#I have so many thoughts... But no one to talk to...

[learningfromlosing]

how it feels to grow up as a white american

why do you hate white people so much

aside from all the, like, racism?

well, because having been born a white mormon at the imperial core of the world, and then realizing that every facet of my "heritage" ive ever interfaced with has existed for less than some living turtles, is defined by hatred and theft, resulting in my disillusionment from the myths i was fed leading me float along in an existence with so little tangible identity that it's driven me at some points to literal medical psychosis, kind of makes me mad.

[mickyschumacher]

hey could u give us something with the reader wearing body glitter and max and reader kinda are lowkey or uk fwb just fucking in secret and he is kinda in love but doesn't wanna ruin it

but then they go to a party and like she is wearing body glitter uk those glitter sprays and he finds her so irresistible and has to uk get a quickie and then when they come back he is covered in glitter and thats how ppl find out

u could also make it Charles's sister or something

[YOU'RE SO GOLDEN!]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: max should stay away from you if he knows what's best for him. but he can't help it. you just... sparkle. or in which you forget to rub off the evidence of max's love.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ (minors dni), fluff, fwb/forbidden love themes, max is down bad for the reader, light praise kink, oral sex/eating out, p in v, unprotected sex (protect yourselves pls), cumming inside, mutual orgasms, orgasm denial kinda, poor humour imo, happy ending! // poorly proof-read ♡︎

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: max verstappen x leclerc!fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2.8k+

𝐀/𝐍: the ideas you lot have.... chef's kiss truly 💋 hope you like this one as much as i enjoyed writing it. also my first max fic... can you believe it? there's more coming dw! - ngl i kept thinking about edward cullen - "this is the skin of a killer, bella" 🫣

🏎️ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | ⚽️ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Max knew it was a mistake coming here. He should've said no. His partying days had been over for a while now. He spent more time in his room streaming than he did outside. He especially knew it was a mistake because he knew you'd be there.

Charles never went anywhere without you. Wherever he was, you were.

Maybe that's why Max had gone to Lando's party. Because he knew Charles had said yes. Which meant you had said yes.

It was never supposed to happen. It was a one time thing. You were drunk. He was drunk. You didn't remember much of the night. Max had just won his fourth championship in Vegas. And that definitely warranted some partying in Monaco.

There were strobe lights. Martin Garrix was DJing. It was hot and humid. Somehow you had found your lips on Max's. The rest of the night was self-explanatory.

You had woke up the next morning, slightly distraught because Charles would only be first in the line of brothers that would kill you. And while Max peacefully slept in the morning, you took the walk of shame back to your apartment.

The problem was that neither of you could forget the time you spent together. Even though you had drunk one too many that night, you could remember every moment in his bed vividly. Max could still hear your laughs in the emptiness of his apartment. And when he closed his eyes every night before bed, he could see you on top of him.

Max was the one who had suggested the whole thing. Friends with benefits. He said it'd be good for some pleasure for the both of you. Because sex definitely isn't intimate or anything.

But Max was struggling to draw the line. He was feeling things he shouldn't. Concerned when you were sick. Excited for your texts. Small moments reminded him of you when he walked around. You were the first thing he thought about he got in the car and the last when he got out.

More. He craved more than the moments after where you talked for hours before you left. He wanted to wake up to you. He wanted you to pick outfits in front of him and let him pretend which one he liked until you were both back in bed, laughing and moaning.

Fuck. If he knew anything, he was falling in love with you with every passing day.

That's why he should've said no to this party. But, either to his greatest pleasure or his greatest misery, he could never say no to you

That's why Max had made some rules coming here:

No looking at you for more than thirty seconds (because Charles would know instantly).

No touching you. At all. This was non-negotiable.

One conversation. That's all he would allow himself. Because if he talked to you any longer, he wouldn't be able to stop himself.

But those rules seem to fly out the window the instant you had walked in next to Charles. Max could've sworn he was watching it in slow motion.

It was still light out, sun only beginning to set. By the way you and your entourage was dressed, you had clearly been swimming. Your sheer black dress did the bare minimum to cover up your bikini underneath. Even worse was the cut out near your chest, holding the two sides of the dress together with a small metal circle, teasing him.

But that wasn't the worse thing. Nor was it the way your hair fanned across your body, set up as if God had done it himself. Nor was it your signature perfume wafting in the air already.

It was the glitter.

That stupid fucking body glitter.

It sparkled and shimmered on your skin. Your bare legs could make the light dance around you. Your arms held all the command, moving the shine and twinkles with each stride as you walked. And your collarbone – God, your collarbone. Glittering in such a way that he was sure he just wanted to lick you clean.

You were positively glowing in the sunset

You had him hooked. Fixated. And almost on his knees.

Max had already broken rule number one. Fuck the rest.

He tried to wait patiently. Watching you converse with a few people for the first ten minutes. But as you glimmered more from afar, his patience wore thin and his restraint was beginning to break.

Max sent you a text. Plain and Simple. Bathroom. Now.

He didn't wait for you to read it and look at him. Max knew you'd come. Because a bit like him, you also had trouble saying no.

Five minutes. That's how long it took for you to come to the bathroom. He would've argued that was five minutes too long.

You raised a brow, folding your arms, keeping your amusement at bay as Max neared you with a few strides, locking the bathroom door.

"Took you long enough," Max mumbled, leaning back to get a better view of you. His eyes glazed over the specks of glitter rubbed into your skin as he spoke. "What were you doing? Talking their ears off?"

You tilted your head to the side, eyes narrowed playfully. "I was enjoying it. Too bad someone was giving 'fuck me' eyes from across the room. You're basically begging for Charles to find out," you huffed quietly.

"Begging?" Max queried, brows raised in slight surprise. He smirked slowly, hands reaching out to brush over your collarbone, fingers grazing your neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps across your shimmering skin. "The only person who's going to be begging is you when I'm done with you. Driving me crazy looking like this," he sighed out.

You shivered at his touch, breath caught at his words. You blinked, cheeks flushing. "It's just body glitter," you murmured quietly, teeth sinking into your lips as you watched him bend down, on his knees while he looked up at you.

"Maybe," Max shrugged, hands creeping up your legs, preventing you from clenching your thighs like you had been the moment you walked in here. "But you look so pretty," he confessed.

Your lips parted. His words sounded far from the Max you knew a couple months ago. This was... soft. Like he couldn't control his brain.

He peered at you, lips and cheek grazing the side of your thigh, edging closer and closer to the heat – fabric of your dress brushing his skin. "Let me taste you," he pleaded. "I need you so bad."

He wasn't lying. The bulge in his jeans was so strained, you almost could've sworn it was painful. You wondered what he had been doing for past five minutes. What he had been thinking about to get this hard.

"Everyone's outside," you reminded quietly, not directly saying no. And by 'everyone' you mainly meant Charles.

"They won't know. The music is too loud. I promise," Max reassured, patiently waiting for your answer, small kisses pressed on the inside of your thigh. His touch was tantalising.

You swallowed thickly, nodding. You only just trust your voice. "Okay," you agreed. "But we have to be quick. Ten minutes tops."

You were in the bathroom for Christ's sake. But any minute longer, Charles might have a search party going. God forbid his little sister was getting a good dicking down. (Max's words, not yours.)

You could feel his grin on the side of your thigh and it made you shudder. Max hummed with satisfaction. "Let's prepare you then."

You held your breath as his hands moved, riding your dress up past your thighs, bunching up at your waist while your black bikini bottoms stared at Max at eye level. He sighed, "Fuck me." The fabric was stuck to your folds, darker where damp.

"So wet," he laughed softly, the sound teasing as he pulled down the fabric, letting it pool your legs. He breathed in, the smell of your arousal only fuelling his hunger. His hands grasped your thighs tighter, spreading them further to watch your slick shine the same way your skin did.

Max gave you no warning like he usually did. He was already so far gone with his desires. He leaned his head in, tongue darting out to take one long stripe of your wet folds, grinning when your body jerked to his touch. "Taste so sweet, schatz," he praised before delving into your pussy.

You could only whimper, your hand clamped over your mouth. His fingers clamped deeper into your thighs, pulling you closer while his tongue darted into every crevice and fold. Your other hand fell to his shoulder, bracing your self and grasping at the way his defined nose knocked at your clit.

Your head fell back to the bathroom door, hips grinding up into his tongue as if it was second nature. Your eyes fluttered shut, breathing stuttering while your chest rose and fell. Fuck, it felt so good

Max could see it faintly through his peripheral. Your arousal covering the sides of your thigh, mixing with your body glitter to create a whole new unique shine that solely comprised of you. He could only grunt against your cunt, the sound reverberating through your body.

The clench of your pussy told Max everything he needed to know.

He parted from your folds, silencing your quiet whines with his wet lips, shining with glitter and arousal as he kissed you. Your hand found the buckle of his pants, quickly prodding to take them off.

Max's body lurched upon the feel of your hand on his cock. "Fucking hell," he cussed into your neck, eyes rolling slightly.

"Five minutes," you rasped in his ear, fingers grazing his tip for leaving his cock hanging from his pants, aching and twitching for more of your touch.

Max swallowed, nodding furiously. His one hand travelled to your thigh, hooking it closer to his body while the other laid flat on the bathroom door, steadying himself. His hips aligned with yours, his pulsing cock teasing your entrance, covered in your arousal.

A reverent guttural moan spilled from his lips as he pushed his hips up into you, cock welcoming the warmth of your pussy, balls flushed against you once he fully bottomed out. "Holy fuck," you barely whispered, his hips beginning to rut against you.

Your glimmering skin stuck against one another while Max brought his lips to yours, consuming all the loud moans threatening to scape with his sloppy kisses. He pushed his cock further into you, feeling his balls slap against you, making the most obscene sounds known to man echo in the bathroom.

He looked down at you, feeling his cock pulse at the fucked out expression that teetered on your face. You could barely breathe with all the air escaping your lungs as the familiar white light edged near you. Max grinned against your lips. "You going to come for me? With all those people outside? You keep warning me about Charles but I think you secretly enjoy this, schatz. You just can't get enough of me."

Your fingers on his shoulder tightened, stomach churning while your jaw fell open. "Fuck!" you gasped, any sounds from your mouth turning silent as stars covered your vision, body convulsing as the waves of your orgasm rolled over you one after another.

"That's it," Max coaxed, hips snapping faster into you. "Did so well for me. Clenching so tightly," he grunted, eyes falling to the cream ring around his cock. Christ.

"Come for me, Max," you encouraged, holding his jaw so he looked back at you. "Fill me up," you breathed, body tightening when you felt his fingers rub your clit. The pleasure was beginning to build up fast.

Max swallowed, unable to look away as he felt your orgasm vibrate around his cock as you clenched around him. A high-pitched stuttered groan fell from his lips, hips stuttering against you.

The both of you moaned as his hot white cum spilled into your walls. Your folds clamped around him, milking every last drop. Your head fell against the bathroom door with an exhausted sigh, chest heaving as he pulled out gently after a few minutes had passed.

"Thank you." You breathed out slowly, giving a small smile as Max pulled your bikini bottoms back up, not missing the way his blown pupils were stuck on the way his cum spilled out of your and onto the wet fabric.

Max cleared his throat, nodding in acknowledgement.

You shuffled down your dress, patting down the material so you looked somewhat presentable. You looked over at the mirror before turning to Max. "I'll leave first," you murmured, barely giving him a glance over as you often did so you didn't overthink. You turned to unlock the door.

Max blinked, failing to ignore the clench of his heart. You were reminding him what you were. Friends with benefits. That's all you were.

The air felt cold on your heated skin. The thrum of chatter and music filled your ears as you weaved through the small crowds of people, finding Charles and Alexandra talking to Lando.

"What I'd miss?" You queried, looping your arm through Alexandra's.

Lando kindly grinned at you. "A trip to Ibiza. If you're down," he shrugged.

Charles nodded. "Lando hired a yacht. Although we should probably ask Max to deal with it since he owns so many," he huffed, head twisting to spot the Dutch driver. "Max!" He flagged down.

Max pressed his lips, avoiding your gaze as he greeted your brother and Lando.

"Where have you been? We were just talking about some– what's that?" Charles paused, brows furrowing as he peered at Max oddly.

"What's what?" Max retorted.

Charles dipped his head, blue eyes examining the last bits of sun on Max's skin. "Is that glitter?" He asked out of sheer curiosity.

Your face fell, growing instantly hot at your brother's words. You could feel Max's body still while Charles followed the way Alexandra and Lando's eyes travelled to you and your glittering skin.

Fuck.

Charles snapped his eyes to Max, brows raised in disbelief. "Max... for the love of God, tell me you're not having..." he breathed in slowly like he was afraid to say it. "...sex with my sister."

Max took a step closer to you, covering you with his body like he was going to protect you. Why on earth would he do that?

You gave Charles a pointed look. "W-We're adults, Charles," you reminded, seemingly confirming it yourself with a shaky breath.

"Merde," Charles cursed, shaking his head. You could see Alexandra squeeze his hand gently, trying to calm and comfort him. You gave her a grateful smile, still a bit terrified of your brother.

Charles kept looking at Max, keeping his position as older brother up before being his friend. "So you're dating then?" He queried as if it was the only obvious answer.

The question felt loud. The silence even louder.

Charles would kill the both of you if he found out were just friends with benefits. But the truth was... it wasn't really like that anymore. There was something more. But neither of you had been brave enough to admit it.

That is... yet.

Max turned to you, blue eyes softening slightly. He grabbed your hand with his. His voice was low and quiet, leaving only you to hear him. "I don't really want to just be 'friends,'" he admitted with a tight scared smile.

You blinked at his admission, taking time to register his words. Finally a soft smile graced your face. You felt impossibly warm and complete. You squeezed his hand. "Neither," you whispered back.

Max tried to tone down his grin as much as he could as he turned to Charles and sucked in a sharp breath. "We're dating," he confirmed.

Lando raised a brow. "You mean as of now. You're dating as of now. How long have you been fucking?"

"Lando!" You hissed, glaring at him, unable to even look at Charles or Max.

Charles breathed in slowly, a barely sane smile on his face. He rubbed his temples gently. "I'm going to ignore that," he mumbled, gesturing to Lando before turning to your now boyfriend. "Well, welcome to the family," he sighed out, grabbing Max's shoulder. He leaned in further, the threat quiet in his ear but visible for all of you to see. "Hurt her and I swear to God you'll crash on track."

Max swallowed thickly. He gave a firm nod. "Duly noted."

"Great!" Charles chirped, leaning back with a feigned smile that only told you that you were in for it when you got home.

Oh Jesus.

You tugged Max closer to you. "I think we should enjoy what freedom we both have left for the day."

Max nodded idly. "Sounds like a good idea."

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[wosospacegirl]

Legally binding - Part 7

Summary: Alexia Putellas didn’t plan to become anyone’s legal guardian. But a very determined 12-year-old with a forged Barça contract has other ideas—and she's already moved in.

Warnings: Alexia's guilt is eating her alive. Nala is the kid's new best friend. way too many heart analogies (not joking, it's irritating). Also, do bruises really get better with kisses? Let's find out and see

Word count: 5.2k

A/n: Did it take me a fortnight to write 5k? yes, yes it did. And I don't even love this chapter *cries*

Alexia was driving. The bright roadway lights were giving her a headache. Her eyes were fixed on the road ahead, but her mind might as well have been anywhere else. Alexia was so tired. So completely tired.

Ever since Y/n had run away, Alexia had been on vigilant mode. She barely ate or slept. In the hospital, after she was reunited with Y/n again, she didn't allow relief to wash over her.

The kid was hurt. She was sad, lost and anxious. Alexia stood by her side; she didn't leave the hospital room for three whole days. She hadn't slept more than four hours straight, always being woken up by nurses and doctors coming in to check on Y/n.

Alexia's mind was drifting away, but she heard Eli talking with Y/n in the backseat about something, which brought her back, reminding her to pay attention, to continue driving.

Her mom's arm was wrapped around the girl as they played a quiet game of 'I spy', trying to fight off sleep and the boredom that came with the one-hour drive.

Everyone was tired, completely and utterly exhausted. They had been discharged thirty minutes ago, but the hospital had no proper guidelines regarding discharge hours.

Who actually processed discharges at 1 am? Alexia had been in her fair share of hospitalisations because of injuries, both minor and major, and not once did she have to walk out of the hospital with the moon shining bright in the sky.

Earlier that evening, the doctor had completed all the paperwork and spoken with the psychologist and social worker, who had given them the green light to discharge Y/n since her physical health wasn't a major concern anymore.

But they had had to wait hours for the final approval to actually leave. When the doctor finally came with the discharge papers, everyone in the room was sleeping, everyone but Alexia.

The doctor handed Alexia a (heavy) stack of papers, quietly explaining what each one meant.

She needed to show one to the nurse before they left, and another to the receptionist. Then came two pages filled with medication prescriptions for pain and vitamins, followed by two referrals for Y/n to see a child psychologist and a physiotherapist.

Alexia stared down at the papers in her hands, feeling overwhelmed.

It was her first time being a mom, and she wasn't really sure what to do. Right now, the papers had way more weight than they should have. Each page felt like a reminder of how much she didn't know, how much she was probably going to mess up. How much she had to learn.

She didn't know how her mom was able to raise two kids. Alexia was already getting overwhelmed with one; she couldn't imagine adding another one to that.

What helped Alexia when she was feeling overwhelmed was creating a plan.

And that's exactly what she did,

First, Alexia woke Alba up and told her they needed to leave soon. Alba began gathering everything, all of Y/n's teddy bears, the 'get well soon' balloons and other belongings as well.

They hadn't brought much to the hospital initially, but over the days, they had accumulated clothes, pillows, duvets, and toys for Y/n. Alba packed everything while Alexia handled the paperwork.

Eli was the second one to wake.

Alexia asked her to go down to the cafeteria and grab some food for the road, a coffee for herself, and whatever Eli thought Y/n might want to eat, though Alexia made sure Eli didn't buy anything with chocolate; it was too late (or way too early) for sugar.

The last one to open her eyes was Y/n.

Alexia kissed her head, murmuring softly against her skin that Y/n needed to wake up. She tried to be gentle, knowing very well that the medication she was on made her extra sleepy.

The kid woke up confused and groggy, as she often did since they had been in the hospital, as if it took her some minutes to realise where she was.

She rubbed her eyes and looked at Alexia with a pout, annoyed that her sleep was disturbed. She shifted uncomfortably, still not used to the boot on her leg.

"My foot hurts," she mumbled, and Alexia's chest squeezed.

"I know, cariño, I'm sorry, it'll be better soon. " Alexia said sweetly. "The doctor just came by and told me we can finally go home, sí? Let's get ready."

Alexia watched Y/n's face carefully, hoping for something that might suggest the kid wanted to come home with her. Some kind of excitement.

Instead, Y/n's body went completely rigid. The girl looked around the room frenetically, like she was searching for something or someone.

"Where's Yaya and Alba? W-where--? I'm going with them, right? To their house?" [grandma]

The question hit Alexia like a slap to the face. She had hoped, deep down in her chest, that when the time came, Y/n would choose to go home with her.

That Y/n would pick her over anyone else, that she would trust Alexia again. That maybe, just maybe, the kid would want her.

But it wasn't the case. Just the thought of leaving the hospital to go back to Alexia's apartment was enough to make the girl anxious. And Alexia wasn't going to allow another panic attack, not after seeing how bad the last one had been.

Alexia forced herself to breathe, trying to put on a brave face. She felt like she was breaking inside, but she was determined to be what her kid needed. Even if what Y/n needed wasn't her.

"You're going to stay with Yaya and Alba, cariño, don't worry." Alexia held Y/n's small hand, which was covered with drawings of flowers that Alba had made with Sharpies.

The drawings were a bit smudged now, almost fading into a mess of colours against her skin, but Y/n refused to wash them off, saying they looked 'stylish', even after Alexia begged her to do it.

"It will be just like we talked about." Alexia began explaining to her, holding her hand, trying to ground her. "We'll all leave together, but I'll drop you off at their place."

The kid let out a sigh of relief, and her whole body relaxed.

Alexia pretended the relief in Y/n's voice didn't feel like a knife to her heart.

What Y/n was feeling wasn't the kid's fault, Alexia reminded herself. She shouldn't feel guilty for wanting comfort, wanting to feel safe.

"Now let's get you ready, okay?" Alexia said, trying to sound a bit cheerful, making the most of the situation. "We need to get you out of this hospital clothing."

The kid's face formed into a pout, wincing slightly as she adjusted her position. "But I like this little dress."

Alexia tilted her head, gently helping the girl sit up properly. "It's not a dress, it's a hospital gown."

"It's cute."

"It isn't." Alexia smiled, eyebrows raised. "It's plain, and it has blue dots on it."

"You're wearing the same clothes for three days," The kid said petulantly. "That's plain."

"Okay... ouch," Alexia rolled her eyes. "Your gown doesn't even close in the back, though."

"Well.., maybe it's not very practical," Y/n partially agreed. She looked up at Alexia with those big eyes. "But it's pretty, either way."

Alexia got down on her knees and carefully put Y/n's shoes on her feet, well, just on one foot, since the other one was covered by the boot.

