but Bruce knew him well enough to know what the lies he told concealed.

Sam Manson seemed equally derisive of the idea as Jason himself, shooting Bruce a vicious glare that looked eerily like her mother’s.

He almost took a step back. But she didn’t have that thermos anymore.

“Of course Famous Playboy Brucie doesn’t think fucking around with someone else’s partner is a big deal! Where do you think Jason learned it?” She snarked, sending an icy dagger straight into Bruce’s heart.

Had he done that? No, it was just his aching head. And the building wave of exhaustion. Jason knew as well as the others that the playboy thing was a front.

Had Jason ever had good relationship role models though? His parents certainly weren’t, and Bruce himself had definitely never been much of one.

If the closest thing he had was Talia, perhaps that explained why he’d fallen so easily under Danny’s sway…

His mind was wandering. Perhaps he should have one of his boys check him for a concussion.

As if summoned by his thoughts, suddenly Nightwing and Signal were there, pushing through the crowd. Thank all that was good that this was about to be not his problem for a while.

“Alright everyone, calm down, the cops are already on their way, let’s not also give them a murder,” Nightwing declared far too gleefully. It set off… something, but Bruce couldn’t quite put his finger on what.

Maybe taking the chance to head home early was a good idea after all. It wasn’t as though Jason would be courting donors for his own projects today.

No, Jason was courting much worse things, a dark little part of Bruce grumbled, and he fought to squash it down.

Jason was an adult, and whatever choices he made with other consenting adults, no matter how bad said choices were, were his own.

Since when were any of his baby boys old enough to be caught fooling around in closets?

Maybe he also needed to go and sit down.

Not getting to witness the explosion as himself kinda sucked, but Dick could accept getting to be there in costume instead.

It actually gave him an excuse to intervene, and meant he had a reason to try and pull Danny and Jason aside for Signal to get a good look at Danny.

They had hung back for a while, Nightwing not wanting to interrupt Sam’s frankly incredible vocabulary of curses, Signal just… trying desperately to work out what was going on.

Poor guy. Someone should have warned him.

Nightwing specifically probably should have warned him, but hey, too late for that now. Once Bruce had things mostly quieted down, Nightwing figured they should move in to wrap it up.

And sure, Sam was glaring at him again, but the big taser wasn’t actually in her hand yet so he was probably fine. He turned, giving Jason and Danny sweeping looks.

Not laughing got a whole lot harder when he took in the extent of their dishevelment. And the mostly unrepentant look on Jason’s face.

“Look, perhaps we should get these two young men to a bathroom, do some clean up and get you presentable again? And the young lady, wouldn’t you rather discuss this in private?” He offered brightly.

He knew full well Sam would not want to discuss it in private. But it gave her an excellent starting off point for another explosion.

Only helped when Pamela Manson immediately jumped on the idea.

“Oh yes, of course, we can all go and talk about things away from prying eyes,” she trilled, giving her daughter a significant look and not looking at their audience so obviously she might as well have stared.

Sam rallied magnificently, drawing herself up and sucking in a deep breath.

“And WHAT do you think I have to talk about with them?!” She demanded, and Danny took a very quick step back. Right into Jason, who caught him automatically.

Adorable. Nightwing wished he had a camera. The domino’s would had to do, and he took a couple quick snaps before turning back, not wanting to miss the fun.

Pam was now trying to calm her daughter down, like she hadn’t also been screaming invective and slut shaming Danny seven ways to Sunday.

She stepped forwards, hands held out placatingly, and stopped at Sam’s glare.

“Sammykins… I know you’re upset, but…”

“I would definitely like to leave,” Danny stage whispered, deliberately shifting in place.

Nightwing pressed his lips tight together to keep the smile from showing. Whether or not Danny and Jason were actually fucking in the closet, the boy committed to the bit.

“UPSET?!” Sam demanded, stepping closer to her mother now and making her back up.

As much fun as this part of the show was about to be, there was still a lil actual work to be done. Signal had definitely gotten a good look at Danny by now, but might as well get him alone.

Just to be able to prove it wasn’t anyone else in this room. Glancing around, he caught sight of Steph back in the crowd.

At least someone would still be there to enjoy the show.

He debated hauling Danny over his shoulder and carrying him out, but decided against it. Not least because he had no fucking idea where that thermos had gone, and didn’t want to find out.

Instead he clapped Danny on the shoulder, gave Signal a significant nod, and headed for the door.

“Seems like you might need a little protection, and I need to give you a once over anyway after tangling with Croc.” Fuck you Spoiler, he could steal her excuse.

Danny actually laughed at that, turning to head away as Sam gained rapidly in volume.

“Oh Jason gave me an extremely thorough going over, but you’re welcome to look too,” he agreed and Nightwing actually giggled. Just a little.

Flirty little shit. He could feel Pamela Manson trying to develop eye lasers. Danny was the perfect addition to the family.

Covered the giggle up before someone noticed and rushed them both to the nearest door, and down towards the backrooms. Following behind, Signal cleared his throat awkwardly.

“So, uh… do either of you actually need a bathroom?” He still sounded lost, so Jason took pity on him once they had a closed door between themselves and others.

“Nah, we faked it to fuck with Sam’s parents. Danny does need a check for any broken ribs though,” he added.

Danny rolled his eyes, waving a hand in Jason’s direction.

“I’m fine, the big guy just tossed me around a little. I’m not even gonna bruise,” he said casually enough that Nightwing was gonna add like, 50 points to his “worry about New Favourite Guy” meter.

He raised a hand cautiously.

“That might just be the adrenaline. I’ve taken more than a couple rounds with Killer Croc and he can do some pretty nasty damage,” he offered warily.

Danny sighed like he was being asked something completely unreasonable and yanked his shirt up, showing off a skinny pale chest and stomach.

“Look, I’m fine, alright? Maybe if you considered getting good he wouldn’t hurt you either.” And yeah, Danny was a sassy little fuck and Nightwing snickered, but he was still worried.

Sure enough though, there wasn’t a mark on the kid. Not on his chest from being hit by Croc, not on his back from an impact that shattered tiles.

Signal let out a low whistle off to one side, and Nightwing had to wonder what the hell the meta could see. He himself though, he just had to raise his hands and admit defeat.

“Hey, if you say so. I’m just doin’ my job here.”

There was a moment of… something. Jason and Danny didn’t so much as glance at each other, but Dick would swear there was a moment of charge in the air, a bolt of communication.

Shared understanding that they’d done nothing outward to share.

Then Danny’s lips tipped up in a cocky grin and he snickered, looking Nightwing full in the eye.

“Yeah, whatever you say, cop.”

Danny wasn’t gonna mention it. Partially because of the way Jason had looked at him, calculating, sizing him up.

He’d never been looked at like that by someone who wasn’t immediately about to attack him. Even seeing Jason’s aura, no hint of aggression or malice in it, hadn’t helped.

It. He didn’t like it. Not from a friend.

He remembered the fear though, from back in the early days when Wes called him out. The fear of what losing that secret would mean for his friends, his family, the ones he loved.

Back before he knew everyone would roll their eyes and write it off. Back when he thought someone learning his secret was a threat.

Guess all vigilantes had some common experiences.

But hell, it wasn’t like the bats weren’t gonna know who he was by tomorrow morning at the latest. That was fine, so long as it didn’t lead them on to what Jason was.

They’d probably have questions, and if they were super lucky he might even bother to answer some of them. Hell, he might know the answers at all; that wasn’t a given.

But if they were gonna go nosing about in his life, he might as well really underline that he wasn’t just some little puppy that’d roll over and play dead.

He was a strong, independent half ghost who didn’t need no man.

So when Jason heard him sassing Nightwing and his whole aura became a gleeful mix of happy-amazing-get his ass, Danny sent a gentle nudge back.

Mischief-secrets-should I?

Felt Jason hesitate. Didn’t have to look at him to know the calculations he’d be running. Jason knew his family best. Would know how careful they needed to be.

Mischief-glee-fucking do it.

Maybe they were bad influences on each other.

