#adopted reader

[iwrite0]

Smoke Signals

Batman/Bruce Wayne x Adopted! Reader

Masterlist

The quiet hum of the manor at 2 AM was usually a comfort—a rare kind of stillness Bruce Wayne had come to appreciate after years of chaos. It meant everyone was safe. It meant peace.

But tonight, something was off.

Faint, acrid. A scent barely detectable to most, but unmistakable to him. Not Alfred’s occasional pipe tobacco, nor the faint burn of machinery from the cave. No, this was sharper. Artificial. A blend of stale smoke and something chemical. Foreign.

He followed it through the darkened corridors like a shadow through his own home, instincts sharpening with every step.

It led him to your door—ajar, spilling a sliver of golden hallway light onto the floor.

Bruce pushed it open with silent precision, and what he saw made something cold settle in his chest.

You were perched on the windowsill, legs tucked up to your chest, hoodie sleeves pulled down over trembling hands. The soft orange glow of the embers in your fingers flickered once before you panicked—snuffing it out against the ledge, breath catching as if you’d been caught stealing from a place you no longer believed you had a right to.

The smoke curled into the air, slow and spiraling like a ghost.

“Kid?” Bruce’s voice was quiet—careful—but it still made you flinch.

Your head whipped around, eyes wide, a spark of something old flickering in them. Fear? Shame? Whatever it was, he hadn’t seen it in you for months. Not since those first fragile weeks after the adoption papers were signed, when your nightmares still came nightly and your trust was paper-thin.

“Bruce…” you croaked. Your voice was hoarse, your throat dry. Tired. Like your soul had been sandpapered down.

That's when he knew something was wrong, you were calling him Bruce again. Not "Dad" not "Old man"

You only ever did that when you were upset about something, or at him.

He stepped into the room, arms at his sides, no judgment in his posture, only concern. The hallway light softened the hard angles of his face, revealing something rare: vulnerability.

“What are you doing?” he asked gently, nodding to the now-dead joint on the sill. His voice wasn’t angry. Not yet. But it was tight. Heavy.

You hesitated, then shrugged, your gaze dropping to your knees. “Couldn’t sleep.”

His brow furrowed. “And this is how you're dealing with it now? You didn’t come to me. You didn’t say anything.”

You stayed quiet, fingers curling around your sleeves. “Didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Like what?”

You exhaled slowly, smoke still faint in your lungs. “Still broken.”

The words hung there like smoke in the air—unwanted, choking, but impossible to ignore.

Bruce walked over and knelt in front of you. No cape, no cowl, just Bruce. The man, not the myth.

“You’re not broken,” he said firmly. “Struggling doesn’t mean you’ve failed.”

You scoffed, but it was bitter. “I was doing better. Thought I was past all of this. Past needing…this,” you nodded toward the window, where the smoke had already vanished into the night.

Bruce’s jaw clenched. “Healing isn’t a straight line.”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” you whispered. “You gave me all this. A home. A name. You fought for me when no one else would. And now I’m just here—smoking out the window like I’m back on the street again. Like nothing changed.”

Bruce was quiet for a beat. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, but laced with intensity.

“You think one bad night changes what you mean to me?” He placed a hand on your shoulder—firm, grounding. “You think a joint at 2 AM undoes everything we’ve built? You’ve come so far, and none of that disappears because you hit a rough patch.”

Your eyes stung. You looked away.

“I wanted to be stronger.”

“You are strong,” he said, voice rising just enough to cut through the haze in your mind. “Strong enough to survive everything that happened to you. Strong enough to stay. Strong enough to keep trying, even now.”

He squeezed your shoulder gently.

“But you don’t have to be strong alone. Not anymore. Not here.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, your chest loosened just enough to breathe. Really breathe.

But Bruce was right, healing wasn't a straight line and after a couple days you felt that weight in your chest. Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Your chest wouldn’t stop clenching. The high was supposed to make it easier—quiet the buzzing, dull the shadows creeping at the edge of your vision. But instead, everything was louder. Too loud.

You were panicking and you knew it, but you couldn’t stop it. Not this time.

The walls of the manor felt too big. The air too tight. Your skin too loose. Like everything inside you was trying to crawl out and scream.

Your legs moved on autopilot. Down the hall. Past the portraits. Past the memory of a time where you thought you were healing.

You didn’t knock.

You pushed open Bruce’s door, your breath ragged, voice breaking before it even left your throat.

“Dad-”

He looked up instantly from the armchair, the book in his lap forgotten. One look at you—eyes glassy, pupils uneven, wrapped in your own hoodie like a shield—and he was already on his feet.

His voice was calm, but there was a sharpness beneath it. Not anger. Alertness. “Hey, what wrong kid?”

You didn’t answer with words. You walked to him, unsteady on your feet, and then just stopped.

Frozen.

Your voice cracked like dry wood. “I—I messed up again.”

His face didn’t change. Not disappointment. Not shock. Just soft understanding. The kind that says, You’re still safe here.

“I got high and I panicked and I—I didn’t know where else to go. I thought I could handle it this time and I—” Your voice crumbled. Your hands were fists at your sides. “I can’t do it. I can’t—I don’t know how to stop running from it.”

Bruce stepped closer, slowly. "You're not running. You came to me. That’s not running.”

You looked up at him eyes red from your high, and the crying.

Then his expression cracked, at this sight of you. A sight you try so hard to hide. His jaw trembled. Not many people got to see that side of Bruce Wayne.

Without another word, he pulled you into him.

His arms wrapped around you the way they used to—one across your shoulders, the other over your head, his chin resting gently atop your hair. Not squeezing. Not restraining. Just holding. Like a shelter.

You melted into his chest with a gasp that was half a sob. Your knees buckled and he shifted immediately, guiding you down with him as he sank to the floor beside the bed, holding you in his lap like he had when you were smaller and so much more afraid of being loved.

He didn’t ask you to explain. He didn’t demand answers. He just held you.

“It’s okay now,” he murmured, low and steady against your ear. “You’re not alone. You’re not in that place anymore. You’re right here, and I’ve got you.”

You gripped the front of his shirt like a lifeline, knuckles white. “I don’t want to be like this.”

“You won’t be,” he whispered. “This isn’t forever. It’s just a hard moment. And we get through those together.”

You nodded against him, tears sliding down your cheeks silently.

For a long time, he just held you, breathing with you until your heartbeat started to slow. Until your fingers unclenched. Until the high faded and all that was left was a warm, steady heartbeat beneath your cheek.

Safe.

Home.

You weren’t a lost kid anymore. But even when you slipped, Bruce never stopped being someone who would find you again.

Bruce Wayne / Batman Tag List

@crispysharkarcade

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[threepandas]

Bad End: Hidden Heir

Next ->

The Duke's family had very distinct eyes. It was genetic. An aggressively dominant trait at that, though it tended to die off, after a few generations out of the family. Supposedly a "blessing of the Gods". Spring to be exact. Bounty and luck. And the family certainly WAS bountiful.

In all the best and worst ways.

Wealth, corruption, children and bastards. It was a family so aggressively ALIVE, it could only be Spring's blessing that made them so. Pouring mania and madness into their veins like sweet sunlight. Whispering glory and riches, into power addled ears. They burst with life. Even as they endlessly destroyed themselves.

They were fictional.

Fascinating set dressings, for the stage play of someone else's story. Unimportant beyond their role in world building. As the origin story and power base of a character lead.

The Story ITSELF didn't even occur here. But rather, in the capital. Where the players of significance had gathered.

And I? Oh I was some minor antagonist, so insignificant to the plot, I genuinely could not remember which of seven different women I actually WAS. It had been an ongoing series. Otome Isekai. Reverse harem.

And I was either in the ORIGINAL original novel, the isekai'd plot novel, the anime adaption, OR a horrifying fever dream. My memory was largely useless. But? I did remember the characters. The archetypes.

And the fact, that the author had clearly been going though a Yandere phase.

My region of the Reverse Harem collect-o-thon? Horrifying! Red flags everywhere! No one here should date, leave room for fantasy Jesus, have we considered the joys of being a NUN? Yes. Yes I HAVE thought about it.

I was pretty sure I'd never make it. End up dead or captured by some sort of Nun Yandere. Or God Yandere. Possibly both. Assuming the bandit yanderes don't get me first. It... it was very stressful, living here.

Luckily? I knew when I could leave.

Or so I thought.

Because my house? The Dukedom? Had the "yandere butler who is secretly an heir." Who starts out with loyal dog behavior. A little highly possesive master and servant play. Then rises to become a Duke. Presumably? That is when I die. Or am disowned.

Death is most likely. Since my role was "minor antagonist" and I was to be mean to the sweet, earnest, Harem possessing Protagonist. Don't see WHY I would. Live and let live. Good for her etc etc. But regardless? Best to avoid, just in case.

The problem? Who do you think Mr Illegitimate Heir serves before she gets here? The OTHER possible heirs? Of course not! They'd "oops! Hunting accident~☆" him in a heart beat. Father isn't stupid. And my sisters? Issues. Violent, violent, issues.

He ends up with ME.

Father, WHY.

Obviously, I ignore him. I see nothing. I hear nothing. There is no war in Ba Sing Se. Mmmmm, tea. Good book. Ignore his creepy staring. His creepy, creepy staring.

Thankfully? I never really ran out of Totally Legitimate reasons to send him away to learn or do something. Proper tea making. Door maintenance. Eastern embroidery. Something, anything, and off you go! Bye bye~☆!

Unfortunately. He got faster. Better and better at learning. Mastering skills. Coming BACK. Showing up to stand in the corner, silent and looming, like an omen of death. Those damn eyes. The fucking family eyes!

I don't have them. And NOT as, my Father would have me believe, because I "take after my Mother". But because I am not genetically related to the Duke. I have GOLD eyes. When I wear the right shade of green? I pass. So I am condemned to forever wear green. Don't even really like it much. But?

I am pretty damn sure? I was just... pretty.

A lovely, orphaned, golden eyed child that COULD pass as his. So why not? It was a whim that payed off. Unlike in the original stories, I imagine. Since I am by FAR the best behaved child in this entire house. Ha! Suck it, bio-kids, the adopted one's the favorite! Maybe should have been less lil bitchs.

....I carefully do not say.

Those are INSIDE thoughts.

Fuck. He's still LOOMING. Isn't he? Go awaaaaaay. Where is Protag-chan? Come be doe eyed and busty! Trip adorably! Go "kyaaa~" or something! I feel body heat and freeze. He's leaning over my shoulder to pick up the teapot, pour me another cup. I can FEEL the barest graze of his knuckles against my back, from where he's gripped my chair. The smell of his aftershave almost hauntingly pleasant.

Like he KNEW exactly what smells I liked most. Went out of his way to find one that best suited my preference. Coincidence. Please, PLEASE be a coincidence! I do not turn my head. Keep my eyes locked straight ahead. Barely breathing.

He steps back.

The new pot is sharp and herbal. Almost bitter. I force myself to drink. Can't see a sugar dish, and REFUSE to turn around and ask for one. Ignore. IGNORE. My pounding heart calms. My muscles slowly start to relax.

It... it IS weird, though, now that I think about it? That Protag-chan hasn't reached the Dukedom yet. She should have. God only knows I sent Creepy to the capital enough times, with enough highly specific instructions, that he should've had his meet cute's and dates by the dozen. Been half way in love. So... why...?

Huh.

Dizzy.

The taste of tea sits wrong on my tounge. I stop drinking as the world sways. Letting the cup fall from my hand. Splatter, roll, and shatter. I try desperately to stand. A gentle gloved hand catches my elbow, supporting me. I turn. Giddy eyes. Triumphant, wide, spring green eyes. Too green to be gold, too gold to be green.

An almost cruel, mocking, yet loving grin.

Another hand slides around my waist, braces me against his side. Gleeful little murmurs, too pleased to be reassuring. You. You did this! You DRUGGED ME!

I can barely move, body relaxing against my command, going limp, as he draws me close. Presses his face against the side of my head, against my temple. A deep, shuddering breathe, that he savors like wine. I try to pull free but can not. Feel his lips pull into a vicious grin against my skin. Hands begin to run in gentle, claiming, exploration.

And at last the drugs kick in... the wo..rld..

G..oes..

Dar..k........

