#Why She Had to Go to the Duke | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bemorech1ll · 11 months ago

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hey buddy i'm not trying to embarrass you i just want you to know it's pretty smelly over here, and it's been stinky for the last 10 minutes. if you need to go to the bathroom you're good to go. you had an accident? okay um, let's do this. i'm gonna tell everybody else in the class that we're gonna take a quick 5 minute recess, that'll get them out of the classroom and once we're all gone why don't you head down to the nurse i'll let her know you're on the way she'll get some new clothes for you untill your grown up can bring you up some of your own. sound good? alright thanks! hey buddy i'm not trying to embarrass you i just want you to know it's pretty smelly over here, and it's been stinky for the last 10 minutes. if you need to go to the bathroom you're good to go. you had an accident? okay um, let's do this. i'm gonna tell everybody else in the class that we're gonna take a quick 5 minute recess, that'll get them out of the classroom and once we're all gone why don't you head down to the nurse i'll let her know you're on the way she'll get some new clothes for you untill your grown up can bring you up some of your own. sound good? alright thanks! hey buddy i'm not trying to embarrass you i just want you to know it's pretty smelly over here, and it's been stinky for the last 10 minutes. if you need to go to the bathroom you're good to go. you had an accident? okay um, let's do this. i'm gonna tell everybody else in the class that we're gonna take a quick 5 minute recess, that'll get them out of the classroom and once we're all gone why don't you head down to the nurse i'll let her know you're on the way she'll get some new clothes for you untill your grown up can bring you up some of your own. sound good? alright thanks! hey buddy i'm not trying to embarrass you i just want you to know it's pretty smelly over here, and it's been stinky for the last 10 minutes. if you need to go to the bathroom you're good to go. you had an accident? okay um, let's do this. i'm gonna tell everybody else in the class that we're gonna take a quick 5 minute recess, that'll get them out of the classroom and once we're all gone why don't you head down to the nurse i'll let her know you're on the way she'll get some new clothes for you untill your grown up can bring you up some of your own. sound good? alright thanks! hey buddy i'm not trying to embarrass you i just want you to know it's pretty smelly over here, and it's been stinky for the last 10 minutes. if you need to go to the bathroom you're good to go. you had an accident? okay um, let's do this. i'm gonna tell everybody else in the class that we're gonna take a quick 5 minute recess, that'll get them out of the classroom and once we're all gone why don't you head down to the nurse i'll let her know you're on the way she'll get some new clothes for you untill your grown up can bring you up some of your own. sound good? alright thanks! hey buddy i'm not trying to embarrass you i just want you to know it's pretty smelly over here, and it's been stinky for the last 10 minutes. if you need to go to the bathroom you're good to go. you had an accident? okay um, let's do this. i'm gonna tell everybody else in the class that we're gonna take a quick 5 minute recess, that'll get them out of the classroom and once we're all gone why don't you head down to the nurse i'll let her know you're on the way she'll get some new clothes for you untill your grown up can bring you up some of your own. sound good? alright thanks! hey buddy i'm not trying to embarrass you i just want you to know it's pretty smelly over here, and it's been stinky for the last 10 minutes. if you need to go to the bathroom you're good to go. you had an accident? okay um, let's do this. i'm gonna tell everybody else in the class that we're gonna take a quick 5 minute recess, that'll get them out of the classroom and once we're all gone why don't you head down to the nurse i'll let her know you're on the way she'll get some new clothes for you untill your grown up can bring you up some of your own. sound good? alright thanks!

STOP THIS

#DNI DUKE #DNI #SLAGGG #hey buddy i'm not trying to embarrass you i just want you to know it's pretty smelly over here #and it's been stinky for the last 10 minutes. if you need to go to the bathroom you're good to go. you had an accident? okay um #let's do this. i'm gonna tell everybody else in the class that we're gonna take a quick 5 minute recess #that'll get them out of the classroom and once we're all gone why don't you head down to the nurse i'll let her know you're on the way she'

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ponypickle · 1 year ago

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I've just read chapter 18 of 'The Duke and I' and wow I'm surprised that they ever end up together (and have a child I heard from my sister 💀), Simon was wrong to rely on her naivety on how children are made but to go and rape him like that 😵 and then never feel remorse 😶 like Daphne just jumped this books rating straight to at most 2 stars

#bridgerton #the duke and i #-#daphne why #why #her only personality recently has been i want a child #but you married knowing one way or another you wouldn't have them #girly needs to sort out her priorities #if simon had just told her straight up i don't WANT kids so i can't give them to you #so that she didn’t have her delusions #it might have been slightly better #just hoping the other books are going to be better

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fideidefenswhore · 2 years ago

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I can’t remember where I heard this but I’ve heard some historians say that Anne wasn’t actually very politically savvy and the evidence they gave was the way she alienated people. Is this true? I mean, I know she definitely had political opinions but was she actually a good politician?

I mean, it's sort of a counterfactual, right? There's also a lot of misogyny at play here with that opinion, imho. I say this because, you know, if the judgement is that those that fall victim to political coups by reason of their downfall were never skilled politicians, then why is this primarily said of AB, but never Wolsey or Cromwell?

Also, I mean, context matters, right? Does it really matter, or speak to lack of political skill, that she 'alienated' Wolsey once Wolsey became, relatively, powerless? I suppose it does if you're of the Mantelite persuasion that Cromwell's support of AB as Queen was always superficial, some long-con of long-simmering resentment about her treatment of Wolsey. Anne also managed to win members of Wolsey's household to her side, including Richard Page, who was her ally for the rest of her tenure (her political, career...? ykwim). On the other hand, Cromwell, but there are less notable examples of this ilk, too, such as ...well, now I can't remember his name, but I cited him in another ask, I'll look for him later, but, there's another man from Wolsey's household that became Anne's ally, but later turned once she became Queen, and became a supporter of the Princess Mary (to be edited, linked here, later). So, that is to say, yes, she sometimes alienated people, even those that had previously allied themselves to her, I believe Francis Bryan is another example (I think there was some dispute with her brother between them, which couldn't have helped matters).

There's also like, this certain, how to say this...symmetry when it comes to the amount of influence someone in high title had versus the amount of people they alienated, if that makes sense? The Boleyns were hated for their rise, for many causes, among them that every favour which went to them wasn't granted towards someone else, because it was their allies and favorites that were being promoted, which fueled resentment of those that felt left in the cold. This was similar to the Woodvilles' rise and consolidation of power in the previous century. Power is not limitless power, either, so, it's not feasible to grant every favor that every potential ally asks for... yk, the example that's often cited in arguments for her lack of political savvy is the contentious relationship with one of the few Dukes in the realm, also her uncle. There is not actually an entire consensus on whether or not this relationship was that way, though? I believe Warnicke and Hoak have argued otherwise, that Chapuys sort of misunderstood their dynamic, that they were actually allies, as evidenced by her involvement in the marriage of his son to Frances de Vere, his daughter to Henry Fitzroy, that the report of the Duke being the one to report news of Henry VIII's accident to her in Jan 1536 actually denotes their confidence and even a close relationship.

Maybe there is an argument to be made that she could have been more conciliatory towards her opposition in court, and outside (her stepdaughter, and stepson, apparently Fox&Guy have recently argued), and, I mean...maybe? But also, to give favor to those opposed to reform would have alienated her allies that were reformers. There wasn't any feasible way for her to win over everyone, and there were always going to be those who were implacably opposed to her, and I believe she clocked them. I don't think it would have been 'politically savvy' to spend much of her political capital on appeasing them, if that makes sense. I think the amount which she expended (the offers to her stepdaugher, for example) was actually pretty sound.

There's also just, like, generally speaking, a misunderstanding of the sources which are cited for this argument. One example which comes to mind is the oft-cited 'petty' nature of the choice of Gertrude Courtenay as godmother to Princess Elizabeth. And like, it's not untrue that she was one of the godmothers, and it's probably not even untrue that this was a petty choice (although to claim this alone was enough to cause her enmity and later involvement in the ousting of the Boleyns from power would be...facile, at best), but she's usually the only one mentioned in pop history. Another godmother chosen was Agnes Howard (Tilney), the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk, who also carried Queen Anne's train (it was also Howards doing this, the other was Mary Howard, and Anne's final offer to her stepdaughter included the promise that she would not have to carry her train in her invitation to court), was Anne's step-grandmother and seems to have been her supporter. Margaret Bryan has been cited as another example of Anne's faux pas, petty jaundice, and further alienation of her stepdaugher's supporters, in her choice of her as governess for Princess Elizabeth's household, since she had previously been Mary's. Oft elided is that Lady Bryan was also Anne's half-aunt, and thus Elizabeth's great-aunt, and that wanting her daughter in the care of experienced and trusted relatives seems fairly reasonable and understandable.

(Yeah, there's like, much that's characterized as 'petty' and 'alienating' that was at the least Henry's choice, as well, even if it there's great likelihood it was influenced by Anne? Princess Elizabeth's household was much larger in retinue and much higher in cost than her sister's had ever been, even when in Ludlow, as part of the politics of ostentation, her train took circuitous routes to better show the pomp and proclaim her title to the people... the former, at least, could only create a larger network of patronage and loyalty, though, and the latter seems a better alternative than any degree of subtlety, which would not telegraph the upcoming Act of Parliament affirming Elizabeth heiress, so...even if the impetus for all the above was the result of the push from her mother, I mean, I don't find any of the above to 'lack' political savvy)

There's also been a misread of Henry's remark at Anne's banquet prior to her first appearance as Queen, and the deliberate invitation of the Duchess of Norfolk (COA's ally, Thomas Howard the Duke of Norfolk's wife, and Anne's inveterate enemy) there, despite knowing her distaste for her royal niece, as both barbs that alienated her even further, and maybe even led to her husband's rancor towards his niece as well (alternately, she invited her because she knew they hated each other and wanted to piss them both off, or, she was invited because she wanted to lord over her new status, as she'd done on a previous occasion, some insult paid via her aunt being either farther behind in the train than she should have been according to rank or seated in a lower-ranking place than her niece, before Anne was Queen). However, the woman invited and in attendance, who Henry loudly (and probably drunkenly) proclaimed Anne's 'fine dowry' towards, was actually again (or, previously), Agnes Howard, the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk, so this demonstrates a continuity of favor, not pettiness towards an enemy.

Anyway, that's my take. I might one day post some master-list of Boleyn alliances from the period of 1528- , because my general impression is that her network of allegiances and support has been underestimated and overshadowed by the court gossip that Chapuys has reported, which doesn't even seem to be given its due parsing as far as this claim, either (for example, it seems likeliest that the identity of the man whom Anne berated for sending Henry's linen to COA so that she could make shirts from it was actually Henry Norris, "one of the principal gentlemen of the bedchamber", given that it was the Groom of the Stool who was responsible for the King's linen and shirts, so, like...Norris might have been upset and even angry about being publically berated in that manner, but was certainly not forever alienated by it, and remained a staunch Boleyn ally for the rest of his own career, regardless...so, I don't think Anne alienated most of her supporters/friends, I think at times her temper got the best of her, but she probably usually mended fences and apologized once she cooled off, such as in the case of Bridget Wingfield).

#anon #she's often compared unfavorably to her anodyne successor and the praise she received #but yk....see symmetry paragraph #her successor didn't alienate people because she wasn't the push behind any policy #she wasn't the subject of resentment or rancor to the same degree because it was known that her influence was fairly minimal #what's another example...the percys; maybe?#but like again why is she going to expend social capital on her ex and his wife who tried to accuse her of precontract the year before she #was crowned........#he's one of the premiere noblemen of the realm and it seems she either alienated him or his memory of her alienated him towards her #like. he's apparently very offended that she's spoken harshly to the duke of norfolk. which is odd bcus there's not much to suggest #friendship btwn them...so why does he care #he claims according to chapuys that she is going to poison her stepdaughter......#it's hard to gauge why or how she alienated percy personally; tho?#he was in extreme debt to the point that he had to resolve it by making the king his heir #he also (altho this is less mentioned bcus it's seen as less juicy...no ex romance) is apparently very critical of the king and his policie #again according to chapuys; so venting this on anne? venting this by reason of his policy being influenced by her?#but then he is the percy that is the only one that supports the king in the pilgrimage of grace later #so like...what were the policies he was in opposition to? what was his reason to say henry's policies were so unpopular that the people wou #*would likely support an invasion? i do not know.#claiming henry also had a hand in alienating his nobility is not popular.#(the chain is actually percy's physician quoting him to chapuys so they're not the most reliable accounts...#being second-hand hearsay. as it were #there's also like. the matter of time? starkey marks anne's 'reign' as basically 1528- onwards #and the longer you're in a position of power the more people you will piss off just by like. law of averages #there's like a castles crumbling argument narrative that can be constructed #i suppose; that the pressure and the battles borne in every step she rose just made her more and more implacable and thus she alienated #more and more people.......#just by the frustration of waiting ; maybe

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anyknotrants · 7 months ago

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-after Damian turned 16, at the family dinner-

Bruce: so... Damian, do you remember the Oreov girl you met at the gala last week?

Damian: *looks up* yes

Bruce: what do you think of her...?

Dick: *tries not to laugh*

Tim: *fails not to laugh*

Steph: *doesn't even try not to laugh*

Damian: she was... acceptable, if a bit annoying, why do you ask?

Tim: He's trying to set you up!

Batkids -Damian: *laughs*

Damian: *stares blankly*

Bruce: of course, you don't hav-

Damian: father, are you unaware that I'm in a committed relationship?

Duke, Tim and Dick: *choke on their food*

Steph: *chokes on her drink*

Cass: *smiles*

Batkids: WHAT?!

Bruce: ... I-....

Jason: *laughs so hard he almost falls from his chair* oh Jesus Christ! The world's best detectives at their finest!

Dick: you knew? And you didn't tell me?!

Jason: where the fuck do you think he went almost every fucking friday?

Bruce: *turns to Damian* I- I though you were having sleepover with Jon

Damian: I was.

Dick: but you just-

Batfam: *stops all their movememnt as they realize*

Jason: *actually falls from his chair laughing*

Bruce: JONATHAN SAMUEL KENT!

-over at the Kent farm, also having family dinner-

Jon, who heard Bruce shout his name: I feel like I'm going to get murdered by a bat in my sleep

Clark, who was also listening in: right after you explain why I had to find out you're dating Damian throught their family dinner

Jon: hehe... fuck

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tchtokyo · 4 months ago

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HEADCANON

Bruce and the kids saving a coin for every time Dick changes lovers is my new headcanon. They all agreed that the money saved will be given to the one lover that stays more than one year with Dick.