And, well, it was unofficially Bully Dick Day. Danny might have been a little less confident on his identification the other way around, but having just spent a couple hours with the guy?

Yeah, Danny would risk it. The look on Dick’s face was way worth it. His jaw dropped, and while Danny couldn’t see his eyes behind the little domino, that pretty much just made it better.

Dick’s head turned to Jason and Jason sighed, raising his hands.

“He told me he knew on the way into the closet. Fucked if I know how.” So they weren’t just dropping the Ghost King thing. Good to know.

Danny just grinned. He’d seen plenty of Gotham’s message boards and while he’d never cared, he’d heard the theories.

Especially Nightwing’s. Even if the actual poster was a little… fruit loopy. And thought Nightwing was Condiment King’s alter ego.

“The butts match. And I mean, I was just hanging out with you for like an hour. Doing a different voice isn’t really changing much, y’know?” Which was technically all true.

Pretty much every one of the Waynes mysteriously disappearing wasn’t all that subtle either, but he’d point that out when there were more of them around to be ashamed of themselves.

Dick’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he visibly shook himself and closed it. The eye slits on the domino narrowed, and yeah, Danny wasn’t going to resist that one.

“Are you fucking serious? The mask makes faces too? How the hell did you get it to do that?” He asked, rising on tiptoes to wave a hand in front of Dick’s face.

Signal was trying not to laugh, arms folded as he leaned back against the small table.

“Are you going to tell anyone?” He asked like he already knew the answer, checking something off on a list.

This was going better than Danny thought. Good vibes.

Danny shrugged and stuffed his hands in his jacket pocket, grinning.

“Who would believe me? It’s fine, you guys are gonna get like, 30 seconds into googling me and find my old secret identity anyway. I used to go by Phantom,” he added in case it made Dick feel better.

Poor guy was clearly still having a crisis. Maybe they didn’t have their own Wes Weston here and hadn’t been outed before.

He just stared at Danny for a moment longer, then sighed heavily and ran both hands through his hair. Not much point in continuing to pretend, even if no one had said the words “yes you are right.”

It wasn’t like Danny had said the words “you are Dick Grayson”. Plausible deniability all round.

“Just pinky swear you were never a villain,” Dick finally sighed, holding out a hand, pinky extended.

Danny obediently locked pinkies, snickering as he thought about Dan. Technicalities.

“I pinky swear I, specifically, in this timeline, have never been a villain,” he agreed. The overly specific wording didn’t seem to bother anyone.

Maybe fighting yourself from the future was just something all vigilantes had to do. He was pretty sure he’d heard something about the Justice League and time travel before.

Not paid attention to it, but he heard it.

Dick then turned and got Jason in a headlock, noogie-ing him.

“And you have to stop giving the lot of us heart attacks,” he declared, flipping over Jason’s back and away when Jason grabbed for him.

Danny snickered as the tension left the room, Jason clearly considering continuing the chase. Then he just shrugged, dropping down onto one of the two couches and waving to Signal.

“Danny, this is Signal, apparently you’ve almost met before?”

That caught Signal’s attention and he cocked his head, question all over his face. Danny grinned.

“You were the first vigilante I saw in Gotham. Like, 8 months ago, after that thing at the mall where you were teaching the kids to do backflips.”

He saw the moment Signal placed it, nodding and grinning. He held out a hand and Danny shook it.

“Nice to remeet you then, Danny. Jason’s told us nothing at all about you,” he added, grinning over at Jason. Who flipped him off.

“You call yourselves detectives, you’d get bored if I didn’t give you enrichment one way or another,” he refuted and Danny cackled.

“Oh, is that all I am? Enrichment?” He teased and Jason grinned at him.

“Was there another reason you were riding Croc like a rodeo bull?” He asked back. Danny raised his hands, still grinning.

“Yeah, alright. I guess I don’t mind being enrichment for your bored detectives,” he agreed, grinning at the two costumed heroes.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he paused, pulling it out to check it. Tuck had texted.

‘$50 for you two to disappear out a window’

Stifling a snicker, Danny tossed his phone to Jason and returned his attention to the heroes.

“So, was there anything you guys wanted from getting us away, or were you just doing us a solid?” He asked casually. He’d disappear out a window for way less than $50. If Jason was down.

From his snort of laughter, yeah, he was.

Dick gave his phone a slightly suspicious look, then shrugged cheerfully.

“Well, we could also try and find Jay a new shirt before we get back out there if you wanna catch the rest of the show?” He offered.

As tempted as Danny was to ask where the fuck they’d find a new shirt at a party venue… they had shit to do.

Well, they could find shit to do. Same difference.

Jason rolled easily to his feet tossing Danny his phone back. He totally didn’t almost drop it.

“Nah, we’re probably gonna dip. Better for Sam if we mysteriously disappear together and you guys can go catch the show,” he explained with a slight shrug.

Dick’s mouth opened and closed a few more times, then he grinned and shook his head. Obviously a man who knew the finer points of escalating a situation.

“Steph’s recording, if you wanna catch up later?” He offered instead and Jason snickered and nodded.

“Okay. Don’t have my bike today, Danny, so can you sort out transport?” He asked and it took Danny a second to work out what he meant.

He’d come in the Manson’s limo. But Jason didn’t mean a vehicle type of ride.

Eh, why not give the bats something else to wonder about? There was only so long they’d be confused by his more useful powers.

He had to get the good times in while he could.

He kinda missed the old days, sometimes. No one expected a dead hero to have a living alter ego, so he’d flown under the radar with basically no effort.

Alright, the old days had also not included an inquisitive and protective bat clan sniffing around because he was friends with their own dead guy.

Jason had only died a year after him though. Maybe it could have… man, how different would his life had been if he’d known it wasn’t just him and Vlad and Dani at fifteen?

But he might not have been able to help Jason back then. Just the thought of trying to guide someone else while his ice core formed made him flinch.

No thank you, that would have fucking sucked. It was probably for the best that things had happened like this.

If it wasn’t, a certain nosey fucking regent would have pulled his thumb out of his ass and poked Danny in Jason’s direction years ago. He certainly seemed to like the guy enough.

Today though, Danny crossed to the window and slid it open, hopping up to take a seat on the sill. They weren’t too far off the ground here, so it’d be an easy enough slide.

The snow might have been more of a problem, but it wasn’t like he’d be walking for long. It wasn’t deep anyway, just a couple of inches out here.

He dropped carefully down, turned and grinned back through the window.

“Alright Jay, your turn!”

Jason was already there, snickering as he climbed carefully over the sill. Danny could still just about see Dick and Signal around his shoulders, so he figured fuck it.

Held out his arms.

Jason didn’t notice right away, but hesitated the second he did. It was like Danny could see the cogs turning inside his head, a faint rush of pink rising in his cheeks.

Jason really did have the cutest blush. Danny hoped he’d see a lot more of it.

He waggled his eyebrows at Jason, holding his arms out.

“C’mon, I’ve got you,” he prompted cheerfully, and saw the exact moment when Jason figured “fuck it”.

The window being lower worked against them there, Jason still being a good chunk taller than Danny, so the positioning was a little awkward. Finally Jason just sighed, gave Danny a look, and shifted most of his weight out the window.

“If you drop me I’ll kick your ass,” he warned and Danny grinned, stepping closer and slipping his arms in under Jason’s knees and back.

“Wasn’t even thinking it until you said that,” he pointed out and Jason groaned, but let himself drop into Danny’s arms.

Despite hefty temptation, Danny did not drop him. He gave Signal and Dick a cheery nod and walked away, princess carrying a snickering Jason through the snow.

Once they were almost but not quite out of sight, he took off.

“So, where we going?” He asked Jason, who looked a little uncomfortable being carried, but hadn’t stopped snickering yet.

It was probably the whole “not seeming weak” thing again. Or it could be the flying. He and Jason had flown in the Zone, but that wasn’t really the same.

The bigger man hesitated for a moment, then shrugged.

“I could honestly go for something else to eat,” he offered and Danny hummed thoughtfully.

The gala food had been good, but really not up to a half ghost appetite.

“Yeah, I could eat. We should also talk about the whole bomb thing,” he added more reluctantly, not wanting to kill the mood, but… well.