[bat-mom-writer]

Rage and Redemption: Part 16

Batman x adopted reader x Red hood

Summery: Jason takes you back to his apartment and you confess your hate to batman

Rating: angst, Jason tries to comfort

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 17

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A couple hours ago, Red Hood crouched on a rusted fire escape outside a crumbling apartment complex in Gotham’s East End. The metal groaned under his boots as he slid open the warped window with a screech that sliced the silence. He ducked inside like a shadow, silent and swift. The floorboards moaned beneath his weight as he stepped down, scanning the room through the crimson visor of his helmet.

The apartment was dim, lit only by the fractured glow of a nearby neon sign bleeding pink and blue into the peeling wallpaper. It smelled of old smoke and older takeout, like time had stopped somewhere in the late ‘90s and refused to move on. The air hung heavy, thick with memories better left untouched.

“Okay, kid,” Red Hood said, looking down at you. His voice was low but not unkind, rough in the way gravel sounds under boots. “Welcome to my castle.”

You didn’t respond. Just like back at the factory. Or on the rooftop. Or during the ride through Gotham’s maze of alleys and shadows. You sat down slowly on the couch he gestured to. It was an ancient, threadbare thing that groaned as if resenting the weight of one more secret.

“Yeah,” Jason muttered, peeling off his gloves as he squatted in front of you. “Not much, but it’s home.” There was pride in his tone. Sad, stubborn pride. The kind that didn’t come from comfort but from surviving something that should’ve broken you.

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Alright, kid. I’ve played nice. Now it’s your turn. Your folks gotta be flipping out by now. Just tell me where you live. I’ll drop you off, no questions, no weird small talk.”

But you didn’t speak. You sat with your hands tucked beneath your thighs, fidgeting with the hem of your skirt, eyes fixed on the stained floorboards like they held the secrets of the universe.

Jason exhaled, dragging a hand down his helmet. “Man, I am so not built for this,” he muttered.

He tried again.

“How about we make it fun, huh?” He lifted his hands, miming an airplane. “You tell me where you live, I Batman-grapple us over there, make it a whole adventure. Sound good?”

You clenched your hands at the word Batman. But still said nothing.

You just stared through him like he was smoke. It wasn’t defiance. It was fear. Deep, old, and unmoving.

He dropped his arms with a sigh. “Okay, fine. You win.” He stood up. “I’ll take you to the GCPD then. They’ve got warm lights and people trained to handle stuff like—”

“No!” You were on your feet in a blink, arms wrapped tight around his waist, face buried against the rigid armor of his suit.

You suddenly jump up and wrap your arms around his waist, eyes closed tightly. You can feel his muscles tense under the fabric of his costume, the armor uninviting yet somehow comforting against your trembling body.

"Uh...okay," Red Hood says, clearly caught off guard by the sudden display of affection. He pats you awkwardly on the back. "So...is that a 'yes'? Great! So lets just... get... you...over... there–Kid, come on. I can't carry you like this," he says, trying to gently peel your arms from around him.

You tighten your grip, shaking your head vigorously. "No, no, no," you whimper into his costume, the fear of being taken to the police gripping your soul like a vice.

"Kid, come on, the police are... fine people," Red Hood tries to reassure you, his voice gentle despite his dislike to the boys in blue. "They'll help find your folks."

But the mere mention of the police sends a shiver down your spine. You shake your head more vigorously. It wasn't entirely clear, even to you, why you didn't want to go to the police. You were always told, even by your own parents, to go to the police if you're in trouble. But being left alone with random people, who supposedly can help you, seems to much of a risk to take. Especially when the Joker was out there with his goons, or maybe it was being found by...him.

You can't trust any strangers, even if they seem friendly.

"No," you whisper, your voice muffled against his chest. "No police."

Red Hood sighs in annoyance, his grip on you tightening slightly. "Look, I get it, you're scared. But you can't stay here. You need to go home."

You just hold him harder, closing your eyes tighter, hoping that he will just let it go and not take you to the police. The thought of being taken away from him, even if he's a stranger, is terrifying.

Red Hood tries to rub his face with his free hand, his frustration growing as he tries to figure out what to do next. But his helmet is still on, so he takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling beneath you.

"Alright, alright," he says finally, his voice softer than before. "I won't take you to the police.”

You look up at him, hope flickering in your eyes. "Promise?" you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

Red Hood nods solemnly, his eyes meeting yours. "I promise," he says. "But you have to tell me where home is."

"I can't," you finally manage to croak out, the fear still thick in your voice.

Red Hood's eyes narrow slightly, his gaze searching your tear-stained face. "Why not?"

You shrink away from his gaze, clutching at the fabric of his costume. "Because…” you start, your voice trembling, “because if you know, he'll find me."

Red Hood's eyes widen. "The Joker," he murmurs, understanding dawning on his face. "You're scared he'll come for you if you go home."

But Red Hood’s eyes widen when you shake your head, a puzzled look crossing his face. “Not the Joker?” he asks, his voice tinged with confusion. “Then who are you scared of?”

You’re quiet for a moment, your grip on his waist tighten slightly. Your eyes scan the room, waiting for darkness to attack. Finally, you lean in, your voice a trembling whisper, "Batman."

Red Hood's eyes go wide with surprise, his hand stilling on your back. "Batman?" he repeats, his voice a mix of confusion and disbelief. "Why would you be scared of Batman?"

You clutch at him harder, your eyes darting around the room as if expecting the Dark Knight to emerge from the shadows at any moment. "You are like him. Superheros. But he... he…” tears choke your words. You weren’t sure how to explain the fear that had been planted in your heart, what the Joker said about him.

“Kid.” Red Hood’s voice is gentle now, his arms coming around you in a reassuring embrace. He's trying to be comforting, but his confusion pulls him in to know more. “It’s okay. Take a deep breath. What about Batman?”

You lean into him, feeling the warmth of his body despite the cold, hard armor. “He... he’s why I lost my mommy and daddy to the fire.” The words come out in a rush, the pain and fear still raw. “The Joker said it was all his fault. That he’s the reason bad things happen in Gotham.”

Red Hood’s gaze hardens as he listens to your trembling confession. The Joker’s twisted words had found a home in your mind, a festering wound that had grown into a deep-seated fear of the very hero who had saved your life. He strokes your hair, his heart aching for the pain you’ve suffered, the innocence lost in the shadow of the Clown Prince of Crime’s madness.

“Kid,” he says, his voice a soothing balm, “Batman isn’t the reason for the bad things in Gotham. He’s the one trying to stop them. He's out there trying to save people. The Joker’s just a... a master of lies.”

“But he didn’t save my mommy and daddy,” you whisper, your voice cracking with the weight of your words. The memory of that fateful night is still a fresh wound, and the mention of Batman’s name feels like salt in your soul.

Red Hood’s expression softens, his hand pausing in its comforting motion. He looks at you with a mix of pity and resolve. “I know he couldn’t save everyone, but he’s not the enemy,” he says gently. “You can trust him.”

“No!” You shout, your eyes snapping to meet his, your voice filled with a sudden ferocity. “He didn’t save them! He killed my daddy! I hate him! I hate Batman!” You push away from him, the anger burning through your fear.

Red Hood’s eyes widen, his grip on you loosening. “Kid, Batman didn’t kill your parents. Batman never kills, trust me, I know.”

“He did! He let daddy and mommy die in the fire!” You shout, the tears coming in full force now, your fists clenching the fabric of his costume. The room feels like it’s closing in around you, the walls whispering of the night that changed everything.

Red Hood’s jaw tightens, his eyes flashing with a fiery determination. “The Joker’s the one you should hate, not Batman,” he says firmly, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of emotions. “He’s the one who started the fire, who hurt so many people. Batman’s the one who tries to save us from monsters like him.”

Yet again, your voice rang out through the dilapidated room, fueled by a rage so intense it could've burned the very fabric of reality. "No! He's a bad man! I hate him!" Your fists balled up, pounding against the unyielding armor of the Red Hood's chest plate, each hit echoing in the air like a declaration of war.

"Hey, hey kid!" Red Hood's firm grip caught your wrists mid-air, his eyes meeting yours with a fierce determination that didn't quite match the softness in his voice. He held you at bay, his thumbs brushing gently against your palms, calming your rage with a touch that spoke more than his words ever could. "You're safe here. Trust me, okay? I’m not asking you to trust Batman, I’m asking you to trust me."

You paused, looking into the eyes behind the red helmet.

"You're scared, and that's okay," Red Hood said, his voice gentle. "I get scared too. I get scared because I'm just like you."

He slowly lets go of your wrists, his hands moving to his helmet, which he carefully removes. For the first time, you see the face of the man who saved you tonight. His hair black, besides the front pieces that are a stark white, his eyes are filled with a pain that mirrors your own. The scars on his cheeks stand out against his flushed skin, a silent testament to his own tragic past.

"I'm not just some guy in a helmet, with really cool backflips," he says, his voice filled with a vulnerability that's starkly at odds with his tough exterior. "I'm Jason. And I know what it's like to lose everything to the Joker."

You stare at him, your fists slowly unclenching. His eyes, filled with a kind of pain you thought only you knew, bore into yours, and for a moment, the world around you feels a little less scary.

"Jason," you murmur, the name sounding faintly familiar, echoing through the smoke-filled corridors of your memory. But you shake your head, focusing on right here and now.

"But I just hate him so much," you say, your voice still filled with the heat of your anger. "He just stood there watching it all happen. He could've saved them. He could've stopped it."

Red Hood, now revealed to be Jason, sighs heavily, his grip on your wrists loosening until his hands are fully open. "Kid, he can't save everyone. Believe me, I know. But he's out there trying to make sure no one else goes through what we have. And sometimes he can’t do that for everyone.”

You lower your head and murmur, “like my mommy and daddy,” the words barely audible to anyone but yourself. Jason’s eyes soften, mistaking your words for acceptance, for understanding the harsh reality of Gotham’s streets. But in your heart, the anger is a wildfire, untamed and growing stronger by the second. Batman didn’t even try to save them, didn’t do anything to prevent the Joker’s twisted games.

“Okay,” he says, his voice a mix of understanding and acceptance, “How about we get you home. Where do you live?”

You look up at Jason, the man who'd been your savior, and finally, after what feels like an eternity of silence, you whisper the words that had been a secret for so long. "Wayne Manor."

Jason's eyes widen in surprise. "The Wayne Manor?" he repeats, his voice barely above a murmur. "But... but that's..."

You nod, your voice small but steady. "Yes. That's where I live. With Bruce Wayne… my dad.”

Jason’s eyes went wide with shock, the revelation hitting him like a punch to the gut. "Your dad is Bruce Wayne?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re the daughter… of Bruce Wayne?”

“Yes, she is.”

Jason and you turn to the window with a start, the shadowy figure of Batman looming large in the frame..

"Batman," you murmur, your eyes widening with fear at the stoic figure.

Part 17

[theamberfist]

Like Father, Like Child | Alastor + Exorcist! Reader

Familial! Alastor + Exorcist! Adopted Child! Reader

Description: You always had murderous urges, just like your adoptive dad. Of course, you didn't know he had them too; not until the day he died, when you swore to never act on them and end up like him. Now, you're one of Adam's exorcists, about to fight in the battle between heaven and the Hazbin Hotel.

(Notes: CW Alastor, mentions of murder) (gender neutral reader) (reader is Alastor's adopted child from when they were alive) (Part 1 of 4)

Words: 3,317

You awoke to the sound of banging at your door and groaned, knowing it was way too early in the morning to be up. You'd been having a particularly pleasant dream, too, though you couldn't remember what it had been about now. 

Turning over in your bed, you attempted to ignore whoever was out there. Maybe, if you didn't acknowledge them, they would go away and leave you alone?

You were wrong. A few seconds later, the banging continued, making you shove your face deeper into your pillow. "Are you up?" A familiar voice called from the other side of the door but you remained silent. You could hear them huff in exasperation at that. "Come on, don't you know what day it is? Being late would be a really bad idea!"

You rolled your eyes. What could possibly be so important that you had to be up this early for it? This was heaven, after all, so it wasn't like most people didn't respect the fact that you needed your rest. Even if you were late to attend some pressing event, you were sure whoever was running it would be understanding. Everyone here was, except maybe one or two angels you could think of that would probably stab your eye out-

Suddenly, you remembered why today was so important and shot up with wide eyes. Why hadn't your alarm gone off already?

Scrambling across your bed to the little table at its side, you grabbed your phone and opened it to see that you had, in fact, set an alarm. Only, it was for the evening; not the morning. Some help that had been.