They waited until the nurse came in to unhook Y/n's IV line; she flinched slightly when the tape was removed from her tender arm.

"Ow," she whispered, looking at the nurse with a scowl, but her expression quickly shifted when Alexia took her arm and kissed it.

"I just kissed it better," Alexia smiled. "Your arm's not gonna hurt anymore."

The kid stared at her arm. Alexia realised that maybe she was the first person to ever kiss any of the girls' bruises better.

"It's not working," the kid said suspiciously.

"What's not working?"

"Your kiss," she explained as if it were obvious. "It still hurts."

"Oh," Alexia bit her lip, trying to bite back a laugh. "It has like two to three business days to work."

"Mhm, the girl said, but it didn't sound like she was really believing in Alexia. "Try again," she held her arm out, right up to Alexia's face.

Alexia looked at her with fondness and leaned over, kissing the same spot as before. "What about now?"

The kid thought for a moment, her expression serious. "Now it's working."

"Good to know," Alexia smiled as she helped the girl put on a yellow t-shirt.

The girl pointed at her ankle. "Kiss my boot to make my ankle better, too."

Alexia stared at her. "Okay… let's set some boundaries, shall we?"

The kid pouted again, but didn't argue as Alexia helped her into some very loose sweatpants, the only ones that would fit over her leg.

"If you like dresses so much, I'll buy some for you," Alexia murmured after a few moments in silence.

She was trying to do something with the girl's hair now, something that looked different from a rat’s nest. All the time lying in bed hadn’t exactly been gentle on it.

"I don't think I can play football in a dress, though," the kid said seriously, wincing (again) when Alexia accidentally bumped her sore arm. "But maybe I could wear it to watch games? Like when you play? Does Barcelona sell dresses?"

The kid was more talkative now, and Alexia enjoyed that. Missed it even.

"Yeah, cariño. You could wear it to watch games." Alexia answered. "And I don't actually know if Barcelona sell dresses, I don't think so, but we can have one made for you."

The kid looked at her, as if now realising that Alexia was Alexia Putellas.

"You can do that?" The kid asked, looking at Alexia in wonder. "Make a dress? For me?"

Alexia laughed softly. "Well, I can't make one, but we can talk to people who can."

"Is that like.. expensive, though?"

Alexia petted her head. "Don't worry about money."

The kid was silenced, but then, she had an idea.

"Well… If we don't have to worry about money…" She began. "Then maybe you could ask someone to make a dress that I can play football in? One with shorts underneath?"

"We can just put shorts underneath any dresses," Alexia explained. "We don't have to make one to do that."

The girl nodded, satisfied with the answer.

After handling the final paperwork at the nurses' station and reception, they finally made their way to the car.

Y/n moved slowly with her boot, leaning on Alexia while the older player held her crutches. They got in the car, and the drive started.

Alexia's eyes were barely open.

She had drunk two cups of coffee before getting in the car and behind the wheel, but now the caffeine was making her feel more jittery than awake.

Her hands were shaking a little on the steering wheel, though she wasn't sure if it was from the coffee or from the fact that she was driving toward her Mom's home instead of her own, and that she wasn't going to come back to her apartment with her kid.

"Are we there yet?" Y/n asked from the backseat, her voice filled with boredom.

"Almost," Alexia said, glancing at the rear view mirror. The kid was fidgeting with the seatbelt, picking at it with her fingers.

She was restless; it looked like she was the one who had drunk coffee. Maybe she had, her mom had given her a suspiciously looking cup, but swore to Alexia that it was pineapple juice.

There was only an empty highway ahead of her, and the only thing keeping Alexia focused was the anxiety about getting into an accident with her entire family in the car.

Well, that and Alba's annoyingly loud finger-tapping against the car door. The younger Putellas was bobbing her head to whatever song was playing on the radio, as if she were at a concert.

Alexia's jaw tightened as Alba's tapping grew louder, with more enthusiasm.

"Quieres parar, ya?" Alexia grumbled, reaching over to smack Alba's hand while keeping her other firmly on the wheel. "It's irritating." [can you stop?]

"Don't hit me," Alba huffed, giving Alexia's shoulder a slap in return.

"I'm driving and you're distracting me!" Alexia snapped. "Cut it down."

"Are we there now?" Y/n asked up again. Her voice was getting that whiny edge that kids did when they were so utterly bored. "My leg is getting stiff, and my back hurts, and I want to sleeeep."

"Well, I told you I could be the one driving," Alba shrugged, crossing her arms, and ignoring Y/n. "You said 'no'…actually, you laughed in my face and hid the keys in your pocket."

"You drove us to the hospital and got us three different traffic violations! And cariño... almost," Alexia said, the last part directed at Y/n through the mirror.

"You were the one telling me to go as fast as I could!" Alba protested. "I was just doing what you told me to do."

"Yeah, I told you to be fast," Alexia continued, her voice rising. The sleep deprivation was making her snappier than usual. "I didn't tell you to drive the wrong way down a one-way street!"

"I was helping you, and now you're being so ungrateful!"

"Ungrateful? You are--"

"Can we please stop fighting?" Y/n interrupted, laying her head on Eli's shoulder. "My head hurts."

Alexia's irritation immediately melted into guilt. The kid had been through enough without having to listen to them bicker like children. But the guilt wasn't as strong as Alba's persistent tapping.

Alexia, because she was very mature, turned off the radio, which made Alba look at her with indignation.

"Are you for real?" Alba asked angrily, her fingers quickly trying to get the radio back on again.

Alexia slapped her hand away. "No more songs."

"Alexia, you are the most annoying--"

"Enough, you two!" Eli's sharp voice cut through their fight from the backseat, her face set in a scowl.

"Everyone in this car is exhausted, and we all want to go home. Alba, keep quiet. And Alexia, don't hit your sister while you're driving."

The car fell into immediate silence.

Alba turned toward the window with her arms crossed, sulking. Alexia's jaw was still clenched as she stared ahead. She could hear Y/n shifting in the backseat, probably trying to find a comfortable position for her leg.

"Okay, so actually, how long until we get there?" Y/n asked again, but quieter this time, maybe a bit scared; she had never heard Eli talking in anything but her sweet voice.

"Five more minutes, cariño. I promise." Alexia looked at Y/n in the mirror and tried to smile.

"Okaaay," She dragged the word, as if it wasn't okay at all.

Those five minutes felt like hours.

Alexia had parked right in front of Alba and Eli's house. The two women got out of the car first, Alba stretched her arms above her head, clearly sleepy, while Eli tried to find the house keys on the porch.

After a few seconds, they walked inside, leaving Alexia and Y/n alone in the quiet of the car.

The silence felt heavy. Alexia's hands remained on the steering wheel, her knuckles white against it.

This was it. This was where she would leave her kid. Where she would drive away and leave Y/n with other people. Of course, she wasn't going to stay with strangers who didn't know her.

Alexia trusted her mother and Alba with her life; she knew they would take good care of the kid.

But she couldn't help wondering if they would take better care of her than Alexia would. If they would know what to do when Y/n had nightmares, or when she got scared, or if they would help with homework?

Maybe they would. Maybe that's why Y/n didn't want to come home with her.

She turned around in her seat, forcing herself to give Y/n a sweet smile despite the whole situation. "We're here, niña. This is where they live."

Y/n pressed her face against the window, her breath fogging the glass as she took in every detail of the house before them, her hands leaving marks on the window as well. "Whoa," she whispered.

Y/n was in wonder. She liked Alexia's apartment. It was the first house she had in her whole life, but it was too beige, too clean, too empty. Y/n was a kid, she liked colour, nature and messes.

Alexia's apartment was too immaculate. When Y/n first took a step inside the apartment, it looked like no one lived there.

But here, at Yaya and Alba's house, it looked lived in. It looked like the homes in all of those Disney Channel movies Y/n watched back at Alexia's living room.

The house was beautiful. It was a two-story house with a big garden around it, and there was a path made out of stone that led to the front door.

The first floor's walls were made with the same stones as the path, while the second floor was painted white.

It was filled with vines growing on its skeleton, as well as purple flowers growing around its edges.

Y/n was already thinking about all of the bees and birds that must fly through the flowers and through the trees, looking for food, looking for a good and calm place to rest.

Every bug in Spain must be drawn by the petals of the flowers planted by Eli.

Even in the dark, Y/n saw how her garden was colourful and full. Y/n wanted to run through the flowers, feel their smell, maybe even climb the trees if her ankle wasn't messed up.

At the orphanage, they didn't have any outside space. The nuns said it would be too much for them to take care of. So Y/n never had a garden to herself.

Now she had one. And she was happier than ever, even if she felt a little guilty about being so excited when Alexia looked so sad.

Y/n knew Alexia was sad, she just didn't understand exactly why.

Ale was really trying to pretend to be okay, though… maybe for her sake? Y/n could tell when someone was pretending to be happy; she had done it several times.

Y/n saw Alba and Eli inside the house, moving from one room to another, as if they were in a hurry to gather things up, get everything ready for her.

They looked worried, Y/n could see it from afar. Maybe it was her fault; they probably weren't expecting to house a kid they met only a week ago.

"It's big," Y/n said. "Like, way too big. How many people live here?"

Alexia chuckled. She opened her car door, and the cool night air hit her face when she stepped out. "Just Yaya and Alba. They like having space for when family visits."

"Am I family?" Y/n asked suddenly.

"Sí, cariño. Eres familia." Alexia said, her heart feeling a little too heavy from her question. [you are family]

Alexia walked to the trunk of the car and retrieved the crutches before going to Y/n's side of the car and opening her door.

"It's a big house, but it's cosy inside. You'll see."

She held out her hands, and Y/n held them as she helped her slowly shift out of the seat. Once Y/n was standing (or well, trying to), Alexia went to position the crutches under her arms.

The look on Y/n's face was unmistakable. Her bottom lip was out, and her eyebrows furrowed as she stared down at the crutches.

"I know," Alexia said gently. "They're not very fun, are they? But it's just temporary, sí?"

The kid looked at her, and without missing a beat, she said, "No."

"No?" Alexia repeated, confused. "What do you mean no?"

"I'm not gonna use them," she said, lifting her chin, as if she had already made up her mind and there was no turning back. "They're ugly and they make me look weird."

Alexia was silent, looking at the girl with narrowed eyes. She was exhausted, Y/n was exhausted, and now they were going to fight about crutches at 2 am.

"Hm... yes, you are using them," Alexia said, trying to hand the crutches to the girl, but Y/n pushed them away, right into Alexia's body.

"No, I'm not!" the kid insisted, crossing her arms. "I can walk fine!"

To prove her point, Y/n took a step forward and immediately flinched in pain, a distressing expression on her face as she put weight on her injured ankle.

Alexia took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She was too tired for this, too emotionally drained to deal with a stubborn kid who was clearly just as tired as her.

She put on the best mom face she had (or at least the one her mother always made when she was misbehaving) and leaned down, right at Y/n's eye level.

"You can say no to a lot of things-," Alexia began, her voice stern but not necessarily harsh. "-Your health is not one of them. If you don't use your crutches, you'll put unnecessary weight on your ankle. Do you want your ankle to get worse?"

The kid was looking at her with wide eyes, as if Alexia had never been this firm with her before, which maybe she hadn't (she didn't need to), but now she did.

The kid shook her head in response, looking a little scared.

"Words," Alexia said.

"No, I don't want my ankle to get worse," she said in a small voice that softened Alexia just a bit.

"Do you want to heal soon so you can play football?" Alexia asked.

"Sí," the kid nodded.

"Great!" Alexia said in sudden faux excitement. "Then here are your crutches."

The kid looked at her grumpily as Alexia adjusted them on her body. She was clearly unhappy, but Alexia was mature enough to know that not every right decision caused happiness. Sometimes being a mom meant being the bad guy.

"See, you look great in them!" Alexia said, smiling, trying to cheer the girl up.

"I hate them," Y/n mumbled, but she didn't push them away this time.

Okay, maybe the excitement didn't help.

Y/n tried to take a step forward. She was wobbling slightly as she adjusted. It was weird not having a working leg, and also frustrating for a kid who was used to running and playing all the time.

Alexia immediately placed a hand on her back, feeling how tense the girl's body was. She couldn't help but feel guilty again.

If Y/n hadn't run away that night, if Alexia had handled things better, she wouldn't have to wear crutches. She wouldn't be hurt at all.

Alexia closed the car door. With her hand still on Y/n's back, she guided her slowly up the pathway toward the house.

"It's just for a little while," Alexia said more gently, trying to calm the kid down. She didn't need to spend her first night at a different house feeling upset. "I've used crutches before, I know they aren't very nice."

"You did?" Y/n asked, looking up at her, the curiosity replacing some of the grumpiness.

"Yes," Alexia answered. "I got hurt a few years ago."

"How did you play if you were hurt?"

"I didn't," Alexia explained. "I had to do surgery, use crutches, and lost some major tournaments because of it."

"Weren't you sad because you wanted to play?"

"I was," Alexia explained. "Very sad, and mad too. Mami had to move in with me for a while to make sure I was happy enough."

Y/n was quiet for a moment, processing this information as they walked.

"Is that why you are letting me move in with Yaya?" the kid asked suddenly. "So I can be happy enough?"

Alexia froze in the spot, her stomach dropped. It was, wasn't it? Deep down, Alexia knew that her mom and Alba were what Y/n needed right now.

The kid was still hurt by hearing that Alexia wanted to give her back. Here, she would be a little happier. Have more room to play, to be a kid. Have people who knew how to take care of children. Have some space away from Alexia.

"Um, yes cariño," Alexia had lost count of how many fake smiles she had given the kid. "That's why."

But also because Y/n didn't want to be with her. Because every time the kid looked at Alexia, she probably remembered that night, remembered feeling unwanted (again).

"How long till I get the boot off?"

"One week with the boot, and then we'll start physiotherapy to make it better again," Alexia explained. "You just need to be a little patient."

Y/n paused near the planted flowers that grew along the front walkway. "What's physiotherapy?" she asked, the word clumsy on her tongue.

"It's like... exercises and massages that help our bones, muscles, and nerves heal properly," Alexia explained, wrapping her arm around Y/n's waist as they approached the steps near the front door.

She could feel Y/n leaning into her. Alexia wanted to keep her like that, at her side, but she knew she couldn't.

"The physiotherapist will teach you special movements to make your ankle strong again."

"Have you done it before?" Y/n asked in a small voice, looking up at Alexia. "Will it hurt?"

"I do physiotherapy almost every day," she said softly. "It doesn't hurt."

"All footballers do," she continued. "Some days it's a little uncomfortable, but it's not scary. And you know what? By the time you start playing professionally, you'll be so used to it."

"Really?" Y/n asked, seeming more at ease now.

"Really," Alexia confirmed.

Y/n smiled at that, but then her face got serious again. "Will you take me? To the physiotherapy? Or yaya will?"

"Well," Alexia stared. "I didn't book any physio appointments yet, so we'll see if I can and--"

"I want you to take me," the kid said decidedly. "Because you've already done it… so you know how it feels."

For a moment, they just stared at each other.

"Okay, ninã," Alexia finally told her. "Gonna do my best to be the one to drive you, sí?"

The kid accepted the answer happily.

They stood in front of the door, and Alexia found herself slowing down a bit, breathing in and out. In a few minutes, she would have to say goodbye. She would have to get back to the car and drive away.

She would have to drive home alone to an empty apartment. The kid would have to stay in a room that didn't have the night light Alexia had bought because she was afraid of the dark.

The thought made her chest feel tight, like she couldn't breathe properly, but she pushed it down. This was what Y/n needed right now. This was what would help her feel safe. And that was more important than what Alexia wanted.

"Let's go in?" Alexia said. "Ready? estás lista?"

Y/n nodded. "sí, estoy lista." [yes, I'm ready]

Alexia was surprised when the kid asked, "Are you ready?"

Alexia didn't know what to say, so she lied. "Yeah, cariño. I'm ready."

Alexia reached out and opened the door. Alba and Eli were already there, waiting for them.

"Okay, cariño," Eli said, stepping forward with a warm smile, "I just got the guest room ready for you."

"And I made some sandwiches, if you are hungry," Alba said, just as fast steps were heard in the hallway, and a small dog appeared moments after.

"Oh my god!!" Y/n screamed happily, her face lighting up. She looked at Alexia, then at Alba and Eli, and back at the dog. "A dog! It's so cute! I love it."

Maybe she didn't care much about the sandwiches.

Alexia felt sad as the girl seemed to want to get down to pet the dog, but couldn't because of her crutches. She was trying to bend down awkwardly, nearly losing her balance.

"Come on, Nala," Alexia said, getting on one knee as the little creature made its way to her.

Alexia took Nala in her arms and brought it close to Y/n's body. She couldn't hold her, so Alexia stood there as the girl petted Nala, her face full of joy.

"It's sooo cute!" the kid said, patting Nala's head. "What kind of dog is her?"

"Pomeranian", Alba said. "Alexia and I got her when she was still a puppy."

"That's like Alba's kid," Alexia joked. "So be kind."

"Oh, so we are cousins!" the kid said, which made Alexia's heart feel warm and broken at the same time. She was happy that the kid was feeling like part of the family, because she was.

"Yes," Alba said, taking a step in as Alexia let Nala on the floor again. "Come on, pequeña, let's show you your room, sí?"

The kid's smile faltered, and she looked back at Alexia with something that might have been fear.

Alexia squeezed Y/n's shoulder gently. "Go on, corazón."

"You'll be back?" the kid asked uncertain.

"I need to go home now," Alexia said, feeling guilty for the way Y/n's face fell.

"C-can you stay here with me?" the kid asked, her eyes wide and pleading. "Just for a night?"

Alexia looked at Y/n's face, at the way she was gripping her crutches tightly. She thought about her empty apartment, about waking up tomorrow morning with no one to make breakfast for.

She thought about how Y/n had asked if she was ready, like the kid knew this was hard for her, too.

She thought about how, maybe, Y/n needed her to stay just as much as Alexia needed to stay.

"Of course I can," Alexia said. "But I need to leave early for training, sí?"

The kid looked up at her, nodding, then her face fell to the floor, glued to Nala.

"Can my prima sleep with me too?" she asked with big doe eyes. [cousin]

"No," Alexia and Eli said at the same time that Alba said 'yes!'

The kid looked between the three of them. "Sí? or no?"

Eli and Alexia shared a look, their eyes softening.

"Just one night," Eli agreed, wrapping her arms around Y/n.

"She's not sleeping in my side of the bed," Alexia said grumpily, but happy that the kid was smiling.

A/n: I'm feeling kinda off with this story lately haha, might do a small time jump to see if it helps. I didn't really love this chapter, but I also didn't want to wait another week to post an update for it.

Tag list: @fortifyde, @naomigirmadefender , @neutraiise , @milkveed, @browercc , @ace-of-baked , @ikzzzya , @sky-the-trans-guy00 , @knight-16 , @wosohk04 , @evaissleepy13, @papimapileon , @unpoppablebubbles @whiskeredshrimp-blog @goodloe-e @liloandstitchstan @s0ciety-cxv @dfwspky @karmajn @awosofavs @wosofavfanfics @riyaexee @miaereen

[overangel]

αηgєℓ σн ѕнє'ѕ ƒαℓℓєη кєєριη' нєя нєαят gυαя∂є∂

❥ This is a yandere batfam x neglected!reader who regressed back in time story.

act 1, act 2, act 3, act 4, act 5

MDNI 18+ Only

[PLEASE READ: This chapter details Starling's suicidal thoughts and descriptive attempts during her past life as well as the abuse she suffered by members of the Batfamily. If that could be triggering for you in any way, please do not read. Please prioritize your mental health and well-being.] ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʜᴏᴍᴇ. ᴡᴇ'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ.. Welcome back to where you took your last breath and to the people who pushed you to that point over and over again. Take a moment to recount the injustices you suffered and the fleeting moments of sweetness that made you believe that there was still good in this world. Summon your courage. Don't look back. ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʙᴇɢᴏɴᴇ. ❥ TW: past suicide, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempts, bullying, emotional and mental abuse, bodyshaming, disordered eating and habits, future incest

You strutted down the halls with a sure footed swagger you didn't have in the past. It should’ve been unfamiliar, this confidence, the sway in your hips, but your mannerisms had changed since the day you awoke in the hospital and you finally felt right. 

Once upon a tragic time, you walked without making a sound, breathed as quietly as you could even if it made you dizzy, and never spoke unless spoken to. After a while your voice stopped coming; It was like you woke up one day to find it had disappeared. 

But now? Your footsteps were music to your ears and you eyed the slimy tendrils sliding down the walls with irritation as they writhed and receded as you passed.

You could barely hide a sour expression behind your impassive mask as you could taste rotten eggs and death in the air as you put more distance between you and Bruce’s study. 

It was true what they said about demons and hauntings having  a smell and you held your breath as you powerwalked to get away from it. The odor had been concentrated in his study, one of his many broody corners, and you were getting lightheaded during your “talk.” 

You’d almost smashed a paperweight through one of his windows because it was so overpowering. 