Kori was an almost winner. Bruce liked her, and the kids also warmed up to her, altho damian took longer bc of his suspicion agaisnt aliens. She helped Dick in many ways and kept him out of too much trouble and she was caring. But that one lastes 11 months and 15 days (tim keeps count).

Then the jar kept filling and Wally arrived, but no one had hope for it, although they were best friends for a long while and still going strong after Wally came back from Speedforce.

It was tim (the one regulating everything) that announced at dinner that Dick and Wally had been dating for one year and 3 months.

Dick: why?!?!?!

Jason: *walks back with a jar full of money and gives it to wally* congrats wally!!

Dick: WHATS HAPPENING?!??

Bruce: well, dick, some years ago we decided to save money for every lover u had.

Tim: and we agreed that the money would go to the one that lasted more than one year.

Duke: we saved a lot of money for that, u kept changing lovers, jesus.

Cass: I had hope in kori.

*batfam nodding along with Cass statement*

Wally: may I ask how much money is in here?

Tim: 1000 dollars.

Wally: *looks at dick* idk if I should be jealous or worried.

Dick: please don't, okay.

Somehow Wally also saw that as a reward and a challenge that they would not break for a long time.

#dcu #dc #birdflash #nightwing #kid flash #batfamily #batfam #batfam shenanigans

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timmydraker · 8 months ago

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Tim accidently referring to the Joker as Dad but those who know about Joker Jr aren’t present and so everyone is left with the ‘realisation’ that Tim is the son of the biggest nightmare to their family.

It’s probably Jason and Steph, her there to bother Tim but Jason went to the manor for food and the two naturally started arguing. Maybe Jason tells Tim to stop costing on his case and prove a point be made against blonde, but Tim just offhandedly goes, “Later, I think my dad broke out of Arkham again but the guards aren’t doing anything. Maybe they’re in on it…”

The two present naturally look at each other with confusion and for the first time stop bickering to peak over his shoulder and see what his case is because, holy shit Tim had a villain for a dad and didn’t tell us? Only to see numerous photos of the Joker in his cell and many reports over the last week of how he’s been behaving and Jason…

Steph pushes the man out of the room when she sees his face go from frozen fear to anger, thinking it’s towards Tim and his secrecy and, while she totally gets that, now isn’t the time.

Though when they get into the Jason starts a rant about how Bruce and Dick should have told him that the monster had a child, even if that child wasn’t Tim! Jason protects kids! Did they think he’d hurt him just because of who his father is?

No!

If anything, he’d become the kids full time body guard to stop that mad man from making Tim into another version of himself!

The two naturally go to tell the others, pulling Damian, Cass and Duke into a mostly unused room and telling them what they discovered, all while Tim stays in the library working on his case.

Cass is beyond worried but also confused because he doesn’t seem to have any physical characteristics of the Joker or Harley, but maybe the mother is different? Perhaps it’s still Janet and either she had a fling with the Joker or something far worse, which makes the young girl enraged on the woman’s behalf.

Damian makes a comment about him killing Tim, not in a serious manner but more as an option, but Duke shuts it down, saying that having a villain for a parent doesn’t mean anything about who you will be. He points out those in the family of that nature and other heroes like Superboy.

When asked why they didn’t get Dick or Babs involved, Jason says they defiantly know and lied about it.

It’s only after another three hours of working that Tim catches himself referring to the Joker as dad and shuts his laptop, making his way to Bruce’s room to hide under the older man’s bed like he usually does when that happens, only to overhear what his siblings are saying.

Tim presses his ear against the door to hear better.

“If that maniac had a kid, surely he’d have told everyone he had an heir or something.” That’s Steph’s voice, filled with worry that only he and Cass could detect as she hides it under a whiney tone.

Jason is next to respond, “maybe he doesn’t know? I mean, did Tim ever even interacted with him before he became Robin?”

It doesn’t take much more than that for Tim to realise that he must have been talking aloud again or absently answered someone earlier and misspoke in front of them.

Panic fills him as he avoids telling Bruce when he gets bad, even if it’s just a small thing, because the older man will start of being a concerned parent then go into Batman mode and only just stop himself from putting Tim in the confinement cell. Sure Tim came up with the idea of the cell so he wouldn’t hurt anyone if his conditioning got too bad, but he’s learnt the signs. He’s not a mindless drone, he still knows who he is and doesn’t hear someone talking to him or anything like that.

He just… sometimes forgets the Joker hurt him.

It’s not Tim’s fault that memories of watching TV with him and Harley, tucked between them with a big bowl of ice cream felt better than most memories of his real parents.

But he knows it’s wrong, always comes back to calling the Joker his enemy.

Bruce just doesn’t get that.

Tim hears them talk a bit more, theories about who his mother might be, if Tim is safe at the manor, if Joker knows he has a son…

Opening the door, Tim stands there and stares at them as all eyes snap to him in alarm.

He doesn’t let anybody speak, cutting them all off quickly, “He’s not my dad. Go the cave and search for file number 26557933301-JJ and put in the code AGELAST, all caps.”

With that he turns and leaves, walking at first before running to Bruce’s room to hide.

He goes to family dinner and pretends not to notice the quietness or how Jason is still there, eating his food quietly and waiting for the ball to drop.

Naturally, Damian is the one to say what he wants first, “So why is okay that Tim shot the joker but I got in trouble for stabbing Bane?”

Everyone groans.

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luludeluluramblings · 7 months ago

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Neglected!Pregnant!Reader x Yandere!Bat Family Part Three

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part One ☁️ Part Two ☁️ Part Four ☁️ Part Five

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Sorry for the delay. My motivation fled for a bit and exhaustion hit me hard right before thanksgiving. I had to buckle down and just finish this.

A/N: I really wanna answer all my ask, there’s some things in there that y’all have sent me that I want to do for an AU of this. There’s just so many ideas I wanna try.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Warnings: Yandere themes, possible non-con (I only say possible, because Reader was drunk when consenting), fem!reader, possible violence towards Jason, my own made up headcanons.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

When you told Stephanie you were going to find out the gender of your little bean, you weren’t exactly surprised she wanted to have a gender reveal party. Though you did talk her out of the party aspect. You loved your friends, but you hadn’t told them about your pregnancy. Mostly because you knew they’d either accidentally spill the beans about said bean to someone they shouldn’t or they’d freak out and pester you about the unknown father.

It’s a shame you can only faintly remember dark hair, loving touches, and the heat from that night. You’d like to at least thank the man for giving you such gift. Even if said gift was making you throw up nearly every morning, constantly tired, and craving the oddest things with heartburn to follow.

Overall, things were going.

That was it. Things where just going. You were still looking for an apartment, but you were getting sidetracked a bit by nurseries. You knew you would love your child regardless of what they are or who they are. But, the little swan lake nursery was precious and the air plane nursery was darling. Both made you cry and change your mind on apartments at least six times. Hormones did not help with house hunting.

But, the day came. You went to your ultrasound and had them put the gender in an envelop to give to Stephanie for her to plan your day. You had to fight yourself from peaking at the paper, but, still, you waited the three extra days until you would find out the big reveal.

Unfortunately, Jason fucking ruined it.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Jason had been poking around the fridge. It was common for him to dig around the manor for food when he was there. Bruce was rich and groceries were expensive. (If he was looking for some of the princess’s cooking? That was his business.) But, he spotted something that stood out from the usual expensive organic fruits and vegetables and occasional meat.

“Hey, Alfred. Why is there a small cake in the fridge?" He could tell from the packaging it was from some fancy bakery. Probably one on the shiny posh side of Gotham. Which meant it would either taste like overpriced shit or absolutely delectable.

"That would be the young Miss's. I believe Miss Brown purchased it as a surprise." Alfred had replied from where he was currently taking inventory of the pantry. Maintaining a well supplied stock of the after mission snacks to proper management after all. Still, he did eye Jason from where he stood with his note pad. Knowing that Jason had a slight habit of causing trouble.

"Those two have been really close lately." Jason muttered suspiciously, mentally debating on if the cake was worth it or not with Alfred watching him.

"Dick is right. You really are starting to sound like Bruce." Duke and Cassandra had been sitting at the counter. Duke, having just gotten off patrol, had been in the kitchen to refill his water. While Cass had been munching on some snacks that she had hidden from the rest of them.

"Can it, light bulb." Came Jason's snarky voice as he silently popped the lid on the much to fancy cake open and pulled it out of the fridge. Alfred to far across the kitchen to stop him. "You know… This is a pretty big cake…"

"Jason, no." Even Duke knew it was a bad idea. If you had just gotten bold enough to through tubberware at Jason, God only knew what you might do if he ate a gift you'd been given. Plus, Steph would be on everyone’s ass for it. She was stingy with her money and everyone could tell she splurged for that cake.

"I would advise against that, Master Jason. Miss Brown already informed the young Miss of the cake and I believe that they wanted to have the first slices when they got back from their outing." Alfred knew you would happily share the cake, but, while he wanted to defend your sugary gift, he knew that that cake had a secret and for once Alfred couldn't restrain himself from wanting to be the first to discover it.

That drew both Cassandra and Duke's attentions away from the crime that was about to be committed. Both curious. The two of you really had gotten close. Cass only slightly tilted her head in curiosity while Duke had been the one to speak.

"Oh, they went out?"

"For pedicures, I was told. They are due to arrive back here shortly. "

"Well, if you wait, they might- Jason! Seriously?!" Duke had looked back to watch Jason slice into the cake with a spare butter-knife. Thankfully with enough finesse to not completely ruin your cake.

"What? The princess can share her damn cake-" He defends himself, about to grab a fork when he notices Cass looking directly at Alfred. "Why are you looking at Alfred like that?"

When she says nothing, Duke and Jason look at the tearful expression of Alfred's face. "Alfie, what's wrong?"

It takes a moment for them to realize that those aren't tears of anger or sadness as Alfred tries to compose himself. It takes Duke a few seconds longer to look at the slice of cake to connect the dots with a swiftness that would put Tim's title as second greatest detective to shame.

However, the only words that stumble out of his mouth in his shock are, "Jason, that cake is blue."

"Yeah, I know. Which is weird, but it taste great. Steph picked something really fancy for princess’s taste." Jason says finally taking a bite. It was good, Steph picked a good bakery. Not as good as Princess's homemade goods, but good enough.

"NO! Jason, why would a cake be blue?" The realization of what exactly Jason just ruined filled Duke with panic. This was going to be so much worse than the tubberware if he was right. So much worse.

Even Cass was a bit confused about the massive deal with the cake. She was more interested in the joy she was reading off of Alfred since that cake had been cut. She'd never seen the man so giddy, despite the only sign of any change in him was the misty look in his eyes.

"I don't know- Oh, great. The princess has returned." The sound of excited footsteps were heard heading towards the kitchen while Duke looked at Jason with anxiousness. Even Alfred seemed to brace himself.

As soon as you and Stephanie walked in the smiles dropped from your faces.

"Jason…. Tell me you didn't…" Stephanie murmured as she glared as Jason. Inwardly, she was excited. She had guessed correctly and won her own personal bet with herself. But, she comfortingly put a hand on your arm as you stared at the blue cake you didn’t get to cut.

Just from your expression, Duke can tell he might have been right and starts looking at Jason with an expression that screams, ‘Plead for mercy, you idiot.’

Alfred, thankfully, had enough sense to come out of his joy the moment he watches you walk up to the counter and look down at the cake with a despondent expression. His words comforting as he tries to ease the budding tension. “I'm so sorry, young miss. But, on the bright side-"

"Oh, come on, princess. You and Steph weren’t going to be able eat it all. You can afford to share. Besides, you’ve been looking a little pudgy lately anyway. Really need to stop acting like you’re eating for two."

Everyone looks directly at Jason in horror at what he just said. Seeing the spark of rage in your eyes makes Alfred take a step back in caution and Cassandra warns an aghast Duke of what she sees about to go down.

“Duke, duck.”

“Where?” He says in terrified confusion before suddenly your cake is slammed directly into Jason’s face with your hands coated in frosting.

"OH SHIT!”

"MISS!"

"Are you fucking crazy?" Jason stumbles back from the velocity of the cake to his face while he tries to wipe the buttercream from his eyes as you start berating him. Throwing everything in reaching distance at him. The bowl of fruit on the counter, the snacks Cass had been eating, even a pot from the stove.

"You ruined it! You ruined it! Alfred, where's the cast iron? I'm about to knock the dumbass outta him.” You start looking for something heavy, moving to dig through the cabinets with sugary fingers that are shaking with anger.

“About time someone did…” Stephanie mutters while she hides behind the counter to hide from the onslaught.

Before you can complete your search, Jason reveals just how well he preforms under pressure. Realizing a little too late what he might have just right when your hands find the cast iron skillet and your taking a swing at him.

"Wait! Wait! I'm sorry!" He barely dodged the hit with the sudden click of the information settling into his brain.

"You about to be sorry! This is the last straw, asshole. You fuckin' ruined it." You go to take another swing at him, nearly slipping in some frosting.

Jason’s eyes go wide before he risk a skillet to the face to catch you.

"You're right! I- Put that down, you're going to hurt yourself." He struggles to pull the pan from your sticky grip, not wanting to hurt you. This isn’t something he imagined having to use all his skills and talents for, but he thanks fuck he has them.

"Don't you tell me what to fuckin' do." You snarl while trying to hit him in the throat with your fist, causing him to almost let you slip.

"Jason!" Duke shouts out, knowing how bad it’ll be if you fall.

Jason tightens his grasp on you to the point your practically immobile, trying to calm you down with apologies and a panicked tone.

"Look, I'm sorry! I didn't realize-"

"That doesn't excuse you acting like a dick." You hiss, causing him to go silent as he tries to figure out how to fix this situation.

"You're right. It doesn't. But…" he trails off, leading to an awkward moment of silence

"Dude, you suck at this." Duke says before popping his head over the counter now that the cake and kitchen utensils have ceased to be airborne. Stephanie popping up next to him to give Jason an icy glare of her own while Cass stares at her ruined snacks. Alfred sighing as he runs the bridge of his nose from the similarities between old memories and the current scenario in the kitchen.