"Shit!" You whisper-yelled to yourself as you practically fell out of bed and raced over to your closet to get ready. Luckily, it seemed like the you that had gotten everything ready last night had foreseen this, because your uniform was laid out and ready to go, saving you the time it would have taken to search your closet for it. 

"Oh good, now you're up!" The voice outside called as you hurriedly got dressed and then flew over to your tiny bathroom to finish preparing for the day. You were already running ten minutes late, but maybe if you hurried enough, you could make it just in time. 

As soon as you'd finished getting ready, you raced over to the door with your mask in hand and threw it open, startling the pink and white spider demon girl on the other side. 

"There you are!" She exclaimed with a smile, "I thought I'd never be able to get you out of bed!" You couldn't stay long enough to hear much more of what she had to say though; taking off into flight as you headed down the hall. 

"Can't talk now, sorry Moll's!" You told the winner, feeling a little bad for ditching her like that when she'd been kind enough to ensure you made it to work in time. She seemed to understand though because she nodded, waving goodbye to you as you flew off. You resolved to take her out for ice cream when you finally did get back later in order to make up for this. After all, she seemed to have your back no matter how much you'd always tried to push her away. 

"Good luck, Jez! Tell me all about it when you get back!" You resisted the urge to cringe at her use of that name, though it wasn't her fault that it made you uncomfortable. Even if it was what everyone in heaven had called you for almost as long as you could remember, it had never been yours.

There was no time to think about that, though; you had to make it to work before your boss noticed your tardiness or he would surely take out your eye.

You waved to the people you knew out and about in heaven's streets as you went; of which, there were few since it was so early in the morning. You knew the way to the heaven's gates by heart, so it didn't take long before you saw them in the distance. Panting from flying so fast, you made your way down to where a huge crowd of other angels had gathered in preparation for what was to come today. 

The sight of them was enough to make you nervous but you quickly shook the feeling away, not wanting it to interfere with your job. If you messed up today, you might not be allowed down there again for a while and you weren't sure if your sanity could handle parading around in heaven for that much longer. 

Finally, you landed near the back of the crowd, hoping no one other than the few angels lingering there had seen you arrive. You put on your mask now so you would look more put together and then looked around to see if your boss had shown up yet. Hopefully he hadn't; then he definitely wouldn't have seen you arrive late. 

"Jez, nice of you to finally show the fuck up!" A familiar voice shouted behind you and you instantly deflated. Of course it would have been too much to hope he wasn't here yet. Still, you turned around, glad for the mask covering your face since it meant you didn't have to fake a smile out of politeness. 

"Oh, hi Adam!" You exclaimed and then noticed the other angel standing beside him, "...And Lute."

"You're late." The angel in question said, crossing her arms in disdain. 

"Yeah, so sorry about that!" You exclaimed awkwardly, "I, uh, accidentally slept in this morning! Luckily, Emily came and got me so now I'm here! I promise it won't happen again." You were over apologizing, but knowing these two, it was probably the only thing that would keep you from being too harshly punished for your tardiness. 

"If you weren't such a great asset, Jez, I'd have kicked you out years ago." Adam told you in a very matter-of-fact tone.

"Years." Lute added with a nod as she crossed her arms. 

"You're lucky you hunt down demons like they're fuckin' livestock." Adam continued, "Now, out of my way! I've got some bitches to hype up!" And with that, he pushed past you and through the other angels to get through to the front. 

"You'd better prove your worth today," Lute snarled at you as she followed after him, "This is hardly your first slip-up, and even our patience has its limits." You nodded quickly to get her off your back, but in reality, you were glaring through the mask. 

She headed up to the front and you let yourself melt back into the crowd now, wishing you could punch that smug expression right off her face. At the front, Adam now began his customary hype-speech you'd grown used to hearing before exterminations. 

"Extermination day is here, bitches!" He called, "We're gonna go down and exterminate demon ass!"

"Destroy that ass!" Lute added in agreement. You almost would have wanted to laugh, if you didn't hate those two so much.

"Prepare to slaughter every sinner in that shit hotel!" Adam continued. Now, after having heard what went down in angelic court a while back, you knew where this was going. "And you all remember Vaggie!" 

There it was. You winced at the mention of your old friend, whom you'd assumed had run away back when she disappeared on an extermination day years ago. As it turned out, she'd fallen from heaven and was now dating the daughter of Lucifer herself. You weren't sure how to feel about that news, but you didn't think you could get yourself to hate her for it, either.

Of course, it seemed the rest of the exorcists clearly could, because they all let out loud boo's at the mere mention of her name. 

Lute must have made a particularly unhinged comment about Vaggie because even Adam seemed taken aback now. "Anyway," Adam went on, "Whoever brings me Vaggie's head gets...I don't know, a million heaven bucks! How about that, huh?" The rest of the angels shouted in joy while you contemplated whether or not 'heaven bucks' were a real thing. You didn't think you'd heard of them before...

"Ladies!" Adam said now, gaining your attention once more, "Let's fuck shit up! ATTACK!" And with that, everyone took off flying down towards hell. Despite the fact that you'd done this plenty of times before in the last seven years since you'd become an exorcist, you still felt that familiar nervousness at the idea of going down there.

What if you saw someone you knew from back when you were alive? There were plenty of people you could think of that had likely ended up in hell, and seeing them wouldn't be particularly pleasant. 

 But who were you kidding? There was only one sinner you were truly worried about running into down there. It had never happened in the seven years you'd been killing demons for Adam, but that didn't mean it never would. 

What would you do if you saw him? You couldn't be sure. After everything that had come out about him after his death, you weren't even sure you considered the man a father anymore. But at the same time, did you have the right to shun him when deep down, you were the same way? It felt hypocritical but the betrayal of what he'd once done still clouded your judgement. 

You flew after everyone else now, taking a deep breath as you entered the portal through to hell. You'd done this before, so there was nothing to worry about, you told yourself. Still, there was one fear you couldn't get out of your mind as you flew towards the hotel.

What if you did see your dad, and you weren't strong enough to kill him?

..........

You had always been an...Abnormal child. But then again, what kid wasn't from time to time? You, however, had grown up with urges most people never experienced. They were occasional and you always pushed them out of your mind as soon as they entered, but that didn't mean they weren't there.  

You'd thought you were the odd one out for it; that no one around you ever felt the same way. For the longest time, you'd shunned yourself for it, only to later discover that in your case, it simply meant the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree.

The day you found out your dad was dead had been a shock. The man who had been ever-present in your life since the day he'd adopted you was now gone. But more than that, you'd been appalled to discover the kind of secrets he hid behind closed doors; ones he kept even from you. 

He was a murderer, they'd said. He'd killed and eaten the people that were thought to be missing from your area for years. That psycho killer he'd always used to warn you against staying out late at night? That mysterious figure that was always in the back of people's minds as they went about their lives? That monster who had been the talk of every newspaper in New Orleans for months?

He was your own adoptive father. 

After the shock came the feeling of betrayal. How could he do this? How could the man that had raised you into the person you were today have been such a lie? You'd always looked up to him; always tried to be like him in one way or another to make him proud. 

Why couldn't he have taken a page out of your book for once? It wasn't like you'd never thought of doing those things; like you'd never had the urge to kill too. But unlike your father, apparently, you'd had enough self control to never act on those urges. You'd thought he would consider it wrong; improper, even, if you did, but it seemed now that he never would have minded.

In fact, you might have gained even more of his pride if you'd just given in to your own tendencies. How ironic. 

Even knowing this, though, you never bloodied your hands when you were alive. If you had, it would have felt like you'd given up; like you'd let your dad win. You needed to prove to him, to everyone, that that was not the case. You wouldn't kill, no matter how much you felt that unsatiable itch in the back of your brain. You would prove to him that things didn't have to end up the way they did; that he could have chosen not to act on his wants like you'd been doing this whole time.  

You'd been a teenager at the time of Alastor's death; left alone in the world to fend for yourself as the child of a now-known killer. It had been an immensely lonely existence, which was why you were glad when just a few years into your adulthood, someone finally ended your misery by killing you off themselves in a way that blatantly echoed your father's previous murders. 

You'd expected it, and in the end, you'd been happy to say that you'd succeeded in never acting on your homicidal urges. You'd won in that regard.

Which, you supposed, had been enough to get you into heaven, because the next thing you knew, you were standing in front of the pearly gates being greeted by a peculiar looking man with wings and a halo. Not to mention the fact that you bore those things as well. 

After that, the rest was history. You knew Alastor hadn't ended up in heaven so there was no chance of running into him there. You had no one else that cared for you either in life or death, so you stuck to your own for the most part.

That, and the fact that your urges still hadn't dissipated. Every day, you held back from running all that you'd built here in heaven; stopped yourself from making the unfortunate mistake of killing another angel. You were still proving this point to your dad, you supposed, even after death. 

Even if he never knew about it. 

It took a few years for Adam to catch wind of you due to your reclusiveness, but once he did, he immediately saw the potential in you. 

The adopted child of a famous serial killer, whom had still somehow managed to stay clean enough to end up in heaven after it all? And, on top of that, you had no ties to anyone else in heaven that might hold you back or make you weak. Molly was the only other angel you really got along with, but even then, you'd always held her at arms length, just in case.

It was a backstory fitting of an exorcist, and Adam must have seen that for himself, because he immediately got to work recruiting you for his cause. It had taken a long time, thanks to the promise you'd made to yourself that you still kept up in death about not killing anyone. However, he knew how to appeal to your murderous nature, and eventually, he managed to convince you that killing sinners wouldn't be a breach of that promise; but a necessary way to protect the rest of heaven.

Or at least, that was what you'd told yourself. 

In a way, you knew you'd never believed it. Your dad was down there in hell; you knew he was. Despite everything, you couldn't say killing him wouldn't count as breaking your promise. 

Nonetheless, you trained to become an exorcist. The process was long and grueling, extending over many years. It tested you more than any other experience in your life or afterlife had; stripping away parts of your identity in order to provide you with new ones. Taking away some of that softness; that joy, to bring out your cold-hearted nature more instead. You didn't lose everything in that training, but it was certainly enough to make you harder to recognize by the end.

That was also how you'd gotten the name people now called you by. 

"If they're gonna be one of ours, they need a killer name!" Adam had exclaimed to Lute, who nodded in agreement.

"Right you are, sir." It was customary for him to name all the new exorcists as they began their training; whether they wanted him to or not. 

"Since you're a murderer's kid, ya need a name that sounds wicked as hell," Adam told you with a thoughtful look on his face. You just waited for him to make a decision already; knowing you were going to hate whatever he picked. Your dad had already given you a name you loved as it was; your name. Nothing else could compare to that, even after all that he'd done. "How 'bout Jez?" Adam finally decided, "That sounds pretty rad, and it reminds me of this one hot bitch I used to know. What was her name? Jezebel, or something?" Lute barked a verbal confirmation. 

You cringed at the choice but shrugged anyway. Adam seemed content with that because he took a step closer and slapped you on the back. "Alright, Jez it is. Welcome to the exorcists, bitch!" And with that, he and Lute had flown off, leaving you to come to terms with your new identity. 

..........

You flew towards the hotel with the rest of the angels now; feeling your nerves bubble up in your stomach at the sight of the huge black forcefield encasing it. There were tentacles coming out of the forcefield too that held angelic weapons, and it now dawned on you that that was probably how these sinners had found a way to harm your kind. 

Something about the forcefield felt familiar to you but you pushed the thought away. You didn't have time to worry about it; not when there were demons to take care of. So, when Adam brought the shield down using his own weapon, you flew in and readied your spear just as you had done many times before. 

There were a lot more sinners fighting back than you'd initially expected. Adam had made it seem like the only real threat would be the hotel owned by Lucifer's daughter, but given the huge army outside, that clearly wasn't the case. Where had they gotten so much manpower?

You fought most of them off with ease, noticing how they almost seemed to be...drooling? At the sight of you. It was like they wanted to bite a chunk out of you, and you weren't about to let that happen. 

You flew to higher ground now, breathing heavily from taking out so many of the odd little sinners. There was a distinct feeling of accomplishment somewhere within you but you ignored it; reminding yourself that you were only killing right now in order to protect heaven, not because you enjoyed it.

...Even though you did enjoy it. 

Now that you were higher up, though, you found yourself closer to some of the black tentacles you'd seen before, which extended off a nearby roof and now seemed to be coming your way. 