No one could ignore that smell of death, but you realized that you were the only one who could smell the rot, see the tendrils, and hear the cries. 

You were all alone in this but for some reason you were unafraid. Being alone and getting by with your own strength was thrilling and you couldn’t wait to see how far you’d go.

You finally spotted a bathroom and went in and locked the door behind you. Composure cracked as you hacked the last tastes of the spoiled smell away and rinsed your mouth and face with cool water.

You looked at your reflection and there you were.

In the mirror was your 16 year old self: Fresh from devastation and reeling from a series of events that you’d never truly heal from, but you were still here. 

Your heart was still beating. 

So many times you had prayed it’d stop and you’d go cold, but now hot tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you thought of your mother and loved ones and how it felt like you were given a second chance. Maybe they had given you this second chance.

Your eyes were tinged with a melancholy that you might be able to hide in time, but there was also excitement and mirth in them. You smiled as you admired yourself and sniffled. ‘Thank god I didn’t take after him.’

No one had ever been able to tell you were Bruce’s biological daughter and you were grateful for it in this life. You had truly been the physical black sheep back then, but while caressing your right cheek you thanked everything out there that you got your good looks from your mother’s side. 

That’s right. Good looks. It’s funny how it took dying to clear your eyes of the undeserved self-hatred 10 years caused you. You were gazing at yourself as the way you were, not the way they wanted you to see yourself. You were good looking and your mom’s side did the heavy lifting.

You didn’t see Bruce through the rose tinted lenses that everyone else did. If they were ugly on the inside, it bled through to the outside and you couldn’t ignore it. Maybe you were just too honest like that. You knew which side of the family you got that from too. 

In your critical eye, as someone who saw Bruce in the way he never showed the cameras, his apparent beauty was warped by his bad attitude and repugnant personality. 

If you were being completely honest, he had a shovel chin and non-existent lips on a toothy mouth that lied more than he breathed. 

His blue eyes were flat like the dead’s and as cold as a shark’s and his perpetually furrowed brows only pronounced a neanderthal-esque brow ridge and accelerated wrinkle development.

‘Hottest man alive, my ass.’ 

You saw everyone you had ever loved in your looks and if you ever felt alone, maybe you could just look in a mirror. 

You noticed the bandage near your left eye and tugged to slowly peel it and the super strong adhesive from your tender skin. What lay beneath was a silvery crescent with a shimmery cast with both of its tips pointed away from your eye. 

The scar was a few shades lighter than your natural tone and you tilted your head to watch it catch the bathroom’s light.

Your eyes widened and pupils trembled with emotion as you realized that it was pretty. You had hated everything about you, everything that showed what you’d been through—what made you broken—but you realized too late that there was never anything wrong with you.

You eyed the bandage around your neck and knew what was hidden behind it. A gnarly scar that wrapped around the front of your neck and was at least two inches in height and looked exactly like what it was—evidence of barbed wire having wrapped around your throat, wrenched your flesh, and nearly sawed your head from your body. 

It was a reminder of what you survived and what was taken away. A permanent choker, but this time you wouldn’t constrict yourself.

It was healing incredibly fast and you’d keep the bandage on a few weeks longer until the wound was fully healed, and you wouldn’t hide it when it did. You weren’t hiding away for other’s comfort anymore.

Looking back, the scar had been a massive insecurity, especially when you were surrounded by unrealistically physically beautiful people. 

Your skin had been one of your biggest insecurities and comparison had been the death of your happiness. You remember it like it was yesterday, the you of the past losing her mind over her skin not being as flawless as Barbara’s or Starfire’s.

Even Cass and Stephanie who fought hard every night were unfairly pretty with their scuffs and scrapes. You’d felt like there was something you lacked compared to them, and it was something you could never get no matter how hard you tried. 

You lost yourself, and no one was there to help you find your way back.

You covered your neck and hands until the day you died with sweaters, hoodies, and turtlenecks no matter the season. You concealed your skin and the figure you’d been blessed with and for what? You didn’t have an answer because there wasn’t one. There was never a good reason to make yourself small to make others feel big.

You rolled up the thin sleeves of your top to expose your bandages, wiped your face, and gave the 16 year old you one final grin. 

Her eyes sparkled back and you could see the woman you were just beneath the surface. She wanted to sink her teeth into something and let the juice run down her chin but you lightly persuaded her to cool it. All things in due time.

You left the bathroom with a slight smile on your lips and plans on your mind when you nearly bumped into Cassandra.

You blinked until you recognized her. She stared back at you unnervingly and you would’ve wondered what she was thinking of like you often did in the past if you actually cared. 

You had been so curious about her in the past. She was a mystery to you, but so sweet and loving to the ones who earned her respect and you weren’t one of them. 

It had hurt, but did it now? ‘Not at all.’

You were so over the doom and gloom and edginess of it all. You wanted open books, not the brooding mystery and darkness. These people needed to stop being allergic to healthy coping mechanisms and therapy.

You didn’t bother to smile, but you still didn’t exactly hate her. It was actually a good thing she was around since she could be Bruce’s little princess (it was always obvious she was the favorite) and they could distract each other while you went about your business. 

You liked that idea as a corner of your mouth nearly curled before quickly being concealed. You turned your back and nearly turned the corner when she called out to your retreating form. 

“Y/n.”

You paused and turned to her with no expectations. She didn’t know why she called out to you, but she really wanted—no, did she need?—to reach out. 

There was something about you she couldn’t understand and her curiosity was piqued the moment you waltzed into the manor and clearly knew who was worth your time.

Your expressions were ever changing, and your eyes conveyed a keenness that spoke of much more beneath the surface. She needed to know more.

“Welcome.” She said awkwardly with eyes that searched your face for a lifeline, to grab hold of the olive branch she was extending and start a conversation because she didn't know where she was going with this. This wasn't lost on you. She didn’t “try” to reach out to you like she did the others.

She never had or wanted to, and she was the one to stare you down until you lost your nerve and scurried away in the past. Now, it was your turn to raise a brow.

‘I prayed for this for 10 years?’ Your eyes went cold as you turned your back. 

It was a little too late, wasn't it?

Your heart fluttered with excitement—something you hadn’t felt in over 10 years—and it wasn’t with the delusion of being part of a big happy family or even being acknowledged.

No, there were bigger and better things that thrilled your heart and made you feel like you were walking on air. An uncertain future lay ahead but you were going to grab it with both hands.

Amidst the darkness that encased the manor, something sweet was calling out to you and telling you that you needed to go to the park. It was strange because you don’t recall ever going in the past—actually you don’t recall getting out much at all in the past—but you felt like that place was where you could kick off some of your plans. 

You knew there would be key players you’d need to meet and places you’d need to venture to make your dreams come true, and you weren’t going to benefit by being a shrinking violet in this life. 

Searching online, you found that you could get to Gotham Park by bus and the nearest bus stop was around a 3 mile walk from the manor. The weather was pleasant this time of year so walking the distance wouldn’t be a problem, and you could even get a bus pass online. 

One little hitch is that you’d need bus fare and didn’t want to ask Alfred for money so soon. 

You didn’t feel like answering any questions about leaving the manor when you hadn’t been out of the hospital for one day and huffed in annoyance. 

Maybe if you buttered him up delicately over the next few days you could slip in the bit about needing a few dollars. The sweet hum tickled your ear, and gently called you to the next step. Gotham Park was the next stage of this game.

You walked familiar halls to the kitchen and looked back on the time you had avoided it—along with every other part of the mansion—completely. 

It got to the point that even the thought of coming across a member of that damned family would make your heart seize up. You began to isolate yourself more and more until you stayed put in your room, the little bathroom in the same hall, and to the kitchen late at night when all was quiet or they were on patrol. 

You snuck around like a thief in your own ‘home.’ The anxiety made you reclusive and being reclusive exacerbated the issues you already had and birthed even more. You were a complete agoraphobe by the time you were 20.

You frowned sadly. You couldn’t waste away in this house a second time. 

The purple tendrils slithered down the sides of the walls like blood in old horror movies and wriggled with minds of their own. It was truly disgusting and you held your breath to keep from gagging.

You finally turned a corner and found salvation in Alfred who was in the kitchen and embraced by the light from the large bay window overlooking the garden. He was wiping a glass when you walked in.

“My, Young Mistress, I wanted to meet you and bring you back.” He checked his watch, “I’m so sorry. How did you find your way?” 

“No need to apologize, Mr. Pennyworth. I retraced my steps no problem.” You typed.

Alfred was still disappointed in his miscalculation, but kept on, “How was your talk with Master Bruce?”

“It went well.” You swiped on your phone before pulling yourself into a seat and adjusting the bandages on your wrists. Alfred gazed at your face and found that the bandage beside your eye was now gone. “Ah, there’s my Young Mistress. I knew she were very pretty.”

You gasped and turned away so he couldn't see the smile that hurt your cheeks. The thing about compliments from Alfred was that they were always sincere as was everything he said.

 If he called you pretty, it was because he genuinely thought so and that warmed your heart. Your family would’ve loved him.

“So, is this where you work your magic?” You texted, and Alfred let you change the subject with a knowing smile.

“I wouldn’t say it’s magic, but I haven’t had a complaint yet.”

You tried to rest your arms on top of the island and lean on them as comfortably as you could so that you could watch him. 

The way he moved across the kitchen was nothing short of graceful. How could he make chores look elegant? It’s funny how you avoided the kitchen and the sunlight it let in because of fear when you felt so safe in this warmth now. It took you back to a time where you belonged somewhere and you knew that the people loved you.

You watched him in a daze and any remaining stress melted away as the image of him busy in the kitchen began to mesh with memories of your grandmother doing exactly the same. Being around him, around someone that made you feel so safe, made life’s challenges seem conquerable.

“I’m looking forward to what you’ve got planned. Something about you tells me that you know how to season your food.” You grinned and he chuckled. “I hope I don’t disappoint.”

You were so comfortable as the soft clinking of dishes, the running of water as he rinsed vegetables and the low bubbling of saucepans became sleep sounds to you. 

“Where’s my head today?” Alfred sounded truly disappointed in himself. “Let me show you to your room, Young Mistress.” You looked up at him half awake with a trickle of drool nearly slipping from the corner of your parted mouth.

“Come on. Someone needs to rest before dinner.” You allowed him to guide you off the chair and towards your “new” room.  You'd be lying if your said you hadn't been dreading this moment.

Your room had been your prison cell and sadly it was half self-imposed. Your room had simultaneously been your safe space where no one treaded after a few years and the place where the darkness concentrated the most.

‘Not again. Not again.’ You stood up straight and stepped to the side where you took Alfred’s arm in yours. You’d be brave. This wasn’t your prison. A lump formed in your throat that you could barely breathe around but you wouldn't let the shadows know it.

“My apologies, Young Mistress, but this’ll be a temporary fix. I’ve recently gotten permission to start renovations and plan to have a room made just for you.”

You think you remembered this. Alfred promised to work on your room, and he even got the go-ahead from Bruce but it was never completed. There was always something going on. 

Some members of the family needed saving or all hell was breaking loose on actual hell on earth and Alfred was spread too thin. 

You placed a gentle hand on his own reassuringly and expertly swiped with the other. “Don’t worry about it, Mr. Pennyworth. I know you’re always busy. I’m happy just to have a roof over my head.”

This wasn’t just lip service to look good even though it certainly didn’t hurt to score more brownie points. You’d only be here for 2 years and planned on banishing demons and being outside for the most part. No need to stress Alfred over something so trivial.

Alfred froze like you had insulted his cooking. “What do you mean, Young Mistress? You deserve more than just a roof over your head and I’d thank you not to settle for the literal bare minimum.” He sucked in a breath between his teeth, “I already have catalogues and swatches for you to choose from.”

‘These plans will fall through, Alfred. It’s never going to happen.’ You smiled placatingly and patted his hand as you continued down a hall to a set of rooms reserved for uninvited guests. 

You could feel a petty and sarcastic energy saying “Welcome Home” mockingly and it made your skin crawl, but you did one thing that your mother told you when you were having a panic attack at school, “Turn that fear into anger.”

Alfred opened your bedroom door and gestured for you to enter first.

He tried his best just like always. The duvet and pillows were freshly laundered and matched your favorite colors. He had washed and replaced the curtains and thoroughly dusted everything and aired out the room. 

It was pleasantly plain save for the bundles of flowers, cards, small plushes and little goodie bags displayed on the chestnut desk. They were all gifts from the people who took care of you in the hospital.

 

You made a show of admiring the room and the care Alfred put into arranging it for you and looked at the names on the cards.

Not a single one from your new “family.”

 It’s a good thing things hadn’t changed; this would make it easier to be as much of an ass as you wanted to be.

You looked over to Alfred and a wide, heart-melting smile spread across your face. Your eyes glistened and you looked away towards the window to wipe them as you sniffled. 

“I knew it…” You whispered more to yourself and Alfred urged you.

“Knew what, my lady?”

“That I could count on you.” Your voice was a weak rasp that could be carried away by the wind but he hung on every word. He couldn't wait for the day he could hear your voice as it really was. He could imagine your full laughs and playful jokes clear as day.

You sat on the bed and looked genuinely happy with how soft the duvet was and his heart ached as he watched you be so pleased with a plain guest room. You were entitled to so much more, but you were just glad to be given a room and Alfred could hardly bear it.

“I’m going to get better soon so we can garden together. My mom had a green thumb and I think I do too.” You looked like you were trying not to brag as you texted and Alfred smiled, “It’ll be nice to have a little helper. I’ll prepare your gloves.” 

A comfortable silence passed between you before he remembered the saucepan and pots he had simmering on the stove. “I’ll continue preparing dinner, Young Mistress. Please rest and I’ll come get you when it’s ready.” You nodded as he left with a soft click of the door as he took the warmth with him.

It wasn’t even a second before you heard waves crashing in your ears and suddenly the bed felt like it was tilting sideways and you had to grip the sheets to keep from tipping over.

Swoosh, swoosh

You could hear the gale winds from that night and nearly feel the flood's spray misting your face. 

It doesn’t waste time, huh?

Dark clouds were looming in the far corner of the room. Yard-long tendrils hung low and limp for now as the house was waiting to feed on you. 

Had it been like this in the last life? Everyone in the house, save for the one man who actually met you outside of it, had already disliked you before you even arrived. Was it always the house?

You could hear whispers of the dead with the loudest being the most recent—The drowned and lost. 

‘Your problem is with him. Not me.’ You thought, feeling that the energy could reach them.

Tension was building in the back of your head and your temples were beginning to pound. You inhaled deeply and exhaled all of the negative energy you could. You wouldn’t let it in. 

You laid back and your muscles immediately relaxed against the mattress that Alfred must’ve replaced before you came. Your thoughts cleared and you tried to organize the facts. Was the miasma and the haunting the cause of everything? 

Yes and No. You knew in your bones that a hint of loathing must’ve been in their hearts from the start or it wouldn’t have been so easy for the dead to manipulate them.

 It only exacerbated their most negative qualities and the biases they already had against you, and with that realization you knew you couldn’t give them grace.

The haunting needed your misery because feeding off of Bruce wasn’t enough after being a stagnant food source for almost 4 decades and you were the sensitive sacrificial lamb. 

You were the survivor who got a billionaire father while countless innocents lost their lives because he couldn’t put one maniac to sleep or get off his high horse.

‘Sins of the father…’ 

You stared at the ceiling and thought of them all–The members of Bruce’s family who made you ashamed to even be alive. You clasped your hands over your stomach and willed yourself to be strong.

Damian had been the physical one from the beginning. From the kick when you had just arrived, to shoving you against walls, and making you fall flat on your face—something about you tempted the violent nature he overcame in the years before you showed up and he couldn’t resist.

 

You developed a fear response and could detect when he was near even if he was rooms away. 

You recognized his steps, his breathing patterns, and the way the air shifted around him. You were more aware of his presence than your own, and the mere thought of him inspired the most primal fear in you more than the first humans feared the dark. 

Maybe it’s because you suspected if he “accidentally” killed you no one would question it. Maybe it’s because if he amped up his cruelty and did something truly criminal, there’d be no justice for you. 

He made Wayne Manor a 24/7 battlefield but a hell that was too familiar to escape. If you ran, where would you go? You had no life skills or safety net. There was no place for you in the manor or the outside world.

Damian was the instigator of many shameful memories that’d haunt you in your subconscious but one thing that you’ll never forget for as long as you live was the time with your Nana’s picture. 

You had found an old photo of your Nana online that you printed out and kept with you. It was your keepsake and absolute treasure, especially after you’d lost all your possessions in the flood. 

When you looked at that picture, you saw someone who looked like you. That photo was an anchor that kept you from completely losing yourself and proof that even though you didn’t belong to this family, you had indeed belonged somewhere.

It was a quiet and good day because you hadn’t seen anyone all day. You had let your guard down and you recall looking back on that moment and hating yourself.

 

You’d been standing in front of Thomas and Martha Wayne’s portrait and gazing up into Martha’s face while wondering what she had been like. Her eyes were soft but undoubtedly intelligent. She didn’t want for anything, but she didn’t hold on to her wealth with her history or charity. She was truly noblesse oblige.

Her smile made you smile back as you held your Nana’s picture in one hand. ‘I wonder if you two would’ve got along.’ You honestly felt they would’ve hit it off.

You reached forward with your Nana’s picture to tuck it into the picture frame. It was a little 3 by 2 photo that didn’t take any space at all and you weren’t going to leave it there. You just wanted to set the two women near each other so you could look at the resemblance. 

Your two grandmothers.

You were so at ease that you didn’t notice Damian had been watching you from down the hall until he stormed at you when he saw you touching the portrait. 

You were usually hyper-aware of him but had been lost in the warm feeling that thinking of your two grandmothers had brought and your heart almost jumped into your throat when he burst onto the scene. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” His tone was accusatory and you felt like you’d been caught stealing. He wrenched your wrist and bent it painfully while ripping your Nana’s picture out of your grasp. 

He scanned the small photo. “Who’s this?”

“M-my N-Nana.” You didn’t mean to squeak but he scared you and his hold on your wrist had you curling up in pain. If you had to speak anymore, you knew you’d end up blubbering.

“Hm,” He stared down at the photo but something in his eyes changed. The razor blade cruelty won.

“Then she’s nothing.” He dropped the photo and then stomped down and ground it into the floor leaving a shoe print.

“No!” You pulled away and he let go, almost causing you to fall back. You dropped to your knees to recover the picture and he stomped down on your hand. You shrieked and felt knuckles crack and dislocate. Your cries echoed in the hall and he hissed “Stop whining.” as if you were a child throwing a tantrum in the toy aisle.

He took hold of your hair and looked down at you. 

“Don’t think that because your whore mother tempted father into bed that you’ll ever be one of us.”

You were struck speechless and felt like you were submerged in ice cold water. You wanted to retort but so many thoughts overwhelmed you at once. 

How could anyone say that? 

Why would he say that? 

What had you done wrong? 

You want to defend the two most precious women in your life but words failed you as you doubled over in a panic attack.

“Pathetic.” 

He wiped his hands on his pants then turned on his heel and left you there to pick up the pieces.

Over the years, he mellowed out and just ignored your presence. He’d scowl when you were near or exude an aura that said ‘Don’t speak.’ but at least he didn’t attack you like before or ransack your room and rip up your books and anything of personal value.

For a while after you came to the manor and before he decided you were nothing, every book, notebook, sketchbook, or anything else you cherished would be torn apart and left in your room for you to find. He was mocking you. Goading you to tell someone.

 

He knew no one would listen.

No one believed you or offered to speak to him about it and actually, most everyone (minus Alfred and Jason) thought you were trying to pin your own bad behavior on him, trying to frame him for attention, or were genuinely going crazy and wrecking your own stuff.

He used Titus to intimidate you, and instigated Stephanie to harass you by saying you were talking about her or messing with her things, and she’d always believe him and fly off the handle. 

You had tried to clear up the misunderstanding once or twice but you’d overwhelmed with tears and couldn’t speak during these altercations. 

In the end, you always looked like the guilty party who could dish it, but couldn’t take it and every case was closed with you as the bad guy. 

It was like Stephanie relished in hating you. You were her prey. A way to assert dominance and maintain her place in the family. You were never invited to things and when you were, it was to the wrong location or the wrong time and you always missed it or stood up. 

“Y/n! Why didn’t you come? We waited for you.” Her eyes were mocking but her voice was concerned and almost wronged as if you stood her up. 

She had a gift for projecting her voice so all could hear her side and assume you were in the wrong. Your voice only shrunk in anxiety, and her manipulation worked every time.

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” No the fuck she wasn’t. 

“We would’ve invited you, but we didn’t think it was your kind of thing.”

“Why are you always looking so sad, gosh!”

“You’re Bruce Wayne’s daughter. You’d think you’d have something to smile about.”

“You’re like a vacuum that sucks out all the fun in the room.”

You were in social danger any time you were in her sights. Every interaction had to be in front of an audience and she laid into you with no one to intervene. The few times you tried, you were ganged up on for being too sensitive and not getting the joke.

You remember her getting up in your face shouting and you could feel little drops of spit hitting you. You remember that disgusting memory vividly. She was yelling at you to never touch her stuff again but you never did to begin with.