They were still in Gotham. The literal same shit could pop up tomorrow too.

Jason stilled in his arms, his aura suddenly nothing but dread. Danny squeezed him in a little tighter, blanketing him in comfort-acceptance-warmth.

“Doesn’t have to be today,” he said softly, felt something in Jason relax. Felt the pit curl in reluctance-anger-pleading-help.

It made him hold Jason all the closer, holding down the comforting trills his core demanded. No, dropping a startled Jason in mid air would help no one.

But Danny would help them. Both of them. Help the pit fix whatever had been done to all that ectoplasm, and help Jason get his life back.

What was left of it anyway. It was the least he deserved.

Inside the quieter backroom, Nightwing and Signal exchanged looks.

“Did he just…” Signal started and Nightwing sighed, looking as weary as he’d ever seen the older hero.

“It’s been the kind of night where I’m just not gonna ask,” Nightwing said dryly, rolling his shoulders and glancing around the room, “Danny seems to think we’ll work it out eventually.”

Signal shook his head, snickering softly. It wasn’t that he’d really had time to form any expectations from how Jason had described the guy, but Danny…

Yeah, Danny was pretty much exactly what he’d expect so far. An egregious little shit whose sense of humour fit Jason’s perfectly.

He’d have to hurry to get on their side of the inevitable prank war. Shouldn’t be that hard; Narrows and Crime Alley stuck together.

Nightwing leaned in abruptly then, his voice low. Back to serious hero time.

“So, you get more of a read on him alone?” He asked quietly.

Signal paused, brows furrowing under his helmet as he ran back through their minor interactions thus far. He still had the beginning of a headache dancing around from the windows, but…

He’d gotten a pretty good look at just Danny, on the walk from the hall back here and while he was teasing Dick.

Finally he shrugged.

“Honestly? No fuckin’ clue. He barely even registered an aura at all, I don’t think he could be bright enough to flare me out?” Not that it had happened before, but the kid barely glowed.

Most metas at least had enough of an aura to give him some kind of guess about their powers. Colour, shape, the way it moved, it was usually pretty obvious even for the weaker ones.

“So you don’t think he’s particularly powerful?” Nightwing asked, clearly adding it to his own mental notes. Hey, if it meant Duke could skip the paperwork on this run…

He shifted into proper report mode, straightening and turning to face Dick full on, voice lower and more serious. Nightwing obligingly flipped his computer up.

“Either he’s not a dangerous threat from powers alone, or he has serious control over the amount of energy he emits. If you guys hadn’t said anything, I might not even have pegged him as a meta. I did notice something though,” he added with a slight frown.

Nightwing typed a moment longer then glanced up and nodded for him to continue. Signal sucked in a breath.

He didn’t… well, he didn’t like discussing peoples’ auras, outside of a case. It was kinda invasive, especially for people he actually knew in day to day life.

Not least because he didn’t want other people trying to over analyse it. It wasn’t like he got a detailed rundown or list of descriptions; it was just a feeling. A light, a colour.

But this one felt important.

“Jason’s aura. It usually has this… red kinda funk clouding over it. Sometimes it’s thick and murky, and that seems to be when he’s… having a bad day. It’s always kinda red though. But today, it was just… clear. Soft and yellow. Whatever Danny’s doing with the pit, I think it’s working.”

Nightwing’s expression visibly softened, drifting almost all the way back into Dick before he got control again. He nodded, entering the data and then giving Signal a cheeky grin.

“I wouldn’t say you’re fully off the hook for your report, Signal, but if you wanna head out you could probably finish the rest in time for bed,” he teased and Signal rolled his eyes.

And his shoulders a couple times, posture relaxing out of the debriefing stiffness.

“Fuck off. I’m not missing whatever other bullshit you lot are getting up to tonight, fill me in on the way back to the hall.”

He’d be tired tomorrow, but he had too many questions to sleep anyway. They were a full family of nosey bastards - sorry, detectives, and he wasn’t waiting twelve hours for the details.

Not with practically all his siblings visibly sparking off with glee. There was a fuckery afoot, and that was worth a late night.

Nightwing snickered but nodded, tapping his computer closed and heading for the door.

“Short forms of course, but you’ve got the basics,” he agreed, and Signal chuckled, moving to follow.

He’d gotten plenty of pieces over the comms on his way in, but none of them were particularly coherent.

This was already a whole lot more interesting than what he’d been led to expect from a Gotham gala. Hopefully only showing up in costume wouldn’t count as actually attending.

He was still going for that record, Jason’s new boyfriend notwithstanding.

“Oh, and I think Tim’s falling in love.”

Wait.

“What now?”

Bruce was doing his best to keep up with events in the entry hall, but the rapidly rising lump on his head now throbbed with Samantha Manson’s every screamed curse, and he’d let himself be led away.

Someone had found him a chair closer to the back hall, a glass of water, and Stephanie had made her way over with an ice pack and a deeply amused smile.

Probably at the dramatics still ongoing around the closet. She had given him a few tests and declared it a mild concussion, most eyes still firmly fixed on the Mansons.

She wouldn’t smile like that at his pain. Unless she had been the cause. But he would be fine, so he was happy that she wasn’t fussing or worrying over him.

He supposed.

Sam not only had impressive volume, but an extensive vocabulary. Bruce’s attention occasionally faded in and out, making him miss some words, but Steph’s reactions were enough to clue him in.

The young lady had somewhat moved on from what Danny and Jason had actually done now that neither of them were present, and was now roundly denouncing men in general, her parents’ preferences in specific, and the historical trend of mistresses.

Bruce might almost think he was imagining the last one, but it was quite the impassioned rant and Steph at least was definitely following it.

Samantha Manson was a very opinionated young lady, with an extremely firm sense of justice. Maybe she would have been good for Jason he mused morosely, pressing the ice to his head.

And then the hall rang with an ominous silence.

Bruce’s head snapped up, ignoring the immediate twinge of pain, and he looked around sharply for what had captured her attention.

Ah. Nightwing and Signal had returned.

Alone. He perked up a little, hoping this might be his chance to speak with Jason.

Hopes that were immediately dashed when Nightwing caught his eye and minutely shook his head.

What?

Where was Jason? What could possibly have happened to him on the way to get a new shirt?

He couldn’t have some kind of venereal disease already, could he?

The swirling confusion definitely came from his head injury and he took another careful sip of water with Steph’s prompting, unsure of when she’d moved to steady him.

His boys had moved away, closer to the mother daughter drama but before Bruce could try to rise, young Sam saw fit to fill him in on what they’d said. At volume.

“They fucking LEFT?!”

The crowd parted immediately, eyes darting between the Manson heiress and Bruce himself, hungry for some kind of reaction from him.

At least he didn’t have to pretend to look confused. Maybe the head wound was a blessing in disguise.

Nightwing was definitely still enjoying himself far more than he had any right to be. His Dickiebird could always find the bright side in any situation…

Sucking in a breath, he let the Brucie mask fall fully into place, relaxing his facial features.

He may need an MRI when they got back to the cave. Just to check for any internal damage.

Steph leaned helpfully down, blocking him from view from about half the crowd to stage whisper,

“They said Jason and Danny climbed out the window, Brucie,” she said sweetly, and Bruce just about resisted dropping his head to thump into her hand.

That would not make his headache any better.

Of course they climbed out the window. Of course they did.

The gala had been Jason’s idea, hadn’t it? He’d wanted to be reintroduced to society so he could do things under his own name.

In all fairness, Bruce hadn’t checked that the first thing he wanted to do in his own name wasn’t cause a massive scandal. He probably should have.

If Jason thought he’d be avoiding this talk just by skipping out tonight, he had another thing coming. Bruce would rather do it as civilians but he’d hunt Jason down in his mask if he had to.

He’d never been unreasonable when bringing his children to galas; they weren’t dress up dolls to be seen and not heard and oh boy they all knew it. There just had to be some standards.

If Jason wanted to sneak away and have sex at a gala he could at least actually sneak. There were plenty of places to go without the risk of being caught that weren’t the closet just off the main hall.