Gasping in surprise, you brought out your angelic spear to try and defend yourself, only for the tentacles to suddenly stop in front of you, as if their wielder had just realized something. Panting, you glanced to the roof, where a deer-like demon dressed all in red with a few black accents was standing tall. His eyes were fixed on you but they weren't what caught your attention immediately.

He wore a big, yellow smile across his face that you would have recognized anywhere. It sent a chill down your spine as the realization that the exact event you'd always feared was currently coming to pass dawned on you. 

Here you were, levitating above a huge battle between heaven and hell. Here you were, performing your eighth extermination.

And here you were, staring into the eyes of your father, whom you hadn't seen since the day he died. 

..........

Part 2

Part 3

[thejujvtsupost]

Hello, I am a first timer here. I would like to humbly request something. Can I please request for a Platonic Nanami and adopted daughter reader. The reader is not used to a normal environment and they are used to fighting and surviving

Girl Dad Transformation

I’ve been stewing over this so hard bc it’s been giving me the cutest ideas!!!! And ofc Yuuji is so big brother coded here.

Notes: F!reader, brotherly!Yuuji, Nanami and his adopted daughter 🥺. That’s it.

Nanami didn’t think about the long term impact of adopting the orphaned sorcerer. Surely he wouldn’t change that much…

All he knew was there was a 5 year old girl clutching her only toy- a stuffed bear, who could see ‘scary monsters’ and no longer had any family, thanks to the curse that was tormenting humans for fun; he was just a little too late.

The poor thing was terrified. In the blink of an eye his hand was seized by a freezing, much smaller one with a death grip.

Nanami got you looked at by Shoko and you refused to let go of him the entire time. By the looks of it, you were malnourished and you frequently got injured from curses. Your home life was fairly unstable too, financial issues and absent-detached parents. Shoko got a lot more information from you than he ever expected, piecing together some of your history from your seemingly unrelated answers, as children do.

“She’s going to have to stay for observation, probably several weeks until we can get her healthy enough. She’s going to need a special diet too, I haven’t seen a case this bad in a long time and she’s too young for cursed energy.”

His heart was crushed for you, when was the last time you had somewhere stable? “Why are you telling me?”

“You found her, she’s clearly attached to you and you know you can’t turn away now. You look at her like she’s Itadori. It’s just until I can find a place for her at a home or foster.” Shoko never fails with her dead pan demeanor and sass.

She was also right.

He looked back at you, you were passed out in your hospital bed covered by several blankets and hugging your bear. Finally, you were warming up. Finding you a home could take months if you went to a foster or orphanage… “Don’t bother,” he swallowed thickly, “I will adopt her.”

Shoko’s face softened further, “You can’t go back on it, you already earned her trust. If you’re really sure then I think this will be good for both of you.”

He did his best to be at your bedside when he could, and you were quiet but clearly in need of comfort. Your favorite thing to do was have him read to you with cartoons on a low volume in the background. “Nami, book?” Nanami picked up a book off the stack Shoko brought and started reading. No complaints, and after the first few days he didn’t bother hiding his smile anymore.

He spent a fortune on converting his spare bedroom into yours. He didn’t even know what 5 year olds liked, but according to the first years and Shoko, he needed to make sure you had various toys (he bought everything Yuuji pointed out to him- Yuuji definitely went overboard but Nanami didn’t stop him), clothes and of course you’d need signed up for school.

When the adoption was final and he brought you home for the first time, he was thoroughly instructed how to parent by then, he was ready.

You… weren’t. Not yet. You didn’t know that your room was yours. All the toys and clothes, everything was yours. ‘Nami’ kept the ‘scary monsters’ away too…

“Hey it’s okay honey, I know it’s a big change.” He wiped the tears from your chubby cheeks and smiled softly. “You belong here, you’re safe now.”

A grown up was taking care of you, for good this time.

It was a journey every day but worth it as you came out of your shell, and he encouraged you with a gentle hand. Of course there were setbacks too. He wasn’t perfect, he definitely wasn’t good at laundry at first.

He was new to parenting and it was exhaustingly difficult to navigate yet he was completely whipped for you, never turning down a tea party or invitation to watch cartoons together. He became a complete girl dad overnight.

All it took was, “Nami! Play!” And he’d be on the floor in the living room playing with the doll you handed him.

You started eating more, even requesting different meals when he asked what you were in the mood to eat. “Nami, can we have soba?”

Nanami couldn’t say no to you. “Soba sounds great.” He’d have the softest smile on his face too.

You played more often, and eventually made friends! Yuuji claimed the title as your first friend but you were encouraged to make more- he helped you practice asking your classmates about themselves and how to invite them to play with you.

And Nanami… he never forced you to call him dad. He loved you more than he ever thought possible. He was always proud to call you his daughter, bragging about your excellent kindergarten grades and your recent achievement of becoming the line leader at school for the week.

But the first time you did happened a month in, while doing your bedtime routine and picking out a night night story. Instead of ‘Nami’ he was gifted: “Daddy, can you read the star book?” He let out a tear and hugged you tight.

Nanami tucked you in, kissed your forehead and sat on the edge of your bed, “Yeah honey, I’ll read you the star book.”

Thinking about making a request? Check my bio to see if they’re open and stay tuned <3

[kayeonandherbunny]

Modern Hell Famlily

Ozzie and Fizz is adopt abused human child. they are daddies of this little girl.

artist: @funny010125 (commision)

she got a daddy ozzie's ribbon. daddy fizz braided her hair

fluffy fizz is much loved by her

due to trauma of her past, she doesn't show her emotion very much. but she always love her daddies with all her heart.

my fanfiction

[cringe--is--dead]

formally asking for part two of misguided hearts, please!! it was an amazing read!! I'm so excited to see what will happen next :) your writing is absolutely phenomenal ❤️

A/N: We are gonna pretend it hasn't been for forever since I've not only posted on here, but done anything with DBZ. Anyways! Here we are!

The Blind (No Longer) Leading the Blind (Part Two)

Misguided Hearts (Part One)

"I still think you should let Gohan and I spar."

Trunks was on the same topic, pouting, though he'd argue he wasn't, as you fussed over your hair and your makeup, finally settling on an outfit with your mom's help. You sighed, turning to where he was seated on your bed.

"And I told you-- no fighting my friends."

"He made you upset though," He was looking at you as if you were the one who made no sense in this situation.

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head fondly at him, "Gohan didn't upset me."

Though he didn't believe you, "I could stop being friends with Goten?"

You moved to sit across from him, watching as he held one of your pillows to his chest, glaring at your comforter.

"Trunks I appreciate you being ready to fight on behalf of me, but you don't need to. And you especially don't need to drop your best friend for me." You ruffled his hair, and laughed at the offended noise he made, trying to bat you away.

"Whatever. If you come home crying I'm gonna tell dad."

You narrowed your eyes at him, all affection leaving, "You wouldn't."

You hadn't even told your dad you were going on a double date. The man would more than likely have a conniption. The first time a guy showed interest in you he declared no mortal good enough for his daughter and declared anyone after your heart and your hand needed to beat him in a match. You had been thirteen. It was embarrassing. Yet part of you had reveled in his protectiveness of you.

"I would."

You heard your mom shouting your name downstairs, and the jitters that had mellowed out hit you full force. You stood, motioning for Trunks to do the same.

"No hanging out in my room when I'm not here, brat."

He stuck his tongue out at you, "I don't wanna be in your dumb room anyways."

He dodged the smack you sent towards his arm and left you alone. Taking a deep breath, you forced a light expression on your face. Delaying the inevitable wouldn't do you any good.

"You at least look lovely honey," Your mom comforted you, and you smiled at her.

"Thanks, mom."

You made your way to the door, grabbing a thin jacket in case it got nippy, and opened the door, unprepared to see Gohan, Videl, and Erasa at your front door.

You blinked for a moment, staring at the three of them-- Erasa was your date for the double date?

Interesting.

"Sorry," Gohan rushed to apologize, "Erasa insisted we all went together."

The blonde beamed at you from where she stood, and though you were dreading this interaction, you could never dread hanging out with Erasa, and her happiness was always contagious.

"It's alright," You smiled back, shutting the door behind you, "Let's just hurry before dad finishes with his morning training."

Gohan shuddered at that, and the four of you moved to head off. Erasa was practically bouncing as she walked, far more excited than she had been earlier this week. Videl was with her, moving every so often to keep her from drifting into the street or getting distracted by something near by. You couldn't help but smile at the pair, Videl was always so soft with her friends.

"So," Sucks that it meant Gohan had to be stuck walking with you instead of his date, but hey, you'd soak up the time, "My mom says hi. And that you need to come over for dinner soon."

"Well, I'll never pass up an opportunity for Chi-Chi's cooking," He smiled at that, a bright look on his face as you continued, "We still have that project due soon so I could come over some time this week?"

"Yeah! That'd be great. Sorry in advance for how mom will be." He paused, "And dad, come to think of it."

You quirked an eyebrow at him, "I've known your parents since I was a kid, Gohan. I know how they'll be."

"Yeah, but this will be different. Well not really, for us I suppose. But for them. Mainly mom." He sighed, as if already exhausted by the dinner that hadn't even happened yet, "And dad's just excited that that gives him more excuses to hang out with Vegeta."

"That it-- what?"

He laughed as if your confusion was not only expected but entertaining to him, "I know. I told him that just because we're seeing each other it doesn't mean he gets to go over and bug your dad every day. Not to mention I think it'll just be another reason for Vegeta to not like him. Or me."

Your mind was reeling, and you felt yourself slowing down your walk, trying to process and make sense of what he was talking about. Gohan seemed almost too lost in his mind to notice at first.

"I wonder if there's some Saiyan tradition he's going to make me partake in. Or-- hey, what's up?"

He turned, and you realized you had gone from slowing down to not walking entirely.

"Gohan-- what are you talking about?"

It was his turn to look confused. "Well I mean, dad doesn't know a whole lot about Saiyan traditions so he never really did anything special with mom. I figured Vegeta would probably remember more so if there was one he'd force me to do it. It probably has something to do with sparring, knowing him."

"Why would-- why would you need to know about Saiyan traditions regarding-- what does my dad have to do with this?"

By now both Videl and Erasa had turned to look at you two, confused as to why their trip was pausing. Gohan looked from you, to the pair of them. The cafe was within sight, so he told the pair to go ahead, and you two would catch up in a moment.

Head tilted, he looked at you curiously, "Because if I'm taking you out then he's either going to have my head or make me partake in some... Saiyan courting ritual I know nothing about." He grinned slightly, joking as he said, "I'd like to get a head start on it so I don't lose against him."

"Why would you need to fight my dad in a Saiyan courting ritual to date Videl?"

You were met with silence as Gohan stared at you, mouth parted slightly.

"What are you talking about?" Before you could respond he stepped closer to you, "I'm-- I'm not interested in Videl? I asked you on this date?"

"No you didn't!"

"I did!" The pair of you seemed to be growing almost frustrated with each other.

"When?"

"When we were working on the project in your room-- I told you about the double date and you said you wanted to come!"

"Yeah, you said you and Videl wanted me to come on a double date. Meaning you and Videl were one couple, and I was--"

"Oh my God," He muttered to himself, rubbing his eyes under his glasses before pausing, looking at you with the biggest puppy eyes you had ever seen on him, "I messed this up."

He stepped forward, gently taking one of your hands into his, and you found yourself unsure of what to do or say.

"I... was asking you out. I wanted to come here with you. Videl had managed to get herself to ask Erasa out, but was too nervous for a one-on-one first date. So the agreement was I had to man up and ask you out."

"You... didn't do that well."

He laughed quietly, "I'm realizing this now." He paused, "Does this mean that... your answers changes now that you--"

"No!" Your voice was louder than you intended it to be, "No, no I... God, Gohan I was practically heart broken that I thought you were into Videl. I love her, don't get me wrong but I've had the biggest crush on you since we were kids."

His grin grew, becoming soft and almost dopey looking, "That's funny. I've had a crush on you since we were kids, too."

You could have face palmed then and there, could have cried or screamed with the amount of emotions you were feeling. Apparently, despite taking after your genius of a mother, you were an idiot.

"Oh," You blinked, "That's why Trunks was mad at you."

"What?"

"I was..." Moping. "Upset cause I thought you liked Videl. He heard me complaining to mom and wanted to fight you."

"Oh," He looked contemplative, "That... checks out. I'm just glad he hadn't told your dad yet."