"Shut up, twinkle twinkle." He snarls before looking down a very pissed and most likely very pregnant you with a wince. "I… I know I'm a jackass."

"Astute observation, Master Jason." Alfred mutters while he behind to search for some cleaning supplies for the buttercream incident.

"Damn, Alfred's roasting you." Duke quickly shuts up when Jason gives him a lethal glare despite your futile attempts a wiggling out of his grasp. "Shutting up now."

Eventually you stop struggling, heaving in exhaustion and pitifully fighting back tears at your ruined gender reveal.

"I… Shouldn't be acting like a such an asshole. To you, specifically. You don't deserve that and I'm sorry." Jason tries as soon as he sees your lower lip start to wobble. He knows he’s prickly, but this is a new low that he’s not proud of.

"Now, you wanna apologize?" You’re honestly too emotional to deal with this. But, it’s the fact that he’s actually trying to give a meaningful apology when hardly anyone else does that makes you listen. Even if you’re mentally tearing him to shreds with your teary eyes.

"Yes. Now, I want to apologize." He sighs, putting you down. It’s quite a sit. Him not only apologizing, but him also doing it covered in white frosting and blue cake crumbs. "I'm… I'm not going to give you a bunch of excuses. I'm a jerk. But, I'm not heartless. I took this too far."

"You took it too far when you ate my frickin' fried cornbread." Comes your deadpan tone as you cross your arms. The fabric of your hoodie moving slightly to reveal the faintest of baby bumps.

"You're still mad about- You know what, fair enough. Don't eat the pregnant chick's food. Lesson learned." He starts to say exasperatedly before changing course at your stare and realizing he needed to suck it up.

“But, in my defense, it was really good.” He pipes off quickly, as an appeasing compliment.

Judging from the way your eyes further narrow and the reigning silence, he can tell he missed the mark.

Instead he tries to change course.

"Listen, I know this won't make up for it, but… I did see some vintage baby stuff in the attic when I snooped up there once."

"Oh, you found Master Bruce's old thing." Alfred exclaims with slightly raised brows. Coming back with Clorox wipes and all sorts of other supplies for the mess you had made. (He blames Jason, however. Don’t fret, dear one.)

"Wait, pause. Did you say those were Bruce's old baby clothes?"

"Yes, Master Jason.”

“I thought those were little girl’s baby dress. They looked like something a goth Victorian child mixed with a pilgrim would wear."

“I assure you they are Master Bruce’s.”

Everyone suddenly has a collective thought and a mighty need. Cake forgotten momentarily.

"Alfred, are there pictures of him in those clothes?" You ask with barely contained mischief, all anger and sadness gone as delight fills you. Mood swings could be such a blessing and a curse.

“Why, I do believe so.” There was a hint of knowing in Alfred's tone. One that also was finding delight in the idea he knew was passing through everyone's minds.

Immediately, and with renewed vigor, your head whips to Jason.

"Help me find the pictures and get me some Jokerized fries-."

"And, throw in a foot massage." Stephanie adds before you can finish. The suggestion causing Jason's eyes to widen while Duke shudders.

"What?!"

“Eww.”

"I kinda don't want him touching my feet. Too weird." You say. Even if they do ache often your not sure you really want the guy who had made your life hell before touching you so much. Even if he was apologetic.

“Oh, thank god.” He mutters under his breath before Stephanie speaks up again.

"Then let me have one. I bought the cake and I was looking forward to it. I had to fight the temptation not to spoil the surprise."

"I feel like that was a pun." Duke mutters.

"It wasn't."

A lighter tone settles over the kitchen as Alfred starts to clean. You tried to help, feeling embarrassment at having made such a mess. But, everyone else had stepped in to pick up the slack on account for your condition as Duke called it.

"Did you ever figure it out, Cass?" You asked curiously as you sat at the counter. A bit surprised that she hadn't disappeared as soon as the whole things had started. You both had always been cordial with each other. However, you knew she preferred to be alone at times. Hence, your lack of interaction. You had assumed she would have fled by now.

"Thought you had a stomach bug. Not a baby. This is better." Comes her short response. There's a subtle hint of wonder on her face. She's gotten better at sharing her feelings with other's so it's nice to see such an expression.

"Am I the only one terrified of how calm she is after she just threw an entire cake at Jason and was about to cast iron him?" Duke says while he finishes wiping the frosting from the skillet you had wielded earlier. The question causes Alfred to chuckle when you give Duke a narrowed look yourself.

"I remember Miss Martha throwing a chair at Master Thomas when she was pregnant with Master Bruce, so this, I dare say, is quite tame."

That comment makes more than a few eyebrows to raise and Jason to let out a whistle, while also realizing that is could've been worse for him in the long run.

"Why'd she do that?"

"Bruce decided to grace the world with his presence in the middle of the night."

"Ha!"

"I always knew he had been more in the dark."

Snickers could be heard before Alfred continued to explain. It was rare he got to share such stories.

"And, Thomas made the foolish mistake of asking her if she could hold Bruce in until a more reasonable hour."

"Alfred, he was a doctor." Stephanie points out.

"In his defense. Neither had slept for that entire week from the anticipation of Master Bruce’s arrival. But, really should have kept quiet on the matter. We would still have that lovely cherry wood chair if he had."

A round of laughter could be heard. You had laughed so hard that there were tears in your eyes as you giggled your way up to the attic.

Things had been ruined, but things had gotten better. If only they could stay better.

Down in the Batcave, Tim had gotten a message in between a few of the cases he was currently working on.

"Jon and I will stop by tomorrow, my dude." He read while taking a sip of this third energy drink for that afternoon. He only nodded in acknowledgment before going back to his work.

Elsewhere, on the Kent family farm, Conner grinned excitedly at his phone before tucking it away and stretching. He'd be seeing his favorite person tomorrow. Hopefully when they saw him they'd remember the best night of their life. It was definitely his.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: As funny it would be to have Conner just be a sweet goof, I want him to be yandere for this. I struggled to include that last part to show it, but hopefully it works.

A/N: Also, this is the calm before the storm. I kinda wanna try to make it angsty next chapter. And, not gonna lie, it might be brutal. But, I wanna challenge myself so when I make an AU I can do a good job on it.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who voted in the poll! I had been planning on a girl for Reader, so I was a bit surprised. Might save that for the AU. Time to name pick, and if y’all want y’all can suggest nurseries. Can’t guarantee we’ll do polls for them, but it’ll still be fun.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Taglist

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#yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #yandere dc #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfamily x reader #pregnant!reader #yandere conner kent #yandere conner kent x reader #conner kent x reader #conner kent

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callmeizukunotdeku · 5 months ago

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Bruce comes back from the dead and wants to make things better. Bruce comes back from the dead and Tim was the one who brought him back, so it's obviously Tim who'll know best how to help him reconnect with everyone.

It's Tim who should give him advice on how to bond with Dick. Dick has always been his idol, after all. Tim would know best how to bring him back, and he does. He gives good advice and the two of them begin to get closer.

So Bruce asks about Jason, too. Asks about how to bring his son back into the fold and Tim wished for a brief and brutal moment that it weren't so obvious who the favorite was.

Tim told Bruce to give Jason his space, to loosen his rules, and make it clear that no matter what the Red Hood did, no matter what the Batman believed in, Jason was always welcome. Bruce would always want him.

It worked. Bruce wasn't surprised. Tim was a special sort of bitter.

Bruce asked again for Damian and Tim had to push down his anger. "That boy tried to kill me," Tim wanted to say. "I hate him and I want you to hate him too so that I can remember a time when we had something in common," Tim didn't say, but he got close.

He instead told Bruce how Damian liked art and animals and loved hearing stories of the wonders of Batman.

He told Bruce just how much Damian loved being Robin. Told Bruce to tell Damian what a good Robin he was.

God bless or maybe damn him, but he did and it worked and Tim wanted to start screaming and clawing at something because that would have never worked if Tim tried it and it wouldn't have stopped Damian from cutting his line--something Bruce did not and would never know about.

Bruce asked about Babs. How should he make sure she knew that she was a part of the family? That they loved her and not just for the work she did?

He asked about Steph. How should he make sure she knew that she was more important than his rules and that, if something else should go wrong, she didn't need to run away?

He asked about Duke. He never got the chance to get to know him before leaving--not as well as he wanted to, at least. How should he let him know that he was just as much a son as everyone else? That, whether or not his parents woke up, he'd always be welcome?

He asked about Cass. How should he show her that he loves her even though he has nothing to teach her? How can he convey how much he cares about her, his first daughter?

Bruce gets brought back from time and he makes things better. He brings his family back together by following Tim's advice.

And Tim?

Tim brings his dad back from the dead and Bruce changes, becomes a better father.

Bruce changes, but not everything can.

That, Tim thinks, is why Bruce never calls Tim his son.

#tim drake angst #tim drake #bruce wayne #cassandra cain #damian wayne #dc drabble #duke thomas #stephanie brown #barbara gordon #dick grayson #jason todd #red robin dc #dc angst #call's writing

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brucedefender4eva · 3 months ago

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A sort of fake not so fake-dating concept where the couple is dating but everyone thinks that they’re fake dating.

Hal and Bruce decide to tell their families that they’re together around the same time that they have to go on an undercover mission and pose as a couple.

No one ever outright says that they don’t believe them, but it’s mutually agreed upon. In fact, Bruce’s kids are a little offended that he’s trying to ‘trick them’ into thinking he’s in a healthy relationship at the moment. He has a track record and it’s made them a little biased.

Hal and Bruce are completely oblivious to everyone not believing them and are having the time of their life being a lovey-dovey couple in public with each other.

The others are just so surprised on how willing they are to immerse in their undercover roles but they figure that Bruce wants it to be as realistic as possible. Anything to make sure that nothing goes wrong on the mission, he’s Batman, it’s gotta be perfect.

They go on the mission and it goes flawlessly as expected and when they get back, everyone is expecting them to get back to their regular dynamic. Bruce passive aggressively hating on Green Lantern, and Hal going back to doing his best to shit on and annoy Batman.

But that doesn’t happen.

Since the two wrongfully assume that everyone knows that they’re in an actual relationship, they’re a lot softer around each other.

Obviously their snark and bitchiness never goes away, it’s who they are, but it’s not cruel and aimed to purposely hurt anymore. It’s playfully and gentle.

But still, no one is letting their guard down. Maybe this is a training lesson or something? They’re thinking about any and every possibility on why these two continue to pretend to be in a relationship.

Then, Damian walks in on them simply… sitting. Just sitting together.

Bruce is curled up on Hal’s side, letting the other man play with the loose strands of his hair as he reads a book. Hal whispers something into Bruce’s ear and the man lets out a genuine giggle and sighs softly, gazing up at him with such a fond expression that it’s painful.

Then they kiss. Nothing explicit. In fact, it’s just a peck, a simple brush of the lips before they go back to their comfortable silence.

Damian slips away and is faced with the realization that his Baba is in a genuine relationship with that man and he does seem happy. And really, isn’t that what Damian hoped his Baba would find?

Damian tried to tell his siblings but none of them believe him. They think that Bruce is bribing Damian with another pet or something and brush their little brother off.

The next to figure it out is Cass and Duke. Duke had finally agreed to her multitude of requests to help her practice for the next ballet showcase she had. As they’re walking through the halls, they can hear faint old timey music playing from the ballroom, which is confusing because usually no one comes over here unless there’s a gala.

They crack open the door, and in the middle of the room is Bruce and Hal pressed up against each other, simply swaying to the music. You can’t really call what they’re doing dancing, but it’s soft and intimate and just… lovely.

Hal’s head is pressed against Bruce’s chest, right where is heart is located. He seemed to be swaying to Bruce’s heartbeat rather than the soft music playing in the background.

Bruce is hugging the other man tightly, his eyes closed tight as he followed Hal’s lead.

Cass and Duke exchange a wide eyed look as the quietly close the ballroom door and run off, wondering how they didn’t believe them when it was obvious.

Again, the two tried to tell their sibling (Damian feels vindicated) but still, disbelief.

Tim is fully refreshed when he finds out so he can’t even blame what he see on being sleep deprived or in a coffee induced spiral.

Tim knew Bruce was wrapped up in his own case, a bad one where Bruce refused to let any of his children even look at the crime scene photos or read the victim’s autopsy’s, so Tim figured he’d have to be the one to get Bruce to go to sleep.

Tim didn’t bother knocking on the door to Bruce’s study, he simply opened it and froze when he realized Bruce wasn’t alone. No, Hal was also there.

Hal was holding Bruce. No. He was cradling his dad… and Bruce looked calm in the other man’s embrace. Bruce wasn’t crying or yelling or even angry, but still there was emotion radiating from him that Tim couldn’t place.

But as Hal squeezed tighter, it receded. There was still a heavy weight holding Bruce down, but now his dad was hugging Hal back just as tightly.

Tim slowly stepped back and blinked. Hal was there. Hal was there for his dad and he was taking care of him, being gentle, showing him love…

How could he ever think that they weren’t in love?

One morning, on the rare occasion Dick stayed over at the manor, he walked into the kitchen to find Bruce there.

Bruce was making breakfast, something he rarely did anymore. Dick has known Bruce longer than anyone in the house (obviously we’re not talking about Alfred) and he knows that Bruce is a good cook. But he also knows how taxing cooking can be for his dad, which is why Bruce doesn’t do it often.

But here he was, happily cooking breakfast early in the morning. Hal was there too, clinging onto his back with his face buried in his dad’s neck. Bruce gets Hal to lift his face to taste test something and Dick can see the exhausted yet adoring expression on his face.

Dick backs out quietly, his heart thumping in his chest. What the fuck? His Tati was in an actual relationship with Hal Jordan. Oh fuck. They are so in love.

Before Dick could get to him, Jason is also faced with the realization that Bruce was in a serious relationship

Jason misses his dad. He’ll never say that shit to his face but he does. So, he makes up an excuse to go and see Bruce. Maybe he’ll complain about something, maybe he’ll act nice. Jason will decide on the way.

It’s a Tuesday at 10 in the morning, so Bruce should be in the library for his morning reading. Jason pops his head in and is confused when he doesn’t see Bruce sitting in his designated leather recliner.

There’s no way Bruce isn’t there, so Jason stalks through the rows of the bookshelves searching for him. Just as he’s about to leave, he spots him.

Bruce is in the very back, usually where the kids sit because it only has beanbags. Hal is cuddled up in his dad’s lap, the sound of an audiobook is playing as the two stare at a book.