 

You could see Damian smiling devilishly behind her as she did exactly what he wanted. He was the devil on her shoulder and she was too stupid to see it. Maybe part of her knew but she always bit the bait giddy to have a reason to go off on you.

God, you should’ve popped her in the mouth even if she would’ve beat you up after.

Cassandra was always witness to the social humiliation. She was the toughest in the family, the only one that could best Bruce in combat, but she did nothing to protect the weakest person there.

 She watched, she judged, she ignored when you weren’t actively being a victim, and you felt like a ghost. 

Sometimes it felt like you were already dead.

Tim got you mentally and Dick got you emotionally. You thought you could be friends with Tim with him being closer in age and sharing similar interests. He got along with everyone so why couldn’t you?

Simple. He was already biased.

 After reading up on you and fighting the media circus from the moment you were discovered, he’d seen enough of you for a lifetime and didn’t hide it. 

Attempts at conversation were met with withering looks that made the words die in your throat. Questions were met with exaggerated sighs as if you were the most mentally incapable person he had ever met. 

When you started homeschooling because your mental health declined, he mocked your course work and why it was hard for you to keep up. “I guess intelligence isn’t hereditary,” Something dark took over in him, “Or this is the best your mom could do.”

He embarrassed you in front of his friends and even made them feel awkward about it. Connor and Bart were disturbed by his behavior, and couldn’t get a real reason from him for why he was acting this way.

“Just ignore her.”

“She’s no one.”

“When is she going to get out of here? Why’s she even around?” 

One time, Tim caught you struggling over a very difficult math problem when you felt someone staring at you. You turned to meet his eyes and he said something that killed a part of you that you thought had already died. 

“I wish you hadn’t been found.” 

His eyes said he meant it.

Dick was apparently physically flawless if you asked anyone. He was considered a true hero, the de-facto leader of any team he joined or at least the most trusted advisor, and countless people and respected heroes trusted him as an equal. 

Surely someone as big hearted as him could just treat you like a person, right?

Wrong.

Your weight fluctuated with your mental health and your skin changed too. Stress breakouts and pimples were a common occurrence and your skin was either too oily or too dry at any given time. 

His eyes never really saw you, or let you in like a person he accepted. He looked at you like a half finished sketch that the artist had given up on. You weren’t worth finishing, but he figured he’d take pity and steer you in the right direction. 

He was so nice like that.

“You know that’s really bad for you.” He would say when you’d grab for anything you could eat quickly as you rushed back to your room.

“You’d look and feel better if you lost some weight, you know?”

“Look at everyone. You’d really benefit from some exercise.” 

He pinched at your sides to emphasize his words. “Steph and Cass are so active. Maybe you could workout with them?” As if they’d even let you. If you tried with them they probably wouldn’t go easy on you and you’d be battered in minutes.

Or when you starved? He was proud of you. Of course, now you lost weight in some of the ‘wrong’ places and your hair was thinner and you were even weaker, but you were going in the right direction! Keep it up, Y/n! 

He was confused that you didn’t glow like the others. You didn’t look like the others. Damian was so good looking so how were you the awkward step-sibling when you had Wayne blood in your veins? Dick shrugged. Maybe it just skipped a generation.

It had weighed on you. 

The misery had been too much to carry and you had attempted to take your life several times during your decade at Wayne Manor. 

You smiled wryly. You’d thought you were such a loser that you couldn’t even kill yourself right, but maybe it never worked because there was still goodness in the world that reached out to you when no one else would. 

You hadn’t failed. You had been saved.

The faces of those special few crossed your mind, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest and to your belly. 

The horrors of the past and the attempts invaded your mind as if to overwhelm you and force you back on that lonesome path to your end, but it couldn’t force you again. Those kind faces and selfless eyes made you smile as tears prickled the corners of your closed eyes.

It all went like this…

❥

You had gotten addicted to exercise and any way to lose weight. Images of Barbara’s and Starfire’s perfect bodies flashed in your eyes whenever you blinked and Dick’s “advice” kept you awake at night. It hadn’t been an attempt, but a consequence of your pain.

You’d been doing exercises on your bedroom floor, going too fast, pushing too hard, when you went into cardiac arrest. You and Alfred don’t know how he did it, but he felt a pain in his own heart when you were having the attack and he nearly flew to your room before he knew it. 

He performed first aid and rushed you to bed where he tended to you. He took you to doctor’s appointments and put you in therapy. He managed your diet and watched you like a hawk.

Once again, no one visited. 

❥

Tim’s cruelty had become too much for you to bear. It’d been a beautiful spring day and a gentle breeze carried the scent of jasmine all the way up to the third floor balcony. 

You stood at the railing and a great sadness and bitterness consumed you. Why were you the one pushed to the edge like this? Frustrated tears blurred your vision. Why were you so hated when your only sin was living?

 Even now on such a beautiful day you were going to end it all while they were all having fun together.

It wasn’t fair.

You climbed the railing and angled yourself so you’d land on the stone below and without another thought you pushed off and tilted head first.

Bart had watched it all in disbelief from the backyard, and hoped that he was just being dramatic until he saw you climb the railing. 

Tim had been prattling on about some new tech thing he was working on while Bart’s body was vibrating with unreleased energy. 

‘She won’t…’

She did.

He was racing to you and catching you in his arms in a flash. He caught you just in time before your head was cracked open on the stone patio and your tearful eyes fluttered open and found his petrified face. 

His heart was pounding in his throat and his hands felt numb. He had never seen you so up close before. He didn’t even remember the last time you spoke or if you’d ever spoken to each other without Tim interrupting and shooing you away. 

His mind was going crazy trying to find you in his memories and he realized he hadn’t been able to make any with you with Tim around. All that came to mind were anxious eyes and an insecure smile before darting away. 

You blinked through the tears and a strangled gasp slipped out as your face broke into disappointment, “Why?”

“What?” Bart was dumbstruck. Did you mean why’d he catch you or were you just confused. He hoped it was the latter.

“Why’d you save me?” You cried and Bart stared down at you as you fell apart in his arms. 

He didn’t treat Tim the same after that. He tried to tell Tim about your attempt and Tim waved it off as an accident. “She’s crazy.” He’d said and Bart couldn’t let it go. 

He felt like he needed to avenge you in some way, but he didn’t know how. It was a family thing, wasn’t it? People always said not to get into other people’s business, especially family matters.

He stopped coming around as much and even Tim realized he was being ghosted but didn’t get why. Bart tried to keep tabs on you when he’d ask Barry to mention you to Batman but nothing ever came of it. Barry knew something was up but was stonewalled hard by Bruce whenever he tried to be a good adult and float the idea that, hey, maybe his daughter needs help.

None of the adults intervened, and he carried that with him and wondered what he could’ve done differently for the rest of his life. 

News of your death had hit him personally. He saw it coming. He knew if no one had intervened it would end up like this, but he prayed someone in your family would come around and see the signs if they wouldn’t listen to an outsider like him. 

He was too hard on himself. He had been a kid like you were, but he hated himself for not saving you,

He never forgave himself or the batfamily. 

❥

It had been a gorgeous winter day and the pond had frozen over into pure crystal. You should’ve been enjoying nature, but you weren’t here for sightseeing.

Damian’s words and actions had gone too far regarding your mother and what made it worse was that no one defended you. 

You’d had enough.

You were wary of large bodies of water since the storm, but something about drowning to meet your end seemed right. Like finishing what had been started.

You were numb, almost robotic, as you walked to the middle of the pond, kicked on the ice, and let it swallow you whole. The icy cover slipped back in place seamlessly and it was like you’d never been there at all.

Connor was always aware of you when he came over. Tim dismissed you and you were too afraid to meet Connor’s eye no matter how disarmingly smooth he tried to be with you, but he was still always aware of your presence. 

It was like he was unconsciously keeping track of you, something he’d never done for anyone else unless required for a mission. For some reason, due to a completely foreign feeling, he needed to make sure you were there. 

He could feel you getting farther away, and used his x-ray vision too look through Tim’s bedroom wall, through the mansion and out in your direction.

His eyes found you immediately and he stilled as he saw your figure getting smaller and smaller as you got further away from the manor and farther into the brush. ‘Where’s she going?’ 

He half-rose from his chair as dread began to set in and leaned forward as he watched you get farther away and then suddenly your heat signature dropped and disappeared. 

He jumped from his chair and bolted out of Tim’s room, clipping doorframes and knocking off wooden panels along the way. Once outside, he took to the sky in the direction you were and found the point where he’d lost you.

His heat vision melted the ice above you and he dove in and dragged you out in seconds. His heart was racing the entire time as he gave CPR like he’d seen in the movies, kicking himself for not knowing how to save someone when he called himself a hero. 

What if he didn’t make it in time? What if he wasn’t doing CPR right?

He flew you through the cold and gently lay you in front of the fireplace where his heat vision had it lit and raging instantly. Alfred rushed to gather blankets, but besides that, they were the only two in motion. 

Connor realized that he was screaming for someone to help, for Tim to get his ass downstairs. His mind was so loud he couldn't even hear his own screams until he became aware of his throat going hoarse.

Tim ambled downstairs and gazed at your pale, violently shivering and barely conscious self. 

“What’s the big deal? She fell.” 

Connor looked Tim in the eyes for a hint of a joke or just a simple tale of Tim putting his foot in his mouth once again but Connor’s heart plummeted when he saw that the man he called a friend was dead serious. 

‘What the fuck is wrong with these people?’ 

There’s a shouting match after that, but Tim didn’t understand what the problem was. Y/n fell in the pond, and of course she’d be out there all alone because she’s dumb and just wants attention. 

Connor saw red and it all happened so fast. He may have hit Tim, and he may have gone on a minor rampage in the manor before storming out to never return again. 

And that was the end of their friendship. 

Connor would fly as far away from the manor as possible but close enough to see you using his x-ray vision. Sometimes he’d just watch you all night just to know you were still there. Just to know you were still alive. 

Metas were barred from Gotham and when Batman and the others found out about Connor’s bodyguarding, they ramped up anti aerial measures that forced Connor to stay farther away until he couldn’t enter Gotham airspace at all. 

The one night he slacked off on watching you was the one night he lost you.

❥

Jon had been over and innocently passed by the lounge when he heard Stephanie yelling in your face, “Don’t touch my shit again!” Her voice was shriller than he had ever heard from her even when yelling at bad guys, and you were as quiet as a mouse with wide glassy eyes. Even a naive boy could tell that this was unfair.

He peeked inside and saw Damian grinning like he was watching his favorite show. “She falls for it every time.” Jon didn’t know if he was talking about you or Stephanie as he frowned in confusion. 

His brows knitted together and his face burned hot when he saw your mouth trembling and heard you choking to speak. 

“Get Bruce to buy it for you. Why do you always take my stuff?”

“Maybe that’s how she always was.” Damian offered from the background, gleefully fueling the fire. 

Jon snapped. 

He wasn’t sure what was going on but he knew this was wrong. His inner sense of justice told him so.

“Leave her alone!”

Damian startled beside him, not expecting the outburst and the sheer force the shout gave out, and Stephanie leaped up and whirled around with wide eyes like she had been caught in an embarrassing moment. 

“W-Wha-, you were there?” Jon ignored her question and marched forward, “What are you doing?” He puffed up his small chest, his fists balled. 

“W-well, she took my thing…” She was suddenly slightly aware of how immature this seemed, but pride wouldn’t let her give in.

Jon was younger than her, but stared up at her like she was a simple child. “Did you see her do it?”

Stephanie and Damian held their breaths.

“No, but Damian said—”

Jon turned around to his friend, “Did you see her do it?”

Damian sneered indignantly, “And if I said yes?” Jon stared at Damian like he was seeing his true self for the first time. 

Had he been mistaken about his friend’s character this whole time? 

“Th-thank you.” You choked out pathetically to Jon and hurried from the room.

It was a screaming match between Jon and Damian and Stephanie that shook the walls, and even though Damian was one to always get the last word, Jon’s voice shook pictures from their hooks and threatened to knock over priceless art unless he composed himself.

He had to calm himself down because he had a feeling the more he fought with them, the harder it’d be for you later. He knew that he could leave and go back to his safe warm home, but you had to stay here with them. 

He didn’t want to leave you in a worse position than he found you. Clenching his fists and screwing his eyes shut tightly, he counted to 10 like his dad had showed him.

Maybe it was something Kryptonians shared because just like Connor, Jon couldn't let this go as he felt a grudge forming for you. Jon stalked away from the argument with no answers or guilt from the people who harassed you, one of which he’d called a “friend,” and he wanted to see you one last time before he left.

He pushed open what he thought was your bedroom door and anything he wanted to say died in his throat as only a pitiful “Y/n.” tumbled out.

His voice had been so small then, and it came clearly through the eerie silence that surrounded you in your room. You had fashioned a noose and hung it over a low hanging beam and Jon had walked in on you standing in place. He knew what it was for.

“Don’t do it.” 

Your eyes were red and glassy. They begged for help but they wanted even more to not cause some innocent kid distress. You tore down the noose and tossed it to the dirty clothes hamper. “I wasn’t, I promise.”

He didn’t believe you, but he wasn’t prepared for a situation like this. What would his dad do? It finally hit him how young and inexperienced he was, and he felt like a sorry excuse for a hero.

“I’ll be okay.” You hurriedly tried to rub the snot from your nose and rushed to grab tissues and move the stool away. “Thank you for saving me, Jon.”

He thought back to that altercation in the lounge and thought it didn’t count. “I didn’t save you.” He said more bitterly than he intended. 

He didn’t make anything better! The people who hurt you didn’t care and he had even misjudged someone he thought was a friend this whole time! 

You looked over at him, “Yes, you did, Jon. You saved me twice.”

Jon’s chin quivered and he was too ashamed to cry in front of you. He never visited Damian again and after hearing about the insanity at Wayne Manor and Superman himself trying to talk to Bruce, the relationship between the Supers and Bats was never the same.

Your death caused a rift between the two families. Superman treated Batman like a coworker and stopped acquiescing to his eccentricities. 

He went toe to toe with the Bat and didn’t back down on many things.

Connor and Jon focused on Metropolis and growing into men you could be proud of. 

They’d never forget the one they didn’t save.

❥

You hadn’t had him the first 16 years of your life and you’d thought you outgrew needing a father. You didn’t know him, and didn’t want him so why did it hurt so much when he obviously didn’t care about you. 

Why was one child loved and the other wasn’t? Was it because of your mother? He loved Damian’s and not yours? Damian was blue blooded and you were a statistic?

You did it the old-fashioned way in the tub and Jason and Titus were the ones who found you. 

It’s funny that the dog that put you on edge was the first to notice something was up. . 

He’d never attacked you, he was a good boy and unlike dogs bred for fighting and assault you knew he didn’t have bloodlust, but he intimidated you with his sharp knowing eyes. 

However, contrary to his master’s wishes and the evil dead that surrounded you, he couldn’t hate you. He saw the spirits of beloved pets floating around and following after you and he knew you were a good human with a loving heart. 

He wanted to get near but the malicious energy concentrated around you knew he could see them and that put him in danger. So, he steered clear of you and watched the tendrils and the dead that hated you for surviving from a safe distance. 

He was the only one who could see what you were going through, but couldn’t do a thing about it. Who could he tell?

And things remained like that until one evening he felt a shift. The walls were groaning and the wind howled but as always he was the only one who could hear it. His tail went straight up and his hackles raised.

Something was wrong with you. 

Titus bolted for Jason, one of the few humans he could sense had good feelings towards you, and took bit down on his ankle and tugged hard.

“Titus! What the hell?” Jason pulled back but Titus dragged him clean out of his chair and to the ground. The dog dragged Jason a little more to make sure he got his point across and then dropped Jason’s leg.

 

Titus rushed to the door and turned back to Jason expectantly, barking when Jason wasn’t getting up fast enough. 

“What kind of Scooby-Doo bullshit is this?” Jason mused as he pulled himself to his feet and chased after the anxious dog, his blood going cold as he realized he was heading to your room. 

Something in him knew what this could be about.

‘No. Please, no!’

Titus ran towards a door and barked and scratched desperately. Jason was close behind, almost overtaking the dog and broke the door down with a shoulder charge. It sounded like a bomb went off as the wood split and splintered, sending its remains scattering across the tiled floor.

There you were.

Your eyes were closed.

“No, no! Y/n, why would you?” He knew why, actually. He’d always had a feeling that there was a darkness you shouldered that was even darker and deeper than he knew, but he just assumed he had more time! 

More time to come around and finally talk to you, more time to work his way into your life and get you out of the manor. Why did he take it all for granted? Why did he, like everyone else, take you for granted?

He hauled your soaking wet body out of the bath and to a room nearest to the front of the house all the while screaming his head off. 

“Help! Alfred! Someone fucking help!” 

Alfred stitched you up and treated you in the med bay, and Jason fought Bruce in a way he never did even when he first came back as the Red Hood. 

Walls collapsed, bones were broken, and several had to jump in to try to separate the two but none were strong enough to end the struggle.

It finally ended when Jason realized he wanted to kill Bruce, and he almost succeeded.

He withdrew when he realized it’d feel so good to kill Bruce for you.

After that, Red Hood and Jason Todd officially broke away from Bruce Wayne and Batman. It was like Jason had died a second time as a quiet gloom was once again cast over Bruce’s life, but he wouldn’t acknowledge his failure. He wouldn’t acknowledge that he had any fault in your attempt or that that was the reason Jason would never forgive him.

The one time Jason came back to try to build a bridge to cross over to you, was the night you ended your life in front of him.

He thought he had more time.

Your eyes flew open and you inhaled a shuttering breath that struggled down your throat. Your lungs felt like they had been shriveled up and you turned your head over the side of the bed to throw up water. Where had it come from?

You coughed while wiping the tears from your eyes and looked up to see long tendrils like thick black hair reaching out and surrounding you from all sides. It was like you were a juicy fly entangled in a web and the widow was creeping closer and closer knowing that you had nowhere to run.

It should've scared you.

It pissed you off.

"You motherfucker!" You reached out and took hold of the black mass with both hands.

With two unbandaged arms and weaving scars that healed over the course of 10 years.

You didn't waste time wondering why you were an inch or two taller or why you felt stronger than ever before. You didn't take notice of the clothes that were far sexier and fantastic than your wildest dreams.

All you could feel was the raw hatred you had been holding on to for 10 long years as golden chains shimmered and wrapped around the writhing black mass that struggled in your hold. The moment a chain touched the mass, it sizzled and popped like bacon touching hot grease.

The mass let loose a horrific shriek from a nonexistent mouth like several pigs being slaughtered at once and your eardrums felt like they'd popped. It writhed desperately as the chains from your scars tightened and squeezed around it.

It shook in your grasp but you held tight and wouldn't be knocked from your feet.

"Go to hell!"

The chains clenched tighter until the mass was eviscerated into nothingness.

Your bedroom shook and you could hear the walls and inner beams shifting around you as other entities cried in horror and retreated farther into the mansion and away from you.

Your clenched fists shook as you caught your breath.

You ran your tongue alone a pointed canine and smiled salaciously.

Then, you looked up and saw your reflection in the plain vanity mirror. The 26 year old you who you had never seen so radiant and powerful before stared right back and winked.

❥ Tag list~

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[elvensilk]

the 'make fun of everyone' type humour just makes me think that the person making the joke doesn't have any actual ethics or purpose with their humour. like okay, you made fun of misogynists, but then you made fun of women, so you aren't actually trying to say anything meaningful. that's why i don't agree that south park is really a brave or subversive show, because making fun of everybody like every action or opinion has the same weight is just kind of a cowardly stance

like don't get me wrong, there are so many comedians who have strong principles and messages that are just open bigots. the matt rifes of the world. but i think that the good comedians who talk about social issues are also ones willing to stand for an actual thought-out viewpoint

“I’m an equal opportunity offender. I make fun of everybody.” - Guy whose identities all align with the systemically dominant power groups in his cultural and geographic context

[munecabrava]

On IWTV, unreliable narration, and that train scene

Okay, I never want to be the person who's like 'I have a degree in literature so I am better at watching television than you' but I literally wrote my thesis on unreliable narration, so I want to talk about it for once.

A lot of people seem to have too narrow an idea of what unreliable narration is, to the extent that even the people involved in making the show are hesitant to call the characters, specifically Louis, an unreliable narrator. Because people see that term and read it as 'this character is blatantly lying all the time'. But that is not what unreliable narration is! And it's precisely because this show is so good at playing with actual unreliable narration in a way that is rare, especially on television, that I fell in love with it.

The thing about unreliable narration is that it happens on a spectrum, both in terms of the intentionality of the narrator and in terms of the way in which the narration is presenting information.

Which is why I always thought they might revisit the train scene, and why I think some people who are upset at the idea are not engaging properly with the way the narration in this show functions.