You giggled, "He said if I came home crying he would."

"Well," He took your hand in his more securely, tugging you gently towards the entrance of the cafe, "I suppose I just have to make this an excellent first date."

[sakuralovespossums]

Sawyer Family x Child Sister Reader

Authors Note: I know I’ve been super late on my requests due to finals and vacation, but I will try to get them out before August 😅 in the meantime, plz enjoy this

I wrote this with Shapey from Moral Orel in mind

You’re the youngest of the Sawyer family. Not by blood but you were taken in by them. Maybe you just happened to wander on their property and they took a liking to you. Or they decided to keep you after killing your family. Who knows. You’re too little to remember anyways

They named you Pepper cuz it sounds cute

You’re often left at home while the boys go do their own thing. You’re not allowed outside much. The outside world is dangerous, they say. You still sneak out a lot which worries poor Bubba

He can be overprotective but you love him a lot because he tends to you like a mother and gives the warmest hugs

You scream and bite anyone who tries to pry you off him

The house is littered with sharp weapons and bones, so Bubba panics at seeing you run around holding a knife like it’s a toy

Dayton usually doesn’t heed you much and simply pats your head as he leaves for work. At dinner, he tells you to eat all your food or your not leaving the table

Sometimes he’ll tell you interesting stories from his youth or about the family. Your a Sawyer so you gotta know all this

He can be short tempered though and will yell at you if you bother him too much or break something (which is often)

People often think he’s your grandpa, which really annoys him. It’s bad enough they already think he’s his brothers’ dad

Nubbins is weird but funny. He’s always showing you all kinds of pictures he’s taken and random stuff he’s gathered from raiding past victims (keychains, rings, toothbrushes, etc). He even made a few trinkets for you, like a tooth necklace or box of painted nails

He calls you funny names like “lil critter” or “rat” cuz you run around a lot. Dayton gets mad though and beats him for calling you that

Grandpa doesn’t say or do anything, which you find really boring as a hyperactive kid. Sometimes you’ll lay next to him and draw in your notebook as he just sits in his wheelchair, still as a corpse

By the time you meet Choptop, your a bit older

Since Nubbins calls you “rat”, it’s only fitting he calls you “roach”

Sometimes he’ll show you pictures he took while in Vietnam and crack some jokes but doesn’t often talk about it

You really like his 70s hippie stuff and decorated your own room with some of them. He introduces you to a lot of cool artists and bands popular at that time, even giving you some of his old albums

Daytons a pretty traditionalist kind of guy, so he’ll start telling you to dress/behave more like a proper lady and that the boys need to be better role models

[certifiedwhore4slashers]

Can you pls write yandere!sidney prescott x fem!reader? tysm!

of course! thank you for requesting, couldn’t come up with a title lol so here you go.

pairing: yandere! sidney prescott x fem!reader

summary: sidney doesn’t want billy, she wants you.

warnings: yandere, stalking, obsession, implied murder but nothing major.

It was clear that Sidney Prescott and Billy Loomis wouldn’t work out. They were two completely different people.

They began dating in Sophomore Year and well, things were good in the beginning but now two years had gone by. Sidney wasn’t in love with him and he wasn’t in love with her anymore.

She wanted you, his adopted sister. The moment she met you, things changed. At least from her perspective.

However she had to start by being your friend. “Isn’t it weird that you’re my brother’s ex hanging around with me? You asked her once.

“No, he’s chill about it actually, Sidney lied. “Oh, okay, You replied, believing her. The truth was, Billy saw right through Sidney. After all he was obsessive too. It wasn’t that hard either.

Though she made sure that he never actually caught her. After that the two of you became closer than ever

“So y/n, you want to hang out today? Sidney asked. “I would but I have a date today, You replied honestly. She grit her teeth subtly.”Really?”

You nodded. “I’m happy for you, she said which surprised you. “You’re not upset? You ask her. She shakes her head.”Honest. You deserve a relationship, Y/n.”

With her. Nobody else.

You didn’t know who’d you seek out to even be in a relationship. Until you got asked out on a date, by a jock no less.

She started to follow you. Watch you on your date, even. You seemed happy. But that asshole didn’t deserve you Iike she did.

how could have billy let you go out with him?

Sidney grit her teeth while you giggled and had fun. That was the time she decided, she’d make sure she’d have you. She didn’t want anyone else but you.

────────────────────────

“It’s like he cut me off completely! You whine to Tatum, a friend of yours and Billy’s. He didn’t seem to mind you pretty much being in the group.

“That dickhead’s a jock, what did you expect? Well, I’m sorry Y/n, you deserve better, Tatum said sympathetically.

“You do, And I’m sorry too, Sidney said.”Maybe you’ll find someone else a lot more better than you.” You shrug.”Maybe. I just was really hoping you know? We’d become a couple and stuff.”

Sidney had no regrets. Even though his blood was on her hands. And you’d never know.

[iwrite0]

"Cost of Care"

Bruce Wayne / Batman x Adopted Child Reader

Warnings; Mentions of past child neglect and abuse Medical trauma and experiences with Type 1 Diabetes Self-harm and internalized guilt/self-hatred Gentle but emotional conversations about trauma and worth Comfort, unconditional love, and healing Both Dexcom and traditional test strips are used.

This is soooo self insert, I have issues man but hopefully this helps me and someone else who might need it. My parental issues kicking my ass today.

This is platonic if you can't tell, just parent kid dynamic stuff, don't be weird.

Masterlist

No sirens blaring from the city. No alarms triggered by Gotham’s rogues. Just the low hum of the computers and the steady echo of Bruce’s boots against the concrete.

And yet, his mind wasn't on Gotham’s chaos.

It was on you.

You, the child he'd brought into his home with eyes that never quite met his.

You, with your carefully logged blood sugar numbers and trembling hands during insulin injections.

You, who had come from too many places that only saw your diagnosis—Type 1 Diabetes—as a price tag.

Bruce had seen the file before even meeting you. Dozens of foster placements. “Returned” repeatedly.

“Multiple failed placements.”

“Emotional withdrawal.

“Requires daily insulin injections, continuous glucose monitoring, regular endocrinology visits.”

The last few lines are what killed him.

“Sweet kid. But too expensive.”

“Financial burden cited as main reason for placement return.”

It made Bruce sick. Not because of your condition, but because of the way the system had made you believe you were less because of it.

When he met you in person, you barely looked up. When he brought you to the manor, you refused to unpack.

At your first doctors appointment with him, he chose to sit in the room with you. That's when he saw. Scars. Thin and deliberate.

But he didn't say anything. He knew it was too soon and that it'd only make you hide even more.

Still, he made a habit to check in on you every few hours, even if it was just walking by whatever room you were in. But it wasn't just you two in the manor.

It was Jason who said something first.

He walked into the study one evening, shoulders squared and mouth already twitching with irritation. “Bruce.”

Bruce didn’t look up from the files. “What is it?”

“I found a stash of juice boxes under the new kid’s bed,” Jason said bluntly. “Like... a lot. Some were expired. There were also test strips."

Bruce’s jaw tightened.

Jason kept going. “They’re hiding food. Medical supplies. That’s not normal. And they barely flinch when I talk to them, but when Alfred raised his voice earlier? They go still like a statue. Like they’re waiting to get hit.”

That last part hit Bruce like a gut punch.

“They’re scared,” Jason said, tone softening for once. “Not just of you. Of needing anything. They look at the fridge like it’s a crime scene. And Bruce...” He paused, hesitant now.

"I- I thought I saw them trying to hurt themselves"

The silence that followed was deafening.

Dick came by the next day.

He crouched in the Batcave beside Bruce, eyes flicking over the surveillance feed. The screen showed you sitting quietly on the back lawn, knees to your chest.

“Are you sure you’re doing okay?” Dick asked carefully.

Bruce didn’t answer at first.

“I mean... adopting a kid with a chronic illness?” Dick continued. “I’m proud of you, don’t get me wrong. But that’s a lot. Trauma, medical care, supplies—”

“They’re not a case file,” Bruce interrupted, voice firm but calm. “They’re a child. My child. They just need a chance. Not to be told they’re too much again.”

Dick nodded slowly, gaze softening as he looked back at the screen. “…They remind me of me. When you first brought me here. Except quieter.”

“They’ve been told that their life costs too much to love,” Bruce murmured. “We’re going to unteach that.”

It was late when he found you again—hunched over in your room, knees tucked to your chest, the juice box on the nightstand half-drunk and your Dexcom meter beeping softly. You looked like you’d shrunk into yourself, trying to disappear under the blanket you brought from the last group home.

Bruce crouched beside the bed.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

You flinched, eyes wide, like a deer caught in headlights. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t want to bother you. I thought I’d wait it out. I know the juice is expensive and I already—”

"Hey now, we have plenty of juice for this exact reason. Its alright, just sit tight and I'll go get you another one okay? I'll be right back I promise"

And true to his word he came right back, strawberry juice in hand. He sat next to you watching in a way that you didn't feel his eyes, just to make sure the shaking stoped.

But the healing didn’t come overnight. There were rough patches. Nighttime panic attacks when your site alarm woke you and you panicked, thinking Bruce would get mad. Moments where you'd skip meals. Times you stood too long in the mini medicine fridge he had gotten for you, staring at the insulin pens as if they would disappear.

But Bruce was patient.

He hired a trauma-informed therapist. He let you sit in on calls with your endocrinologist. He explained your CGM trends like a detective solving a case, showing you that your body wasn’t wrong—it just needed attention.

A few days later, Jason tossed a glucose tab packet at you during patrol prep. “Your sugar’s 78. You’re trending down. Don’t be dumb.”

You blinked.

“…That’s his way of saying he cares,” Dick translated as he adjusted himself.

You blinked again. “…Oh.”

Jason rolled his eyes but walked past you, gently knocking his fist against your shoulder. “You pass out on me and I swear to God I’m carrying you like a backpack for the rest of your life.”

You smiled.

And Bruce, watching from the Batcomputer, finally let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

You're still healing. Some days are harder. But the guilt doesn't live as loud in your chest anymore. And when your Dexcom beeps, you don’t hide. You ask. You treat. You take care of yourself.

[yingfelis]

could you do a sentihua with the adopted!child reader prompt you did? i loved it sm!!

Rockabye baby, rockabye

Similar to the kiamei and bronseele one, sort of like a part 2

Sentihua x adopted child reader (platonic)

When you were first taken in you were a lost and confused child, nervous about everything.

Hua saw this and was reminded of pats herself, before Captain HIMEKO had reached her hand out to her. So she made sure to extend a hand to you and help guide you.

Senti before acted like she didn’t care for your existence, you were just another idiot to the crew. This of course did not last that long at all and she began to spoil the hell out of you.

Fu hua always mention you during idle chat when she can. Saying things like “Oh my child also likes that” or “my kid tried to do that once” and such.

Like an old grandma reminiscing about the past. She doesn’t really out right say it’s you as she respect your privacy and simply says “my child”

Senti is much louder about it, she’s like those soccer moms always yelling and cheering for her kid during games but just for like possibly everything in life. She’ll loudly exclaim your name and brag to about you to others

Really Senti should not be trusted with the care of a child but at the same time it oddly works out

Fu hua is always so calm and aloof so Senti balances her out a lot. They’ll clash at sometimes but in the end they both want just what’s best for you.

There’s a nice family activity you all like to do which is to bake together simply because it’s fun.

They like the way your face scrunches up in concentration as you try to measure out something for them or how you squat near the oven to watch the desert raises.

Senti also tries to do it with you but she quickly gets bored. Fu Hua just sighs as it feels like she’s watching over two kids instead of just one

One time when the cupcakes you all had made were done Fu Hua and Senti were in the middle of sparring. You went to go get them as you’re not allowed to touch the oven at such a young age

You didn’t really know how to get their attention as they both seemed to be so focused and you won’t lie it was really cool to see them fight with their different moves.

Quietly you mumbled out “Mother, mama” and their attention quickly snapped to you. This made you nervous and panic a bit

“Uhm… the cupcakes” you turned your head away and started to fidget. Senti looked like she was about to say something only for Fu Hua to hit her (lightly) and give Senti a look.

Fu hua turned to you and smiled “thank you for letting us know sweetie, let’s go get them” she said as she walked over to you with Senti not to far behind.

Slightly pouting due to being hit but she just grinned when you looked at her and caught her eyes

You simply nodded and walked with them. However they couldn’t help but notice the content expression on your face and how you held onto their hands.