Jason watches silently as Jordan complains that most of the words are nonsensical while Bruce just chuckles and presses a kiss to his cheek.

Bruce hates audiobooks. They go too slow and he swears that he can hear the narrator’s nasally breathing and the sound of their spit sticking to the roof of their mouths.

But here he is, happily listening to an audiobook. Listening to an audiobook and smiling happily as Hal interrupts to comment, complain, or just make a joke.

Oh fuck. Damian was right. They are dating.

Steph doesn’t count herself to Bruce’s kid, no matter what the old man says. She doesn’t need a Dad, especially not if it’s Bruce.

That doesn’t mean she doesn’t want the guy to find happiness. It’d probably make him a lot more bearable to be around.

So, ignoring the laughable fake-dating scheme that she can see a mile away with Hal Jordan, she decides to take it upon herself and set Bruce up on some dates.

Bruce seems uncomfortable with the idea, no surprise there, but Hal (who is starting to hang around the manor more than she does) seems to think the whole thing is hilarious. Bruce keeps shooting him glares but it only seems to make the man laughed harder.

At first, the dates seem to be going well (yes she is spying, what else would she do with her day?) but then suddenly crash and burn. And who is doing the burning? Hal!

He’s at every restaurant, movie theater, or carnival that Steph sends Bruce to. Bruce seems incredibly smug every time Hal shows up with a pissed off expression and she just can’t figure out why.

After the tenth time of this phenomena, Steph was going to confront him. After Hal had scared of Bruce’s date and dragged Bruce away, she followed them to a nearby alleyway where she was greeted with an unusual site.

Bruce was laughing at the pouty expression Hal was sporting and pressing a flurry of kisses across the other man’s face, reassuring him that the dates meant absolutely nothing and Steph was just playing around.

Damn. Stephanie felt like a fucking idiot. Seriously, it was so obvious.

Alfred knew. Alfred probably knew Bruce was in love with Hal before Bruce knew he was in love with Hal.

Bruce has been in love before. And Alfred has always been there every step of the way, picking up the broken pieces of his little when he inevitably gets discarded and thrown away.

But he’s never seen Bruce like this before. So…

Alfred will keep watching, it’s what he’s best at. And he’ll be here for when Bruce needs to be put back together.

But maybe… maybe he won’t have to be this time.

Oh my, his son has grown up quite a bit. Alfred faintly wonders how Martha and Thomas would’ve felt, seeing their son so in love.

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hattersrabbit · 2 months ago

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LOVE, ME NORMALLY

yandere batfamily x neglected! rogue! reader | sfw

CW! female reader, meta reader, hurt comfort, manipulation, hurt no comfort, overprotective batfam, misunderstandings, miscommunication, Timothy 'Stalker' Drake, all PLATONIC relationships, reader is described with having hair, yandere aspects near the end (srry possibly part 2 lol)

Summary! You were always the normal one. Another one of Bruce's flings children, who hid you from him and he was distant despite grabbing you the moment you were known. You were normal until this terrifying power appeared. And now their acting like your loved when you finally leave.

next | series

˖꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷

You had a relatively normal childhood. Just you and your hard working mother. A woman of high standing who would bring you to fancy balls and such.

Never had a father you realized at some point. You asked and never got an answer. Then death struck and your mother was gone.

Dead in the bed beside you. The one time you slept with her and hugged her because of a nightmare.

The media going wild when it was revealed that Bruce Wayne; the prince of Gotham had another child.

The man seemed to rush to your side. Icy blue eyes that were cold and dark as they laid eyes on your. Holding a kind hand out to you which you took hesitantly.

You had a father.

And when you arrived at the manor you lost your father once again. You showed your normalcy, and your siblings shared that same thought.

Normal is what you were. Too normal.

Duke, albeit the most sane of them all was distant. Holding a secret, and in fact they all were. Duke running out in the morning was suspicious to you.

Even in the mornings he seemingly ignored you. A quick wave of the hand that deemed to dismiss you than a greeting.

Your father was distant. He didn't come up really in the morning, and when you got home from school he wasn't around. At night he completely distant.

Duke was already in bed after dinner most times.

The entire family, your siblings were distant. Most turning a blind eye to you. There was always some kind of awareness to you guys. Almost like they didn't know how to talk to you.

It took some detective work but you grew to understand the secret that they held. The secret Alfred didn't share with you. A man who was kind but was just as distant.

Never in your god damn life ever expect everyone in the damn family to be Batman and Robin and former Robins.

Dick as the older brother was warm in the beginning. It almost seemed fake, and he was nice to you. He still is but once again; that theme of distance. He was always busy, and especially most of his attention stayed on Damian.

Robin as he was called was always irrational about your appearance at the manor. After all, he was supposed to be the only blood son. It was extremely hard talking to him, and he didn't make it easy with his hard attitude.

You'll give him that you guys shared a bright conversations about animals. He caught you sketching one time and he observed it. He hadnt said anything.

You have no idea if he liked it. He made no indication he liked it, so you only hoped.

Jason Todd seemed indifferent. He was rugged and beaten down by the Joker. You two were the farthest when it came to normalcy. You grew up in some luxury and new happiness. The Red Hood; him grew up in Crime Alley and died a violent death.

This disconnection proved to be both on your sides. Neither of you knew how to talk to one another.

Tim was...Weird. He observed you creepily, while nice and he was busy. He kept a sort of distance to not let you be suspicious which you did. Sometimes you would catch him swiftly walking past your room.

Odd, but you left it alone. Once again distance and wouldn't really allow you to ask him why he was being so weird with you.

Stephanie was some you found you could easily talk to, but there was unwillingness to share. She too grew up with a hard family life, while you had something good. If there's one thing you guys shared it was daddy issues, but that was all.

You were a simple girl that was a little in high standing thanks to your mother's job. Once again the distance to share was limited. Once more there wasn't anything to share.

She and Tim were close. So she too was looking at you albeit a little different now.

Cassandra was...you didn't know how to talk to her. She stare at you with blank eyes. Observing you in a less creepy way than Tim and annoying way (Steph).

Observing and seeing how uncomfortable she made you. Making an effort but once again there was a semblance to hide things from you. Like the past she's killed people before, and that scared you. She turned a new leaf and she was strong.

Her and Bruce's relationship in particular sparked a jealous mark in your chest. The want to be held and spoke to soft. Instead you got a father who didn't speak to you and was too busy too.

Everyone, even Alfred who cleaned up their messes, was too busy for you.

To you, no one noticed your sadness and eventual departure emotionally. No more tries in talking to them, or hanging out in the living room. No more trying to help out Alfred, and no more waves to Duke who was once again rushing to the basement.

You had no idea if they knew you knew. Did Alfred know that you knew? To you it wouldn't have made a difference because you'd only get in the way.

And this power you had was scary.

You're first kiss with a boy and you could have killed him.

In the hallway of the school. With no cameras and skipping class. With the one person you understood you; that being your boyfriend.

A man that didn't neglect you. Treated you like it was normal to be normal. Who wasn't a vigilante fighting people in the streets.

Hands on your hips and pulling you close. With a smile on your face you kissed him sweetly.

And then he went rigid. You couldn't pull away from him. Opening yours eyes you could seeing his skin becoming paler and sickly. Blue veins driving up his skin.

Almost as if glue was sticking you guys together. A rushing of power going through you and you couldn't stop it. It was nice being touched like this; but no. Not this way.

You pushed him away. Your back slamming into locker and he dropping to the floor. His expression blank and close to death. You couldn't help but scream.

Just as teachers were looking what happened you ran out of the school and to somewhere else entirely. You're whole body felt different. Faster and stronger than ever.

Using your sweater you tried to cover your body in the winter weather. Tears falling down your cheeks. Pulsing lips that ached with need.

You didn't know what would happen when you got home. What would they think? If they even cared? Duke was a meta, but he knew how to use your powers. This ability appeared out of nowhere.

If you touched them then you could kill them. You didn't want that at all even if your relationships were strained.

Using your phone you could see a white stream in your hair. Touching it you felt disoriented. Confused because what the hell was even happening to you.

A ding alerted you. A text from your father asking if you were at school. Missing from the school premise. Your blood ran cold at the reveal because what could you say.

You didn't answer and only made your way home.

A home that never really was a home to you.

You would leave because how else could you live. It was obvious touch was a no no. You could kill people and you didn't want that. You only hoped your boyfriend was alive.

God you pleaded that he lived.

You didn't go through the front door. Climbing in through the window was quite easy.

Grabbing gloves, and every piece of clothing that would cover you foot to toe. You felt hot and horrible. The breeze on your skin to never touch, nor would you touch anyone ever again.

No bare skin against anyone ever.

You heard the voices of Tim and Bruce talking frantically. Your heart shook wildly. Eyes looking between the door and the windows.

"He was found gasping for life! And she was missing from class." Tim's voice wasn't quiet. You held your breath trying to stabilize it. You didn't want to be caught.

You wondered why they suddenly cared.

Of course the first time you skip class is the moment their alarmed. Not sticking to your normalcy wasn't normal for you. You were supposed to be normal.

"You think she's a meta?" Bruce asked behind your door.

"More and more people are meta. Born to normal parents but end up having powers. I always felt an inkling about her, and her mother."

"Her mother?"

"She said she died beside her. Hugged her when they fell asleep, and in the morning she was dead. That's what [ ] reported. It's why I told everyone to keep sort of a distance. It could affect us, and her too."

You gasped and back on your mouth you clamped your hand down.

Tim knew?

He figured it out before you even knew. Looking at your hands you realized in horror that you killed your beloved mother. Tears welled up in your eyes.

Sure your power was terrifying but neglecting you in a way. Starved of connection and touch from your own family. It was bitter but you couldn't blame Tim from saying such a thing.

"They haven't found her. She read my text but hasn't texted back."

That's when you knew you needed to leave. Damn footsteps rang hard on the wood. Just as you swung a bag on your shoulder and out the window the door slammed open.

Tim and Bruce calling your name as you dropped from the windows. Tears in your eyes as you dropped to the ground and ran. Running far and away from this place.

They were right to stay away from you. It made so much sense. Waking up that morning feeling more refreshed than ever and then she was dead in the bed.

It was you that killed her. You could have killed your boyfriend that most likely didn't want you anymore. You could have killed all of them.

You didn't blame them.

Not at all.

You understood why.

School was over and the day was setting. Vigilantes were out and bout soon. The Batman would be upon you and you knew it.

They knew it.

They must have.

You were going to hide, even if it got you killed. A being of an ability that only killed people around you.

Never to touch anyone ever again.

The large screens in Gotham already altering of what happened at the school. Your face plastered on it along with your boyfriend.

He survived.

Feeling betrayed he said. Scared of you, and yet saying you were the sweetest girl ever to exist.

The entire Wayne Family underfire and continous questions about you. People calling for your arrest for almost killing an innocent boy. You didn't blame them, but the feel of a cold prison isn't something you wanted.

The manor was a cold prison. No love and affection from them. Afraid of you and this power.

You wondered what Duke felt about you. He was just as distant, yet being like you. However, his power wasn't destructive like you. The slightest touch from you would cause death.

You couldn't pull away anytime it happened.

Your strive for touch was a disease, and needed to be exempt from having such a luxury.

It was night.

You made yourself scarce. At least tried too, especially when your family were vigilantes; for the night belong to them.

"There she is!" You huffed as another goon from the Penguin tried to snuff you out. You knew it was a matter of time until they found you. No doubt Barbara was on top of making sure you were found.

Tim surely wasn't.

"Come quietly." The man spoke lowly. Catching sight how all of you was basically covered. Not a lick of skin other than your face. You're also toxic too. A mocking reminder of what led to this.

"You'll die if you touch me!" You scrambled to get away. Tears flowing out of your eyes. Anxiously looking around for your siblings, or your father.

"That's what we're counting on. Not me of course; but that you have the ability to destroy anyone. Poor girl, everyone's after you."

It was true. There was no one for you and no body to save you. You weren't to be cared for. In reality, you weren't supposed to have existed. Your mother having hid your existence from your father. Then this power appeared, and then he was the Batman.

There were plenty of reasons to not want you. A monster, and a weapon as this man said.

A tranquilizer gun in his hand. A foot on your stomach and holding you down. You struggled.

If you touched him then he'd go down. But you wouldn't be able to pull away and he would die. You didn't want him to die. Surely, yes using for you reasons that were dark, but you shared your father's beliefs in a way.

This power made you dangerous.

You couldn't go killing people.

Society of Gotham already didn't like you. Wishing for you to be taken away, probably Black Gate, and held prison. Such a dangerous simply by touch was horrifying for the public.

And you caused your family pain. They were being asked questions about you. Surely they knew nothing about you because of this power.

Maybe it would be better to end it here. Get the needle of the tranq deep in your neck. Maybe then you'll die and bleed out.

However, the goddess of life and or god of death weren't on your side. Light broke up the darkness. The foot crushing your stomach was gone.

The slam of metal meeting flesh was loud. Bright lights lowered and suddenly gloved hands were holding you. Immediately however your pushed them away. Rolling onto your stomach and on your feet.

Horror in your gut.

Signal and Black Bat right in front of you. Both eyes covered, and no mouth for Black Bat.

"[ ]." Signal, no, Duke spoke to you. A trembling voice. Watching how you backed yourself in the corner of the alley.

"Go away!" You pleaded. Pulling the scarf to cover your face more. Everything to cover you more. Feeling so claustrophobic in these clothes but people would die.

Cassandra and Duke would die if they touched you.

"We found her." Black Bat, or Cassandra. Her voice proved it. It was slightly shaky as she relayed that they have had you.

You were a danger, but the tone didn't make sense to you. Why? Why was it sad and concerned.

Why did Duke step forward without a care in the world. A bright light twinkling at his fingertips. Showing you, and yet you looked away.

"Get away from me-"

"I'm just like you, and I treated you terribly. Ignoring your waves, and above all not meeting you in solidarity." His voice was shaky. You didn't want to listen, because why did he care now.

There was a reason for the neglect, and it was because you were a monster. The slightest of touch could kill him. You didn't wish for that.

"Come home." A hand pulled at your jacket. Covered arms hugging you tightly. In horror, Damian hugging you. "Stop-"

"Never. Not until your home." Nightwing, Dick was smiling. You didn't like that smile. It was something else. "No one else will get you if you don't come home, now." You shook despite the fact his haunting eyes were covered by white lenses.