The back rooms weren’t even that much farther away.

Maybe he’d have to give Jason a talk on appropriate gala behaviour. He hadn’t been to one since he… in a long time, he might not remember.

Maybe he should give Jason a sex talk. Had he given any of them a sex talk? He must have done. Surely.

Dick must know. He’d had plenty of girlfriends. Boyfriends. And… shorter encounters.

What if he hadn’t though.

Maybe he’d have to do it again. To be safe. Maybe Alfred would give them the one he’d given Bruce.

He could feel his thoughts spiralling away out of control.

Sam had reached new levels, possibly prompted by his lack of reaction to the news. Even Bruce had never heard half the words coming out of her now, some of which felt like they crackled in his head.

Just what he needed.

She’d also moved on to roundly denouncing the concept of virginity as a tool to control people with wombs. Selina would have loved having her around the house.

Steph was certainly enjoying herself, now cheering Sam on any time she stopped for breath. That also wasn’t helping his head, but he enjoyed seeing her happy too much to say.

Steph had never really come under his wing the way his other Robins had. She held herself apart, “family friend” more than family for a long time… possibly because of the history between her and Tim.

She hadn’t stood a chance against Dick. He wore people down like a cheerful, gentle waterfall, and once he claimed a sibling it was over.

He’d joke about Dick taking his adoption problem but even he could admit Dick did it better. He was just so good at affection. It came naturally to him.

Bruce was so proud of him. Of all the kids who’d taken up a mask to stand beside him. His babies.

He could feel his throat closing, choking up with tears and hurriedly forced them down. THAT was not going in any of the papers.

Whatever other disaster there was, no one would say he was anything but proud of his baby birds. At least he had the head injury to blame for his maudlin thoughts.

Casting around the room, he clocked someone checking their phone and squinted for the time. Barely past 9pm.

It felt like this gala had been going on for weeks, but there were still hours to go. And he wouldn’t even get the chance to hear Jason’s report tonight, knowing his second son.

Well, he could at least get Steph’s report. Loathe as he was to pull her away when she was having so much fun, he needed someone’s opinion on the Fenton boy that he could trust.

Leaning forward, he touched her wrist gently, letting his expression muzzy further.

“Steph, I think perhaps I need a little space. Could you bring me to one of the back rooms?” He asked softly, gaze flicking meaningfully to hers.

She hesitated a moment, clearly torn between the continuing show and the knowledge she could get at least a little of her report out of the way early.

Finally she sighed and slipped his arm carefully around her shoulders.

“Yeah, come on old man. Let’s get you somewhere quiet,” she agreed, steadying him as he hauled himself to his feet.

They could record part of her report. She wouldn’t even have to write it down later.

At least something good could come out of all this.

Sam was burning with satisfaction as she slipped back into her parents’ rented limo. She’d finally gotten to say every single stupid thing she hated about the galas and a little more besides.

The looks on their faces as she’d torn apart their precious little Jason (who, yeah, she owed a really big favour; that disappearing act was the cherry on the cake)? Wonderful.

When she started in on their homophobic bullshit, the stupid frilly dresses, the way she wasn’t just a present they could wrap how they wanted and ignore who she was?

It felt fucking amazing. Every frustration she’d been holding onto since her teen years, every time they’d shared those “meaningful looks” over her head, every huge sigh, every time they tried to change who she was.

If they wanted a pet they should have got a chihuahua, not had a damn kid.

She’d gotten a round of applause for that one. She hadn’t been expecting any support except for her boys, but having the Waynes on her side had changed a lot.

She’d swear she’d even seen Nightwing clapping along, but he’d stopped before she looked back.

Guess vigilantes couldn’t be seen condoning any of the shit disturbing. Signal had definitely given her a subtle thumbs up though, and a secret high five when she finally let them lead her away to “calm down”.

She’d spent the rest of the evening with the Wayne affiliated girls and Tucker, texting occasionally with Danny and Jason to let them know how the meltdown had gone.

Apparently Tim had some kind of medical thing that had acted up during the attack so Dick had taken him home. Tucker was heartbroken and adorable, but Steph promised to bring his well wishes back to Tim’s bedside.

They kept him distracted anyway by making some videos for Tim to enjoy, both with and without the various Gotham vigilantes as they waited for the cops to finish clearing the goons out.

Sam was a little bummed that Black Bat hadn’t stuck around, but while the gala was big it also wasn’t gonna be the only target in town.

Nightwing did a flip for them anyway, without being asked. He was a dork. Signal was cool though, and he sounded really sincere when he wished Tim well.

They both seemed at least passingly familiar with the Waynes, but it was Gotham. Who wasn’t? Especially with the number of galas that’d bring them into close contact.

Sam hadn’t spent much time with any of them before, mostly because her parents kept her on a very short leash with the rogues around. Not tonight though, she thought with satisfaction.

No, tonight she’d had free reign, especially after their little dust up. Maybe it helped that she still was kind of hanging out with the Waynes’ associates?

She liked Steph and Cass a lot, for sure. Steph was funny in a bold, outrageous way, and while she dressed a little brightly for Sam’s tastes, it was at least a classy purple.

She liked noise and attention and making people laugh when they took a drink to see if she could get it to come out of their nose. Tucker? Easy prey. But she got Sam more than once.

Cass was quieter in every way, but just like Sam had thought it wasn’t because she had nothing to say. She just didn’t need to be noticed.

Steph and Tucker ducked through the hall, recording people saying specific words one word at a time to build Tim a message about what he was missing.

Sam and Cass went around stealing empty glasses until they could write “Get Well Soon Tim” on the floor in front of the bathrooms.

They attracted stares for the entire rest of the evening but not a soul over the age of thirty dared approach. It was the best gala evening Sam’d ever had.

Her favourite part though? That had to be the number of people who were Absolutely Convinced that Danny had to be one of the Robins.

He fit the profile, sure; black hair, blue eyes. Just like more than half the Waynes, and a weirdly large chunk of Gotham in general. He’d jumped in to wrestle Croc.

Imagine if they knew he actually was a vigilante - just not a living one.

She’d actually passed someone passionately explaining that “you never saw him and Red Robin at the same time”, like Red Robin hadn’t been fucking desperately trying to pull Danny off Croc’s back.

That? That they made a video compilation of on Steph’s phone. She was keeping hold of it til they could see Danny in person tomorrow, because no way was she missing his face.

The crowning glory was a lady with a fan earnestly insisting that Danny must be the Red Hood, Noted 6’ Tall Tank Of A Man, while Vlad fucking fumed in the background.

It was wonderful. She was going to play it at Vlad’s next run for mayor. And his birthday. And maybe every time she saw him for the rest of her life.

She’d also seen more than one person meaningfully approaching her parents from the corner of her eye. Among their other shenanigans.

She was fully expecting some form of lecture, maybe some more hysteria from her mother, but honestly? It would hurt them more than Sam to cut her off.

Sam could walk away from the Manson money tomorrow. The greenhouse and nursery might not cover her full rent, but she could move.

Pamela and Jeremy Manson, having to explain why their daughter was never seen with them again? After tonight? Social hell, especially for her mother.

Maybe Pam saw something of that future in the set of Sam’s shoulders, because the drive back to their hotel was almost completely silent, even through Gotham’s slow crawl of traffic.

Didn’t bother Sam. She was perfectly happy to relive some of their more pointed shenanigans, maybe debate asking Danny if they could call him RH whenever Vlad was around.

That’d be fun. Or Hoodie. He wore the damn sweaters enough, Vlad couldn’t prove that wasn’t what they meant.

They’d actually reached the hotel, Jeremy stepping out to deal with the valet when Pamela turned hesitantly to her daughter.

“Sammikins… darling… I know you had an awful evening,” (and how appropriate that her mom had completely missed her having some of the most fun of her life), “and I know you said you wouldn’t date men…”

Sam steeled herself, wondering if another rant might be in order. Her mom clearly noticed, raising a hand in immediate surrender,

“And I fully understand, it’s entirely your choice whether you ever change your mind or not,” she added quickly, and Sam’s shoulders settled somewhat reluctantly.