[threepandas]

Bad End, Hidden Heir: Part 2

Prev <-

A pounding headache and cave air, that's what I woke up too. The air was being choked, though, by familiar scents. All trying desperately to make the cold, wet, and softly echoing quiet, hospitable. It was nauseating in my current state. Weak and... drugged? Had I been drugged? I certainly hadn't been drunk.

So why did my head hurt so much?

Why did every motion, make my stomach want to rebel?

My limbs felt so WEAK. Heavy and useless. Barely budging when I try to lift them. To rub my head? Adjust the blanket? Sit up? I can't tell. Thinking... thinking is so hard past... the pounding in my head. The fog. I struggle to concentrate. God, that SMELL.

Like a perfume store combined with... with... ugh. Everything!

I could pick out individual scents I knew I liked, on their own, added to the nauseating chaos. My favorite potpourri was there. But so was the one I like for winter? Fall? That one I liked as a kid until I found Mrs. Tianna's blend...

And perfumes! Colognes! The clean products and scents I preferred the maids used. God it... it blended together like a trash heap. As though someone drove a carriage through a perfume shop at speed. Cloying and musk and spice and fruity and-!

I sucked air through my teeth, trying not to smell it, hoping to god I wouldn't TASTE it.

Finally I managed to pry my eyes open. Either hunger or thirst giving my the strength to push past the nauseating pain. I NEEDED to move. Find out what was happening. Survive.

My gaze... met the most elaborate embroidery I had ever seen. Tapestries had less art. Almost to the point of gaudiness. Possibly past it. It was...

It was everything I had ever said I liked.

Too anyone.

Puppies and flowers, history and art, books scenes and more. It kept GOING! Hideous and magnificent. Chaos. Unhinged. Flowing down from above me, along the rest of the curtains, for the canopy bed upon which I rest. So I would be surrounded by it all. Even the blanket... it was a sea of my favorite flowers, made eternal through string.

This wasn't something people just DID. Could just FIND. I could feel my panic under the muting pain and exhaustion. This was the work of YEARS. Obsessive, continuous, YEARS. Some of these threads cost more then certain house hold make in WEEKS! And for what? A secret canopy bed?!

I struggled, body barely able to obey me but trying desperately to assist. The blankets were heavy. The curtain around the bed equally so, thanks to all the embroidery. I.. I manage to roll. Squirm. Wriggle my way, undignified, to the edge. Flop over it and out from under the blanket. Too freedom.

The air is cold.

The scents WORSE out here. Now, I can see why.

It is a museum to all that I am. Every like carefully gathered in one place, every preference. Stacked and shoved together, with no regard for if they fit. Hoarded like a collection.

I can not even tell... if I am sitting, flopped down, on my favorite winter bedside carpet or just an exact copy. My entire life is shoved together and suddenly... suddenly I do not like any of these things at all. They feel dirty. Dangerous. Like they have betrayed me. I want to cry.

But I am nauseous. Hurting. Tired and thirsty. So very hungry dispite it all. I just... I just need to know what's going ON! This isn't... this isn't how the Game goes! Not for Protag-chan. Not for me! I know I changed my "character's" behavior... but...

I... I don't understand...

Try not to cry. It's... it's really hard.

I was right. I'm pretty sure this is the Caves of Spring in the northwest of the Duchy. The offical Heir has an estate near them. The stone looks like the cliffs I'd seen in passing.

Crawling is hard. My legs keep getting tangled in my fucking nightgown. My... my f.. favorite.. nightgown! I'm not gonna cry. Damn it. I'm NOT GONNA CRY. How dare he? How DARE he ruin even that? What did he DO to me!? When I was... was...

No, don't think about it!

Move.

A decanter. Needlessly pretty. I probably loved it as a girl, fresh into this world. Everything was so FANCY and I wasn't used to having money yet. Hadn't developed any real class or taste. It looks so fucking gaudy to me now. But God, it has water. Please... PLEASE let that be water!

I drag myself up on badly shaking limbs. Nothing wants to hold. Wrists buckling, knees giving, legs shaking like a new born lamb. My arms are so weak. But thirst... oh thirst is a powerful motivator.

I force myself to move.

The water is not enough. It is everything. Cold and perfect, I force myself to go slow. To not spill a single drop, as I collapse against the dresser it was placed upon. Letting my eyes explore my cage in the way my poor abused body can not.

There are thick bars buried deep into the bedrock, separating the "room" I'm in from the hall that leads away from it. And it IS a "room". Made in cruel mockery to resemble the luxury of the dukes estate. Perhaps even more aggressively decadent in certain aspects, though that isn't a good thing. It makes it border on a storage room, for how crowded with luxury it has become.

It is the reflection of an unwell mind.

And staring up at the portraits of myself I KNOW I never sat for? The countless sketches pinned up beyond the bars? I am in trouble. I... I should have run. Not sent Creep away. I should have been the one to run. Before it was too late.

I think... I think it might be too late.

Footsteps.

I want to escape. But where can I run? I am caged. I feel close and far away. My head hurts. My body hurts. Everything stinks and I am cold. Why? Why did you do this? The foot steps are calm and commanding. Even. They do not break stride.

I do not bother to watch my hunter approach me. The monster I can not escape.

I close my eyes to spare myself the pounding in my head. Drink more water.

He makes a softly dismayed sound, as though he was not the one to drug me, to leave me here. The door to my cage opens. Closes. Ah... such a heavy lock. Should I be flattered?

Crisp steps, the rustle of fabric.

"My lady, the floor is so dirty! You shouldn't be out of bed yet. I was just about to make you tea."

The AUDACITY.

Tea? TEA! Ha ha! After DRUGGING my tea? He actually expects me to accept a cup from him again?! He truely IS insane, isn't he?

I am scooped up without my consent, unable to so much a truely struggle. Placed gently on a plush chair, a tea table moved in front of me. A familiar cup. My favorite blend. Pretty little snacks laid out deftly on lovely little plates. I grit my teeth. Slowly tip my head up to glare.

He pauses when our eye meet... then shudders, some terrible look of pleasure dancing across his face.

"That's right... look at me~" he whispers, leaning entirely too close. "I'm all that you have now. So you'll HAVE too now! No more others. No more distractions. No more sending me away! People trying to get between us. Trying to take you away. I'm all that you need, My Lady. All you'll EVER need."

"Just look at ME, your loyal dog. And I'll take such good care of you. I promise~♡"

[bat-mom-writer]

Rage and Redemption: Part 14

Bruce x daughter reader

Summary: Joker wants you to be his

Trigger Warning: cursing, abuse, gun to your head, reader near deaths.

Writers notes: This is a longer one. I didn’t really sure how to break it up.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 15 Part 16

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Air rushed into you as you reawakened into your living nightmare. You were in the same chains, in the same room, with the same toys, and captured by the same insane maniac. You groaned as you turned your body to your unsored side, trying to ignore the throbbing pain that resonated through your skull. The Joker was nowhere to be seen, but his laughter echoed through the walls of the room, taunting you like a never-ending tape of pure dread.

You had to find a way out.

But the chains held fast, the room was locked form the outside, the window was barred, and the only light came from the flickering blub above you. You were trapped, surrounded by the same sickening toys that had been the silent witnesses to your horrors. You're only hope was that someone would find you.

You flinched at the idea of being found by the man Joker was so hard trying to convince to you that he was the one that truly killed your parents. The Joker was just trying to play with your mind, twist your thoughts into believing his delusions. But deep down, you knew it was true. Batman had always been there, holding you back while he watched the fire grow and grow. He just stood there, letting it happen.

You shake your head violently, trying to shake the thoughts out of your head. You couldn’t believe what the Joker was telling you. Batman wasn’t capable of that kind of cruelty, was he?

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door creaking open. You tensed, your heart hammering against your ribcage. The Joker's footsteps grew louder as he approached the room.

"Why good morning, my little Jokette," the Joker's chillingly cheerful voice called out as he entered the room, his purple hat perched at a jaunty angle on his head. He was dressed in his trademark purple suit, the green hair sticking out from underneath his hat. In his hand, he held a tray with a steaming cup of tea and a plate of toast, the aroma of burnt bread filling the air.

You backed into the wall, trying to make yourself as small as possible. Your heart thudded against your chest like a drum, each beat a painful reminder of your fear and despair. The Joker's grin was wider than ever, a twisted smile that didn't reach his cold, dead eyes. "I thought we'd start the day with a nice chat," he said, setting the tray down on a dresser beside the bed. The toast looked like it had been burnt to a crisp, a mirror to the state of your soul.

"I-I don't want to talk," you murmured, your voice a tremulous whisper.

The Joker's smile grew even wider, a macabre mask of cheerfulness that didn't quite hide the madness within. "Oh, but we must," he said, his tone a sickening parody of kindness. "After all, we're family now. And family talks to each other."

You cringed at the thought, your stomach churning at the word 'family'. This monster was not your family. But you knew better than to argue with a madman, so you remained silent, eyes cast downward.

"Now, now, don't be like that," the Joker cooed, setting the tray down on the nightstand with a clank. "We're going to have a lovely little chat, just you and me. It's time to get to know your dear old daddy."

The words sent a bolt of anger through you, but you kept it buried deep, knowing better than to provoke the madman further. "My dad is dead," you murmured, your voice small and shaky.

"Oh, but not forgotten," the Joker said, his voice dripping with a fake sweetness that made your skin crawl. He sat on the edge of the bed, his weight making the springs groan in protest. "But fear not, for you have a new daddy now. One who truly cares for you, who'll give you all the love and attention you crave."

You stared at him, disgust curling your lip. "Get away from me," you spat, your voice surprisingly firm.

The Joker leaned closer, his grin never wavering. "Now, now," he cooed. "Is that any way to talk to your daddy?"

You flinched, the words striking you like a physical blow. The Joker was not your father, he was a monster, a twisted shadow of what a parent should be. It was Bruce. Bruce was the one who had been there for you, not the clown with the painted smile. Bruce, with his warm embraces. Bruce, whose arms had been your shelter when the world had turned to ash.

"You… you are not my dad," you spat out, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and defiance. "My dad took me in when everyone else told him not to. He's kind, and he loves me. He's not a monster like you. My dad is Bruce Wayne, and he's out there looking for me right now."

The Joker's grin faltered for a moment, his eyes narrowing before he burst into a fit of laughter so intense it seemed to shake the very walls of the room. "Oh, darling," he cooed, his voice thick with malice, "You really do believe in fairy tales, don't you? That rich boy is just playing daddy, who thinks because he didn't grow up with a mommy and daddy that he could be own for you. 

You felt your heart pound in your chest as you looked into the Joker's cold, unfeeling eyes. "He's my dad!" you exclaim, your voice a desperate plea for sanity in the madness that had become your reality. "Bruce Wayne is my dad, and he loves me! You're not my dad! You're a monster! I hate you! I fuckin' hate you!"

Without warning, the Joker's hand shot out like a serpent, his gloved pal connecting with your cheek with a crack that echoed through the room. The impact sent your head spinning, and for a moment, everything went white. The pain was sharp and stunning, stealing the breath from your lungs. As the stars cleared from your vision, you could feel the heat spread across your face, the opposite of the coldness in his eyes.

"Bruce Wayne," he snarled, his hand grabbing your face so hard that his long, sharp nails dug into your cheek. "Bruce fucking Wayne. That pathetic playboy with a savior complex. He's no father to you. I am your true family now, your true home.”

"No!" you screamed, the word a desperate, animalistic cry that echoed through the room, a declaration of your unyielding hope amidst the horror. The Joker's grip tightened, his fingers digging into your skin, his eyes wild with fury. "Let me go!"

You knew that Bruce Wayne, with his warm smile and gentle embrace, had been more of a father to you than the Joker ever could. You had seen the love in his eyes, felt the warmth of his heart.

The Joker's grip on your face tightened, his nails biting deeper, "You're mine," he hissed. "And as mine, you will love me as your daddy, or I will make you wish you never knew love at all."

"My dad will come for me," you blurted out, hoping to strike a nerve.

The Joker's eyes narrowed to slits, his grin widening in a terrifying display of rage. "Bruce will come for you, huh?" he repeated, his voice a mix of amusement and fury. "Well, let's just say he's been a bit… preoccupied. He doesn't know you're here. And even if he did," he paused, his voice dropping to a whisper, "I doubt he'd come. After all, why would he bother with a little fucker like you?"