"Come home?! Why would I after all-"

"I'm sorry for that. I should have been more understanding. We all should have." Along side Red Hood was Red Robin. Jason and Tim looking at you. Feeling a stare.

"We all do, cutie." You jumped in Damian's tight hold. Spoiler, Stephanie poking your cheek with her gloved finger. "Oh, don't run away from us." She giggled behind her mask.

"The old man would be sad." Jason spoke lowly. "You wouldn't want that?"

"Yes exactly." Stephanie agreed. A sly look in those eyes of her. Sickeningly sweet, and toxic.

You blinked.

Yes, you would make Bruce sad. After all, he was your father that you longed to meet. He enthusiasticly picked you up, and then pulled away because of Tim's suggestion.

"It's Red Robin's fault." Damian own hands moving and playing with a strand of your hair. The white part of your hair. "How elegant, sister."

"Stop-"

"Stop what?" Dick giggled. "We're completely sorry for how we've treated you. Tim didn't expect you to find out so soon."

"Or the fact that your power manifested like that. Who knew some teenage hormones flared like that." Tim looked at you. It was familiar and it was still that creepy look. "I'm so sorry. I should have been more forceful with the research, but i couldn't defile your body by taking DNA. I couldn't do that while you were unconscious, especially when I wasn't exactly sure how your powers worked."

Dick's covered hands moved towards your face. You shook to get away but Damian, and Stephanie kept you close. Keeping you from getting away. The strength of yours that you newly gained made you able to twist your body.

"Oh no no. Don't run away from us." Your oldest brother cupped your face. "We're family, dear sister. I've lost too many of them to the darkness. We've all bounced back, and B would cry if you left."

"So come home." Cassandra begged quietly.

"Don't make Father wait, sister."

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erinwantstowrite · 1 year ago

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"au where (insert one Bat here) gets sent back in time" delicious.

but also give me "au where (insert Bat here) is sent back in time and has no idea ALL of the other Bats were also sent back in time because they ALL think they were the only ones and not a single one is telling the others and it creates the most hilarious dynamic where shit keeps changing (because they all want to save their family, friends, etc. from pain/create a new life for themselves where at least their family is happy and stable) and the everyone is slowly going fucking nuts trying to figure out why their family isn't doing the same thing they had done before in the previous timeline"

Bruce: i have to save my children from every bad thing that ever happened to them and I will BE a better father this time. i read so many books and i went to therapy... i should continue therapy. maybe i can save some of the rogues from themselves while i'm at it. hey why are my kids acting weirder than usual did i break them? dick is not as angry as i remember, jason doesn't want to be robin even a little bit, tim is actively avoiding me and my family, cass is chasing tim, damian is far less murderous than he should be... i know i begged talia to let me raise him earlier but i feel like he's adjusting to this easier than he should be... and duke doesn't even have a reason to be here yet but i'm not complaining?

at least steph is normal. i don't know why she's here far ealier than before but she's stealing my food and using the credit card i gave her with reckless abandon but that's normal and good

the kids: what the FUCK is up with B?

#erinwantstowrite #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #please #batfam #dc batfam #fic idea #bruce wayne

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solxamber · 4 months ago

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Trash Novel Chronicles: Speedrunning Marriage Fraud || Ace Trappola

You get isekai’d as the heroine in a romance novel, but instead of dreamy suitors, you’re stuck with a yandere cryptid, a billionaire with no impulse control, and a knight who thinks he's in a Shakespearean tragedy (and more).

Your solution? Commit marriage fraud with your best friend, Ace Trappola, and hope no one asks for a marriage certificate.

Series Masterlist

You should have known better than to leave your apartment. You should have listened to your instincts, that deep, primal voice that told you the outside world was a dangerous and unforgiving place. But no. You just had to touch grass.

It had all started with an innocent desire for fresh air. You had gone to the park, found a nice spot, and opened the novel that a colleague had given you—probably as a form of psychological torture disguised as a gift. From the summary alone, you knew it was going to be a lot, but you had no idea just how much your soul would suffer.

The heroine was a noble who clearly did not want to be in this story. Every single page was filled with her staring off into the void, giving half-hearted responses to the five men vying for her attention, like she was a protagonist who hadn’t realized she was in a romance novel yet.

And the love interests. Oh, the love interests.

The (Discount) Yandere Viscount (who had never heard of stealth)

His idea of "obsessively watching over the heroine" was lurking in the shadows like a particularly uncoordinated cryptid. Every single time he tried to “stalk” her, he tripped over his own sword. At one point, he dramatically whispered, “I will protect you… wait, don’t run!” before faceplanting into a bush.

2. The Childhood Acquaintance (who was delusional)

This man had spoken to the heroine exactly once when they were both six years old, but somehow convinced himself they were soulmates. He carried around the same handkerchief she had given him more than 15 years ago like it was a sacred relic and refused to take no for an answer.

3. The "Genius Strategist" Prince (who had the IQ of a raisin)

The man had already planned their wedding, their honeymoon, and the names of their three children within four minutes of meeting her. When she told him she wasn’t interested, his brain blue-screened and he simply repeated, “Ah, you’re just shy.” No, sir. She is not shy. She just isn't interested.

4. The Brooding Duke of the North (who was a caricature of a chaebol heir from a K-Drama)

He believed love could be bought. He once gifted her a solid gold chair because “only the finest furniture is worthy of your presence.” He bought an entire carnival just so she wouldn’t have to wait in line. At one point, he threw money at a random tree, and you weren’t even sure why.

5. The Drama King Knight (who needed to calm down)

He was so powerful but refused to use his strength unless it was for dramatic effect. He got scratched by a cat once and collapsed into the heroine’s arms like he had been mortally wounded. His sword had the power to split mountains, but the only time he ever drew it was to dramatically point at the moon while monologuing about destiny.

And the villainess? She wasn’t even that bad. Compared to these five disasters, she looked like a sensible person.

Somehow, despite all odds, the heroine chose Ace Trappola, her childhood friend, which you had to respect. That was the one good decision this novel made. But just when you thought there might be some semblance of satisfaction—an assassin appeared out of nowhere (sent by the villainess of course) and killed her.

That was it. That was the ending.

You felt your soul leave your body.

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you weren’t sure if it was grief for the heroine, sheer frustration, or physical pain from how hard you had been laughing at this disaster of a novel. It was the most ridiculous, nonsensical, brain-cell-destroying thing you had ever read. You could feel your neurons committing arson inside your skull.

You snapped the book shut and decided that was enough stupidity for one day.

It was time to go home.

As you trudged back, your brain still processing the absolute war crime of a plot you had just read, you heard it.

A faint rumbling.

A presence.

And then—

“OUT OF THE WAY, SONNY!”

A blur of gray hair and unholy speed tore through the park, the sound of wheels screeching against pavement like a demonic banshee’s cry. You turned your head just in time to see a grandma on rollerblades, moving at a velocity no elderly person should legally be able to achieve.

For a split second, you locked eyes.

And in that moment, you knew.

You were not surviving this.

Before you could even process what was happening, she collided into you full force, sending you into a full aerial somersault before you crashed into the bushes like a ragdoll. You barely registered the thundering roar of her departure as she continued skating into the sunset, leaving you for dead.

Now, as you lay crumpled in a bush, your body feeling like it had been hit by a sentient freight train in orthopedic shoes, you had to accept the consequences of your actions. The world had punished you for your hubris.

She. Didn’t. Even. Stumble.

Your body ached, your limbs refused to move, and as darkness crept into your vision, your last conscious thought was, How is a senior citizen more sturdy than me…?

And then, everything went black.

The first thing you noticed upon waking up was the suspiciously pleasant smell. It was fresh, like lavender and high society, with a hint of expensive tea and wealth you’d never personally known.

Your groggy brain latched onto the first thought it could process:

Damn. Hospitals really upgraded their budget.

Then, half a second later, a much more terrifying realization hit you.

Oh God. The ambulance bill.

Your eyes snapped open in unfiltered financial terror, hands clutching at the sheets as you prepared to calculate your medical debt down to the last miserable cent. You were already accepting your fate as a lifelong indentured servant to the healthcare system when—

The ceiling was too ornate. The bed was too soft.

And there was a man sitting beside you, holding your hand.

Your breath caught in your throat as your vision sharpened. Red hair. Heart earring. A cocky smirk, even in his sleep.

You knew that face.

You knew that godforsaken face.

This wasn’t a hospital. This wasn’t even your world.

Somewhere in the heavens, a cosmic entity was laughing as you stared at Ace Trappola, the very same Ace Trappola from the cover of the book you were reading before you got absolutely trucked by a grandma on rollerblades.

Your will to live immediately evaporated.

This couldn’t be happening. This was not real. There was no way that the trashy dumpster fire of a novel you barely got halfway through had decided to swallow you whole and spit you out as its heroine. You were a victim of circumstance. You hadn’t even wanted to read the book. Your colleague had shoved it into your hands with a laugh, saying, “It’s so bad, you’ll love it.”

And now? Now you were going to die in it.

While you were still reeling from this existential horror, Ace stirred beside you, stretching like he’d just taken a refreshing nap instead of being complicit in your suffering.

“Oh, you’re finally awake,” he said.

You almost threw up in real time.

NO. NO, HE DID NOT JUST SKYRIM YOU.

Before you could even begin to unpack that offensive introduction, Ace leaned back in his chair, regarding you with an amused grin.

“Man, you were out for so long,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself at your expense. “We were starting to get worried.”

He paused, then snickered. “Not that I can blame you, though. You got knocked out real bad after Sir Drama decided to pick you up and carry you across a puddle—y’know, because chivalry—and then you started struggling and he, uh…” Ace coughed, failing to smother his laughter. “He might’ve… dropped you on your head.”

Your soul left your body.

The sheer force of your disgust, fury, and resignation compressed into a singularity of unparalleled despair.

You had already suffered a head injury in this world and it hadn’t even been five minutes.

Meanwhile, Ace—clearly unbothered by your silent mental breakdown—casually reached out and ruffled your hair like you were some kind of small animal.

“Try not to scare everyone like that next time, yeah?” he said, standing up with a stretch. “Anyway, I’ll let you rest. See ya, drama queen.”

And just like that, he walked out.

The door clicked shut.

And you were left alone.

You sat there for a full minute, staring at the ceiling, dead inside.

Then at the overly luxurious furniture.

Then at the mirror across the room.

You knew what you would see before you even looked.

White nightgown. Perfect noble lady bedhead. The very same reflection that haunted you from the novel’s terrible cover.

You squeezed your eyes shut, inhaled, and let out the most guttural, primal scream into your pillow.

This was real. This was happening.

And worst of all—

You were about to be pursued by five of the worst men to ever disgrace the literary world.

Tears pricked at your eyes.

You needed a plan.

You needed a way out.

You needed to reject them.

You needed to survive.

With renewed determination, you wiped your tears, hardened your heart, and began plotting your escape.

The moment you accepted that you were, in fact, trapped in this flaming disaster of a novel, you immediately went into damage control mode.

Step One: Gather Allies.

Your first course of action was to round up every single sane person in your immediate social circle—which, in this case, meant the heroine’s original friend group. You weren’t sure how well they’d take this, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

So, within the hour, you managed to corral Ace, Deuce, Riddle, Cater, and Trey into a private room like some kind of organized intervention.

They were all staring at you expectantly.

You took a deep breath, bracing yourself for the sheer stupidity of what you were about to say.

“Listen,” you began, voice firm. “I need help. Serious help. I am being actively hunted by five of the worst men to ever exist, and I need to figure out how to reject them before I end up dead in an alley.”

There was a pause.

Riddle, bless his soul, was the first to react.

He patted you on the back, nodding solemnly. “Finally,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for you to grow a spine. It’s about time.”

You blinked. That was the most support you had ever received in your life.

Meanwhile, Trey and Cater exchanged amused glances, Ace looked way too smug for comfort, and Deuce was already looking at Ace like he was onto something.

“You need to get rid of them?” Trey asked, as if he were merely discussing pastry ingredients.

“Yes,” you stressed. “Immediately.”

Riddle hummed in approval. “Good. Then let’s strategize.”

You, Riddle, Trey, and Cater huddled together like you were planning a war campaign.

Ace and Deuce, on the other hand, were having a separate conversation entirely.

A conversation that consisted of Deuce elbowing Ace repeatedly while Ace sat there, looking like the cat that ate the canary.

Then, with the casual arrogance of someone who absolutely had an ulterior motive, Ace stretched his arms and leaned back.

“Y’know,” he drawled, cutting into your very serious rejection plan, “we could make things way easier if you just tell ‘em you’re already taken.”

You stared at him. “Excuse me?”

Ace smirked. “You'd just need a fake lover, right?”

“…Yes?”

He shrugged. “I could do it.”

The room went silent.

Deuce’s face twisted into an undisguised scowl of "That's not what i meant." Riddle raised an eyebrow. Trey hid a knowing smile behind his hand. Cater was visibly entertained.

You, on the other hand, were experiencing about five different emotions at once.

On one hand, Ace clearly had a crush on the heroine—for you. Which meant using him for this felt slightly scummy.

On the other hand, game was game, and survival was survival.

And you were not above exploiting every advantage you could get.

“…Alright,” you agreed, shoving your morals into a dark abyss.

Ace grinned like he’d just won a bet.

Deuce looked one second away from committing homicide.

And just like that, Operation “Escape Horrible Men” was officially underway.

The first lunatic to cross your path was, tragically, the childhood acquaintance—if you could even call him that. This was a man whose entire personality was built on a single act of kindness you had allegedly performed when you were six, like some kind of feral pigeon imprinting on the first human to throw it bread.

He had the look of a man who had been living exclusively off delusions and a diet of unattainable dreams, and you could already feel your soul attempting to evacuate your body at the sight of him.

It all started when you, Ace, and Deuce were having a perfectly nice day at the market. The sun was shining, the air was crisp, and you were engaged in the kind of casual battery that only true friends participated in—swatting at each other, shoving, stealing food mid-bite, and slinging arms over shoulders like a group of rowdy idiots. It was peace. It was joy. And then he appeared.

Like a cockroach that had survived a nuclear apocalypse, he inserted himself into the conversation with an ease that defied all reason, his hand creeping onto your waist as if that was something people just did.

The audacity. The sheer gall. The unmitigated temerity.