Pamela gave her a very soft, hopeful sort of smile.

“It’s just. You looked so happy when you were talking with Cassandra. I didn’t know you knew sign at all, so if you wanted to see her again while we’re here…” she wheedled, and something in Sam’s brain shut down.

“What?” She asked, genuinely dumbfounded.

Pamela raised both hands this time, looking actually… kind of contrite. Like she’d actually been listening to Sam’s rants.

Like Sam might have finally gotten through to her.

Like the woman who hadn’t let her bring her girlfriend to a gala was actually immediately moving on to pushing her at another woman.

What. The fuck.

“I don’t want you to feel pressured, darling, I know we got far too pushy when you met Jason, I just. We’ll be in town for another day. And you made a very sweet pair.”

The hope in her face was unmistakeable, and Sam found herself gaping. There were just. Too many questions, all forming up in her head.

She found the words for at least one just as her mother reached for the door, almost ending their moment.

“Wait. You mean you don’t mind that I’m a lesbian?” She asked suspiciously, brows drawing down as she tried to make sense of what was happening.

Pamela gave her a soft smile and gently cupped her cheek.

“Sammy, darling, I know we’ve been… pushing an image on you,” almost the same words Sam had used, and they clearly pained her, “but I would never reject you for who you loved.”

Which made absolutely no fucking sense.

“So why the hell wouldn’t you let me bring Valerie?” Sam demanded weakly, shoulders sagging as confusion warred with the sudden wash of tears threatening to break out.

Acceptance. Her mother was finally accepting her. In the one thing she hadn’t asked for or expected.

Pamela’s face immediately pinched at Val’s name and she huffed, drawing herself up and resettling in her seat like a broody hen.

Not accepting everything, then. No surprise there.

“I don’t mind if you date or marry a woman, darling, but I most certainly do not trust that young Gray woman. The way she cosied up to you and your friends when her father lost his position! Wealth comes with many detractors, Sammy, and sometimes that means people will try to prey on your gentle heart and use you for your money!”

Sam’s jaw dropped as Pamela talked, passion flaring up until Sam had some idea what the others had seen when she got going.

She wanted to beat her head against the window. It was like they’d gotten absolutely fucking nowhere.

“Val isn’t a fucking gold digger, Mom!” She argued with a frustrated groan, tossing her hands into the air.

Pamela sniffed, turning her nose up.

“She is not good enough for my baby girl. Honestly, what does she even do at school?”

“Not fuck strangers in the closet!” Sam snapped back, and Pamela glared at her. Then deflated with a soft sigh.

“I just want what’s best for you, Sammy. If you think it’s Valerie… I suppose I can try. But I will be talking to her,” she added sharply, that Manson family steel shining through again, “just to let her know that I will be watching, and if she hurts you she will have me to deal with!”

The thought of the Red Huntress dealing with her mother almost made Sam laugh. As if the older woman would stand a chance.

But it was a compromise, if not an actual apology. She could work with that.

And, actually, while her mom was apparently in a compromising mood…

“And I can choose my dress for the next gala?” Sam asked quickly, again interrupting her mother’s move for the door.

Pamela hesitated for a long moment, then gave her daughter a wary look.

“So long as there are no spiders…” she said slowly.

“I want that in writing,” Sam warned sharply and Pamela sighed again, then nodded.

“By tomorrow morning, dear,” she agreed.

Sam’s triumphant grin carried her all the way into the elevator, up the stairs, and back to her bedroom where she pulled out her phone to update the group chat.

‘2Goth2Glorious: you guys aren’t going to fucking believe what my mom just said.’

“Huh,” Danny chuckled, glancing at his phone and then dropping it on a table and stepping over the back of Jason’s couch to slide down and sit like a fucking animal.

Already sprawled on the couch, Jason tipped his head back to frown over at him. They were in one of Jason’s less shitty safe houses this time (and Danny’s relief that he didn’t actually live in the first one was hilarious) after raiding a Denny’s.

And a convenience store. And a Batburger. For once Jason really didn’t feel bad about how much he ate; at least he chewed.

He’d swear Danny unhinged his jaw to just inhale an entire double cheeseburger. Maybe that was all Sam meant by “Jawbreaker”…

Jason wasn’t gonna think about that though.

Nope.

They were in a much more comfortable living room now, with actual decent furniture, and Danny was climbing it like a mountain goat. And being cryptic.

The first thing he’d done after walking through the doors was drop their food on the table. The second was drop his pants, kicking them away and throwing the tie and jacket after them.

Jason could sympathise, the monkey suits sucked and he’d abandoned jacket and tie not long after. Not the pants yet. But the sweatpants in the bedroom were calling to him.

“What? He prompted Danny instead, pushing over the second controller. Mariokart. The traditional way the bats kept score.

Easier to track than the number of crimes that didn’t happen. No one else liked his idea of counting heads.

Danny scooped it up and settled in, immediately picking his racer and getting comfy.

Baby Mario. Interesting.

Jason mained Peach, mostly so Dick couldn’t.

“So apparently we read the whole gala thing wrong,” he said casually, just as the countdown to begin the race began, “the Mansons aren’t homophobic.”

Classic distraction techniques. Motherfucker. Jason was so focused on gunning the engine and blasting off the starting line it took him a moment to process the words.

He had to actually glance over at Danny at that, brows furrowed, and missed an item drop.

Doublefucker.

“Fuck off.”

Danny snickered, effortlessly drifting into a turn.

“No shit. They’re trying to set Sam up with Cass,” he added as proof, and Jason snapped his attention back to the game.

He could play this with Damian standing on his shoulders and Steph tickling him, fuck Danny and his conversational bomb dropping.

First time he could say he’d side with the elder Mansons though.

“They were cute,” he offered with a slight shrug, casting back. Sam and Cass hadn’t interacted much, but Sam knowing ASL was a good sign.

No pun intended. He wasn’t Dick.

Danny snickered again and leaned sharply to the left as he skidded around another turn.

“And Sam woulda killed for a chance before Val. She learned sign language to try and talk to her, always said it was because she seemed like the only tolerable person in the room. That’s Sam for “she’s really pretty”,” he added slyly, dropping a red shell in Jason’s path.

Triplefucker. Jason skidded for a double set of items, then burnt a few coins to speed back up.

Digested new information. Both about the elder Mansons and Sam herself. But he didn’t have enough yet.

“So why wouldn’t they let her bring Val?” He asked instead, popping up a pirahna plant as they approached another turn. Not a great item, so he might as well make space.

“They think Val specifically is a gold digger,” Danny actually cackled this time, shaking his head and still not missing a beat.

He was a pretty good player. But they’d see how good he was under pressure later.

For now he snorted most of a laugh through his nose, shaking his head.

“Delightful. Bet Val will love that,” he snickered, hitting another double item. Mushrooms. Fucked again.

“It’s practically a mark of quality,” Danny agreed, grinning broadly, and dropped a row of bananas across the whole path. Dodgy little fucking shit.

Paused, then skimmed half way across the road for another double item box.

“By the way, do you mind if Val knows you’re a halfa?”

Jason, just about to launch a brand new green shell, frowned. They’d definitely been over this.

“I thought you already texted your team’s group chat?” It had been the most efficient way to share info with everyone who needed it.

And they’d shared more information since, mostly planning for the gala tonight. He’d kind of assumed the lot of them already knew.

He’d figured he’d meet Val and Jazz eventually, the same way Danny was probably gonna run into B’s brood again at least one more time.

Probably more now that Dick knew how much he liked puns. But Bludhaven was a ways out of Gotham, so Jason’s sanity might survive.

Danny shrugged, now glancing at Jason from the corner of his eye, and Jason took advantage to nail him with the shell. Fucking deserved it.

“Yeah but Val wasn’t in at the time, new phone- oh you cheating motherfucker!”

“Look me in the eye and say you wouldn’t have done the exact fucking same,” Jason taunted, not taking his eyes off the screen this time.

Fuck the other laps, the only thing that counted was who crossed that final finish line first. They were close, both neck and neck and if Danny had an item worth a damn he’d have used it.

