[MOON 34 PT 9]

NEXT

—In which, after waking up in bed with a certain someone, you start to question things.

A/n: this is wrapped up in a nice little bow. (Final part.)

<<part one, part two, part three

PART 16 masterpost

Author’s note: Hey guys! Happy new year! This is the last part of this little saga. Thank you for accompanying me and thank you for reading.

When Damian and Danny come back into the manor is with clasped hands, blushing cheeks, bitten lips and messy hair, thank the gods and the ancients no one was present when both teens walked into the house via the kitchen’s door. They find their respective families all gathered in the drawing room where the Wayne’s had been waiting for Danny and his uncle earlier; Bruce and Selina once again cuddling on the armchair, Dick, Cass, Jason and Tim sitting on the big couch, Duke and Steph on the divan, Woodlock on the other armchair in the room and Alfred dutifully standing by the entrance.

No one stops the chat they are having but Damian notices when his family direct their mirthful gazes to him and his now boyfriend, he can feel his heart doing a summersault in both joy and nervousness, but then he also notices Woodlock’s gaze and his heart drops, a cold sensation settling in his gut.

“Ahem.” Damian clears his throat to get the attention of the ones in the room.

“Oh, Damian, Danny, back so soon?” Dick asks them with too much sweetness in his voice.

“Yeah, we thought you would take some more.” Steph says, her words clearly carrying a double meaning. “I mean, with all the pets Damian has.” She adds with a shit eating grim on her perfectly painted lips.

They know. Damian realizes with annoyance and embarrassment. Tt, of course they couldn’t keep their nosy noses away!

“We just went to see Batcow.” Danny answers, if he understands Dick and Steph’s double meaning comments Damian is not sure, but he guesses that playing dumb is also a way to deal with this. “And we also saw the stars for a bit.”

“One of Daniel’s obsessions is space.” Woodlock joins the conversation. “He knows everything there is to know about the stars and what’s beyond. He actually wants to double mayor in aero-space engineering and physics.”

“Damn.” Duke gasps. “Over achiever much. You sure, Danny? That sounds… well, that sounds very time consuming.”

“Pfff, Time’s not an issue.” Danny says as he waves his hand as if swatting a fly away, he and his uncle exchange a look and smile, like sharing a secret joke.

“Anyways.” Damian reclaims the attention of the room on himself. “Before this marvelous night finishes, Daniel and I would like to make an announcement.” The taller teen says as he lifts his clasped hands. “Daniel and I are now formally in a romantic relationship.” His heart stutters like the wings of a hummingbird at the statement.

“Congratulations, chum!” Bruce celebrates as he stands up and walks behind both teens and puts a hand on each of the teens’ shoulders.

“About time.” Woodlock comments of handedly. “As endearing as it was to watch you both make eyes to each other, it was starting to get slightly too sickening.”

“Clocky!” Danny reprimands as a scandalized flush paint his pale cheeks.

“Seriously Daniel, it was like you trying to hide the raccoon from me but not even you realized that you were trying to hide it.” The clock maker says, making everyone older that the teens chuckle.

“Come on, man, have mercy on me.” Danny pleads.

“This is me being merciful, dear boy.”

“Happy!” Cass exclaims as she hugs Damian and Danny from behind, the young woman having snuck on them at some point during the conversation.

“Does this mean I get a family discount for whenever I ask you to fix something?” Jason questions Danny from his spot on the couch.

“Nope, if anything it means I expect yummier snacks form now on.” Danny answer.

“Brat.”

They all stayed in the drawing room for another hour, Damian and Danny taking seat on an empty divan closer to the entrance, hands still holding while Damian’s siblings (mostly Jason, Tim and Steph) teased them. When it was time for C.W. and Danny to go back home the blue-eyed teen said good bye to his new boyfriend with a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Do you want to know every single way this night could have gone horribly wrong?” C.W. asks Danny as they drive away from Wayne Manor.

Eddie Diaz + that strand of hair Part 4

Prologue/ Chapter One/ Chapter Two/ Chapter Three/ Chapter Four/ Final Chapter (here)

BatfamxNeglected!Reader

Summary: You had to start living with your VERY rich dad at the age of six after your mother ran away to Hollywood to become an actress. And you, my friend, didn’t have the capacity to be a hero or vigilante so of course, the bleachers it is!

This is heavily inspired by @bunniebrains neglected daughter fic!!

Warnings! Depressed reader, emotional neglect, mentions of sexual themes, alcohol, self harm.

Link to parts one, two, and three. Hope you enjoy the last part!

“Witchers aren’t human.”

“Geralt—”

“No, Jaskier,” Geralt forced himself not to snarl, his muscles twitching. “You can sing your songs about how noble and honorable and—and humane, we are, but at the end of the day, we are different. We were made to be other, to forever be the bridge between monsters and humans.”

Geralt snorted, shaking his head.

“A bridge neither of them want.”

Jaskier, to his credit, took a moment to process Geralt’s words. He sat back up, his legs cross-crossing as he pulled a knee to his chest, wrapping his arms around it.