On instinct, you physically rejected his existence. You shoved him off with enough force to make a statement, then slammed your heel down on his foot. You were not the original heroine. You did not believe in suffering in silence. You believed in equal opportunity violence.

But this man—this absolute buffoon—had the mental resilience of a particularly dense brick. He simply did not process rejection.

You walked away. He followed. Like a stray cat you accidentally fed once, he clung to your side, ignoring all signs that he was unwelcome.

You showed Deuce a cool charm for his sword; he inserted his completely unsolicited opinion.

You cracked a joke to Ace; he forced out a laugh like you had told it for his benefit.

At one point, you were fairly certain he was just mimicking your breathing patterns to convince himself you were soulmates.

Alright. You had tried being civil. Time to be petty.

You turned to Ace with the kind of dramatic flourish that only came with years of consuming terrible romance novels, throwing yourself into his arms like some damsel in distress. Ace, to his credit, took exactly one second to process before he immediately understood the assignment.

He leaned in close, breath brushing against your ear like he was whispering something scandalous, and you, in turn, made a show of gasping, clutching his shirt like he had just recited the most romantic poetry in existence.

Then he hand-fed you a pastry.

It was too much. Too intimate. Too stupidly effective. You let out a little dreamy sigh, delicately biting into the pastry like it was a love declaration and not just your breakfast. Ace, ever the performer, brushed a crumb off your lips with his thumb.

Deuce, at this point, was convulsing with laughter in the background, nearly choking on his own spit.

But the acquaintance? The parasite? The man who had lived the past decade of his life under the assumption that you were his? He was seething. His face was twisted like he had just swallowed a whole lemon rind and all.

Time to twist the knife.

You turned to Ace with the most lovestruck expression you could muster and, in a voice dripping with sugar and malice, cooed, “Darling, when are you going to propose? I simply cannot wait to be engaged to you”

Ace visibly blue-screened for a moment. You could hear the Windows error noise in real-time. But he was nothing if not quick on his feet.

In a devastating move, he took your hand in both of his, looked into your eyes like you personally invented the concept of love, and murmured, “My love, I’ve searched the entire kingdom for a ring that shines as brightly as your eyes, but nothing has been worthy of you yet.”

That was it. That was the final blow. The childhood acquaintance physically recoiled, his reality shattering like fragile glass, his world crumbling like an over-soaked sponge cake.

“You’re… dating?” he whispered, trembling, as if he was the protagonist in a tragic opera.

You and Ace turned to him in perfect synchrony, all wide eyes and lovesick smiles, and in the most disgustingly sweet voices you could manage, declared, “We’re soooo in love~”

He ran away crying.

It was magnificent. It was euphoric. You turned to watch him flee, skidding into the distance like a wounded deer, while Deuce collapsed against a stand, wheezing.

And then, just for a moment—barely a second—you caught Ace watching you, something unreadable flickering in his expression. Then he smirked, slinging an arm around your shoulder like nothing had happened.

One down. Four to go.

The invitation to the ball had arrived with the pomp and circumstance of an execution notice.

You had already survived assassination attempts (by fate and by your own refusal to engage with the five unhinged men vying for your hand), but now you were being asked to waltz? Like some graceful noble lady who had spent her entire life twirling through candlelit halls and not someone whose idea of “dancing” was flailing in the kitchen at 2 AM while waiting for instant noodles to cook?

You tried to tell yourself, maybe the original heroine’s muscle memory will kick in.

It did not.

You attempted a single spin in your room and promptly tripped over the hem of your dress, landing face-first into the carpet with all the elegance of a sedated goose. The reality was undeniable—you needed help.

Unfortunately, Deuce and Riddle, your two best hopes for structured, competent lessons, were drowning in their official duties. That left you with Trey(thankfully), Cater, and Ace.

Ace. The man who claimed he could “totally waltz” but then proceeded to move like he was dodging invisible potholes. He swore he was just "freestyling," which, sure, was a thing people did—just not in 18th-century ballroom dancing.

Trey, ever the responsible elder brother figure, took pity on your plight and offered to teach you. You gratefully accepted, placing your hand in his, and the two of you began to move across the floor. Or, rather, Trey moved and you decimated his toes with every step.

Ace, watching from the sidelines, looked like he had been personally wronged by the universe.

His jaw tightened. His eyes narrowed. His grip on his drink? White-knuckled. If he had been any tenser, his soul might have ascended on the spot.

Cater, in contrast, was having the time of his life.

Sipping tea like a smug little gremlin, he watched the spectacle unfold with the kind of amusement normally reserved for reality TV drama. He did not care that Ace was clearly dying inside. In fact, it was making the tea taste better.

Meanwhile, Trey suffered.

He suffered so much.

You stepped on his foot. Again. You stepped on it without intent. Without malice. But with the weight of a hundred failed dance lessons.

“Ah, you’re getting there,” Trey said with the patience of a saint, even as he subtly tried to guide you away from his crushed toes.

Ace twitched.

The evening ended with you being marginally better at dancing and Ace looking like he had been force-fed an entire lemon tree.

The next day, you arrived at Ace’s estate with the singular goal of dragging him into town for shenanigans.

Instead, you were met at the entrance by his butler, who, with a knowing wink that immediately put you on edge, informed you that Ace was “currently practicing” and that you were "free to go in and see for yourself."

This, of course, set off all your mental alarms.

You pushed open the door just a crack, peeking inside, and what you saw nearly short-circuited your brain.

There, in the middle of the room, was Ace Trappola.

Dancing.

With a coat hanger.

He held it like a real partner, moving across the floor with surprising grace, his brows furrowed in concentration, his lips pressing into a frustrated pout whenever he missed a step.

You felt something unfamiliar rise in your chest. A warmth. A flutter. A sense of being deeply, irreversibly touched.

You immediately squashed the feeling. Crushed it under your heel like a bug. Incinerated it. You refused to let sentimentality win.

So, naturally, you cleared your throat and went straight for the teasing.

“Wow, Ace. I didn’t know you and the coat hanger were so close.”

Ace startled so hard he nearly dropped the poor inanimate object.

He turned to you, face flushing an almost adorable shade of pink, before scowling and attempting to play it cool.

“I—this—I wasn’t practicing for you or anything!” he scoffed, crossing his arms as if that would somehow erase the memory from your brain.

“Oh, of course not,” you said, nodding sagely. “You were obviously training to impress the coat hanger.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Rubbed the back of his neck. Refused to meet your eyes.

“…You wanna practice together?”

And that was how you found yourself dancing with Ace in the dim glow of the evening light, his hands warm against yours, the two of you laughing every time you stumbled.

It was awkward. It was messy. It was weirdly fun.

And somewhere in the background, Ace’s butler was already reallocating the estate’s budget for your wedding.

You had successfully survived the dance.

This was, by all accounts, a miracle.

There had been no toe-crushing disasters, no tragic falls, no wardrobe malfunctions that would have made the noble ladies clutch their pearls and whisper about you for decades. Not even a single case of you flinging your arms out too enthusiastically and smacking a duke’s son in the face.

You had defied fate.

And it definitely helped that your partner had been Ace—as much as that bruised your pride to admit. He was annoyingly decent at making sure you didn’t trip over your own feet, even though he kept smirking the entire time like he was waiting for you to say something ridiculous like "Wow, Ace, you're so talented and charming and handsome, what would I ever do without you?"

You would rather perish.

So, once the dance ended, you immediately excused yourself and found a nice, solid chair to collapse into. Ace, good little fake boyfriend that he was, offered to get you both drinks, which was a very convenient excuse for you to not be near him for five minutes.

And that was when the Genius Strategist Prince swooped in.

You did not see him approach. You did not sense his presence. It was as if he had teleported into existence like some eldritch being fueled purely by narcissism and misplaced confidence.

One moment, you were sitting peacefully, and the next—

He was there.

The cursed arm wrapped around your shoulders. The infuriating smirk. The unbearable arrogance wafting off him like overpriced cologne.

Oh, this was bad.

"You looked quite beautiful on the dance floor tonight," he murmured, his voice dripping with self-satisfaction. "Almost like a queen-to-be."

This man had the audacity—the sheer, unholy nerve—to look at you like you were supposed to giggle and blush at that line instead of chewing through your own tongue in an effort not to commit a crime.

You had one option.

You fled.

You simply stood up and walked away, directly towards the only person in this cursed ballroom who could save you from this richly perfumed disaster of a man.

Ace.

Ace, who had perfectly timed his return with two glasses of something that was hopefully strong enough to erase the last ten seconds from your memory. Ace, who took one look at your expression, saw the absolute horror trailing behind you, and immediately understood the assignment.

Without missing a beat, he wrapped an arm around you.

Possessive. Protective. The very image of a devoted fake lover.

You had never been so grateful for his dramatic streak.

The prince, who had followed you like a particularly persistent case of food poisoning, bristled.

"Remove your arm," he commanded, his voice low and sharp.

Ace did not remove his arm.

In fact, he pulled you closer, tilting his head just slightly in a way that perfectly balanced smugness and challenge.

"Why should I take my hand off my partner?" he asked.

You, who had spent your entire life developing a survival instinct specifically for escaping situations like this, felt the distant whisper of a self-preservation alarm. That was still the crown prince, after all. Ace was many things—irritating, reckless, an absolute menace—but he was not immortal.

Fortunately, before you had to say anything, help arrived.

Across the ballroom, Riddle nodded.

To your left, Deuce gave a subtle thumbs-up.

The plan was in motion.

Phase One

From the far end of the ballroom, Trey, the royal chef, emerged, balancing an enormous cake on a silver tray. It was a towering, masterful creation—a true work of art, layers stacked high, delicately sculpted sugar decorations shimmering under the chandelier light.

A cake that, in mere moments, would be used as a weapon of mass destruction.

Trey took one fateful step.

Tripped (As planned)

And the entire cake, in all its elaborate, multi-tiered glory, toppled over.

Straight. Onto. The. Prince.

Ace immediately shielded you from the debris. His hand was firm on your back as he turned you slightly away from the chaos, and when you glanced up at him, he was grinning.

Smug. Smug. Smug.

Something in your stomach did something.

You ignored it.

The prince, meanwhile, stood there in horrified silence, cake and frosting dripping down his very expensive, very now-ruined clothes.

And then came Phase Two

Deuce, moving with the "concern" of a man who absolutely knew he was about to ruin someone’s life, rushed forward.

"Your Highness," he said earnestly, holding out his own coat, "you should remove your clothes."

The entire ballroom went silent.

The prince, still picking fondant out of his hair, turned slowly.

"What?"

"You’re covered in cake," Deuce explained, voice so painfully genuine that you nearly choked.

The prince, who absolutely would rather die than undress in public, refused.

Which was unfortunate. Because Deuce, bless his heart, did not take no for an answer.

He grabbed the prince’s jacket.

And pulled.

The ballroom collectively inhaled.

Because underneath—where there should have been the broad, powerful shoulders of a “warrior prince,” where there should have been toned muscle sculpted by years of battle and strategy—

Was nothing.

Not just nothing—an outright betrayal of physics and expectation.

The prince was built like a malnourished Victorian ghost.

His coat—once the source of his so-called “strong, masculine presence”—had been heavily padded. Not just lightly stuffed, but outright engineered to create the illusion of bulging biceps and warrior-like stature.

Biceps, it was now evident, larger than his actual head.

The ballroom gasped.

The prince, red-faced and humiliated, did what any reasonable man would do when faced with public disgrace.

He ran.

You, Ace, Deuce, and your co-conspirators high-fived.

And the next morning, Cater, journalist extraordinaire, published an excruciatingly detailed article titled:

"From Brawn to Busted: The Prince’s Muscle Mirage!"

2 down. 3 to go.

It had been a regular morning. A peaceful morning. A morning where you had intended to do nothing more than descend the stairs like a normal, functioning member of society, have breakfast, and not make a complete spectacle of yourself before noon.

The universe had other plans.

One moment, you had been confidently stepping forward, and the next—

Betrayal.

Your foot had missed the step. Gravity, that treacherous, fickle force, had seized its chance. You had plummeted like a sack of potatoes launched off a moving carriage, limbs flailing, dignity abandoning ship before you even hit the floor.

And then you hit the floor.

Hard.

Ace, your beloved thorn in the side, had stood over you, blinking, until you groaned and weakly waved a hand to signal that you were probably not dead.

And that was when he had completely lost it.

He had laughed for ten minutes straight. A full, wheezing, tears-in-his-eyes, struggling-to-breathe kind of laugh, slapping his knee like an old man who just heard the funniest joke of his life. The servants had peered around corners in confusion. One poor maid had whispered, "Should we call a doctor?" Not for you. For Ace, because he was about to rupture a lung.

"You're fine," he gasped out eventually, still giggling like a goblin. "It's just a sprain, right? But your ego— oh, your ego is never coming back from this one."

And that was how you had ended up here.

Ace had decided—without your input, without even a semblance of human decency— that you were now a particularly large handbag.

He carried you everywhere.

There was no logical reason for this. You could still walk. You had one (1) slightly messed-up ankle, you were fine. But Ace, seeing the opportunity to be the worst person alive, had simply hoisted you up like a particularly unruly sack of flour and declared, "Guess you're stuck with me, huh?"

And he had not put you down since.

Which led to your current predicament.

You had planned to meet Riddle, Trey, and Cater for tea in the gardens, because you were a person of class and refinement, not some gremlin carried around like stolen treasure. But did that stop Ace? No. Of course not.

The three of them had been waiting peacefully in the garden, cups of tea in hand, enjoying their serene afternoon—

And then Ace had strolled in, with you draped over his shoulder like a particularly expensive piece of luggage.

Silence.

The kind of silence that one might expect after watching a clown cartwheel directly into the king’s court.

Trey looked concerned. Riddle looked like he was going to spontaneously combust. Cater, to absolutely no one’s surprise, looked entertained.

And you? You had given up.

"You could just let me down, you know," you muttered, swatting at Ace’s shoulder in what you hoped was a dignified manner, though it probably looked more like a dying fish flopping around.

Ace grinned, because of course he did. "Nah. Too late. You’re furniture now."

You scowled. "Then put me near the table so I can actually reach my tea, you absolute menace—"

Ace ignored you completely.

He dropped into a chair, still holding you.

This was your life now.

Trey, who had likely woken up hoping for a quiet afternoon, cleared his throat and asked, very diplomatically, "So… sprained ankle?"