Nor did Jason, but fuck it, who cared?

Just as they reached the final stretch, that dreaded alert popped up.

A blue shell. Whoever got hit, the other would win.

Half the family would have backed off, hit their breaks and let Jason take the hit. Because Jason? Jason never backed off.

He’d race the damn blue shell to the finish line and if he couldn’t beat that he didn’t want the race. And lucky him, he had coins to burn.

Danny hit his boosters right alongside Jason, the two of them careening towards the line. In the corner of his eye Jason could see the blue shell closing in, eating up the map behind them.

Reaching out suddenly, he caught Danny by the face and pushed just as the younger man shoved a foot into his other elbow.

The blue shell hit, explosion spinning both their carts to a stop. Before they could recover, a third cart sped past them, finishing the race.

Danny groaned, dropping his controller as the rest of the players passed them.

“FUCKING baby park!” He swore, and Jason nodded, flicking his controller to finish the race before tossing it down.

Then he turned back to Danny and shrugged. Ultimately he just… didn’t really care. Sam and Tucker had gone over well.

As prickly as he usually was about sharing intimate details with strangers, his death was basically common knowledge. Now, so was his revival.

So what if another stranger from a small town knew he’d fucked that up too? Precedent suggested she wouldn’t give a fuck, and it felt really, really good not having to hide.

“Yeah, I don’t care if Val knows. Do we really wanna add her back to the group chat right after the gold digger thing though?” He’d never met Valerie, even in text, but he knew she could be hot headed.

Half the stories of her trying to kill Danny proved that; it was how Danny survived.

Jason could relate. He’d been too fucking annoying to kill since he first put on a cape.

Well. Almost too annoying.

Danny just shrugged, shaking his head and rolling off the couch to grab his phone again.

“Sam’ll have told her in a private chat. Legal permission to tag her back in, or do you wanna tell her face to face?” He asked, and Jason had to wonder how much he’d talked to the others about it.

Mostly because Danny, thinking something through? He didn’t need to have known the guy this long to know that didn’t happen.

How the fuck did you even tell anyone something like this? He still had no idea how he was going to explain to his family that he was only mostly dead.

Maybe a stranger to practice on would be a good idea, and Val at least had the benefit of context. Knowing what a halfa was had put her one over him until last week.

Yet when he had an easy option, letting the others explain for him, he couldn’t help reaching for it. He didn’t even fucking know what it meant to him yet; how was he supposed to explain to anyone else?

And hey, Danny’s “new halfa just dropped” was elegance and perfection. If only he could just toss that in the family chat and call it good.

He shot Danny a thumbs up, scooping up the controller he’d dropped and tapping back to a new game screen.

“Go for it. You fill her in and I’ll get us a new game?” He offered, part of him resenting the vulnerability. The part that he kind of hated knowing was all his, and not the pit.

It wasn’t like he was even asking for help. He was delegating.

There was nothing fucking wrong with asking for fucking help. He wasn’t fucking alone anymore. He didn’t fucking have to be.

He was allowed to have friends who cared about him, and he was allowed to let them help with the things he didn’t know how to do.

His aura must have been a goddamn mess because Danny didn’t even open the chat, just hopped the back of the couch again and shoved his feet in Jason’s lap.

Soft-calm-understanding-been there.

Jason glared down at socked toes. More than anything else, he fucking hated bringing the mood down. Felt like it was all he did some days.

Socked toes scrunched to wave up at him. It looked so fucking bizarre he had the sudden urge to laugh, despite the mess in his head.

Well, he’d already ruined the fucking mood. It was easier to talk to Danny’s toes rather than look up, habits he’d learned to cope with surging green that was conspicuously absent now.

No pit rage. Just himself, still fucked up, still unable to look someone else in the eye when he was sure he’d see pity reflected back.

“Why do we need to talk about my death?” He asked the socks quietly, hands still curled around a game controller. Knowing the answer couldn’t be good.

“Because the first time you transform, you’re going to look the way you did when you died.” Fucking Danny scrunched his toes in time with his voice like the sock was the one talking.

That did knock a shaky snicker out, and Jason gave the man himself a half hearted glare. But it did suck the seriousness out of the situation.

Cuz yeah, that? That wasn’t a situation he was going to think about right now.

“Well fuck,” seemed to sum it up, and he stared back down at Danny’s feet. Couldn’t bring himself to face the sympathetic smile.

It didn’t help that Danny was the only person in the world who’d understand. Who’d already faced the horror of his own death, and now popped in and out of a ghost form like a cape.

Socked feet patted the top of his thigh.

“Yeah. You’ll be able to change it, and with some practice you can accessorize however you want just by thinking about it. But. Yeah. It’s going to suck,” Danny explained softly, thankfully abandoning the sock talking.

Jason chanced a glance up from the corner of his eye.

“How did…” how did you handle it? The words stuck somewhere below his collarbone, wedged sideways in his throat.

It didn’t seem to matter. Danny was good at hearing the ghosts of words he couldn’t say.

“Well, I transformed the first time the day I died, so it wasn’t like the memory had time to percolate,” Danny explained airily.

Like that was a good and normal sentence to say. Snorting a laugh, well aware that’s what Danny was going for, Jason pinched one of Danny’s toes.

The whole foot jerked back, coiling protectively. Motherfucker was ticklish. Yeah, Jason remembered that from their first wrestling session.

The temptation to knock Danny back to the floor and tickle him breathless was strong. It’d end the conversation, distract them both, get a more cheerful evening back on track.

Hell, they still had to tease Tucker about his massive crush on Tim. They were young, half alive, and had a truly obscene amount of snacks to get through.

They had every reason in the world to have a good night.

Just, y’know, the lingering spectre of Jason’s death between them. He’d never actually spoken about it to anyone, except to rub it in B’s face.

He’d made a joke a little too close once and watched Dick’s face crumple.

Fuck, he didn’t even like thinking about the event itself. Crawling out of his grave, well, he didn’t actually remember that.

Didn’t remember anything until Talia pulled him from a pool of bubbling green. Not the way he remembered what had come before.

Danny’s foot rose to poke gently into his face and Jason reared back, train of thought effectively derailed and he swatted for Danny’s ankle.

“What the fuck, dude?” He asked, giving Danny a mock glare as he knocked the foot away.

Danny was watching him just a little too closely for the casual smile on his face, or the lazy shrug.

“Well, you didn’t listen to your fucking name,” he pointed out, and it was news to Jason that anyone had been saying it. Obviously.

Then Danny sat up and moved closer, leaning in shoulder to shoulder with Jason.

“You don’t have to tell me. But. I’m gonna be with you when it happens, unless you don’t want me to be. And I need to know how bad I need to kick Batman’s ass.”

The last knocked a proper startled laugh out of Jason, but he didn’t move away. It. Helped having Danny close.

Close enough he didn’t have to look at his face. Close enough to feel his admittedly lacking body heat as comfort. Six of one.

“Pretty sure Sam has the brutalizing father figures part on lock already,” he said instead of asking, grin solidifying as he remembered the look on Bruce’s face.

It was never Bruce’s ass he’d wanted kicked. Alright, that was a lie, but it wasn’t Bruce he blamed for his death. That… that had always been on him.

He’d just expected B to save him like he’d done on all Jason’s other fuck ups.

Danny snickered along with him, reaching for Jason’s old controller and settling in.

“I see you still not saying Bruce is Batman,” he said innocently, and Jason fought free of the ghosts in his head.

Might as well kick their king’s ass at Mariokart before wrestling the ghosts of his past.

And if they were sat much closer, much better able to jostle each other, that’d work to his advantage. He had more bulk to use.

“Bruce knows Batman,” he repeated instead, clicking through to choose a map. Danny snickered again.

“Sam thinks Bruce is Batman’s sugar daddy,” he said innocently, just as the countdown ended.

Again.

Jason dropped his controller and lunged for his phone. Fuck the race, THAT was going straight to the family group chat.

Tim threw his domino aside as he stormed into the bat cave, slamming into the chair in front of the batcomputer. His fingers hit the keys before his ass hit the seat, clacking furiously.