“So…last night…” he said hesitantly, eyes flicking to Geralt.

“The result of…mutations. You…the noises…” Geralt clenched and unclenched his free hand. “Wolf witchers have—have instincts. You’ve stuck around long enough, that you—they thought you were…pack.”

“…pack?”

Geralt grunted, refusing to meet Jaskier’s eyes.

“That’s—”

Geralt tensed.

“—sweet.”

The witcher blinked.

“‘Sweet?’ It’s not sweet, Jaskier! I forced you to—to stay there, with me, after what I’d done to you. I wouldn’t let you leave, I shoved food down your throat! What if it had been poisonous? What if my instincts had seen you as a threat?”

“Geralt—”

“You have no clue—”

“No, Geralt. It’s you who have no clue!” Jaskier hissed, standing. “You talk about forcing yourself on me, like you’re some monster who can’t control himself. And I get it, I do.”

Jaskier stalked around the fire as he spoke, voice steady and low.

“It’s scary, I’m sure, to not be able to—to control, this part of yourself. To have a piece of you that you can’t tame no matter how hard you try to shove it down where no one can see. Well, guess what?”

Jaskier threw his arms wide, standing right in front of Geralt.

“Humans are exactly the same way. Give them the smallest chance to give in to their baser urges and they will, almost every. Single. Time.”

Jaskier poked his finger into Geralt’s chest as he spoke. The witcher didn’t hold back his snarl this time, shoulders spreading as he tried to tower over the man who was only an inch or two shorter than him.

“See? See this? I’m poking you, Geralt. Look.”

Jaskier poked Geralt repeatedly, moving from his chest, to his shoulder, to his stomach, to his—

“Enough, bard!” Geralt snapped, finally slapping the offending digit away.

“No, not enough. Don’t you get it? You can snarl and posture at me all you want, but we both know if you truly wanted to, I could be unconscious under that tree right now.”

And that—Geralt took a half-step back, imagining Jaskier’s body broken, covered in blood, limp—

“Geralt, no, just—”

Jaskier’s hands were twisted in his armor, and that—he didn’t want to hurt the bard, tried to gently pry his hands off, but his grip was firm.

Didn’t Jaskier get it? He needed to leave, needed to get away before he seriously hurt the bard. He was pack last night, but who knew what would happen next time? What if Jaskier hurt Roach on accident, and Geralt thought he was a foe? What if Jaskier tended to the witcher’s wounds, and Geralt couldn’t stop himself from lashing out? What if—

“I feel safer, you know. When you’re there.”

And that…made sense. Jaskier knew Geralt would never let a monster get to him, no matter how much he teased—

“And I know what you’re thinking. But it’s…why do you think I always try to get you to come when I perform? When I’m going to the market or the apothecary?”

Geralt frowned.

“I like your company, sure. Even if you’re no conversationalist.” The bard chuckled a bit, head tilting back as he did so. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “But I…it’s nice. Not—not having to worry—”

Jaskier released Geralt, leather crinkling from how tightly his fingers had been dug in. He wrapped his arms around himself, and Geralt realized, abruptly, how small the other man truly seemed. How lithe he was, without his larger than life personality.

“I didn’t mean to get us kicked out of town.” Jaskier gazed intently into the fire. “He—the innkeeper’s son, he told me the stablehands were having a hard time, with Roach. And I know how fickle she can be, and I didn’t—didn’t want them to hurt her, but I didn’t—

Jaskier laughed suddenly, a wet, miserable thing.

“I was so foolish, so stupid. How would he have known, if there was a problem? The stablehands would have come themselves. It didn’t make sense, but it wasn’t until we got to the stables and no one was there that I realized, but he had a knife—”

Jaskier’s hand went to his neck, his own touch startling him, like the movement had been entirely subconscious. Geralt stared at the small wound there, so little some might mistake it for a scratch from a particularly spiteful thorn, if not for the placement.

The witcher wondered how he had missed it. Jaskier had reeked of fear and sex and how did he miss it—

“But he—he put it down, to—I think, because I didn’t struggle—my knife was in my boot, and it was right there, and I didn’t think, I just—”

Jaskier mimed stabbing down, and Geralt nodded, gently grabbing Jaskier’s arm when the repetitive motion didn’t stop. Jaskier froze, breathing in shakily, the scent of terror slowly dissipating keeping the witcher rooted in place.

“Is he…?”

Jaskier shook his head, a small, hysterical chuckle bursting from his lips.

“No, but he’s, uh. He's not going to be trying that again any time soon. Or likely ever.”

Geralt blinked at the insinuation as Jaskier chuckled again, the laughter going on and on before slowly turning into wheezing, horrible sobs, tears running down the bard’s face, the bard struggling to breathe—

Geralt tugged on the arm he was still holding, easily pulling Jaskier to his chest as he wrapped his arms tightly around the other man. It couldn’t have been very comfortable, with Geralt’s armor still on, but Jaskier just gripped tightly to the straps as he burrowed into the gap between his shoulder and neck. It certainly wasn’t the most comfortable for Geralt, the wet tears and snot on his bare skin sending chills down his back, but the witcher didn’t even consider moving. Not when Jaskier smelled so miserable, guilty, terrified—

“Breathe, Jask. It’s okay. Just breathe.”