"Tragic accident," Ace said, like he was recounting the tale of a fallen soldier. "There I was, just minding my own business, when—boom. Disaster. Absolute catastrophe. They will sing songs about this one for years."

"You were laughing," you deadpanned.

"And now I'm grieving," Ace shot back.

Riddle, who had quite frankly had enough of both of you, massaged his temples.

Meanwhile, Cater, who had pulled out his camera at some point, was taking photos.

"This is gold," he muttered, already plotting his gossip column.

And then, just as you were mid-swat, trying to smack the smirk off Ace’s face while he cackled like a heathen, Riddle sighed under his breath, voice heavy with exhaustion and despair.

"They're so obvious," he muttered. "Sevens save us all."

Trey nodded solemnly. Cater just grinned.

It had been a perfectly normal day.

Which, of course, meant disaster was imminent.

You were standing in the grand hall, sipping a totally normal, non-poisoned cup of tea (probably), when you felt it. That eerie, spine-chilling sensation. The distinct, unsettling awareness that you were being watched.

Slowly, you turned your head.

A pair of glowing eyes peered at you from behind an indoor potted plant.

You sighed. Loudly. "Viscount, I can see you."

"Tch," the Viscount hissed, stepping out of his entirely inadequate hiding spot. "So perceptive… as expected of my fated beloved."

As if to ruin the illusion entirely, he tripped on his own cape and had to grab onto the plant for support. The entire thing tipped over with a thunderous CRASH.

Silence.

A servant slowly turned to look at him, unblinking.

The Viscount, sprawled across the floor, cleared his throat. "Pretend you did not see that."

You rubbed your temples. "What do you want?"

He rose to his feet dramatically—or at least, he tried. His foot got tangled in his cape again, and he had to do an awkward little hop to untangle himself before he could finally regain his dignity (what little he had left).

"I have come to confess," he intoned, "the depths of my undying love for you."

A dramatic wind blew through the hall. (Despite the fact that all the windows were closed.)

You braced yourself. This was going to be painful.

"From the moment I first laid eyes upon you," the Viscount continued, stepping forward (but nearly tripping over a rug). "I knew that you and I were bound by fate."

He gripped his chest. "Your beauty, your grace, your ability to evade me every time I attempt to watch over you from the shadows… truly, you are like a rare and precious bird, always just out of reach!"

"You mean because I run away every time you try to talk to me?" you deadpanned.

"Exactly!" he said, passionately. "Such a clever game of cat and mouse we play!"

You stared at him. He stared back, completely serious.

Cater was, once again, taking pictures of this entire trainwreck. Deuce had just pulled out a chair, grabbed a snack, and was watching like it was a soap opera.

"But no more!" the Viscount declared. "Today, I shall break this cycle and claim my rightful place at your side!"

He took a bold step forward—

—and promptly slipped on the fallen leaves from the potted plant.

There was a moment of absolute silence.

Then—THUMP.

He faceplanted straight into the marble floor.

Cater wheezed. Deuce actually fell out of his chair. Riddle was muttering something about public executions. Trey looked like he was reconsidering his entire life.

But the Viscount?

He slowly pushed himself up, nose bleeding, expression unfazed.

"A minor setback," he rasped, wiping the blood off his face with his own cape like some kind of tragic war hero. "Love… is pain."

You exhaled deeply. "Alright, you know what?" You straightened your posture, voice heavy with overwhelming sorrow. "My dear Viscount… if only you had come to me sooner."

His breath hitched. "You mean—?"

"If only fate were kinder," you continued, placing a hand on your chest. "If only my heart were not already…taken."

Fake gasps echoed through the hall.

The Viscount staggered. "No… it cannot be!"

"I am afraid so," you whispered. "For I… I have already pledged my love to…"

You spun dramatically—and pointed straight at Ace.

Ace, who immediately choked on his drink.

Ace, who had agreed to fake date you but was now staring at you like you had just struck him with a bolt of divine judgment.

Cater’s camera zoomed in on his expression.

You turned dramatically, seizing Ace’s arm with a grip that could bend steel. "My darling fiancé, my heart, my sun and stars!" you declared, throwing yourself against him like a maiden in distress. "Forgive me for not introducing you sooner—this is my betrothed, Ace Trappola!"

Ace made a sound like a cat getting drop-kicked across a room.

"WHAT."

The Viscount looked like someone had just run him through with a broadsword.

"I know," you said, voice trembling with unspeakable woe. "It seems impossible. Unthinkable. But love, my dear Viscount, is a force beyond comprehension. Who are we to fight against fate?"

Ace was still making distressed noises. Riddle looked like he was five seconds away from committing homicide.

"No—no, this cannot be!" The Viscount staggered back, clutching his chest like he had just been mortally wounded. "You would choose him over me?"

You gripped Ace’s collar, pulling him until your foreheads nearly touched. "How could I not?" you whispered. "Look at him. Look at his—his, um. His face!"

Ace mouthed: WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW?

"His personality!" you continued, wildly grasping for reasons. "His—his unparalleled ability to be so Ace-like at all times!"

"I hate every single word coming out of your mouth," Ace muttered.

"And most of all," you gasped, voice hushed. "The way he carries me when I sprain my ankle. A true gentleman. A man among men."

The grand hall erupted into chaos.

Ace visibly short-circuited. "I— WHAT??"

Cater's hands visibly shook as he tried to keep taking pictures. Deuce had fully dropped his snack. The Viscount let out a dramatic, heartbroken wail.

"Engaged?!" the Viscount gasped. "But how? When?!"

You clutched Ace’s hand tighter. "Last night."

"LAST NIGHT??" Ace screeched.

You shot him a look. Ace, whose entire face was on fire, gulped and quickly switched tactics.

"Aha… aha… yeah, totally!" He threw an arm around your shoulders, grinning through his existential crisis. "We got engaged last night! Super romantic and all that! Just me and my beloved—" his voice cracked, "—who I love so much!"

You patted his chest reassuringly. "See? True love."

The Viscount staggered back. His entire world was shattering. The intensity of his emotional turmoil was so strong that he tripped over his own cape again and went tumbling down the nearby staircase.

It took twenty entire seconds for him to hit the bottom.

More silence.

Then, from below: "Love… is pain…"

Ace, still holding you, whispered, "What did you just do to me?"

You turned, smiling sweetly. "I just made you my fiancé, Ace."

Ace felt faint. His heart had been going a normal amount of fast when he agreed to fake date you, but this? This was illegal.

Meanwhile, Cater was already writing the next article.

The night had started so normally. Just you, your expensive, holy-grail skincare routine, and the unwavering determination to emerge from this ritual looking like a Renaissance painting come to life. You had your headband on, your fluffy robe wrapped around you, and the greenish-white sludge of your face mask setting into a crusty layer of beauty and self-care.

Then Ace Trappola happened.

He kicked the door open like he was the protagonist of a spaghetti western, took one look at you, and lost his entire mind.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?" he gasped, immediately doubling over in laughter. "Oh my god, you look like a haunted doll."

You did not hesitate. You lunged at him like an apex predator.

And despite all his athleticism and street-rat reflexes, Ace had not been prepared for an attack from a fully masked-up, vengeance-driven individual armed with a whole tub of premium skincare.

"WAIT—NO—"

It was too late.

You straddled his lap, pressed his shoulders down onto your bed, and slathered the mask onto his stupid, laughing face with all the delicacy of an artist painting their magnum opus.

"See?" you said sweetly, coating his nose with a dramatic flourish. "Now we’re both glowing."

Ace wanted to talk back— wanted to make a joke, to tell you off, to do anything but sit here like a dumb, frozen idiot while you cupped his face, held his chin so gently, and smoothed the mask over his cheekbones like he was something precious and breakable.

And he was losing it.

Your legs were slung over his lap. His back was against your bed. Your hand was on his jaw, tilting his face however you wanted. And Ace, the very same Ace who laughed at every romantic in the kingdom for being cringe and stupid, was about two seconds away from throwing his dignity out the window and leaning into your touch.

Because all he could see, smell, and feel was you.

Your voice kept going, rambling about something stupid and inconsequential—some royal drama, a new gossip column, your thoughts on different brands of facial cleanser—but Ace couldn’t process a single word because his entire stupid, traitorous heart was screaming at him to just—just—

The revelation slammed into him like a meteor. A deadly, world-ending, history-changing impact that reduced his brain cells to rubble and left behind only the smoking wreckage of a man who was well and truly screwed.

This was not a platonic feeling.

This was the opposite of a platonic feeling.

And yet, instead of saying anything, instead of introspecting like a sane person, he just let you keep talking, let himself bask in the feeling of your fingers on his face, let himself sink into the sheer stupidity of his predicament.

By the time he could regain enough motor function to think about moving, it was too late.

You had both somehow, inexplicably, fallen asleep.

The morning arrived with the unmistakable sound of high-pitched giggles.

You cracked open a single bleary eye, your body heavy with sleep, and—oh.

Oh no.

Ace was snuggled up against your arm, his face relaxed in a way you had never seen before. His usual cocky smirk was nowhere to be found, replaced by something painfully soft and vulnerable.

His hair was a mess, sticking up in ridiculous angles, but somehow, it made him look even cuter. His cheek was squished against your shoulder, his arms curled slightly around yours, one leg lazily slung over yours like he had every right to use you as a makeshift pillow.

And the worst part?

It wasn’t even weird.

It felt… right.

And that was when it hit you.

Like a meteor. Like an act of god. Like the universe itself had conspired to wait until you were at your most defenseless before smacking you in the face with one singular, undeniable truth.

You were in love with Ace Trappola.

You. Loved. Ace.

How unfortunate.

You had half a mind to violently shake him awake, make him take responsibility for making you feel this way—but then he muttered something in his sleep, something unintelligible, and shifted closer, pressing his nose against your arm.

You stopped breathing.

The maids were still standing at the door, watching, waiting for you to react.

You slowly raised a hand.

And, with the elegance of a queen issuing a decree, you waved them away.

Five more minutes wouldn’t hurt.

The Duke of the North was an annual disaster. Like a migrating bird that exclusively flew south to be annoying, he only visited the capital once a year—and every single time, it was to do one thing: propose to you.

This would have been flattering, except for the fact that you had been rejecting him since the dawn of time. Yet, for some reason, he was deeply convinced that, one day, you would simply change your mind upon seeing him standing there, brooding dramatically in his tailored, imported-from-a-country-that-doesn’t-even-exist coats.

He did not take rejection well.

Of course, you never answered his letters. Why would you? His correspondence was a tragic novel in real-time, each letter trying and failing to sound aloof, with absolutely zero success.

"I suppose you are busy, as I am also very busy, thinking about extremely important things, such as war and finance and not at all about why you have not replied to me in the last six months." "Should you choose to acknowledge my existence, I will, of course, consider taking time out of my incredibly packed schedule to respond (though I have already cleared next Tuesday for you, just in case)." "It is of no consequence to me whether you reply. However, I have sent my fastest courier, so you may want to respond before he breaks his legs trying to reach me before nightfall."

Pathetic.

And now, as expected, here he was again.

And as always, he came prepared.

This time, he had doubled down on his "love can be bought" philosophy.

A solid gold chair—because “only the finest furniture is worthy of your presence.”

An entirely new breed of horse, bred specifically for you, because "standard horses are beneath you."

A fleet of ships. Why? No one knew. You were not a sailor. You had never even been on a boat.

Riddle, who had been an unfortunate witness to this entire spectacle, had been slowly turning redder and redder, not out of anger, but out of sheer secondhand embarrassment. He looked like he was debating whether to intervene or let natural selection take its course.

Meanwhile, the villainess, who had been throwing you dirty looks since the Duke’s arrival, stood nearby. It didn’t take long for you to realize why—she liked him. She wanted him.

You turned to face her. Slowly. Deliberately.

Your expression said: “Lady, I don’t even want him.”

Her expression said: “You lying harlot.”

And before you could even think of clarifying that you had no interest in this walking gold reserve, the situation somehow got worse.

Ace appeared out of nowhere, grabbed your hand, and, with the audacity of a man who had never once in his life considered the consequences of his actions, declared with full confidence:

"Oh, sorry, we already got married."

Riddle choked on air.

The Duke froze, mid-proposal, like a glitching NPC in a poorly coded game. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, as if he were about to say something but his brain was actively refusing to process the information.

"You," he said hoarsely, like someone had just stabbed him in the chest. "What?"

You nodded solemnly, forcing yourself to look as heartbreakingly sincere as possible. "We even have a dog," you said.

Ace, who had waited his entire life for a bit like this, effortlessly raised the stakes.

"Two dogs," he added, gripping your hand even tighter.

You smiled sweetly, as if recounting precious memories of a long and happy marriage. "Three, actually."

The Duke’s breathing audibly shortened.

Riddle buried his face in his hands and muttered, “Oh my god, make it stop.”

"WHAT?!"

Ace sighed, the weariness of a devoted husband weighing down on him. "We also have six kids."

The Duke, who had already been dangerously close to a stroke, seemed to visibly glitch.

"SIX?! BUT IT HASN’T EVEN BEEN A YEAR!"

Ace, seeing an opportunity and deciding to go all in, dramatically gestured at a group of stray cats on the street.

"There they are," he said, with the utmost conviction.

The Duke followed his gaze, slowly, hesitantly, as if he already knew he was about to regret it.

There, on the sidewalk, were six very dirty, very chaotic stray cats.

One of them, making full eye contact with him, immediately started hacking up a hairball. Another was biting its own tail, because it had seemingly forgotten that it was attached to its body. A third was somehow climbing a wall upside down, defying both gravity and logic.

The Duke completely lost his mind.

"YOU—YOU HAVE—YOU’VE BIRTHED FELINE OFFSPRING?!"

Riddle made a strangled noise. His entire body convulsed with the effort of holding back laughter.

Ace did not hesitate. "Yeah, we just love them so much," he said, as if this were a completely normal and factual statement. "Fatherhood changes a man, y’know?"

"Don't forget our youngest," you added helpfully, pointing at a cat stuck in a flower pot.

Ace wiped an imaginary tear. "That's little Gregory. He's the smart one."

At this point, Riddle was not even trying to stop laughing anymore. He had completely given up, his usual decorum shattered beyond repair.

The Duke, however, looked like he was experiencing all five stages of grief simultaneously. His face twisted into pure devastation. He opened his mouth to say something, then immediately closed it, shaking his head in silent agony.

And then, without another word—he left.