A great paper on unreliable narration is 'Lessons of Weymouth' (by James Phelan and Mary Patricia Martin) - it does a great job at going into all the aspects of unreliability (it defines six different kinds), and it's interesting to think of it in relation to this show. 'Weymouth' refers to a chapter in the novel The Remains of the Day in which the narrator reveals that throughout the story he has been telling, he obfuscated the fact that he was in love with one of the people in the story. Everything he told us was true, in a literal sense, but the meaning of the story changes entirely when we find out that there was a whole aspect of his experience that he left out. It's actually quite similar to how Louis/Lestat is presented in the novel of IWTV, where Louis (our narrator) only talks about Lestat in a negative, hateful way, until near the end of the book when suddenly we get a paragraph where he says

I allowed myself to forget how totally I had fallen in love with Lestat's iridescent eyes, that I'd sold my soul for a many-colored and luminescent thing, thinking that a highly reflective surface conveyed the power to walk on water.

Which is when we realize that he has left some of his true feelings out of the narration so far.

The show doesn't quite use unreliable narration in the same way, which is smart, because television functions differently from a novel. They actually lampshade this change by making the '73 interview the one from the novel, where Louis is much more dishonest about Lestat from what we hear (he played without one iota of feeling). In 2022, Louis' narration still focuses on Lestat's wrongdoings and glosses over his love for him. But while he refuses to focus on it, now it bleeds into his narration - 'Lestat was my coal fire', 'the earth always felt liquid', etc etc. And because it's television and they are working with a voice-over, they can play around with the contrast between what we hear and what we see. We hear Louis say 'I was being hunted' on top of images of him and Lestat going on dates to the opera and falling in love.

His unreliability is more subtle because of these changes. Like I said, there is a spectrum of unreliable narration, both in terms of how aware the narrator is that he is unreliable (or lying) and in terms of what type of unreliability is used. Example: A narrator describes a room where a murder happened. We later find out that the murderer entered the room through a window that was left open. If the narrator describes the scene without saying the windows are open, he is unreliable. But there are a variety of reasons for why he might not have mentioned it! The narrator can be aware of the omission because he wants to hide this vital information (because he is or wants to help the murderer), but he can also skip it because he is not aware that the detail is important. That's intent. Secondly, in describing the scene, he can say the window was closed (misreporting) or he can not mention the window at all (underreporting). (and so on - there are a lot of different nuances here).

So a narrator who both knowingly lies and does it by describing things that did not happen can exist, but is only a very small fraction of all unreliable narrators.

In IWTV, Louis mostly either unintentionally misreports (it was Armand who saved him, it wasn't raining) or intentionally underreports (not burning Lestat, not talking about their happy times together). Even in the parts where he is the most wrong in what he tells us, he still isn't all the way to 'blatant liar' on the spectrum. Claudia's turning is the biggest 'lie', but by the time of the trial, he clearly has made himself believe the version he told her and doesn't realize it's wrong until he tells Daniel about Lestat's version. That's the arc of these two seasons! Louis is using this second interview to confront the lies he told to himself.

He also, to an extent, underevaluates or even misevaluates in his narration. Which means he doesn't always consider other people's perspective or isn't aware of certain circumstances that might change the meaning of an event. That is what I think The Vampire Lestat will play with. This already happens for people who have read TVL and beyond: we know that Lestat has been abandoned over and over before meeting Louis, so we understand why he reacts so extremely to the thought of Louis leaving him. But Louis doesn't realize that context, so Lestat is villanous in his narration to an extent that Lestat himself would feel is unfair or even false.

What is so important in this show (to me) is that there is not a single scene in it that is revealed to not have happened at all. That would be a cheap way of using unreliable narration, and they're not cheap. It's why I think it's ridiculous that some people say the reunion in 2x08 might not have happened - in the books that's possible, in the show I don't think it is. There are only scenes that have been underreported. Everything with Jonah in the woods happened, but it was raining. Louis slit Lestat's throat, burned a body, and left with Claudia, but in-between, actually, he screamed over his corpse and attacked his daughter. Armand and Lestat were both sitting in the room when 'banishment' happened, but Louis didn't see who was whispering. Claudia was dragged to the house, and Louis begged Lestat to turn her until he gave in. It just...lasted longer, and was more horrifying.

And so the train scene. I have thought for a long time that it would be a scene we revisit from Lestat's pov, and it surprises me that some people are so against the idea. But they seem to think revisiting it means it will be revealed that it did not happen, something that, again, has no precedent in the show. Instead, I have always thought it was underevaluated, if anything, and possibly unintentionally misrepresented. Lestat is at his most cartoonishly evil in it, which is much more in line with his character in the first book than with how the show generally portrays him. The only other time we see him that evil, at least to Louis or Claudia, is in 1x05 in the lead up to the fight - and we already got the more nuanced version of that! It's another scene that was underreported (they literally go to another room which we don't see) and underevaluated (Lestat's trauma influencing his behavior as well as Akasha's blood possibly making him more volatile).

So my guess would be that when we see the train again (or hear about it), he will be much more desperate and scared, which he overcompensates with the theatricality that scared Claudia. And that we will see what came before: him finding Louis close to selfharm, panicking in part because it triggers a memory of Nicki, and going to get Claudia back so Louis doesn't die. And that takes nothing away from Claudia or Louis' narrative! It just enriches the story and shows that there is no objective truth, and narration is almost always somewhere on the sliding scale of unreliability.

(and just so it's clear - having more context and backstory and a fuller sense of the narrative from all sides does not excuse his actions and doesn't mean his abuse is okay etc etc but the morality-in-the-gothic-vampire-show discussion is another post)

[maskedbyghost]

In Sickness, In Health, In Surveillance (13)

Synopsis: To spy on a dangerous neighbor, you and Simon have to pretend you’re married, even though you’re constantly at each other’s throats. The longer you fake it, the harder it gets to keep your distance.

Tags/CW: slow burn, fake marriage, undercover mission, forced proximity, invasion of privacy, mild violence, explicit sexual content

Masterlist

You walk back to your room with heavy steps, with your jaw tight, your shoulders tense, and every part of you buzzing with that specific kind of anger that doesn’t burst but simmers, low and constant and consuming.

You can’t stop thinking about him, can’t stop playing it all over in your head... the way he looked at you when it ended, the way he didn’t say anything, the way he just let it happen and walked away like it meant nothing, and no matter how many times you try to talk yourself out of it, no matter how much you try to rationalize it or blame the job or the stress or the timing, it always circles back to the same thing: you thought it meant something.

He made you feel like a fool for it. You tell yourself fuck him again and again, because it’s the only thing that helps, even if it doesn’t last more than a few seconds at a time.

Fuck him for walking away, fuck him for making you carry it alone, fuck him for not having the decency to say it to your face, and fuck him most of all for making you think you mattered to him in a way that no one else ever had.

You weren’t hoping for promises, you never wanted some fairytale ending where it all works out perfectly, you just wanted something said out loud so you could fucking breathe again instead of being stuck in this weird silence that feels worse than if he’d just said he didn’t care.

You were willing to fight for it, whatever it was, but he didn’t even give you the chance, and now all you have left is this bitterness, this loop of regret that keeps clawing at your chest every time you try to let it go. And by the time you reach the door, your hand is already pushing it open harder than necessary, your body moving ahead of your thoughts, and the second you step inside, you freeze because he’s there, standing in the middle of your room.

You don’t even hesitate when you speak, the words already climbing up your throat before your hand has the chance to push the door fully open. “What the fuck are you doing here—”

But he cuts you off, voice calm in that way that makes your chest clench even tighter. “Take the ring off.”

You stop and just stand there. Your mouth’s still half-open like you’re about to keep yelling, but your eyes drop to your hand and you just stare at it, stare at the silver band sitting there on your finger like it belongs. You forgot about it. Honestly, you did.

You’d been wearing it since the beginning of the mission, since the fake couple act, since you were pretending not to give a shit while slipping it on every morning. And now, after everything, it’s still there like some sick little reminder that none of it was real, or maybe worse, that it was.

You rip it off, fast, and without thinking, you throw it at him. “There. That’s all you fucking wanted, right?” you spat. “You can go now. Get out of my room.”

But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink. “That’s not the only reason I came.”

You scoff and laugh without humor. “Oh yeah? What, you wanted to make sure I remembered what a fucking joke the whole thing was?”

He opens his mouth, but you keep going before he can say anything. “You could’ve just talked to me,” you snap. “You could’ve said anything. I didn’t need some dramatic bullshit, but you couldn’t even look me in the eye after everything?”

There’s a flicker in his face then, but before you can place it, he actually fucking chuckles.

“I hate you, Simon,” you say, but your voice breaks in a way that makes you furious all over again.

“Good,” he says, stepping forward just slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Wouldn’t want our second marriage to start any differently.”

“Whatthefuck,” you snap, the words leaving your mouth in one breath. “You know what? I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t want to see you, I want you to get the fuck out of my—”

“You think this was easy for me?” he growls, stepping forward before you can finish.

“Oh, fuck off, Simon,” you bark, voice rising right with your heartbeat. “You don’t get to play victim when you’re the one who—”

“Let me speak, woman,” he snaps, actually raising his voice now, something raw in it, like it’s the first time he’s ever let the leash slip in front of you.

“I don’t want to hear it, I don’t want your fucking excuses—”

And then he’s on you without warning, or time to react. His hand wraps around your arm, and he’s pulling you forward, crashing his mouth onto yours so hard your teeth click together. You make a sound of protest that dies the second his tongue slips past your lips, and then you’re gripping his shirt, clutching at him even as you try to push him away. It’s messy, angry, and perfectly fucked up.

He only pulls back just enough to growl against your mouth, “You stubborn little woman. Let me speak.”

“Fuck you,” you hiss, biting his lip before he can kiss you again.

“Oh, I will,” he breathes, voice low and filthy, and before you can say anything else, he’s got you pinned against the wall, his body flush against yours, one hand sliding up your side while the other braces by your head.

“You think I planned this?” he says, breathless between kisses, lips brushing over yours every time he speaks. “You think I wanted to walk away? I was fucking wrecked when they took you into surgery, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t fucking think, I thought you were gonna die and I didn’t even—didn’t even tell you how I felt because I was too much of a fucking coward—”

You shove at his chest, but your hands don’t leave him. “You ruined me,” you breathe, voice shaking. “You ruined me and then left me alone to clean up the fucking mess!”

“I ruined myself the second I let myself love you,” he bites out, mouth back on yours before either of you can say something crueler.

“You scared the living shit out of me, baby,” he continues, voice low and strained, forehead resting against yours as you both try to catch your breath.

You scoff, still breathless from all the yelling and kissing and crying, and shove at his shoulder weakly. “Yeah? Good. You deserved that after the way you treated me. You think you get to break my fucking heart and then come back like nothing happened?”

“I didn’t come back like nothing happened,” he says, still smiling, but it’s that tired kind of smile, the kind you’ve missed, the kind that only shows up when he’s not pretending to be someone colder than he really is. “I came back ready to finally do something about it.”

You narrow your eyes. “What the hell does that even mean?”

And then he does it. Just drops down onto one knee like it’s the most normal thing in the world and reaches into his pocket like he’s been planning this for weeks, and suddenly there’s a ring in his hand. A new one. Not the stupid fake one they gave you for the cover story.

“I got this after the medics said you were stable,” he says, eyes on yours, voice soft in a way that makes your chest feel too tight. “After they told me you were gonna pull through, I—I went out and bought it, because I knew if you woke up, I wasn’t gonna waste any more time. I wasn’t gonna let another fucking day go by pretending like we don’t belong together.”

Your lips part, but no sound comes out, because you didn’t expect this, not here, not like this.

“I think we’ve hated each other long enough,” he goes on, chuckling a little like he can’t believe he’s actually doing this. “I think it’s time we try the other thing. You know… the part where we get our stupid happy ending.”

Then, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, he looks up at you, and he says it.

“Will you marry me?”

You blink at him, stunned for a second, staring at the ring in his hand and the bruises on his jaw and the stupid way he’s still smiling even after everything you screamed at him.

And then you snort, arms crossing tight over your chest.

“No,” you say flatly. “Absolutely fucking not.”

His smile falters just a bit, but you see the way his eyes narrow, the way his head tilts.

“You’re gonna have to earn my hand in marriage, Riley,” you add, stepping closer and snatching the ring from his fingers, holding it up between you both. “You don’t get to ghost me for days and then waltz back in here with a speech and think that’s enough. Try harder.”

He laughs with that rough kind of laugh that shakes his whole chest, and stays on one knee like he’s not in a hurry to get up.

“Guess I better start groveling then.”

“Oh, you will,” you say, tucking the ring into your pocket like a little menace and turning away before he can even stand.

And behind you, you hear him mutter, “Jesus Christ, I love you.”

You don’t say it back.

Not yet.

But you don’t give the ring back either.

-

You don’t even remember agreeing to this trip. He just showed you the tickets, told you to pack your shit, and next thing you knew, you were sweating in a rental car that smelled a little, driving up a dirt road toward a cabin that apparently had “a view worth not killing each other over.”

You’re still not convinced.

He’s driving with one hand, the other resting lazily on your thigh like he’s trying to win points for being calm and domestic, but you’ve already caught him checking the GPS five times in the last ten minutes.

“We’re lost, aren’t we,” you say, not even bothering to make it sound like a question.

“I’ve got it handled,” he replies, like that means anything when you’ve passed the same crooked tree stump twice and your phone’s had zero signal since the gas station two hours back.

“Mhm. You said that the last time we were being shot at and ended up face-down in mud.”

He laughs through his nose, tapping the brakes as the road gets even rougher. “Yeah, but we lived. That’s a win in my book.”

You roll your eyes, dragging your hand down your face. “So the plan is survive first, figure out directions later?”

“Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?” he mutters, and there it is again, that little grin that drives you insane because it means he knows he’s pissing you off on purpose.

You don’t even argue this time. Just lean your head against the window, staring at the trees flying past and muttering, “Next time I plan the vacation.”

He hums. “You’d take us to some overpriced spa and yell at me for snoring during a massage.”

“I’d take us somewhere with actual roads and Wi-Fi.”

“Oh yeah, real romantic. You checking your emails while I die of boredom.”

You flip him off without turning around, and he squeezes your thigh in response, thumb brushing lazily against your skin.

And even though you’re hot, annoyed, possibly lost in the middle of nowhere, you’re still here, still next to him. Still breathing the same air, after everything.

The cabin is small, definitely old, and smells faintly like dust and pine, but the view from the porch is enough to shut you up for once. The trees stretch for miles, the sky is beautifully blue, and there’s not a single radio, rifle, or report in sight. Just the two of you, a half-unpacked bag tossed onto the couch, and the sound of him whistling low under his breath while he fumbles with the damn fireplace.

You stretch your arms over your head, sighing as you lean against the kitchen counter. “You want coffee or tea?” you ask, flipping open the cabinet door and squinting at the faded labels. Someone left a whole collection of mismatched mugs in there, one of them says #1 Dad, and it makes you smirk a little, for reasons you don’t even wanna unpack.

He grunts from the other side of the room, finally getting the fire going with a triumphant little “There we go, you bastard.”

Then he stands. “Tea,” he calls out. “As long as you’re not gonna drown it in sugar like last time.”

You scoff, flicking the kettle on. “Oh, come on. It was one time.”

“You put five sugars in one cup,” he says, walking over and leaning his weight into the counter beside you. “I thought you were trying to end me quietly.”

You shrug, not looking at him as you grab two mugs. “I thought I’d tortured you enough that day. Wanted to give your blood pressure something new to worry about.”

He laughs, and it makes your stomach twist just a little. You hand him his mug a few minutes later, nudging it into his chest until he takes it from you.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says, deliberately syrupy.

You narrow your eyes. “Call me that again and I’ll spike yours with vodka next time.”

He sips, eyes locked with yours over the rim. “Worth it.”

You smack his arm lightly, and he just grins, setting the cup down and pulling you in by the waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You’re still not used to this version of him, the one who doesn’t flinch when you touch him first, the one who kisses your forehead just because, the one who doesn’t look over his shoulder every five seconds like something’s about to be ripped away again.

You wrap your arms around his neck, chin resting on his shoulder as you breathe him in. “We should ruin this vacation.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, brow raised. “Ruin it how?”

You smirk. “I don’t know. Break something. Start a fire. Get banned from ever coming back.”

He hums thoughtfully. “Or,” he says, brushing his lips over yours, “we could just… enjoy it.”

You pretend to consider it for half a second. “Boring.”

He kisses you anyway.

The fire’s low now, just a flickering orange glow that casts shadows across the cabin walls, and the only sounds are the creaking of the old wooden floorboards and the soft rustle of sheets as he moves over you, slowly, as if he’s still convincing himself you’re really here.

He’s got one hand braced beside your head, the other trailing down your thigh, fingertips light over your skin, like even now he’s scared of pushing too hard and shattering whatever this is between you.

“Can’t believe you’re here,” he murmurs against your neck, voice filled with something between lust and relief. “Every time I touch you, it’s like—I still think I’m gonna wake up and find out you didn’t make it.”

You exhale, hand curling around the back of his neck, pulling him closer until your lips brush his jaw. “I did,” you whisper, voice soft but sure. “I’m here, Simon.”

He presses his forehead against yours, his thrusts slow and deep, each one pushing the air out of your lungs in these broken moans. It’s not rushed, he’s not chasing a finish line. He’s savoring you, devouring you, and letting himself feel everything.

“You don’t get it,” he breathes out. “Thought I lost you for good. And now I—fuck, baby—I can’t get enough of fucking my wife.”

You snort softly, breath hitching as his hips roll deeper, lazy and precise. “Technically,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “I’m your ex-wife now.”

He pauses for just a second, chest rising against yours with a short laugh, and then he dips his head, kissing you hard. “Not for long.”

You grip his back, fingers dragging down the muscles there as he picks up the pace just a little, but still slow enough that it feels like an apology.

Then he says against your lips. “You wrecked me, you know that?”

“You deserved it,” you whisper, and he groans at that, not angry, just desperate.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, thrusting deeper now, each stroke more hungry than the last, “and I’d let you ruin me again and again if it means I get to keep you like this.”

Your eyes flutter shut as he kisses the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then lower down your neck, over your collarbone, anywhere he can reach like he’s making a map out of your body, just in case he ever forgets how it feels to love you like this.

“You’re mine,” he breathes, and this time, it’s not a demand. It’s a promise. A quiet vow in the dark, spoken into your skin as if he’s stitching the words into your bones.

And you don’t say anything this time. You just wrap your legs around him tighter, pulling him impossibly closer, and let him say everything else without ever stopping.

-

The next few months aren’t some perfect fairytale, but they feel more real than anything you’ve had in years. You still argue about laundry, about the way he leaves his boots by the door, about how you always forget to turn off the bathroom light, but you also laugh more.

You find comfort in the routine, in the way he always pulls you closer when he thinks you're asleep, in the way he starts keeping sugar in the cupboard now even though he swore he never would. You go grocery shopping together and somehow end up bickering in every aisle, but he always lets you win, even when you're wrong, just because he likes the way you smile when you get your way.

He still looks at you like he can't believe you're real, like he’s memorizing every part of your face in case he loses it again. And sometimes, when you catch him doing it, you roll your eyes and say, “You’re being weird again,” but you don’t really mind. You like it more than you’ll ever admit.

It’s not always smooth, and there are still moments when it hits you, what you went through, what it almost cost you, but then he’ll wrap his arms around you from behind while you’re brushing your teeth or pull you into his lap while you’re pretending to work, and it reminds you that this, whatever it is, is worth it.

And the proposal doesn’t happen in some dramatic way like the movies would’ve liked. Actually, the kitchen smells faintly like burnt garlic because you forgot the heat was on, and there’s tomato sauce on the floor because he knocked the pan off the counter while trying to pull you in for a kiss.

He’d asked a few more times since that night in your room, and each time was more ridiculous than the last. Once while you were brushing your teeth. Once when he caught you halfway asleep on the couch. And once, half-laughing, half-serious, when you yelled at him for finishing the last of your favorite snack.

Every time, you rolled your eyes and said something like “nope,” or “try harder,” or “marriage sounds like a trap.” He never pushed, never got upset, and just kept looking at you like he already knew the answer would change eventually.

So now, standing barefoot on the sticky tile floor, both of you half-covered in sauce and flour, something just clicks.

You’re laughing, breathless from the mess and the way he keeps wiping his hands on your shirt instead of a towel, and when your eyes meet, he stops. You don’t say anything at first. Just reach into the drawer next to the sink, where you’d kept the ring since that first night.

You press it into his hand without a word, and his eyes go wide. He stares at it, then at you, like he’s afraid to move, afraid to breathe.

“Do it,” you say, just barely above a whisper.

His hands shake a little when he drops to one knee, not out of nerves, but because his heart’s in his throat and his eyes are stinging and he’s trying so fucking hard not to let it show.

“Baby,” he says, voice low and shaky, “will you marry me?”

You nod, slow and certain. “Yeah,” you say. “I will.”

And the way he holds you after that, the way his arms wrap tight around your waist like he never wants to let go, the way he buries his face against your stomach and just stays there for a second too long, feels like the beginning of your happy ending.

-

The second time you got married, you did it right.