His hand reared back and slapped you again, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the room like a gunshot. The impact sent you reeling, your vision swimming with stars. The metallic taste of blood filled your mouth, and you felt a warm trickle run down your chin.

"You think he cares?" the Joker hissed. "You think he's out there, searching for you right now?" His laugh was a knife in the dark, slicing through the hope that had been growing in your chest. You could see the madness dancing in his eyes, a sickly green light that seemed to pulse with every beat of his heart.

But you wouldn't let him break you. "Yes," you murmured, your voice thick with defiance. "He does care. He's looking for me-"

"ENOUGH!" The Joker screamed, his hand coming up to cover your mouth, silencing your words. His grip was like a vice, his thumb pressing painfully into your cheek. His other hand moved to the side, and suddenly, there was cold metal against your temple.

You froze, your heart hammering in your chest as you felt the unmistakable weight of the gun. The Joker’s grin never left his face, his eyes glittering with a wild, crazed excitement. "Let's play a game," he whispered, his hot breath washing over you, the scent of chemicals and decay making you want to gag. "You're goin' to tell me who your real daddy is, and if you get it right, I wouldn't have to do anything drastic, darling." his smile was a grotesque parody of affection. "There is only one answer," he cooed, "So… who is your daddy?"

Tears ran down your face in fear, a silent river of despair carving paths through the grime that had accumulated since your abduction. The gun was cold and unforgiving against your skin. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to push away the pain, trying to cling to the warmth of the memories of Bruce. He was your dad, he was always patient, he never raised his voice, he was there for you when everyone else saw you as nothing but a burden.

"Who's your daddy?" Joker sings, "WHO!?" he shouts. You flinch, your body shaking with fear. Your eyes squeeze tighter, trying to block out the horror, but it's as futile as trying to hold back a tornado with a handkerchief. 

Your heart thunders in your chest, a caged animal desperate for escape, as the Joker's twisted smile widens, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Bruce Wayne, isn't it?" he says, his voice dripping with false sweetness. "The billionaire playboy who thinks nothing of the little guy?" He laughs, a sound that shatters the silence like a chainsaw through bone.

You flinch at the sound, your body trembling as the cold steel of the gun presses against your temple, the smell of gunpowder and oily metal making you want to gag. The room around you swims, your thoughts racing as you try to find a way out of this nightmare. You want to scream, to tell him that he’s wrong, that Bruce is so much more than that, but fear has stolen your voice, leaving you with only a whimper.

“Please,” you murmur, the word a mere breath against the Joker’s hand. Your voice is a mere shadow of itself, weak and trembling. The Joker's eyes light up, the flames of his madness reflected in the shiny surface of the gun. He leans in closer, his breath hot and foul as he whispers, "Please what, sweetie?"

The sob couldn't be held back anymore, a painful knot in your throat that you can't untangle. It bursts forth from your chest, raw and unfiltered, echoing off the cold, damp walls of the room. The Joker's grin widens, a grotesque mask of glee painted on his face. He loves this, the power he holds over you, the way your fear fuels his sick sense of humor. The gun digs into your skin, a stark reminder of the very real danger you're in.

"Please… don't hurt me," you finally manage to say, the words sticking to your dry lips. The Joker tilts his head, his eyes gleaming with malicious curiosity. "Now, now," he croons, his voice a serpent slithering through the darkness. "Why would you say that? We're just having a little chat, aren't we?"

"Come on," the Joker coos, his voice a vile caress. "Just tell me who your daddy is, sweetheart. Who's the man you love more than anyone else?" His grip tightens around the gun, his fingers digging into your skin.

You swallow hard, your throat thick with fear. The room seems to close in around you, the walls pressing in, trying to squeeze the truth out of you.

"Just say it, and I pull the gun away," he coaxes, his voice a serpentine whisper that slithered into the darkest corners of your mind. 

Your heart hammers in your chest, each beat echoing like a drum in the stifling silence that stretches between your racing thoughts. The Joker's question hangs in the air, a noose around your neck, tightening with every passing second.

"Bruce… Wayne," you murmur, the words sticking to the back of your throat like a mouthful of ashes.

Joker inhales sharply, his grip on the gun tightening even more. "Bruce Wayne," he repeats, his voice a mix of anger and disappointment. "Your billionaire benefactor, huh? I guess I should've known." He chuckles, but the humor is forced, a facade cracking to reveal the fury beneath.

With a sudden, explosive movement, the Joker pulls away and jerks the gun away from your forehead, suddenly fires shots into the ceiling. You scream, covering yourself with your arms as your body was shaking violently.

"Bruce Wayne!" the Joker screams, the words ripping from his throat with the fury of a thousand suns. His eyes are wild, the pupils dilated to the size of pebbles. The smile on his face is a twisted mockery of happiness, a grotesque dance of madness painted on a canvas of white paint and crimson lips. "Bruce Wayne is your daddy? Him? Bruce Wayne!" he repeats, his voice rising in pitch with each syllable until it reaches a crescendo of insane laughter.

You cower on the bed, tears streaming down your cheeks, your voice hoarse from the screams. "Dad! Help! Please!" you sob, needing Bruce more then ever. 

The Joker laughs hard and loud, his eyes shimmering with a wild, unbridled joy that sends shivers down your spine. "Oh, you're just like your daddy," he says, his voice a serrated knife slicing through your soul. "Always so dramatic, so full of fear. It's like watching a tragic play, and you're the star!"

You scream louder, a raw, desperate sound that echoes off the metal walls of the room. "Please! Daddy! Help me!" The words are a prayer, a plea for salvation in the face of the madness. The Joker's eyes narrow, his smile morphing into a snarl as he leans in closer.

"You think he'll come for you?" he hisses, his breath hot and rancid. "You think the great Bruce Wayne gives a damn about a little orphan girl? Do you?" he shakes you violently, "Do you?" You could only cry harder, the sobs racking your body as the Joker’s cruel words pierced your heart like a knife.

With a grin that could only be described as manic, the Joker unlocked the shackles around your wrists, and you felt a momentary rush of hope that quickly turned to horror as he dragged you towards the door. The metal cuffs fell to the floor with a clang, leaving your skin raw and bruised. You stumbled, trying to keep up with his erratic pace, your sneakers cold against the concrete floor.

"Come on, sweetheart," he crooned, his grip like a vice around your arm. "Let's go see if Daddy's really coming to save you."

With a desperate yank, you try to break free, but the Joker's strength is unyielding, his fingers digging into your flesh like hooks. The corridors of his hideout stretched before you, a labyrinth of twisted metal and flickering lights that seemed to pulse with the madness of the city itself.

You stumble and fall, the pain in your wrists forgotten as your knees hit the ground, the rough concrete scraping your skin. "No!" you scream, your voice hoarse and raw. "No, let me go!"

The Joker's laughter rings out again, echoing through the empty halls, a symphony of madness that seems to amplify the ache in your chest. His grip on your arm is ironclad, his nails digging into your flesh as he pulls you back to your feet with a sadistic grin.

He drags you through a doorway, and suddenly the world changes around you. The claustrophobic confines of the room are replaced with a vast, open space, the air thick with the scent of industrial decay. You're in a factory, the kind that's long been abandoned by any semblance of humanity. The ceiling soars high above, a cobweb-covered expanse that seems to stretch into infinity. The floor beneath you vibrates with a distant, malevolent energy, the echo of machinery long silenced by time and neglect.

You struggle, trying to dig your heels into the ground, but it's no use. Your heart races as he leads you to the edge of the second floor, and you realize with a cold horror that there's no railing at the end of the catwalk to prevent a plummet to the abyss below.

You look down into the cavernous expanse of the abandoned factory floor, your eyes widening in terror. The sight before you is a nightmare made real—massive cauldrons bubble and froth with an eerie green substance, the fumes rising up to caress your face. The air is thick with the scent of decay and chemical burn, making your stomach churn and your eyes water. The largest of the cauldrons sits directly beneath you, a churning maelstrom of toxic sludge that seems to pulse with a malevolent life of its own.

"You still think Brucey is going to save you?" The Joker's cackle pierces the air, "Look around, sweetheart. This isn't exactly Bruce Wayne's neighborhood watch."

You stare into the abyss below, the toxic stew churning and bubbling like a witch's cauldron. The very air seems to thicken with each of the Joker's taunts, turning your stomach with the foul odor of despair. You can almost feel the acidic brew reaching up to claim you, a tangible manifestation of the Joker's madness.

Joker inhales deeply taking, in taking in the chemicals scent with a twisted smile, "Ah, the sweet smell of despair. It's like fine wine to me, really," he says, his eyes never leaving yours, his smile growing wider, more grotesque. 

You look around desperately, trying to find a way out, your eyes searching the shadows for any sign of escape, but all you see are the Joker's goons. They stand at attention, their twisted mask's smiles matching their leader's.

With a sudden, jarring movement, the Joker pulls you up to be at eye level with him, his grip on your chin painful. "Look at me," he commands, his eyes boring into yours with a fierce intensity. His gaze is like a black hole, threatening to swallow you whole. You can't help but meet his stare, the horror of the situation weighing down on your soul.

"You still think that your old man is still coming?" he sneers, his voice dripping with disdain. "You think he cares about little ole' you?"

You nod frantically, the tears streaming down your cheeks as the Joker's words cut deeper than any knife. "Yes," you croak out, your voice barely a whisper. "He'll come for me."

The Joker's smile falters for a brief moment, a flicker of doubt crossing his mad eyes. Then, with a chuckle that sends shivers down your spine, he says, "Well, let's not keep him waiting, shall we?" He throws you forward, sending you landing the edge of the catwalk overlooking the factory.

"Bruce Wayne," the Joker calls out, his voice echoing through the cavernous space. "Your little girl is here. Will you save her?" His laughter echoes back, mocking and cruel.

You close your eyes, willing yourself to wake up, praying that this is all just a terrible nightmare, that you'll open them again to find yourself safe in your bed before the fire consumed everything. But when you open your eyes, the green chemicals through the grated floor are still there, a stark reminder that this is your new reality. 

The Joker crouches down to you, his smile wider than ever. "Where's daddy now?" he whispers, his breath hot and foul on your face. "Is he going to come running like a knight in shining armor?" His words cut through the cacophony of the bubbling cauldrons and the distant wail of sirens, a stark reminder of the horrors of reality.

"Please," you whisper, your voice hoarse and broken. "Please, I... I wanna go home."

The Joker's expression shifts from one of amusement to something darker, a flicker of irritation crossing his features. "Home," he repeats, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You think Bruce Wayne is going to tuck you in at night? Wipe your nose when you're sad?" He reaches out, his hand closing around your throat, squeezing just enough to cut off your air. "You're nothing to him, your worth as much to him as you are to batman."

You hate the way he says it, the way he compares Bruce to that... that creature of the night. But deep down, you know the Joker's words are a twisted knife, twisting the truth into a grotesque lie that cuts you to the bone. You force yourself to hold onto the belief that Bruce would come for you, that he had to.

The Joker's grip on your throat tightens, his thumb pressing against your windpipe. "Look at me," he hisses, his eyes burning into yours. "Look at me!"

You do, unable to breathe, unable to do anything but meet his gaze. His eyes are like two black holes, swirling with madness, threatening to pull you into his twisted world. His smile widens, revealing teeth stained with the same sickly green as the chemicals below. "You're just like your precious Bruce," he says, his voice a whisper that seems to fill the entire factory. "Living in your own little fantasy world. But unlike him, you can't hide what you really are." He leans close to your ear, "You're just a scared, helpless orphan. Who no one wants."

And with a sudden shove, he sends you over the edge. For a moment, you hang there, suspended in the air, the world spinning around you. You scream, the sound lost in the thunderous din of the factory. The Joker's laughter follows you down, a twisted lullaby as you plummet toward the bubbling green sea below. 

You should have stayed at home, you should have stayed at the school, you should have stayed in the car... you should have stayed with Bruce. 

Bruce... dad... where are you?

You suddenly gasp, landing in, not in the pot of green, but in the large arms of a man. 

He lands on the ground, quickly darting to hide behind one of the large cauldrons. And looking up, you expect  to see Bruce Wayne. But instead, it's a different masked figure that has caught you in his arms.

"You good, kid?" Red Hood's voice was rough, his eyes peering out from the red of his mask.