Ace, smug beyond words, turned to you, grinning. "That went well."

Riddle, who had just witnessed a full-scale psychological takedown using nothing but sheer absurdity, wiped a tear from his eye. "You two are insane," he muttered, shaking his head.

Ace didn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the evening.

Ace doesn’t know what the hell is going on.

He’s always liked you. A little.

A manageable amount. A totally ignorable amount. The kind of dumb little crush that normal people have. The kind you lock in a box, throw into the ocean, and then blow up the ocean for good measure.

But then you woke up from your fainting accident and became his worst nightmare.

Because somehow, in that brief unconscious state, you became ten times more interesting. More chaotic. More fun.

You met his sarcasm with even faster comebacks. You encouraged his bad ideas. You had absolutely no self-preservation. You went from exasperatedly tolerating his nonsense to actively participating in it, and it was the worst thing you could have possibly done to him.

Because now?

Now he’s the one barely keeping up.

You match him perfectly—step for step, disaster for disaster. If he’s instigating, you’re escalating. If he cracks a joke, you one-up him. When he nudges you in the ribs, you shove him into a bush.

And when you grab his arm, lean in close, and whisper, "Hey, let’s cause some problems," his brain just shuts the hell down.

He’s so ruined.

And the thing is?

Ace has done this to himself.

Because when he suggested pretending to be your lover, he genuinely thought it was a great idea. A genius plan, even.

He’d fake it, get it out of his system, and then tragically move on once you found someone else.

Except now he’s holding your hand in public.

Now he’s whispering in your ear just to make you laugh.

Now he’s calling you ‘sweetheart’ and ‘darling’ and ‘my love’—and you play along like it’s a game, and every time, his heart detonates like an unstable potion.

At this point, if you actually fell for someone else?

Ace thinks he might literally die.

No, really. He would simply perish. Collapse. Expire. He would crumple to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been violently severed and haunt the castle as the world’s most bitter, lovesick ghost.

Cupid was somewhere, rolling on the floor, wheezing.

The other day, you smiled at him for too long, and he forgot how to walk and almost tripped.

You called him ‘Acey’ once, and he almost bit through his own tongue.

One time, you said, "I feel safest when I’m with you," and he blacked out for a full thirty seconds.

You took a sip from his drink the other day, and he had to go lie down.

And now you’re standing beside him at some stupid jewelry stall, pointing at a necklace with that gleam in your eyes, and Ace is staring at you like an absolute idiot.

He can’t stop thinking about how pretty you look under the market lights.

How he’d buy you every single piece of jewelry in the damn kingdom if you asked.

How his entire soul is in shambles because he’s standing next to you thinking, "Oh no. I actually, genuinely, idiotically am in love."

Ace Trappola, Ace ‘Fake-Dating-Was-A-Good-Idea’ Trappola, is staring at you thinking:

"Oh, Trappola. You absolute dumbass. You’re in love."

And then you turn to him, all bright-eyed and smiling, and ask, "Ace, do you think this would suit me?"

And he almost chokes on his own tongue.

Because yes.

Yes, it would suit you.

So would every other necklace in existence. So would a crown. So would the title of Supreme Ruler of the Universe, if he could somehow get that for you.

But instead of saying that, he just shoves his hands in his pockets, tries to look normal, and mutters, "Yeah, yeah, whatever. If you like it, just get it already."

And you laugh.

And Ace Trappola is never going to recover from this.

The worst of the lot finally appears.

You had dealt with the Brooding Duke who thought love could be purchased, endured the Prince who wept into his lace handkerchief at every rejection, and even managed to shake off the Yandere who believed true love was an elaborate chess game. But nothing—nothing—could have prepared you for the Drama King Knight.

He stood before you in the garden, his impractically long cape billowing in the completely windless afternoon, because he had, no doubt, hired a peasant to stand just off-camera fanning him.

His sword—which was capable of splitting mountains but had only ever been used to dramatically point at celestial bodies—glinted in the sun. He looked at you with eyes that had definitely rehearsed this exact expression in the mirror for three hours.

"Fairest of all," he said, already halfway through a monologue you did not want to hear. "I have braved the perils of—"

You sighed dramatically, cutting him off. "A single brush of your hand might shatter my frail mortal bones."

The Knight visibly trembled. His gauntleted hand hovered in the air like he was about to faint. "You’re right… I must protect you. From myself."

Riddle, standing beside you, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes. Do that. From very, very far away."

And for a moment, it seemed like that would be enough. The Knight turned away, his cape swishing dramatically. You could practically hear the imaginary background music swelling, the curtains closing, the credits rolling.

Then he whirled back around. God, why do they always whirl back around?

"But if I cannot be with you in body," he declared, voice shaking with raw emotion, "then I shall remain by your side in spirit. Our souls, forever entwined. Our hearts, eternally wed!"

You blinked. "What."

"Yes!" He threw an arm toward the heavens, pointing at the sun like he was about to challenge it to a duel. "We shall be together in spirit! No matter where you go, I shall always be watching! Always waiting! Like the moon follows the tide, I shall—"

Alright. You had tried to reject him normally. You had been reasonable. But clearly, reason had no place here.

Riddle sighed. "Do whatever you're about to do. Just… make it quick."

You nodded grimly. If this was how it had to be, then so be it.

You squared your shoulders, took a deep breath, and clutched your chest like a woman stricken with a terrible, unknowable curse.

"No," you whispered. "You don’t understand."

The Knight faltered. "Understand… what?"

You threw an arm over your eyes. "I am cursed! Any man who loves me shall be turned into a… a… a goose."

Silence.

The Knight blinked at you. He opened his mouth. Closed it. His sword, which had been dramatically trembling in his grip, clattered to the ground.

"A… a goose?" he repeated.

You solemnly nodded.

And then, as prearranged, Deuce rushed off to fetch the goose.

The Knight looked between you and Deuce’s retreating figure, his expression one of dawning horror, like a man realizing he had proposed to a person who was actually an eldritch horror in disguise.

Deuce returned, struggling slightly because the goose had absolutely no interest in being part of this nonsense.

But this was not just any goose. This was the Emergency Goose.

Ace, hiding behind a tree like the gremlin he was, gave you a solemn nod.

Deuce carefully lifted the goose, revealing the final touch—the little red heart painted onto its cheek.

Riddle rubbed his temples. "I hate that you were prepared for this."

"This," you declared gravely, "is Ace."

The Knight reeled. "No. That… That cannot be!"

The goose honked.

"Yes," you continued, "he loved me once. And this was his fate."

A perfect beat of silence.

And then, from behind the tree, Ace whimpered, "Save me."

The Knight—a man who had once stood before a charging wyvern and laughed in the face of death—let out a shriek so bloodcurdling it startled every bird within a five-mile radius.

And then, cape billowing, he turned and ran.

Not a noble retreat. Not a dignified exit. No. Full-speed sprint. He shoved a confused maid out of the way. He leapt over a market stall. A small child pointed and laughed as he fled, but the Knight did not slow down, because his heart—once so full of love and poetry—was now full of terror.

Terror of you.

Terror of your goose.

Terror of the idea that at any moment, he too might sprout feathers and begin honking at the moon.

You, Ace, Deuce, Riddle, and the goose watched him vanish into the horizon.

A long silence followed.

Deuce set the goose down. The goose, finally free from its obligations, pecked him on the shin and waddled off.

Ace emerged from behind the tree, cackling. "Did you see his face?! Bro really thought I turned into a goose!"

Riddle sighed the sigh of a man who was simply too tired for this nonsense. "You two are the worst people I have ever met."

"You love us," you said.

"I do not."

Ace slung an arm over your shoulder. "You totally do."

Riddle turned on his heel and stormed off in the opposite direction.

But you saw it. You absolutely saw it.

A single, fleeting twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth.

Freedom. Sweet, unshackled, unburdened freedom.

No more men in capes dramatically reciting poetry at you. No more gold furniture being delivered to your doorstep. No more wild-eyed knights trying to prove their devotion by fighting literal bears in your honor. No more deranged suitors appearing at your window like particularly uncoordinated bats.

You were free.

And yet—

As you stood in the gardens, bathed in the golden glow of your well-earned peace, you felt… unsettled. Uneasy. Almost—upset.

Which made no sense. You had spent months rejecting these lunatics. You had faked engagements, lied through your teeth, orchestrated elaborate hoaxes, and weaponized a goose. You had done everything in your power to be rid of them, and it worked.

So why, in the face of your glorious victory, did you feel like you'd lost something?

And then, like a lightning bolt to the brain, it hit you.

Ace.

This meant no more holding hands in public to “convince” people. No more cheek kisses for the sake of believability. No more stupid, infuriating, wonderful Ace, grinning at you like you hung the damn moon.

It was over. Your fake dating/marriage/engagement (depending on the day and the level of your theatrics) had served its purpose.

And now it was gone.

The realization hit like a carriage crash.

You were an idiot. A complete, utter idiot.

Because somewhere between the first fake kiss in front of a suitor, the first time he laced his fingers through yours, the first time he winked at you like you were his favorite person in the entire world, you had fallen for him.

And now, standing in the wreckage of your successful campaign of repelling suitors, you realized that it was either confess right now… or take this to your grave.

Your horribly embarrassing, entirely unavoidable, painfully obvious feelings for Ace Trappola.

Ace is happy for you. He really, really is.

You’re finally free. No more unhinged declarations of love from men who have the self-preservation instincts of a lemming. No more dodging elaborate marriage proposals like a rogue in a dungeon raid. No more looking over your shoulder, expecting some cape-wearing lunatic to be reciting poetry in your honor.

Most of them think you’re taken. One thinks you’re cursed.

It worked. You’re safe. You’re free.

So why does Ace feel like he’s the one who lost?

He was kind of hoping it would take longer. Just a little bit. A few more weeks, maybe. Another month, if he was lucky. Because every day you had to pretend to be his meant another day you were in his arms. Another day he got to hold your hand in public and call it necessity. Another day he could press a kiss to your cheek without consequences. Another day of you being his.

And now? Now it was over.

And he doesn’t know how to go back.

How is he supposed to just… be your best friend Ace again? How is he supposed to look at you and not wonder what it could’ve been? How is he supposed to stand beside you like nothing has changed when everything has changed for him?

Because now, every time he looks at you, he just wants to grab you and kiss you until you’re the only thing he can taste. He wants to pull you close, whisper all the things he never let himself say. He wants everything.

But most of all, he knows—knows deep in his bones—that if you ever fall for someone else, it will destroy him.

He has to confess right now or take it to his grave.

You’re running like a madman. Like some kind of deranged romantic heroine who’s just realized she’s been in love with her childhood friend all along. Your dress is catching on every stray branch, your hair’s a mess, and you probably look like you’ve barely survived a war. But none of that matters.

Because Ace is running too.

You see him, just as wrecked as you, his coat unevenly buttoned, his hair windswept, his face flushed and frantic like he’s been sprinting for miles. And maybe he has. Maybe you both have—metaphorically and literally.

You skid to a stop, panting, staring at each other like two idiots who have finally realized the answer to a question they should’ve known all along. Ace looks at you, his breath shuddering, his eyes wide and teary like he can’t believe you’re actually here. And maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s the fact that you’re both half out of your minds with feelings, but you throw caution to the wind.

You’ve survived up till now on sheer audacity. Maybe it can take you further.

So you kiss him.

And for a second, there’s nothing. Just the stunned stillness of the world as you close the distance, pressing your lips to his.

And then he’s grabbing you, pulling you in like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. His hands are tangled in your clothes, your hair, desperate, shaking, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you through touch alone. He kisses you like he’s been waiting for this moment forever, like he’s terrified it’s all a dream and any second now, he’ll wake up.

You pull away for air—and he chases after your lips, stealing another kiss before you can even take a full breath.

This one is deeper, slower, but just as desperate. It’s like he’s pouring everything he’s ever felt into you, like he’s afraid to stop, like he’s trying to tell you everything he never could with words. And you get it—because you feel the same way.

When he finally pulls back, breathless and shaking with emotion, you press one more soft kiss against his lips, and then you say it.

“I love you.”

Ace lets out a watery laugh, his forehead dropping against yours as he grins like a fool. His eyes are shining, and he cups your face like he can’t believe you’re real.

“What took you so long?”

And then he kisses you again.

The morning after your dramatic, borderline cinematic love confession, you and Ace walk into the usual meeting spot grinning like absolute fools.

You’re both trying to act normal, like the world hasn’t completely shifted on its axis, like Ace hadn’t kissed you breathless under the stars, like you hadn’t confessed to each other in a moment so romantic it could’ve been a grand finale scene in a novel. But normalcy is impossible because the second you walk in, hand-in-hand, everyone immediately knows.

Riddle, the most composed of the group, simply pinches the bridge of his nose, exhales sharply, and mutters, “Great Sevens, finally.” His tone is not congratulatory—it is the tone of a man who has suffered for far too long, who has borne witness to the sheer idiocy of your mutual pining and is just relieved that he no longer has to endure it.

Trey, ever the calm and collected one, gives you a small, knowing smile and nods. “Congrats,” he says simply, because Trey has probably seen this coming since the very beginning. He is the type of man who could predict the weather based on the way the wind blows and has likely bet money on this exact outcome.

Cater, on the other hand, reacts as expected.

“LET’S GO, MY MAN!” he hoots, high-fiving Ace so hard that Ace actually staggers backward. “Finally out of the friendzone, huh? This is a historic moment. A certified win.” He’s already pulling out his camera, preparing to document this for the masses, and you barely manage to swat it away in time.

And then there’s Deuce. Sweet, exhausted Deuce.

He doesn’t cheer, or exclaim, or even try to congratulate you. No, Deuce just sits there, staring at the both of you like he’s just been freed from an unspeakable burden. Like he’s been carrying the weight of Ace’s obliviousness and denial on his shoulders for so long that he no longer knows what to do with himself now that it’s over.

“I don’t have to hear him deny his feelings anymore,” Deuce whispers, voice thick with emotion. “I’m free.”

Ace shoves him.

And as your friends start heckling you, teasing you, yelling at you to get a room, you turn to Ace, grinning at him as he grins right back.

And in that moment, you can’t help but think back to the mysterious, rollerblading grandma who is the reason you even ended up here. The woman who defied all logic and physics, who sent you hurtling into this world with nothing but sheer willpower and questionable urban transportation.

You close your eyes, sending a silent thanks to her.

She was a real one.

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

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