Without a courthouse or rushed vows. This time, it was real. It was loud and messy and beautiful in all the ways that mattered. You stood outside in the late afternoon sun, surrounded by the people who mattered most—some in suits, some still hungover from the night before. The flowers were crooked in their vases, the playlist glitched halfway through the ceremony, and Soap cried more than anyone else, even though he swore he wouldn’t.

You wore white. A dress that made you feel like yourself. Hair half-up because you couldn’t be bothered with too much fuss. And Simon stood at the end of the aisle, in a dark suit that somehow made him look even more dangerous and even more like home all at once. He didn’t smile, not the way people usually do, but his eyes never left yours, and his hands shook just slightly when he held them out to you.

The vows were short and a little clumsy in places, because neither of you were good with words when it really mattered. But you didn’t need a perfect speech to tell him you’d walk through hell for him, again and again, if it meant ending up back here.

And when it was over, when the rings were on and the kiss was done and the crowd was cheering, you leaned in, close enough that only he could hear you, and whispered, “I love you, Mr. Riley.”

He didn’t hesitate. His hand found your waist, his forehead touched yours, and he said it back like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“I love you, Mrs. Riley.”

You didn’t even make it to the end of the night before dragging him away, laughing as you kicked off your heels and told him he looked better out of that suit anyway.

Your story wasn’t easy, but it was yours, and in the end, that’s what mattered most.

THE END

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @gutsofgod @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid @syofrelief @avgdestitute @sheepdogchick3 @echo9821 @imalapdog @foxintheferns @trulovekay @ruleroftides @rose37373 @succulambb @havoc973 @jajouska @fruitymoonbeams-blog @cece2608 @starryylies @silmarilniky @venavanup @lostintransist @m00nl1gh4 @fertilise-me @blush-haze @sigynxlokiwifelover @dollfwn @ravenduskabyss @soltwent @saik-k @skzthinker @strawberrygato @shaldaar @n-ae-vis @karagd13-blog @meowshiki @mangost33nlover @k4rmas-dvmb @piconico17 @batw3nch @danzer8705 @chompwoman @cr0wbrz @imjustheretofightforlove

[midniqhtt]

ᯓ★ clark kent - superman

𝜗𝜚 masterlist • dc • 08/01/25

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs four I one I two I three II gif credit - @/olympain

here are some clark kent stories i’ve read, loved, and reblogged. all the admiration for the writers who share their talent so generously. please be sure to read the warnings on each fic. and if you enjoy them, let the author know by a comment, reblog, or both! ♡

ᝰ.ᐟ key: A- angst I F- fluff I S- smut I C- comfort I HC- hurt/comfort I ~S- implied smut

ꨄ︎ deadlines & (super) secrets I @spideystevie I F

clark’s repeatedly absent at work and you’re too inquisitive for your own good or three times you were suspicious of clark kent and the one time you got it right

ꨄ︎ one minute left to live I @bodhiscurls I A

the world is ending and superman has done all he can, but there's one thing left for clark kent to do and that's to stay by your side as the earth burns itself whole.

ꨄ︎ you didn’t kiss me goodbye I @/bodhiscurls I A + F

after an arguement with your boyfriend, clark kent does the unthinkable. he doesn't come home, doesn't kiss you goodbye and doesn't return until its midnight and you've fallen asleep on your sofa. good job, clark still has the goodnight kiss to redeem himself.

ꨄ︎ now that we don’t talk I @/bodhiscurls I A

clark kent has to prove himself that he's loyal, that despite his consistent wandering absences and emergency leave, he can be trusted to be chief editor at the daily planet. and that means having to ask the one person in the world who hates him more than anything to play pretend as his date (his wife) at the next gala. to show the world clark kent is loyal, the picture of stability and did not ruin his only serious relationship he's ever had.

ꨄ︎ eight legs too many I @iamgonnagetyouback I F

you panic over a bug and knock on your neighbor’s door for help. good thing your neighbor is clark kent. and he's stupidly hot.

ꨄ︎ foolish hearts I @tw1sters I HC

Loving Clark Kent is easy, but he seems to find letting you go even easier. At least, until Clark is forced to fully reckon with what it means to really lose you.

ꨄ︎ teacher!clark - single!mom hc I @plumisa I F

ꨄ︎ the version of you i’ll never know I @zziggerang I HC

You knew Clark had a past. Everyone does. But sometimes, in the quiet of your shared bed, the ghost of a woman you’ve never met lingers in your thoughts, Lois. You’re not jealous of her now. You’re jealous of the version of Clark she got to love before you. The one unscarred by loss. As your quiet insecurities rise to the surface, Clark holds you through your fears… while quietly wrestling with his own.

ꨄ︎ hanging up without saying ‘i love you’ prank I @/zziggerang I F

You decide to prank Clark by hanging up on him without saying “I love you.” It’s just a harmless TikTok trend, right?

ꨄ︎ reporter gets interviewed I @08luvmailz I F

ꨄ︎ drabble I @marvelimaginesyesplease I F + ~S

ꨄ︎ must be a secret admirer I @francixoxoxo I F

Clark is even worse at hiding your workplace relationship than he was at hiding his massive crush on you. A recounting of three times where Clark nearly gives the two of you away, just because his loverboy self can’t help it.

ꨄ︎ don’t be late I @katsu28 I F + A

if one thing is true about clark kent, it’s that he likes his coffee. he also likes the barista who makes it for him, but you don’t know that. all you know is that you like the really cute guy who comes in at the same time every morning and orders the same thing.

ꨄ︎ just a scratch I @octraiin I F

Your boyfriend shows up at your window late at night injured.

ꨄ︎ outfield I @familyvideostevie I F

You and Clark go to a baseball game.

ꨄ︎ megaphone to my chest pt2 I @alwritey-aphrodite I C

ꨄ︎ melt with you I @moonlight-prose I F + S

clark kent was a man of many talents. being the chef - the man who could whip up enough food to keep you sated and full for till the sun crested over the horizon and peeked through his windows - was one of them. but you were...a mess in the kitchen. so he decides to help.

ꨄ︎ dripping like honey I @/moonlight-prose I S

clark kent absolutely gets drunk eat pussy.

ꨄ︎ ice cream I @sunflowersteves I F + S

It was a particuarly hot day in Metropolis, why not treat yourself to some ice cream?

ꨄ︎ beach day confessions and first kisses I @fleurbly I F

ꨄ︎ clark kent thinks you’re avoiding him…you are I @raven-dor I A + F

ꨄ︎ state of grace I @auroralwriting I F

when another metahuman decides to relocate to metropolis, how is it that clark always gets swept up in situations like these? aka, how does clark kent end up falling head over heels for the invisible woman?

ꨄ︎ mastermind I @/auroralwriting I F

as one of the daily planet's most popular gossip column writers, clark is surprised to learn you're a genius when it comes to superman. he's also surprised to learn you aren't all heels and makeup

ꨄ︎ terminally ill!reader I @vaamppiraa I A

ꨄ︎ you light up the skies above me ao3 I @cremedelabrulee I F

You felt like a floosy, making heart eyes at Clark when he wasn't paying attention and sighing over Superman in your private moments. In an effort to feel not as awful, you would say to yourself that Supernova was the one who liked Superman. But you? You liked Clark.

ꨄ︎ cause i’m a punk rocker I @bippiti I F + A + S

you moved to smallville because you had to save your family's farm. it was a place you never wanted to stay at but also couldn't escape. then you met him: quiet, steady, and the one person who saw through your walls. slowly, without warning he became the part of you you didn't even know you were missing

ꨄ︎ the necklace I @404superman I S

You get Clark a silly little gift, a necklace with his ‘superman’ logo on it. He loves it when you bite it while he’s fucking you.

ꨄ︎ same old love I @supermanthisho I A + C

Clark’s meeting your parents for the first time and yet you’re the one on the verge of panic. Aka, reader has a strained relationship with her family and doesn’t want Clark to see how she fits into the dynamic.

ꨄ︎ shattered vows pt2 I @k-a-n65 I A

When Lex Luthor traps Superman in a kryptonite-laced prison, he exploits a hidden connection—an ordinary woman who once helped him to his feet. She becomes the perfect bait. But when she falls, everything Clark Kent thought he could endure shatters.

ꨄ︎ fangirl!reader I @dollfacefantasy I F

ꨄ︎ they call it puppy love pt2 I @vitoriadior I F

you used to have a dog with Lex. Now Lex uses "joint custody" of the dog as an excuse to stay in your life. When you start dating Clark, Lex holds the dog hostage. Luckily for you, Superman is always there for you.

ꨄ︎ out of harms way I @maikorian I A + F

there's no such thing as a 'normal' day in metropolis. monster attacks happen at least once a week and barely anyone is phased anymore. everyone's golden rule is that if something bad has already happened earlier in the day, then you would be safe for the rest of the day. unfortunately, this rule fails you when you decide to bring your daughter to the park and get caught up in a monster attack. its a good thing your husband just so happens to be superman and has a sharp ear.

ꨄ︎ superdaddy I @goldsainz I F

your five year old daughter does not understand why clark owns a superman suit in his closet.

ꨄ︎ kissing booth I @mcumorningstar I F

In an attempt to get closer to his crush, Clark offers to help with the school carnival… until he is assigned the kissing booth.

ꨄ︎ what happens in vegas, doesn’t stay in vegas…? I @14thgalerie I F + A

ꨄ︎ blind boxes and xray visions I @/14thgalerie I F

ꨄ︎ lovestruck and looking out the window pt2 I @tangledinlove I A + F

you see your friend clark without his glasses for the first time. he looks… oddly familiar

ꨄ︎ smallville nights I @springtyme I C

After the explosion, Clark brings you and your daughter back to his parent's farm to catch your breath. The house is quiet now, but inside, fear and guilt still echo louder than any blast.

ꨄ︎ the truth in blue I @happy74827 I F

Through a temporary life-threatening situation, you realize the quiet, awkward man you've honestly fallen for has been catching you in more ways than one

ꨄ︎ understandably so I @eulogiez I A + F

clark kent is overwhelmed by his affection for you, and your relentless lack of will to see it. a gift mishap in the planet office gives you the false pretense that clark’s just not that into you, leading to a dramatic turn of events between you two.

ꨄ︎ bimbo!reader I @missmookie I F + ~S

ꨄ︎ heartbeat I @athenalvss I A + F

Your greatest wish with Clark was to start a family, but life wasn't on your side. 

ꨄ︎ save the cat, get the girl I @oldesigns I F

when your cat went missing, there was a man willing to search for your fur baby to the ends of the earth to make you happy.

ꨄ︎ little white lie I @munsster I F

You think of the perfect excuse to get the attention of Metropolis’ finest firefighter.

ꨄ︎ camgirl!reader I @nympheagain I S

In which Clark Kent has a dirty secret. And it just so happens to be you.

ꨄ︎ different kind of kiss I @luveline I S

You realise nobody’s ever gone down on Clark before and aim to change that.

ꨄ︎ two places at once I @cherrysinner I F

clark has to figure out a way to be at two places at once when half of metropolis is having an emergency on the night he's going to tell you his biggest secret. and also that he's superman.

ꨄ︎ just a taste I @certifiedskywalker I F

Clark has developed a habit of bringing you one of your favorite drinks when you’re working late at night at The Daily Planet. It’s a sweet gesture, but, considering that you’re falling in love with him, it’s also a torturous. Luckily, fate intervenes through the whims of a horny barista.

ꨄ︎ what he comes home to I @mattsmadness I F

When Clark Kent invites his coworkers over for supper, all he wants is for them to love his sweet, small-town wife; he just hopes they overlook the Superman decor she forgot to take down.

ꨄ︎ love, all night long I @barnesonfilm I S

clark makes pulling an all-nighter at the office worth it

ꨄ︎ the love list I @stevebabey I A + F

You’ve been in love before, okay? And it’s… alright, you guess. You’re sensitive. And you miss jokes, and you’re stuck wondering if it’s you who’s just not getting it. Love. Enter Clark Kent — mutual friend recently turned boyfriend, sweetheart, and small-town farm boy. Also the man who’s making you question everything you know about love. Which isn’t a lot. Better make a list.

[odalismus]

Yep. Because what no one talks about is the hostility detransitioners who did so because they realized it was insane and mentally damaging face

That was me and NO ONE wanted to accept my reasons. They were fine with me detransitioning, but when they asked me why and I told them the truth (usually in a diplomatically toned-down way, too, because I already knew how they'd react), they lost their shit. They're fine if you detransition as long as you swear you're accepting of and encouraging of trans ideology for other people. I had MULTIPLE people get AGGRESSIVELY hostile for me truthfully answering a question THEY asked about my own reasons and lived experience and most of these weren't even trans people.

I didn't plan on talking about this on this blog because tbh I hugely regret having been caught up in it in the first place but I think people deserve to know the flip side of these "statistics." One of my friends said "oh, did you do it because you feared for your life?" When I said no, she persisted, and I told her I thought it was unhealthy to see your body as wrong in that way and I can no longer support it. That made her very angry and demanded that I say trans people are valid and I said no, I said what I said and I think it's unhealthy, and I am not out there getting in people's faces telling them what to do but I cannot endorse that. She didn't like that answer. My friend would rather believe I was forced to change my life against my will because I feared for my life than to accept that I just didn't believe in the rhetoric anymore and couldn't in good conscience go along with it.

Now, ironically, because I have masculinized traits, people assume I'm trans NOW. Arguably I'm in much more danger from transphobes now than I was, just because they assume this. But when people make these assumptions, it's annoying, of course, and a frustrating reminder of a terrible mistake, but it does not threaten my identity, because I know I'm female whether they believe it or not. And I think it's extremely telling that these trans people and their defenders are so fragile in their "identities" that even knowing that someone out there does not agree with the house of cards their ideology is dependent on threatens them so much they can't bear it. They know, deep down, they are not really what they say they are.

Unfortunately for me, I have no support, because people either want me to declare that I am pro-trans anyway or else they're radfems I disagree with for other reasons. It would have been much easier to stay transitioned and THAT is not talked about AT ALL. I passed perfectly well and all my documents were changed. I'm 6 feet tall. No one knew. But I could not do it, because it was wrong. I can't even change some of my documents back to my birth sex because Trump's poorly-written law saying that federal documents must reflect birth sex was ACTUALLY written in such a manner that no markers can be changed for any reason and so the markers that had been changed can now not be changed back. It would have been a hundred times easier to stay as I was. No one is interested in my conscience or my reasons or my experience or in supporting me. They are only interested in the same thing they always were, which is gratifying their own fragile mental illness.

I see many of these people as victims but they also manipulated me when I was vulnerable and I hate that. So many people were so much happier to tell me I was "born in the wrong body" and ought to change myself dramatically and NONE of them, not a single one of them, helped or even acknowledged the reasons I had those problems in the first place, the trauma and all of the shit that was actually wrong in my life. I accept my own responsibility for my own choices (which is much more than they can do) but it infuriates me that talking points like this go around without it even crossing anyone's mind that it isn't true. It's evil and self-serving and I wish the people who spread this would go to jail for the harm they do to vulnerable and impressionable people. And that's not even getting into the consequences like health and fertility. It's not a coincidence so many of the women sterilizing themselves (which I never did, fortunately) are white women who have been made to feel their problems don't matter and they don't "count" because they're white. It's evil that we are telling lonely men that they ought to become women rather than getting to the root of why so many feel emotionally unfulfilled in the first place, and why so many women have experienced sexual trauma and sexism that they feel it would be easier to become men. It's evil and demented and narcissistic that we allow these people to tell children it's possible to be "born in the wrong body," or that because they like things stereotypically associated with the opposite sex that they must BE that sex, just to gratify their own delusions. I think the people facilitating this should be prosecuted. I think they should be fucking shot. This is a cancer.

It's funny how every evidence-based study finds this exact same result. Where is the flood of detransitioners we were promised years ago? Where are the whistleblowers of doctors "forcing" teens to transition? That's right, they don't exist.

[laceyhearts]

ꊞ I'D DO ANYTHING ; QUINN HUGHES !

➪ summary: quinn and y/n had had a rocky few weeks, and when quinn arrives home late from a game again and y/n receives a photo from an unknown number, things fall apart at the seams

➪ laceyhearts diner event: a basket of salty french fries w/ prompt "tell me what I can do to make you stay. What I can say, so you won't leave. I need to know how I can fix this!"

➪ pairing: quinn hughes x fem!reader

➪ warnings: reader has had a history of shitty exes, allusions and mentions to/of cheating

➪ word count: 1.0k (whoops i got carried away, my bad)

➪ emma's notes: oh so like- i wasn't expecting this to be out but when you get writing motivation no matter the time you take it. um... nonnie who requested this, i tried to work the second prompt in as much as i could but lowkey blacked out so it's there but not really and i apologize for that. (but if people would like, i'll write a second part focusing on that prompt!)

© laceyhearts ; do not copy, repost, translate, or put my work through ai generators. do not copy or remake my themes, graphics, or layouts.

She was used to this happening, to being so caught up in the bliss that she forgot to look for the signs that it was going to collapse soon. It was like the universe hated to see her happy, hated to see her not second-guess every decision she made. 

Being with Quinn made her forget about all those times when her happiness had fallen through, because Quinn was different. He made her feel like she was the only girl in the world, like every time he looked at her, it was as if it would be the last time.

And maybe this time it was. 

She should’ve expected it as soon as he started pulling away, when the time between the end of the game and when he got home grew longer, when he’d sip from beneath the covers and out the door before she even stirred, when his phone would buzz incessantly when she was talking and he’d be occupied with it for the remainder of their conversation. 

Y/n knew she shouldn’t jump to conclusions, but she’d been through this once too many times, and she wasn’t about to let herself be hurt again. So she did what she thought was the only solution, she started to distance herself too. 

He stopped receiving pregame texts that consisted of a stupidly adorable amount of heart emojis, he stopped feeling her in his arms when he woke up and found her curled in a ball on the other side of the bed, stopped seeing her wear his hoodies that she claimed were the comfiest things in the world.

Quinn blamed himself; he knew he should’ve been open about his own worries, how hard he was pushing himself to be the best captain, best hockey player, best boyfriend, best brother, best son in the world, but he never wanted to admit that to himself, much less her. He’d always been that way, keeping his feelings bottled up so he didn’t have to bother anyone else with it.

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

He had arrived home late again that night, dragging his feet as he entered, shoes being kicked off lazily, bag dropping, and not being bothered to be picked up again. His limbs were heavy, his neck stiff, and he felt the remaining few drops of sweat against his skin.

The apartment smelled faintly of that one candle y/n always loved to light when she was reading, which made his lip turn up in the slightest amount. There was a plate wrapped in Saran Wrap, a vegetable stir fry sitting between, but he didn’t have the energy to eat, not after the game. He placed it carefully in the fridge, amongst the other three or four leftover plates she had left for him the past week. 

His walk was sluggish as he made his way toward their shared room, eyes finding her still awake, head buried in her book, and her glasses almost falling off her nose as she turned the page. His smile grew, feeling his body relax at the sight of her, “Hi, baby.”

Her eyes barely flicked up at him before she went back to reading, a shrug of her shoulders as she mumbled a ‘hi’ in response. A frown replaced his previously growing smile at her dismissive greeting. He stepped closer, kneeling on his side of the bed and reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear, only to be met with her shying away.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothin’.”

“You know I know when you’re lying.”

“'M not lying. Just tired and want to read my book.”

He sighed, the tension between them thickening, but he knew he couldn’t force her to open up, force her to tell her what was really on her mind, even though that’s all he wanted to do. He rose from the bed, heading towards the closet as he slowly took off his suit jacket.

“Where were you?”

He furrowed his eyebrows, more than confused, head buried in the closet as he looked for comfier clothes to wear, “What do you mean? I had a game.”

“It ended two hours ago.”

“We had a lot to talk about, we played like dog shit.”  He knew he should shower again; the one before he left the arena was less than cleansing, but the thought of having to wait for the water to heat up and having to go through the motions made him more exhausted.

“Lexie said Thatch got home an hour ago.”

Quinn froze, his shirt halfway on, turning to face her again, “What?”

“Where were you really, Quinn?”

“I was at Rogers, I don’t- what are you saying, babe?”

“I’m saying that if most of the others got home an hour before you even left the arena, then what were you doing?”

“Talking, talking to the trainers about my hand.”

“Then what’s this?” Her phone displayed a picture of some girl, one she was unfamiliar with, but the look on Quinn’s face made it known that he knew who that was.

“Baby…”

“Don’t,”

“No, no, no, listen to me.”

Tears were already welling in her eyes, threatening to fall, but she kept them in, “Who is she?”

“She’s no one, I mean it.”

“Why are you lying to me still?”

He suck in a deep breath, kneeling in front of her, “She’s a friend from college.”

She scoffed, “A friend from college? That’s what they all say.”

“That’s what who says?”

“Everyone, every guy who’s cheated on me.”

“Baby, I didn’t- I would never.” 

She shook her head, wiping her tears as she tried to collect herself, “I need space.”

“I’ll give you space, but just stay here, please.” His hands gripped hers loosely, trying to keep her attention on him and not her spiralling thoughts.

“I can’t-”

“Tell me what I can do to make you stay. What I can say, so you won't leave. I need to know how I can fix this. Please.”