Dick and Damian exchanged glances and shrugs, entering more slowly. Duke had skipped the cave altogether, heading straight to bed.

The actual hand off from the gala had gone smoothly. All the goons were in custody, and Croc had gone quietly. Probably because all four of them were still around, but that didn’t matter.

Tim ignored the company. It was still bothering him. He didn’t know what they’d missed when they’d raided the Riddler, and the mystery case hadn’t helped.

He’d gone to look at it when Nightwing and Signal returned to the dining hall; Damian had been right, it needed the building’s power supply.

And Dick had also been right - it was some kind of games cabinet. He’d gotten the touch screen off without setting off any of the traps and powered independently it did indeed produce a riddle.

Tim hadn’t bothered solving it, just gone back into the guts to trace what was supposed to be the threat. It wasn’t like Riddler not to include a backup battery, at least to prevent tampering.

(And alright, Tim had found and removed two, but that didn’t count. They were easy. Easy was how they’d missed something on the raid. Easy was hiding something.)

The fucking case was empty. There were spaces wired to take nearly double the explosives they’d found, and there was nothing in it. It just didn’t make sense.

As far as Damian cared, Tim was just getting up his own ass again. The brat had said as much on their way home, while Tim worked furiously at the tablet.

Tucker Foley had broken it open straight to the OS, all memory and data laid bare, except for one encrypted folder. That was too easy too, but Tim couldn’t fault his work.

It was perfect but for that one folder. Tim could trace back how he’d done it, the hack as clean and easy as one of his own.

And he’d done it with enough spare time to get right through to summer in Stardew Valley. While Tim fretted in the next room searching for the damn tablet.

That meant he’d given up on the folder, or been the one to place it. That was a clue, but if that was the case it wouldn’t help him solve the Riddler mystery.

Sighing to himself, he opened a connection through to Oracle on his comm.

“Hey O. Busy?”

“Not more than most nights,” came the easy reply. As usual, Babs sounded like she was calling from a LAN party, not rewriting the traffic grid.

Unless Bluebird was done already. Could be. Tim hadn’t checked.

“There’s a mystery folder on the Riddler tablet. I think Foley left it, but I don’t have time to break his encryption. Is Batwoman with Nygma?” He asked, running both hands through his hair.

Dick was hovering. Probably worried. He could stuff that in his own ass.

Barbara chuckled, and beside him the tablet screen sprang to life.

“Batwoman dropped him off before your guys came for Croc. He’s very upset, apparently. Sure you don’t want to take another run at the tablet? I hear your flirting has been adorable.”

Tim shot Dick a glare. Dick, entirely unrepentant, gave him worried puppy eyes.

“I have a boyfriend,” Tim grumbled, glancing back at the tablet again. Glaring at his brother was a waste of time when there was a puzzle to solve.

“So don’t marry Foley. Your nerd flirting is still adorable,” Babs shot back immediately. Tim could practically see her hands hovering over her own keyboard, waiting for his go ahead.

Riddler was actually in custody this time. That probably meant the threat was neutralised, at least for now. It also meant Red Robin could pay him a visit.

Red Robin could go check over the hideout. There might be some more answers there too.

His hands stilled on the keys, body tensing. A large hand landed on his shoulder and Dick leaned in.

“Actually, can I put a rush on that? Danny seemed pretty sure we’d learn more about him overnight. This’d explain it,” he added, tapping the tablet screen.

That caught Damian’s attention, the boy leaning back in from the locker room with his eyes narrowed.

“Does it pertain to his meta abilities?” He called, and Tim groaned, shoving both hands through his hair. Dick chuckled softly and gave him a gentle shake.

“Well it definitely has to do with him recognising us in costume, and I’m pretty sure he flew away, so I’m gonna say yes,” Dick agreed, and when the fuck had he been planning to mention that.

Tim’s neck cricked as he snapped his head around.

“He what?!” Danny had left maybe half an hour after the attack, at most. How the fuck had Tim missed so much?

Dick grinned down at him, still without shame, and one day Tim was damn well going to crack that facade. Possibly with his fist.

“You seemed so busy with the case, Red. I didn’t like to bother you.”

Damian materialised at their sides, glowering up at Dick too. It wasn’t all that often that they were on the same side but it wasn’t the kind of thing they could enjoy.

“Richard. He recognised you?” Damian asked sharply, and Dick sighed.

“Well he called me a fucking cop again and said the butts match, so I’m going with yeah. He seemed to think we would find something equally important on him though, and Jason didn’t seem concerned,” he explained a little less cheerfully.

Tim sucked in a deep, calming breath. Closed his eyes. And Damian snapped the question before he reached ten.

“So why do we not simply ask Todd?” The youngest growled, already reaching for his comm.

Dick shrugged.

“Go for it. He’s still with Danny, just pinged the group chat,” he added, raising his civilian phone to wiggle it.

Damian and Tim fell silent, both aware that Jason… well, for one would not react well to demands for information, no matter how much Danny helped with the pit.

And two… wasn’t likely to give them a full Danny download in Danny’s immediate presence. And they couldn’t swing by to ask, even if they did know where they were.

Sighing to himself, Tim pulled his phone out.

“O, if you could take a turn at the tablet hack I’m just gonna… check… Oracle check the group chat.” He pressed his lips together firmly, fighting back laughter.

All three heard Babs’ curious hum, keyboard clacking resuming a little slower than her usual. A one handed job while she checked.

Damian glared from Dick to Tim this time, then went back to the locker room for his own phone. Significant improvement from a year ago, where he’d have grabbed for Tim’s.

Fuck school, socialising him with Superboy the Younger was doing him good.

Tim’s head snapped up again, staring at Dick.

“Does the demon brat know what a sugar daddy is?” He hissed, and Dick’s eyes widened.

“Uh… dibs on not telling him.”

“You are the one he likes!” Tim hissed, Barbara’s snickering a new sudden baseline.

“And I’m keeping it that way,” Dick shot back, dancing away from the table, “you have nothing to lose!”

“Because his grandfather stole my fucking spleen, are you even Damian’s family if he hasn’t tried to stab you at least once?”

“Boys, boys,” Barbara cut in, still snickering, “think of it this way: do you want Jason to tell him?”

Both vigilantes turned back to the phone, where Damian’s icon was showing the distinctive three dots of a message in the making.

Tim glanced at Dick.

“Honestly? Kinda.” Better Jason than either of them, Jason was at least out of the immediate line of fire. And would probably weather Damian’s later vengeance attempts reasonably well.

Damian might have missed the original fireworks but he’d known Jason in the League; the fact that even he was wary of the pit rage said a lot.

But then, Damian had experienced the rage himself too.

Tim was kinda glad Ra’s hadn’t wanted to risk his mind to it. Would have been more glad if the old fucker had just left him alone instead of again, stealing his fucking spleen about it.

Wasn’t much of a surprise that Damian was stabby, honestly. But even he wouldn’t seriously pick a fight with Jason.

Nobody wanted to set off the rage that permanently broke him. Because that was what would happen if he ever did seriously hurt one of them again; Tim could see it.

Jason already thought he was broken. But they’d persuaded him he didn’t have to be. Putting one of them in the hospital, after all of his progress, would only confirm what he already believed.

Tim remembered the sharp, bleeding, fractured edges on the Red Hood he’d first met. He hadn’t seen that man in years.

He never wanted to see him again.

Not when he’d finally met his childhood hero, the Jason Todd he’d followed around with a camera in the night. Not when he finally had a Jason who called him his little brother.

They didn’t talk about it. But he could see it haunting behind Jason’s eyes some nights, a darkness different than when the pit was bad.

The pit’s anger spilled outwards, but Tim had learned to differentiate it from Jason’s. Jason’s anger spilled in, turned on himself. The kind of anger Tim was intimately familiar with.

Tim wouldn’t push. Not something so delicate. But one day, he’d really like some answers.

He’d like some damn answers about Riddler’s plans, Danny’s powers, and Tucker’s encrypted fucking file too though, and those were all a lot more urgent.