Jaskier gasped, choking on air as he coughed, another wheezing sob coming out of his mouth.

“Easy, Jask. Easy.”

Geralt spread his hand wide, moving it steadily up and down the bard’s back, providing just enough pressure to be grounding. It seemed to help, as Jaskier’s cries soon began to taper off into something quieter and less intense.

The fire was nearly embers by the time Jaskier pulled away, not that Geralt minded. It was a warm night, and the full-body shiver that Jaskier gave while wiping his face on his shirt sleeve had nothing to do with the cold.

“I—I’m sorry, Geralt, I didn’t—”

Geralt shook his head.

“It’s fine, Jaskier.”

“No, no, I shouldn’t have—”

Geralt bit back a growl.

“It’s not your fault, Jaskier. I didn’t—I should have known—”

“No, Geralt—”

“You reeked of sex and—and fear, and I just assumed—”

“It’s not like it wasn’t the first time—”

First time. First time, first time, first time—

“—screwing the wrong person, Geralt. You couldn’t know—”

“Tell me this was the first time.”

“—that this—what?”

Geralt swallowed hard against the immovable lump in his throat.

“Tell me this was the first time, that you—that we left a town, or a city, because someone tried to…”

The wince Jaskier gave was so small, no human would have caught it.

Geralt struggled to breathe, the boulder sitting heavy on his chest only allowing shallow, ragged inhalations. He barely noticed the whine he let out as he tried to remember, tried desperately to recall when it could have happened. If there were signs he missed, signs he ignored—

“Geralt please, I—”

“How many times?”

“Geralt—”

“No, Jaskier,” Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s shoulders, forcing him to look into the witcher’s eyes. “How many times did you let me yell at you, to blame you, for getting us kicked out of a town because you—you wouldn’t let yourself be assaulted?”

“Geralt—”

“Jaskier.”

“I don’t know!” Jaskier ran his hands through his hair, breathing equally rough. “I didn’t—I didn’t keep track, I just wanted to forget, to—to move on.”

“You should have told me—”

“And what then, Geralt, hmmm?” Jaskier pushed the witcher away, and Geralt let himself be moved, to give Jaskier space to talk.

“You come rushing to my aid, to protect my honor, and, what—turn the person in to receive justice? It’s a stranger’s word against someone who’s likely lived there all their life!”

“Or maybe—” Jaskier tapped his chin, eyes wide as he paced and gesticulated. “You run them through, act as judge, jury, and executioner. Because how dare they equate my being a bard with being easy, like everyone else does! Like you insinuate yourself, oh so often.”

Geralt flinched, feeling like he’d gotten the air kicked out of him.

“That—I never meant—”

Jaskier studied Geralt’s face for a beat, two, before his shoulders drooped, the fight visibly going out of him. He hung his head back, blue eyes and dried tear marks brightly reflecting the glow of the stars.

“We can’t afford to be driven out of towns just because one villager decides that—that I don’t get the choice of saying no.”

And that was…that’s really what this was about, wasn’t it.

“You’re important.”

Jaskier hummed, face scrunched up a bit as he turned just enough to see Geralt.

“You’re important—to me, Jaskier.” Geralt clarified, words stilted but no less clear.

“Geralt…”

“No, Jaskier. Just—listen. Please?”

Jaskier pursed his lips, but nodded.

“You feeling safe is important. You should be able to sing, and—and play, and jump on tables, and smile without having to worry about someone wanting—taking, more. What the innkeeper’s son did, what—what’s happened before, is important.”

Jaskier was blinking rapidly, eyes looking more than a little wet.

“It hurt you, Jask. That’s important to me. Tell me—tell me you know that.”

Jaskier sniffled, nodding his head.

“I just—I didn’t want—”

“I know, Jask. I know.”

Geralt drew him in for another hug, one the bard was able to reciprocate this time as he he cried softly.

“I’m going to pay more attention. To—to keep you—company, when I’m not out on a contract.”

“Geralt, you don’t have to—”

“I want to, Jaskier. Okay?”

The bard was silent for a long moment, before nodding into Geralt’s shoulder.

“I need you to promise to tell me though, Jaskier. If someone—if anyone, tries to attack you again.”

“I…”

“It’s not—” Geralt pursed his lips, trying for a moment to find the right words, before just giving in and saying what he was feeling.

“You’re my bard, my pack. Your suffering is my suffering too.”

Geralt felt Jaskier swallow.

“I…I promise.” He whispered, voice choked.

Geralt knew it would likely take a few weeks, if not months, for the message to sink in. For the bard to understand that the witcher didn’t want to be welcome any place the bard wasn’t. To see that the the witcher would rather stab himself than drag Jaskier back to towns where he’d been assaulted.

But until then, Geralt would just have to keep doing this, reminding the bard of what he truly needed to know.

“You’re important, Jask. You’re important to me.”