She couldn’t say anything, whether that was because she didn’t know what words would sound best or because she couldn’t physically get the words out; she wasn’t sure. Quinn’s head rested in her lap at her silence, and her hands continued to lie limply in Quinn’s.

And if he thought she was out of reach before? Now she was a million miles away from him, and he didn’t know how to pull her back in.

DINER ENTRANCE ; PICKUP COUNTER ; QH43 MASTERLIST

JOIN THE TAGLIST ; MY NAVIGATION

[bleedingsunlight]

Dog

Paddy Mayne x Reader

Paddy Mayne, the dog that no one could tame, except you.

[★] Rated: Mature 18+

[★] Warnings: Afab reader, p in v sex, Slapping, Hard dom/sub relationship, Hand job, Edging, Orgasm denial, Collaring, Unprotected sex, Crying during sex, Poetry?

Masterlist

©bleedingsunlight 2025.

Thank you to @jakecockley for beta reading this and always hyping me up!🫶🏼

Do not copy or repost my work!!

𝐑𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖘 𝐖𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊!

[A/N] I re-wrote this so many times to get a version I found tolerable...I also wrote the poem (if you can call it a poem). The italic addiction got ahold of me in this one 😭.

—bleedingsunlightᯓ★

Paddy didn't know how the fight started.

No harsh words were thrown—no whiskey bottles smashed.

But still, he snarled and let his fist fly into the face of the nearest man.

His knuckles punishing as they cracked against his cheekbone.

Rage blinded him—boiling up vivid and hot in his head, a pressure that made his ears ring and his teeth clench.

Distantly, Paddy could hear his name being yelled, feel hands grabbing his shoulders to pull him back.

He brushed them off and kept pummeling the bloody face below him.

Relishing the ache of his fist with each blow 

"DOG."

He froze—fist raised, spit stringing from his sneered lips.

Feral eyes slowly rose to meet your sharp ones.

Your hand grasps the wrist of his risen arm, nails digging angrily into his tanned skin.

"Come with me—now."

You leave no room for argument.

Paddy stands slowly, trembling with unreleased anger—his chest heaving with each panting breath.

You walk out of the dining tent, anger quickening your pace.

Paddy follows, hands clenched and his eyes burning a hole into the back on your head.

Once in your tent, you whip around and glare at him, your hands on your hips.

"What the fuck was that, Mayne?"

He narrows his eyes—speaking through gritted teeth.

"He got my feckin' goat."

Rolling your eyes, you snatch his hand, inspecting his bruised split open knuckles.

"I know it's my job, but I'm really tired of cleaning up the messes from your fuckin' tantrums." 

He huffs indignantly.

“Sit, I gotta clean those." 

Paddy flops down heavily on your cot, glancing briefly around your small space.

It was almost identical to his, a lit lantern by the tent opening, cot, wooden table, and chair, first aid supplies thrown about.

Pulling the chair up in front of him, you pull his hand into your lap, pressing an alcohol soaked rag against his knuckles.

Paddy hisses at the sting, fighting the urge to pull back.

"Why did ye call me dog?"

You look up with a raised brow, "Everyone calls you a dog." 

He gives you an annoyed look.

"Aye, they do, but ye said it like a name, not a label."

You pause for a moment.

The tension between the two of you had been building for months—small things.

The way he purposely snuck bars of chocolate for you despite it being a rare treat in the war.

The brief glances at each other from across the dinner tent.

How you gently touched him as you worked on the various wounds he would show up at your tent with.

You swear he got into fights just to have an excuse to see you.

 Making a decision, a mischievous gleam lights up your eyes.

"Because...your a feral dog, that I really want to fucking tame." 

You say slowly, testing the water—testing if the way he looked at you was in the way you thought.

Paddy's eyebrows raise in confused shock.

"Tame, what the feck does tha' mean?" 

You throw the rag to the side—leaning forward.

"It means I want to train the disobedience right outta your little mutt brain." 

Paddy's mouth opens in momentary speaklessness, anger buzzing briefly behind his eyes when you call him a mutt.

He tries to pretend he isn't affected, his stomach pooling with a fuzzy warmth—hardening cock showing interest in the "training" you were talking about.

Interested in being your Dog.

He pulls his lips back in a mocking smile.

"I don' think ye could handle me."

He challenges.

You twist a hand around his shirt collar, pulling him closer—your lips an inch away from his.

"Oh honey, I think you're underestimating me."

Your hand moved to his throat without any pressure, holding it as if teasing that you could.

"I feckin bite."

A sadistic smirk spreads on your lips.

"Good, I love a challenge."

There's barely time for a breath before he's lunging forward.

His lips clash painfully against yours, growling against them.

Rage and unrestrained hunger.

Fighting a smile you bite his bottom lip harshly, drawing blood.

You expect him to get angry—to throw you, curse at you, storm out.

Instead, Paddy groans.

You push him back with the hand around his neck, giggling.

"God, Paddy—you're so fuckin' easy."

He narrows his eyes, head tilting.

"Ye say 'm easy—but yer the one in me feckin' lap" 

Paddy rolls his hips up as if proving a point, his cock grinding against your clit making you gasp. 

Arousal burns hot between your thighs, mixing with the dominance in your chest.

You hadn't realized you had moved to straddle him.

And it pissed you off that he thought he could use it to his advantage.

"Fuckin' brat."

Your hand tightens on his throat, pressing against the soft spots under either side of his jaw.

Paddy's eyelids flutter so faintly it's almost un-noticeable—but you pick it up with a trained eye.

Watching as his head goes floaty from lack of bloodflow, his lips parting.

Deep down, he wanted to submit to you—but he would make you work a little more for it.

You release the pressure moving your hand to instead yank his head back by his hair.

"You're not the one in control here."

He bares his teeth in a wicked grin.

"And ye are?"

You grind your hips down, forcing a groan from him.

"I'm the one with my hand in your hair grinding on your cock, aren't I?" 

His hands shoot up and grip your hips—pulling them down as his jerk up.

A moan falls from your lips—pleasure singing in your cunt.

It takes you a moment to come to your senses as he fights for control.

Raising your hand up—you slap him.

Hard.

His head whips sharply to the side.

"Bad Dog." 

Paddy growls, his cheek red and throbbing in time with his cock.

"Hands to your fucking self."

His eyes are glazed over—so close to snapping.

He was either going to throw you off him and go angrily jerk off or melt in your grasp and let you use him.

He didn't know which one.

your hand softly rubs over where you struck him as you coo in a honeyed voice.

"Be a good boy for me, Paddy, and I'll let you come—all you gotta do is listen.”

As you spoke you slowly rocked, as if trying to coax him into submission.

He looks at you—speechless, the fire in his half lidded eyes slowly fizzing out.

“C'mon puppy, don't you wanna be good? Don't you wanna feel good?”

Your thumb rubs over his spit slicked lips.

Then you hear it.

A low-desperate whine.

“Please.”

Finally.

“There he is.” 

You say it like a praise—like you were proud of him for giving in to this side of himself.

You kiss him softly, a brief press of your lips.

“I've got something for you.” 

You get up, bending down to dig in your duffel bag under the cot.

When you stand again you hold something behind yourself.

Examining him.

Paddy's chest is rising and falling heavily with each breath, face flushed, cheek rosy from your slap.

His blue eyes, previously fierce and bright, are now hazy with blown pupils. 

He looked softer—more malleable.

“You don't have to wear it…but I grabbed it last time we were in Cairo with you in mind.”

You reveal a dog collar.

Black Leather with a silver buckle—not so thick that it would be uncomfortable—but not thin enough to be a choker.

Simple but sturdy.

His eyes widened slightly, his mouth opening and closing as if trying to find words.

“Ye-Ye want ta put a collar on me, lass?” 

You nod hesitantly.

He licks his lips—desire painting his face.

“Want ta own me do ye?”

Seeing his clear approval of the collar you climb back on him.

“Yes, Paddy. I want to own you. I want to tame you, train you to obey. Treat you like the good boy I know you can be.”

An unknown emotion shines in Paddy's eyes—he tilts his head up.

“Go on then.” 

Apprehension clenches your chest as you wrap it around his neck—clasping it just tight enough for him to feel it pressed against his skin.

His shoulders relax the moment he feels it resting on the hollow of his throat.

“Not too tight?”

He shakes his head, thinking that he might just want it tighter.

To feel it dig into him like you had.

Paddy looked perfect wearing the collar—like he was made for it, the black leather standing out against his skin.

He looked so undeniably yours.

Grabbing the leash ring you pull him forward into a searing kiss.

Moaning against his lips as you nibble and lick across them.

He tastes like whiskey and sweat.

As you kiss him you reach down and untuck his shirt—undoing the buttons one by one so you can push it off his shoulders.

You break the kiss to shove his sweat soaked wife beater up his torso until he gets the hint and raises his arms for you to remove that as well.

Your eyes greedily soak up the bare skin you've gained access to.

Freckled and scarred, strong muscles layered with a healthy pudge.

“You're s'pretty puppy.” 

With a whiny noise, Paddy paws needily at your shirt—wanting it off so he could look at you—feel you.

The wrecked sound he makes when your bare breasts are revealed makes your stomach swoop.

“Feckin hell.” 

He mutters in awe.

His hands hover over them, waiting for permission to touch—his eyes gazing at you like he was hallucinating.

“Do you wanna touch, baby?” 

He nods so fast you're scared he'll give himself whiplash.

“Please, ye look so feckin’ soft, need ta touch ye.” 

You take his wrists and guide calloused hands to the swell of your chest.

Paddy groans as he makes contact—brushing his thumbs over your nipples and squeezing you like he was trying to convince himself you were real.

He leans closer, flicking his tongue out to lick a broad wet line up your nipple.

You arch your back into his mouth, moaning as he wraps his lips around it.

He sucks roughly—desperately, like he needed it, like you were the only thing real in this sand filled hell.

“Fuck good boy.”

Paddy whines, his eyes shut and eyebrows furrowed.

His hips are thrusting instinctively up into you, teasing both of you through clothing—your wetness was slowly soaking through your underwear and into the tan uniform.

With each jerky motion, Paddy grows more and more frantic, needing to feel you without the barriers.

He pulls off with a pop.

His shaking fingers go to undo your belt, fumbling with the buckle.

“Feckin’ thing,” he mutters angrily.

You giggle and help him undo both of your belts before standing to strip.

For a moment he is frozen—staring at your naked form like someone would a painting in a museum.

Admiring.

Paddy stands and pushes off his own pants and boxers—stance confident and strong.

His lower half is paler than the rest of him due to him favoring being shirtless.

His cock is twitching against his belly, angry and oozing with precum.

There is a pink gradient from the base to the tip where the blood pools.

A vein runs along the underside pulsing steadily with each beat of his heart.

He is above average but not so big that you would get nervous to take him.

Paddy shifts his weight—growing uncomfortable with your prolonged gaze.

“You really are pretty.” 

Walking over to him your body language screams control, halting when your chest brushes his.

One of your hands wraps loosely around his shaft, stroking softly—teasing.

He moans low and deep, hips tilting forward to chase the feeling.

“Knees.”

Paddy is on the ground before he can even process the words—his knees thudding heavily against the canvas floor.

He is face to face with your slick folds, the wetness dripping down your thighs.

The restraint it takes not to lunge forward and bury his face is torturing.

“You've been a very bad dog lately, puppy…I need to punish that behavior before you can play with me.”

He whimpers, eyes leaving your cunt to jump to your face, pleading silently for mercy.

“But-but ye said I've been g-good fer ye, was bein’ gentle and listening.”

You tsk your tongue running a hand through his sweat soaked hair.

“You have…but that doesn't mean you weren't bad earlier, beating on a man who didn't do anything.”

Paddy looks heartbroken, like you gave him a treat only to snatch it away a minute later.

“P-Please.” 

He sounded so pitiful—so needy, different from the viciousness you were used to.

“Lay down f’me.” 

On trembling legs he stands, turning to lay flat on the cot.

“What ‘re ye gonna do ta me?”

You just smile running a hand down his chest.

“Keep your hands to yourself and maybe—I'll let you come.”

Your hand wraps around him again, gripping tightly.

“You can do that…can’t you puppy?”

Paddy whimpers—half fear, half desire.

He twitches in your hand as you start stroking him, hot and heavy with need.

Slick noises fill the tent as you steadily work him, his pre cum lubing your fist.

You can feel his climax steadily building, breathy moans and sharp curses growing louder.

“Y-yer hand feels s'good.”

You go slower, milking him with smooth twisting glides of your palm.

You can see his abdomen tensing—the tremble in his thighs.

“Are you close puppy? Gonna come f'me?”

Paddy nods, mouth slack.

You let him taste the edge, let him feel the beginning of the fall.

Then you stop.

He yelps at the abrupt halt in your movements, hips chasing the pleasure.

“Nonono.”

And before Paddy can even plead your stroking him again—rubbing your thumb over the tip.

He whines in overstimulation while also chasing the high, filthy noises ripping from deep in his chest.

It goes faster this time.

You can see the tension before he even asks you.

“Please—m'so feckin’ close.”

You move faster, letting him believe you were done edging him—letting him get closer and closer.

You stop again.

And again.

By the time you stop a fourth time, he's sobbing.

Ragged pants and babbled pleas leave his lips.

“Awe, poor baby…did you think I was gonna let you off that easily? Said I was gonna tame you, Gotta break you first.”

You pump him once, long and slow, before backing off—watching him writhe and cry.

You repeat the action a few more times, leaving him on the very edge but not letting him get any further.

His hands jump to his throbbing cock, desperate for relief.

You smack his inner thigh hard enough to leave a glowing hand print.

“No. Hands down.”

You lean back, watching him—watching how you've wrecked him.

He is shivering, his cock an angry purple from being pent up for so long—his face is wet with sweat and tears.

The poor man can't even form full sentences.

“P-please—can't—n-need ta come—let me please.”

You decide to take pity on him, he'd been shockingly good so far, giving in so easily.

“One more, baby.” 

He sniffles with a pathetic nod.

You devour his lips, licking into his mouth and running your tongue along his—tasting his carnal hunger.

You pull back panting, unable to deny the molten lust in your womb any longer.

You strandle him.

“Gonna ride you now, puppy. Be good.”

You grab hold of him, running his tip through your soaked folds a few times before lining him up with your entrance.

Paddy chokes on a sob as you sink down—his hands gripping your hips tightly, body attempting to curl before relaxing again.

You moan, relishing the sting of him filling you, deep and perfect, settling right up against the soft, sensitive spot that has you seeing stars.

Both of you are still for a moment, breathing deeply.

Until you pull your hips slowly up and down again, testing the feeling of him inside of you.

You look into Paddy's half lidded eyes and with your hands braced on his chest, begin bouncing.

His reaction is immediate.

A half screamed groan of your name, followed by incoherent curses and praises.

The pressure in your stomach builds with each movement, already worked up by the actions of the night.

Your clit grinds on his pubic bone with each downwards thrust, sending simmering pleasure through your body.

Your hand finds its way to his throat again.

“You like this, mutt? Like me using you while you're helpless?” 

He is making little uh uh uh noises with each thrust, his cock twitching inside of you as you choke him.

“Look at you, all dumb for me. Who could have guessed you were all bark no bite.” 

His fingers dig into your skin as his hips begin grinding up uncontrollably—loud groans blending beautifully with your moans and the wet slap on your thighs meeting his.

“Ah—‘m gonna—pleasepleaseplea—.” 

You slap him harder than earlier, your hand stinging from the force of it.

“You will fucking wait until I tell you to come.”

Paddy looks at you like you hung the stars, his cheek carrying your raised hand print—his eyes shining with reverence.

With a look of pure desperate focus, he holds back, his thumb sliding down to rub circles over your swollen clit.

Your body hums with the rise of your orgasm—your rhythm faltering as you get pushed closer.

He picks it up for you—hips slamming up as he pulls your body down.

“Yer s'warm and wet—feel s'good.”

His voice cracks with retraint, eyes glued on where your cunt swallowed him.

And with one last deep push.

You fall over.

The oxygen is punched out of your chest with a moan of his name as your limbs seize up—your body quaking with each burning wave.

The pulsing grip of your walls around him threatened to pull Paddy over with you.

“F-feck ‘m gonna come—please—oh christ—c-can't hold it.”

Your limbs still fuzzy, you grab him by the collar and yank him up into a sitting position—his hands bouncing you on him like a toy.

You look into his glossed over eyes, once so guarded and violent.

Now soft and yielding.

“Come for me, puppy, fill me up.” 

His body locks with a guttural groan, his hips grinding deep into you as he fills you up hot and thick.

“Ah—’s t-too much.”

Paddy whimpers, pressing his forehead against your neck as he milks himself within you—forcing himself to keep going through the overstimulation that burned through his nerves.

“Puppy, puppy.” 

You try to calm him as he sobs into your neck, pent up emotions bleeding from him, wracking his shoulders as he grips you tightly.

“Paddy, it's ok, I've got you.”

His sloppy movements slowed to a stop, lodged impossible deep.

You hold him as his sobs turn to hiccuped breaths—petting his hair and peppering him with kisses.

After a few moments you try to pull off him but his arms lock tighter—keeping himself inside you even as he softens and his cum leaks out of you.

“Let me stay inside ye…just fer a little while…please.”

Nodding you push him back, setting against him—chest to chest.

Your breaths slowly synchronize.

Paddy doesn't say anything after that, quieter than you've ever seen him.

He just holds you.

Eventually he slips out of you, the warm mixture of your fluids pooling between your bodies.

You gently get up, despite his huff of protest, grabbing a rag to wipe the both of you down.

Lovingly removing the collar from around his neck and kissing the skin that was under it.

It's then that he speaks.

…  

I am a feral dog.

Bruised and scarred by war.

I bark and I bite with blood in my teeth.

Snarling at any who stare for too long.

Then you came.

And washed the filth from my fur.

Replacing the screaming with calm.

Taming me.

...

You sit for a second, processing his words, the way he bared his soul to you in just a few whispered lines.

Paddy is relaxed next you—truly relaxed.

Your limbs tangled together, his arms wrapped around you and his head on your chest.

His breaths are deep and measured.

You think he's fallen asleep when he mumbles.

“Ye own me now, Lass, ‘m yer loyal dog till the end of me days.”

You smile, pressing a kiss to his head, fingers tracing aimless patterns on his back. 

“Good Dog.” 

And for that moment, you both forget the war, the bloodshed and fear.

For a moment you are content.

Safe.

[ᯓ★]Taglist: @jimmys-tiara @pearlstiare @myotakureprieve @mangobellini @monty-bluebird @thisbastardneedsafatherfigure @markinganx @budgiefeatherboa @bluebikini @leftoversl1ce @quinnophile

[batsandbirdbrains]

i love weird divorced possessive slade wilson taking in Robin dick grayson and his regular kids none the wiser, and then rose, grant (I’m sorry I don’t like him dead), and joey all find out this kid some of them were friends with or thought was dead is just like “oh you must be his kids sorry ig :///“ and then fucks off to go stare at a wall or something bc dick & slade have so many unspoken assumptions about each other and their “”family-ish”” relationship relies on the fact that they feel the other is only keeping them around bc they can’t get that kind of friendship from anywhere else (which is wrong but they both wholeheartedly believe it) is so funny.

Dick, 13, depressed and lost and totally being groomed by Slade to eventually take over the Deathstroke mercenary empire. Feels like he’s been replaced by Bruce and like he can’t go home.

Grant and Joey, both alive, both older than Dick, but only allowed to see Slade like every other birthday and Christmas. And on Father’s Day, if Adeline is feeling nice.

Slade, who lost what little custody of his kids he had bc his ex wife found out he was a mercenary and all but proved that he was basically a deadbeat. Wanted his kids. Saw Robin and was like “that’ll do.”

Is Slade actually sort of acting like a dad towards Dick? Maybe. Does Dick just take in stride because he figures he has nothing to lose now? Absolutely.

But now it’s Father’s Day and Adeline was feeling generous this year and lets the boys go to Slade’s for the weekend. And now the two of them are staring at Dick, this random kid, who’s sitting on the couch in his pajamas eating cereal as he watches Saturday morning cartoons.

“Oh,” he says, spoon still in his mouth. He forces down his bite of Lucky Charms and looks at the boys with a blank expression on his face. “You must be his real kids. He’s in his office.”

“Who the hell are you?” Grant asks. Joey, standing beside him, signs the exact same question.

“I’m Dick,” he says. “Short for Richard, not like, the insult. Anyway. He sort of just. Brought me here. And I stayed.”

Grant shakes his head, blinking quickly, trying to make sense of what he’s hearing.

“How old are you?”

“Thirteen.”

“Christ, he’s a baby.”

“Hey!” Dick argues, pouting now. “I’m fully a teenager!”

Grant snorts, and Joey looks amused. They share a glance, then turn back to Dick who still has his cheeks puffed out in indignation.

“My mistake,” Grant humors him. “Now, tell us what you mean by dad just brought you here?”

“I guess it’s technically kidnapping?” Dick says with a shrug, then tilts his head. The two eventually move over to sit on the opposite couch. “But when I tried to leave, I found out my sort-dad replaced me. So I…came back?”