And why Killer Croc was in Gotham. And what Two Face wanted with Jason, not Red Hood. And what Killer Croc and Riddler wanted with Two Face.

And why Sam Manson’s grandmother knew Poison Ivy well enough to request a hit. What the hell was happening in Amity Park. If ghosts were actually-seriously-for-real-a-thing.

The speedsters were going to be intolerable if they presented that to the Justice League. Tim would definitely be hacking that footage with popcorn.

Heaving another sigh, he flopped back into the computer chair and just stared at the screens.

Alfred had made him weak. He’d been in bed less than thirty hours ago and his eyes were beginning to itch. But there was way, way too much to do for him to rest.

Scrubbing both hands down his face, he sat up again just as Babs let out a curious little “huh” over comms. That helped revive him.

“What’s up, O?” He asked, glancing back at Dick.

Some time while he was zoning out, the older had changed back into civvies and was leaning against the railing, checking his phone.

He must still have a comm in though, because he looked up too.

Why wasn’t he going back to Bludhaven? Another mystery for Tim’s eternally growing pile, but a minor one.

Babs was chuckling again, and the tablet screen flickered back to life.

“I got your folder open, RR. Very interesting encryption, the big bat isn’t going to be happy.” Babs sounded extremely pleased though.

“What did he use?” Tim asked idly, glancing down at the screen. Stilled. Was dimly aware of Dick moving curiously forward to peek at the tablet too.

There was only one thing in the encrypted folder, or at least one thing Babs wanted him to look at first. A simple text file.

‘To the Oracle. Love your work. Expressing my deepest admiration and eternal devotion. - TooFine’

And then an IP address that Tim couldn’t automatically place to a country. Was Tucker challenging Oracle?

Babs was talking again and Tim quickly refocused, already tapping the IP into the batcomputer.

“Three dates of my latest hacks into Lex Luthor, Vandal Savage, and the Legion of Doom. He even helpfully provided a hint in that Stardew Valley file.”

That caught Tim’s attention. He’d ignored the game, assumed the name was irrelevant.

“What’s the farm called?” He asked quickly, not wanting to scroll into the game to check.

Babs chuckled again, clearly back to work on one of the other problems.

“L85tH1t5. Or “Latest Hits”, for anyone that hasn’t used substitutions in a while. The kid’s good, and he’s been paying attention. The IP address has me in a private server, and it’s locked down with something I’ve never seen before. I think he wants to play a game.”

Tim’s brows furrowed, his attention refocusing on his own screens tracking the IP. It hadn’t even let him in.

“I’m blocked,” he admitted grumpily as Dick let out a low whistle, leaning back against the railing again.

“Must be a private invitation,” Babs teased, then sobered up. “I don’t think this is going to be the easy answers Nightwing’s looking for though. You’ll just have to run a search on Danny Fenton separately.”

Dick moved forward again, probably to lean over his shoulder or steal the keyboard, and Tim swatted him away.

“Wanna loop me in, O? I can get started on the server if you’re busy with the others.”

“Someone’s feeling left out,” Dick snickered, leaning on the back of Tim’s chair instead. Tim flipped him off.

“No need, Red Robin,” Babs replied, her own amusement just as clear as Dick’s. They were the worst. “It’s a quiet night for Gotham, I have time to flex a little.”

“Search Fenton,” Damian demanded, brows drawn down in a glower as he appeared beside the chair. Like that’d get him a big reaction.

Tim flipped him off too on principle, but sullenly pulled up a new window.

He didn’t feel left out. He wasn’t jealous. Tucker had been talking to him for half the gala, they’d had a great time and Tim really did like the guy.

They’d exchanged numbers and everything. He was gonna have to send over a real internship offer too.

Tucker hadn’t even met Babs. He was Tim’s friend.

Tim had a boyfriend. A wonderful boyfriend, whom he loved with all his heart. He wasn’t even lonely.

He just.

Didn’t see why Tucker would invite Oracle to his mysteriously secured server and not Tim.

By the time Bruce returned to the manor (and more importantly, to the cave) Tim was the only one down there.

No matter, Signal, Nightwing, and Robin had all had plenty of time to complete their after action reports. He could peruse those and prepare questions for later.

It was Tim he had wanted to talk to anyway. Whatever Tim had seen about Masters. About Danny Fenton.

Bruce headed over to the batcomputer, noting a cold mug of coffee that Tim somehow hadn’t finished. He’d been in for a while. And looked frustrated, not busy.

The perfect time to divert his attention for a report.

“Tim,” he said in greeting, brows drawing in as Tim turned a hazy glare on him.

He knew the boy had slept more this week than he usually did in a fortnight, but the bags under his eyes had barely lessened. Still, it had never affected his efficiency before.

“Your report on the gala. Particularly Masters and Fenton,” he prodded gently, and Tim groaned loudly, tugging at his hair.

“Honestly Bruce? Vlad’s a shifty son of a bitch that I wouldn’t trust as far as I could comfortably spit a rat, and Danny Fenton’s a fucking mystery. Who knows who we are, by the way.”

That was more than just concerning, and Bruce tensed. If Danny had approached Jason as a way to get to them…

“You’re sure?” He asked almost hopefully; he’d never actually had reason to doubt Tim. Who clearly also remembered that, from his archly raised brow.

“He called Dick out in costume. Hinted he’d done some vigilante work under the name “Phantom”, which I cannot find in any database anywhere, and I can’t find a damn thing about Amity Park from anyone who actually lives there ANYWHERE online.”

Tim spun back to the batcomputer, gesturing angrily at the three biggest screens. Bruce scanned them all, brows furrowing.

Tourist websites. An article about the “most haunted town in America”, clearly the hard earned result of their constant ghost claims, and… social media?

“They don’t have fucking Twitter, Bruce,” Tim growled, tapping through browser window after window. He’d clearly been doing this for a long time.

“No Facebook pages for restaurants, city hall, nothing. Except that Tucker showed me their weather station’s Facebook on his PDA. And that isn’t how fucking Twitter or Facebook WORK.” He slapped the keyboard, and the screen jumped.

Bruce carefully edged the cold coffee mug a little further away, but didn’t interrupt Tim’s rant.

“They don’t have a single server dedicated to one tiny town in Bumfuck, Illinois, to isolate their posts, or the kind of protections that would keep people from one town from connecting to the wider internet. It shouldn’t be possible! Nothing the government has on them even raises a blip but beyond those records, they’re just gone!”

Tim flipped quickly through various different government databases, too quickly for Bruce to do more than scan, but he didn’t need to.

Amity Park existed. There were a few accounts linked, email addresses, websites, that should have gone to city hall. The school board. Local businesses.

Tim clicked viciously on one of the links, and the window immediately blanked.

“Something is seriously fucking wrong with this town, Bruce,” Tim declared, the anger gone as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving only a dangerous sobriety in its place, “and we’ve been ignoring them.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed, his concerns about Danny Fenton slotting neatly into a sudden, much larger concern.

Tim had pulled up the Justice League’s records on Amity Park. There were thousands of requests for help, every single one bearing the same status: Rejected.

Hundreds came from a single day, someone clearly hitting the button over and over and over again in a panic, desperate to get through.

And then nothing. Not a single request for years since. As if the residents had given up.

Bruce nodded to the screen.

“That cluster. I take it you’ve looked?” He asked tersely, slipping straight into Batman. Tim clicked a request at random.

“Not all of them,” he admitted bitterly, “but they’re pretty consistent.”

The panic was clear in the wording too, no attempt at spellchecking or grammar. Tim scrolled through the next few.

Key smashes. Curses, swearing, pleading for help. One phrase stuck out especially clearly to Bruce, repeated over and over.

‘The sky is green. Earth is gone and the sky is green.’

What the hell had happened in Amity Park?

Anger firming his jaw, Batman reached for his Justice League comm.

“I need to speak to John Constantine. Now.”

—————————

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Next chapter:

#dp x dc #danny fenton dead and loving it #danny fenton x jason todd #the gala finally fucking ends #sam explodes #no survivors #tim loses his nerd date to being an even bigger nerd in his mask #lad needs some chill #and we can finally get to the plot!

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