“Sort-of dad?” Grant questions.

At the same time, Joey signs, What do you mean he replaced you?

“Well, I was adopted,” Dick says carefully, stammering over the words because he’s still not comfortable talking about Bruce. “And Slade sorta made everyone think I was dead. And when I got away, I found out he just…adopted another kid. He looks just like me.”

The last sentence is whispered, soft and quiet, and Dick sinks further into the couch. He goes back to looking at the cartoons, bringing the bowl up to his mouth to take a slurp of his cereal.

“I don’t wanna talk about it anymore,” he mumbles. “Slade’s in his office. He wants to say hi. He wouldn’t shut up about you coming over for the last two weeks.”

And that’s the moment Grant and Joey realize they have a new little brother, and that they’re going to do everything they can to protect him. Starting with figuring out how to convince their mom to adopt him so they can get him away from their dad.

Then they’re going to revisit the whole “Slade made everyone think the kid was dead” thing.

One step at a time.

[queen-mihai]

This is one of those posts that I think are so important but also feels really fucking dangerous for ME to talk about

People have been labeling me an extrovert my entire life

Do... do you think I'm not scared?

Like really. Seriously though. Do you think people don't terrify me?

I need to sell my book. I need to sell tens of thousands of copies of my book. Each copy is going to land in the hands of a real human person with eyes and a personality and preferences and tastes that I can't anticipate

What if they hate it?

What if they hate me?

What if they take one look at me and decide to turn away. I'm a black. Trans. Woman.

Black.... fewer people will buy

Trans.... fewer people will buy

Woman.... fewer people will buy

And that's to say nothing of just... talking to people. I'm scared all the time! I'm scared the OP of this post is gonna think I'm hijacking their post and I'm really trying my best not to but I'm also really long winded!

I'll let you in on a little secret about me

I type these comments and posts on faith. The faith that I'm gonna actually hit the reblog button. That I'm actually gonna hit post.

Do you know how many times I haven't? I've written a long response and thought people are just gonna get mad at me and deleted the whole thing?

I feel like I'M an introvert.

Because yeah!

It IS SCARY

But....

Push the damn button Mihai...

I think the concept of introversion may have harmed a lot of people, tbh

[goobstars]

Hey! I’m genuinely in love with the way you write, you make sure the characters are..well, in character which can be difficult, so I applaud you for that 🫶🏼.

I have a request though! Could you possibly, if you like the idea, write a Sebastian x Reader where the reader typically calls their friends (and people they feel closer to) by endearing nicknames, but since they haven’t had any social interaction with anyone besides Sebastian in a long while..they start accidentally calling him names such as ‘love’, ‘babe’; etc without realising. Maybe he gets flustered by it, but they never notice that. And he decides enough is enough, so he decides to do the same to see their reaction? Even better if they both have unspoken feelings for each other!

𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒

summary : after hearing you call him nicknames for so long, sebastian decides that it was time he did the same.

tags : romance, nicknames, and bold sebastian.

note : thank you, and i totally didn't freak out when i read this request. (i did. i did freak out when i read this request you are a genius, anon.)

sebastian had been called many things throughout his time in the blacksite.

handyman, the saboteur, shopkeeper, fishman, fishyboy, and fairly vulgar things that would take forever to repeat if he said all of them. yet, out of all those nicknames, they never were out of endearment. they didn't make him feel anything. the only emotion he felt when people called him names was irritation.

or, at least that was until you came along.

throughout your first few runs, you called him by his name and left it at that. you'd greet him before entering the shop, buying whatever you needed, and then bidding him goodbye before continuing your journey throughout the blacksite. he didn't think much of you, of course. you were just the expendable that he somewhat tolerated since you treated him with respect, and he believed that it would stay that way.

you both would just help each other with what the other needed, and that's all there was to it.

but then those simple greetings you gifted him turned into conversations.

you started to refer to him as 'seb' whenever you entered his shop through the vent, and you'd go on about different things as you patched yourself up with a medkit. sometimes it would be about how you almost got snatched up by the searchlights, or how you just barely survived an encounter with the chainsmoker given how slow it was.

during those times, you'd really only talk about the blacksite, so sebastian couldn't be too irritated. it amused him to hear about how you just barely escaped the murderous monsters of the facility, and he would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy your stories sometimes. it was nice to have a small conversation with someone who wasn't plotting to flash him with a beacon.

and after a bit, sebastian noticed how you'd start to stay longer. you wouldn't call him 'seb' anymore, but rather random nicknames that came to mind. the only thing about those nicknames?

they were terms of endearment.

the type of nicknames that sebastian wasn't used to.

if he was being sincere, he probably wouldn't have thought much about it if it wasn't for the fact you called him such things as if it were completely normal—like you had been calling him those things ever since you both first met.

you'd give him a quick hi, and it'd be followed by either handsome or love. you'd thank him, but of course, why would you just leave it at that? you just had to add babe to the end of it, didn't you?

now, every time you leave his shop, he's only filled with questions. why were you calling him these things? why were you so normal about those nicknames? was he supposed to make a comment on them? was this you trying to tell him something without actually saying it?

and the one that clouded his mind most of all, why did he like it when you called him by those names?

no matter how many times he tried to deny it, he couldn't excuse the way his face grew warm when you called him handsome, or the way he slowly started to look forward to your visits.

luckily for him, you never noticed his flustered state when you entered his shop. you just chatted as you purchased items, and he wondered how you didn't see the evident flush on his face whenever you glanced at him.

were you that oblivious, or were you aware of what your words were doing to him?

no matter what it was, sebastian had decided that he was tired of you being the only one to use nicknames. he was tired of watching you heedlessly smile at him like you weren't aware of what you were doing to him.

so, as soon as you came to his shop, he'd do something that he had been plotting for quite a long time.

fortunately for him, you didn't keep his plan waiting.

sebastian peered up from his hands before clasping them together, and he heard your light hums echo from the vent while the metal creaked.

your head poked out as you looked around, and once your gaze rested on sebastian, you shot him a smile.

you pushed yourself out of the vent before standing up, and you looked down at your clothes as you dusted them off.

"hi, handsome!" you greeted as you peered up at him, and you walked over to grasp the keycard that was by the radio before slotting it into the pocket of your jumpsuit. this was going to have to be a quick sebastian visit, for you had plans to check out the ridge, and that meant you had to go through about fifty more sets of doors.

so, that also meant you didn't really have time to chat. did you feel remorseful? yes, but the ridge was something that had been bugging you for a while, and you needed to get familiar with it as soon as possible.

"welcome back," sebastian spoke, and you noticed a light hue that crossed his face, but you didn't think much about it as you walked up to his tail.

there wasn't much that you wanted—let alone needed. you already had plenty of batteries, a medkit, and a flashlight. you were set.

but you couldn't just come in here without buying anything, right? you already weren't sticking around for long, so you might as well get something.

your attention settled on a code breacher as you shifted your backpack off your shoulders, and you opened it before handing some research to sebastian. "i'll take the code breacher."

sebastian took the research from your grasp as he nodded, and you plucked the code breacher from his pouch. this could be helpful in case you couldn't find a keycard, or maybe you'd come across one of those rooms that has the little kits in it. those typically had good items, or loads of research.

either way, you'd just have this on hand in case you needed it.

"thank you, babe!" you stuffed the code breacher into your backpack before zipping it up, and you placed it onto your shoulders as you smiled at sebastian. "i think that's all i want.." you uttered as you eyed his tail, and you turned around on your heel so you were facing the vent.

and that confused sebastian.

you were already leaving? you barely even spoke to him.

the man partially frowned as you gave him a wave, but you didn't even look at him. why were you already leaving? sebastian barely even got a chance to say anything.

"what's got you in such a rush?" he questioned, and you glanced over your shoulder. "i'm trying to get to the ridge with enough stuff as possible so i can explore it a bit. i want to get familiar with the area, you know?"

sebastian only nodded at your explanation, and you waved at him before looking forward once more. "anyways, i'll see you later!"

but before you could even take a step forward, sebastian cleared his throat.

"well, are you sure that's all you want, sweetheart?"

when it came to your reaction, sebastian didn't put much thought into it. he believed that you'd either just dismiss his words and leave his shop, or that you'd possibly get excited that he finally gave you a nickname. he never really called you anything but your name, so it wouldn't shock him if you were thrilled that he finally called you something else. it seemed like a thing you'd do.

but instead of those assumed reactions, you whipped around to stare at sebastian with wide eyes.

"what did you just call me?"

your words were spoken hastily, and sebastian stared at you for a minute before a chuckle left his throat. now, he didn't expect this, but he wasn't complaining.

you were staring at him in hopes that he'd answer your question, but he wasn't paying attention to that. rather, he was eyeing your flustered form.

and he'd be an idiot to say he didn't like what he was seeing.

"you heard me." his sentence was followed by a smirk, and at your silence, he tilted his head. "what? am i not allowed to give you a nickname? that seems a bit hypocritical, don't you think?"

"i never said that—" you asserted, "i just didn't expect you to give me one."

"and why's that, honey?"

his question appeared to rattle you even more as you slightly stammered before replying to him. "i don't know..."

you were quiet, and sebastian should've just left it like that, but he didn't want to. he wanted to make you speechless. he wanted you to know exactly how he felt every time you strolled into his shop with those nicknames flying off your tongue.

"don't tell me you're flustered over a little name..."

sebastian's voice was low as he leaned down, and his face was slightly in front of yours. you felt his hand grasp your chin while his eyes went lidded. his thumb grazed your bottom lip, and despite the fact you were quiet, your mind was screaming.

"are you, sweetheart?"

were three words really all it took for your mind to go blank?

you stood there in silence as your gaze flickered over sebastian's face, and all of the stuff you had shrugged off before became noticable. the hue that flushed on his face earlier was now a bit darker, and his eyes held a certain light in them that made you lean into his touch.

sebastian didn't even seem shocked at your action, and more than anything, he seemed satisfied with it. his smirk faltered as he leaned in closer, and his lips hovered over yours.

yet, neither of you made the first move.

his breath cascaded against your skin as your hand twitched, and you slowly lifted it to grasp his wrist. at your touch, his thumb left your lip while his forehead pressed against yours.

and you believed that was it. you truly thought that he was going to make a move, and as you leaned in, you were met with his hand gently pushing you back so you couldn't kiss him.

"don't you have somewhere to be?" his query was followed by a chuckle, and you frowned at him.

"i hate you..." you mumbled, and his grip on your chin loosened. "you say that as if you weren't trying to kiss me."

"i'm leaving—"

before you could finish your sentence, his lips pressed against yours, and a surprised hum escaped your throat. after a moment, you eased into the kiss while sebastian's thumb slowly started to caress your skin.

but, unfortunately, breathing existed.

sebastian pulled away from you, and his hand released your chin as he partially leaned away from you. the smirk on his face was still apparent as you stared at him, and he gestured towards the vent.

"be careful, sweetheart..."

and with that, you took a step back before turning around. you hastily made your way over to the vent before crawling through it, and you didn't bother to look back because you knew if you did, you would've wanted to stay.

sebastian straightened his posture as he eyed the vent, and when he heard the echo of the next door beeping before shifting open, he raised a hand to his mouth as his fingers grazed his lips.

you were cute when you were flustered.

maybe he'd have to give you call you nicknames more often.

[kaitlyn-imagines]

Hello long time fan of your MHA fics here. Can I request a platonic Saja boys babysitting Nezuko!reader together who is Rumi's little sister? I feel like they haven't encountered a cute but powerful child demon before <3

Aww, hi there, hello hello! I'm so happy to still have you around my corner of tumblr! 😊❤️ I love that, has my heart all happy right now haha. When I tell you, I had SOOO much fun writing this. I've been the cool, hip young auntie since I was 13, so I definitely incorporated some of my experiences here. Hope you enjoy! It's all so cute hehe, fluff to the max! 😉🙈💓

Platonic!Saja Boys babysitting Rumi's half-demon sister!reader

Warnings: flufffffff, child!reader, humor and antics, platonic, minor Jinu backstory angst, third pov instead of second this time 🤷‍♀️

Jinu:

When he first agreed to babysitting duty, he thought, ‘how hard could it be?’ He could handle all of Rumi’s moods just fine, so surely the bite-sized version of her would be just as easy to manage.

Except, when Rumi knocked on their door with a small, patterned girl clinging to her leg, he realized one fatal flaw—he hadn’t counted on her little sister also being half demon.

Despite this unexpected turn of events, Jinu is great with her. He’s easily able to get Rumi’s little sister out of her shell, transforming her from a quiet and shy girl, into a giggling, bright-eyed ball of energy.

He’s more than willing to play any games with her, and if they’re playing pretend, he’ll play his part well with a goofy voice that makes her laugh.

About halfway through, Jinu lets the other boys handle the babysitting so he can step outside and take a few minutes for himself.

Despite how good he is with kids…this whole evening has reminded him of his own little sister all those centuries ago, of her smile, her innocent laugh.

And with these memories, the familiar, damning guilt comes crawling back.

After a while, Abby steps out to check on him. “You okay, man?” he’ll ask, a mildly concerned expression on his face.

And Jinu will just flash a charming smile and nod as if nothing’s wrong…as if the presence of this bubbly little girl hasn’t totally broken his heart with the reminder of his loss…and of his mistakes.

“Yeah, just needed a breather. Let’s head back in, I promised her we’d all play Mariokart.”

Abby:

Abby hasn’t had many opportunities to interact with children before, so when Jinu told him they’d all be babysitting Rumi’s little sister or whatever, he was a little unsure about the whole thing.

What do kids even do? Just run around with unwashed hands, make messes, and make everyone uncomfortable with their lack of manners and spatial awareness…

Swear to god, he saw some young boy open-mouth cough on all the apples in the produce section when he was at the store the other day. He expects much of the same for tonight’s events.

Except, when the young girl arrives, he’s surprised to see the tell-tale patterns marring her skin. She was…far too young to have made a deal with Gwi Ma. So, she must be half human, like Rumi.

Still, the sight of a child demon is enough to stun him into good behavior… he interacts awkwardly and clumsy with her, not sure how to make conversation with such a young child.

But then, Jinu gets this board game set up for everyone to play, and the little thing points her grubby finger at him.

He fully panics. “What does she want?”

“To be on your team, dummy.”

And Abby is naturally competitive, so the game really helps him to loosen up and start enjoying himself. He starts to bond with her more, encouraging her as she rolls the dice, making her laugh when he trash-talks Baby and Romance’s team.

By the end of the night when she’s tuckered out and sleepy-eyed, he’ll carry her to one of the bedrooms so she can sleep until Rumi comes to pick her up. He won’t admit it, but he’s sad to see her go.

Baby:

He doesn’t have much of an initial reaction when Rumi brings out the small demon girl for them to watch for the night. He barely glances over with a bored expression before he turns his attention back to his phone.

He’ll let Jinu handle the young girl, since he was the one who agreed to Rumi’s request.

But then, a small voice next to him quietly asks to “go back up to the cat video” and he startles to see that the girl had somehow snuck onto the couch next to him, and was watching him scroll.

Geez, he hadn’t even noticed her sitting there! She was inhumanely quiet and stealthy, much to his surprise. He was impressed, honestly.

He’ll scroll back to the cat video as she requested, smirking when she coos and fawns over the “cute kitty.”

The boys are trying to get boxed macaroni and cheese cooked for her, and struggling by the sounds of it if the arguing in the kitchen was any indication.

It’s then he gets an idea…

Hey, he’s not the best influence, and he never claimed to be.

Baby convinces the girl to do little acts of mischief with him, much to her utter delight. Whether it be, “go up to Abby and tell him he looks like he doesn’t know how to swim” or “go ask Jinu to get you Yakult from the store, he won’t do it if I ask.”

Little demon partners in crime. The other boys would get tired of the antics if it wasn’t so cute seeing the typically-aloof rapper getting along so well with the giggling little girl. She thinks he’s a cool grown up!

Romance:

He’s probably the most enthusiastic about the baby-sitting gig out of the whole group. He’s always had a soft spot for kids, though he never had much experience with them.

When he first sees the patterns scarred across her arms and legs, he’s totally amazed. He didn’t even think a demon child was possible! Demons were always made by binding deals…and never did it involve children. She was something special.

Besides Jinu, he’s the best at striking up conversation with her. Asks her about her friends, about school, about her favorite things to play…he’s sooo tempted to ask her about her demon patterns because he’s curious, but he doesn’t think it’d be appropriate.

He’ll enjoy playing dress up and watching her play so imaginatively. He genuinely likes spending time with her, wants Rumi to bring her cute sister around more often!

When she draws a picture for him, he acts like it belongs in the Louvre. Over the top appreciation, it’s the best gift ever! And she’s got this cheesy lil smile at the praise.

By the end of the night, Rumi is taking her sister home, asking if she had fun with the boys… and the sweet girl definitely has one of those innocent little-kid school crushes that she’ll grow out of, but everyone will still tease her about when she’s older.

Mystery:

He’s intrigued by Rumi’s little sister, watching with thinly-veiled interest as Jinu greets the girl and helps her get settled in their luxury condo.

Will watch her from across the room until Romance elbows him for staring too long.

It’ll take some time before he gathers the confidence to approach, but he’ll walk over to where she’s drawing with crayons and crouch down next to her.

Just bluntly asks, “were you born a demon?” and a moment later something clatters in the kitchen when Jinu drops it. He’s about to go scold Mystery for the rudeness, but then the little girl pipes up.

“Yeah! You have markings too, that’s so cool! Were you born a demon too?” all smiles and energy, and like Mystery, she’s lacking the social awareness that most adults possess when navigating uncomfortable topics.

“No, I sold my soul,” Mystery will just shrug like this is the most normal thing to say.

“Did you get money for it?” she asks in all seriousness, eyes large with curiosity.

And boom, he’s an uncle now. Right then and there, because she’s adorable and he wants her to keep looking at him like she trusts him—like how all kids intrinsically tend to trust those guardians in charge of their care. Or, like…a pet.

Spoils her, sneaks her sweets even when it’s too late for them and it’s definitely keeping her up past her bed time with a raging sugar rush. Will fight one of the other boys if they tell her ‘no’ or win a game against her.

Cue pouting when it’s time for her to leave.

[antiwhores]

Bakugou loves to stare at you.

You wonder if he even gets the concept of staring being weird. Maybe he just skipped that lesson of common courtesy. You hate it.

Truthfully, he loves the way you look back at him before quickly tearing your eyes away. You’ll do this many times, always checking to see if he’s snapped out of his trance.

He’d stare during meetings to make you stutter. He loved staring at you when you walked by him in his agency’s hallways. Every time you were talking to your peers, especially a male coworker, he’d watch you until you excused yourself with a beet red face.

You think it’s sadistic. He had to be doing it just to make you insecure. Was something on your shirt? Does your hair look crazy today? Is he judging the way you doze off? Does he hate you? Does he want you dead?

You actually started to actively avoid him. But everywhere you went, he was there. To be fair, it’s his agency. But you’d think that he has some paper work to do or something. Did he really want to spend his time off patrol watching you type up emails to business partners?

Life at your job was a nightmare. Whenever you thought about quitting he’d stop for a couple days. Just when you were getting comfortable, he would be staring at you as you scarfed down two muffins.

There was a part of you that liked his attention. Everyone knows he’s beautiful, to be fair. But you couldn’t take the constant overthinking anymore.

It was the end of the day. Practically everyone had gone home but you wanted to get ahead on some work so you stayed back. Finally, after you knocked out a decent chunk of paperwork, you packed up your things to leave. But a quiet rumble of your stomach reminded you that you had barely eaten since breakfast. They always have a bowl of fruits out in the cafeteria so you decided to stop by.

Grabbing two bananas and an apple, you turned around to leave. Your heart practically stopped at the jump scare of Bakugou sitting on one of the lounge chairs. He wasn’t there before and you didn’t hear him come in. Heroes are terrifying.

As normal, he was staring at you while eating his own banana. You could’ve walked away, like you always do, but the frustration finally gave you the balls to snap.

You stomped towards him, the only distance being the short coffee table in front of his chair.

“Why do you do that?!”

He slowly drinks out of his “World’s Best Hero” mug.

“Do what?”

His forced oblivious attitude had your face red from anger. Your hands curled up into fists at your side. It wasn’t threatening, even though you tried to be.

“You look at me! Like… a lot!”

His smirk seems purely evil yet it sent butterflies to your stomach.

“I can’t look at you in my own agency?”

“No! Well.. yes. But not the way you do it. You never stop looking at me. It’s rude!”

You were shaking from the adrenaline. It was infuriating seeing how smug he was. He was enjoying every second of this.

“You’re pretty when you squirm.”

It’s like several parts of your brain turned off. There was nothing to say. All the rehearsals of what this conversation would look like could’ve never predicted this.

He stands up out of his chair and stretches.

“You’re pretty all the time but especially when you’re tensed up like this.”

Dropping his mug on the table, he makes his way around to you.

“Wish you could see how you look right now. Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

You would rather die than see your face right now.

“You don’t work on the weekends, yeah? I’ll pick you up Saturday night, take you somewhere nice.”

This time he lets you hear his combat boots as he walk out.