You nodded, your body trembling as the reality of the situation began to set in. You had seen the news reports, the fear that the crimson-clad figure inspired in the hearts of Gotham's citizens. But right now, as Joker shouted orders and his goons firing bullets at you two, you couldn't be any more grateful for the crimson-hooded savior. 

"Stay here and stay low," Red Hood whispered, setting you down gently behind the cauldron. 

With surprising grace, he leaped out hiding, his twin pistols materializing in his hands like a mirage. The Joker's laughter grew shrill as he took in the new threat, his goons pivoting to face the intrusion with a mix of shock and malicious excitement. The air was suddenly pierced by the deafening pops of gunfire as Red Hood opened fire, his movements a blur of precision and rage.

You watched from your hiding spot, your heart racing as the two forces clashed. The Joker's men fell one by one, cut down by the crimson figure's bullets, their lifeless bodies hitting the floor with a sickening thud. The Joker, unfazed by the chaos, laughs from the second floor.

"Looks like your daddy's got some competition," the Joker cackled, his laughter a symphony of chaos amidst the hailstorm of bullets. His eyes danced with a sadistic glee as he watched the crimson figure leap and dodge through the rain of lead, his movements a ballet of violence and rebellion.ed vigilante brought with him.

Red Hood didn't bother to look up, his focus on the task at hand as he dispatched the last of the Joker's thugs. "Only competition you have to be worried about is me, Joker," he called out, his voice a promise of retribution echoing through the factory. The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and the metallic tang of fear, but the Joker's smile never wavered.

The clown prince of crime leaned over the edge of the catwalk, his eyes gleaming with malicious amusement. "Oh, I'm not worried, little robin," he corrected, his voice dripping with venom. "Batman's little pet always had a penchant for the dramatic. But tell me, does he still get you to do his dirty work?" 

Without missing a beat, Red Hood fired a single shot, the bullet whipping through the air and burying itself in the Joker's arm. The impact spun him around, his laughter turning into a howl of pain..

The Joker's hand went into his pocket, and he pulled out a hand button with a smirk that was both eerie and triumphant. The smirk grew into a full-blown grin as he pressed it, the sound of explosions echoing through the factory. The floor trembled beneath them as the cauldrons of chemicals began to shake violently.

Explosions go off around you, the chemicals in the cauldrons erupting in a symphony of destruction, the Joker's laughter a constant backdrop to the chaos unfolding before your eyes. The heat was unbearable, the smoke blinding, the floor shaking beneath your feet as the factory starts to collapse in on itself.

You cover your face with your arm, trying to shield yourself from the flying debris, the shrapnel of metal and shards of glass. 

Red Hood however, had this focus on the Joker. He didn't flinch, not even when the explosion knocked him. "Get out of here, kid!" he shouted over the din of the chaos, his voice a lifeline in the sea of madness. He lunged at the Joker, knocking him to the ground, and the two began to grapple fiercely. 

You stumbled to your feet, adrenaline pumping through your veins. The remain goons fired at you as you dashed through the factory. Your legs burned as you sprinted, your lungs screaming for air, the taste of smoke and fear coating your mouth.

Suddenly, the world came crashing down around you. The explosions had weakened the structure of the factory, and with a deafening groan, metal beams fell from the ceiling. You tried to dodge, but it was like trying to outrun fate itself. The heavy steel slammed into the floor, trapping you in a cage of twisted metal, leaving you just enough room to breathe but not enough to move.

"You have been just out of my reach for too long," Red Hood growled through gritted teeth, his eyes never leaving the Joker's. His grip tightened on the maniacal clown's neck, the barrel of his gun pressing into the soft flesh beneath the Joker's chin. "This ends now." But his bullets had run out, giving Joker took the chance and kick Red off him, sending Red Hood off the edge of the crumbling catwalk.

You watched in horror as the Joker took his leave, disappearing into the smoke, his laughter echoing in your ears long after he was out of sight. The world was falling apart around you, the flaming wreckage of the factory groaning and shuddering with each explosion. The ground beneath your trapped form grew hotter, the sludge inching closer. Panic set in, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

Red Hood, who was able to catch himself by edge, pulled himself up. But before he go after the clown, you cried out,   "Please! Help!"

Red Hood paused, looking down at you, then the Joker, and back at you. And with a groan of  frustration, he holstered his empty pistols and leaped back over and landed with a thud beside you. 

"Come on, kid," Red Hood said gruffly, "Let's get you out of here."

With surprising strength, he hefted the beam that had you pinned, his muscles straining against the weight. You watched in amazement as he pushed it aside with a grunt, the metal screeching against the concrete like nails on a chalkboard. 

"I got ya," he murmured, his voice a comforting rumble in the chaos as he lifted you, cradling you in his arms. You could feel the heat of the explosion's aftermath against your back, the smoke stinging your eyes, but his crimson mask remained unyielding, his gaze locked on the escape.

The factory had become a living hell, the flames licking the walls like a ravenous beast. The heat was unbearable, the smoke thick and suffocating. As the world around you crumbled, you could feel the panic rising in your chest like a noxious fume, threatening to consume you. 

You felt right back in that fire, that fire that took your parents, as the flames grew closer, the heat more intense than ever before. But Red Hood was not one to be deterred. With a determined look, he sprinted through the fiery maze, dodging falling debris and leaping over flaming pits. His movements were fluid and precise, as if he'd practiced this very escape a thousand times in his mind.

"Hold on," The words were a mere murmur against the roar of the fire, but you felt his arms tighten around you. With a swift, practiced motion, Red Hood pulled out a grappling hook from his utility belt. The metal bit into the concrete of the ceiling, the line retracting with a whiz. And then, with a mighty leap, you felt yourself being lifted off the ground, the world spinning around you as he swung through the air.

For a moment, you were weightless, the heat of the factory replaced by the cool kiss of the night outside. The sound of the flaming debris and the Joker's laughter grew distant as Red smashed through a window, the glass exploding in a shower of deadly glitter. The wind whipped around you, biting at your skin, but it was a sweet relief compared to the heat.

The ground rushed up to meet you, and you felt the jolt as Red Hood landed with a heavy thud. The impact sent shockwaves through your body, but his arms remained steadfast, a bastion of protection against the chaos.

"Hey, hey, kid." Red Hood's voice was gentle now, his eyes peering into yours with a mix of concern and urgency. Tears where still streaming down your face as fear was still in your body. The world around you was spinning out of control, the fire licking at the edges of your vision, the smoke thickening with each shallow breath you took. You could feel the panic rising in your chest, a heavy weight that made it difficult to breathe, to think, to do anything but cling to Reed Hood.

"Kid, you're okay," Red Hood assured, his voice gruff but reassuring. "Just try to breath, okay?" His crimson eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of injury. But the fear and shock in your gaze spoke volumes. You nodded weakly, trying to follow his instructions.

"Listen, okay?" He said, his voice serious, "Help will be coming, but I have to go. So just stay put and wait for help."

But you couldn't let go of him, your hands clutching the fabric of his crimson cloak like it was a lifeline in a storm. "No, please don't leave me!" You sobbed, your voice choking on the words. 

Robin was stunned for a moment, looking to the direction Joker had escaped from, wanting to go after the clown and put a stop to him. But your sob pulls him back to reality, the stark reminder of his duty to protect the innocent. He sighs heavily, the weight of his decision clear in his posture.

"Okay, okay, come here," he said, his tone softening as he cradled you closer. His eyes searched the distance for any sign of the Joker, but the clown had disappeared into the night, leaving only his madness behind. "I'm not going anywhere," he assured you, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to resonate through the chaos. 

Part 15

[theamberfist]

Like Father, Like Child | Part 2 | Alastor + Exorcist! Reader

Familial! Alastor + Exorcist! Adopted Child! Reader

Description: The battle between heaven's exorcists and the Hazbin Hotel rages on, but when Adam catches wind of your secret past, a difficult choice is forced upon you.

(Notes: CW Alastor, mentions of murder, fallen angels) (gender neutral reader) (reader is Alastor's adopted child from when they were alive) (Part 2/4 of Like Father, Like Child)

Read Part 1 here

Words: 3,351

"Jez!" A voice called from behind you and you immediately turned around, seeing one of your fellow exorcists about to fall at the hands of more cannibalistic demons. Snapping out of the trance you'd been placed in upon seeing your father again, you immediately rushed over to assist her. Luckily, it seemed Alastor really did have no interest in attacking his own child, allowing you to focus on helping your ally.

You had always been one of Adam's best exorcists. After Vaggie had left, it paved the way for you to rise in their ranks and prove yourself. Aside from Lute, there were few other angels that had killed as many sinners as you; for better or worse.

So of course, you had no trouble freeing your sister-in-arms from her predicament and then rushing into the ever-raging crowd of cannibals; thinning them out.

As you fought, though, you kept feeling as if there were eyes on you; like you were being watched. It was a bit unsettling, especially because you knew exactly whom it was that kept looking your way despite being faced with Adam himself.

'Mind your own business, dad...' You thought to yourself as you stabbed your spear through the body of yet another angel. Though, you'd been having to hold your own self back from glancing up at him this whole time, too. After all, this was the first time you two had reunited in many, many years. Could one have blamed you for being curious about what had become of the man that once raised you, even after all the horrible things he'd done?

Finally, you allowed yourself to spare a look at the roof nearby, where Adam and Alastor were engaged in a fight. For the first little while, you actually couldn't tell which of them would win between Adam's heavenly power and your dad's shadowy magic.

But as the fighting continued, the outcome started to get more apparent. Adam was strong, and unlike your dad, he wielded angelic weapons.

Several times during their fight, you also found yourself in slightly stickier situations due to being so distracted, only for an odd black tentacle-like thing to shoot up from the ground and block whatever attack a sinner might be preparing towards you. It was disorienting, as you were fairly certain those same tentacle-things had just been fighting on the side of those sinners just moments earlier.

Eventually, there was a huge blast of angelic power from the roof of the building and the once radio-static voice of your father now sounded completely normal as he cursed at Adam. It reminded you of the way he'd sounded while alive; almost making tears prick in your eyes.

For a split second, it almost felt like you'd been taken back to that time; when things were simpler and it was just you and your dad living happily in New Orleans. But of course, this was a very different situation. You were reminded of that once Adam called out.

"Jez, get the fuck up here!" He shouted from the roof. You gulped, feeling almost like a kid that had been called to the principle's office, but spread your wings and flew up to the top of the building anyway.

On the way, you caught a glimpse of one sinner in particular that looked familiar to you. With an 'X' over her eye and a big red bow in her long hair, she could almost have been the spitting image of Vaggie.

Could this have been where she ended up?

Could this be where you would end up, now that Adam seemed to be aware of who you were?

You pushed the thought out of your mind as you landed on the rooftop now, looking over at your boss and completely ignoring the sight of your dad laying against the nearby wall; as if he'd been slammed into it.

"Yes, sir?" You asked, appearing as calm and unbothered as you could have been when faced with your dad like this. Adam's eyes narrowed but then he put on a fake smile of his own.

"Great, now that everybody's here, Jez, meet the Radio Demon!" He exclaimed, pointing to Alastor, who's eyes were narrowed into a glare despite the supposed grin on his face. "Oh, wait, you've already fucking met!" You tensed when the angel's tone got more angry but kept your composure, nonetheless.

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir." You replied, careful not to even look at Alastor for fear of giving yourself away. Luckily, he said nothing either; likely still shocked from both seeing you after so long and being so injured by the first man.

"Oh, ya don't, do you?" Adam replied as he crossed his arms over his chest and wore an expression of disbelief. You shook your head but that didn't seemed to be enough for the leader of the exorcists. "Well, if you really don't know the asshole, then I'm sure you'll have no problem finishing him off for me." Your breath hitched.

Adam had to already know about your relation to Alastor, but how had he figured it out? You hadn't told anyone during the entire time you'd been dead, and yet the first time you saw him again, you'd been discovered for who you really were?

Then you thought back to when you'd been fighting earlier; how Alastor's powers had seemed to protect you from even the ones that were supposed to be on his own side. It seemed the man still hadn't been able to stop looking out for you; even after both of you had died. And because of that, he'd likely been even more distracted when fighting Adam, which the angel had caught on to.

Sometimes you really forgot the first man had a brain.

"Alright." You whispered finally, unsure of what else to do. You knew what would happen if you defied Adam; it was likely the same thing that had once happened to Vaggie! But as you turned to look at your dad now, still slumped against the wall, you already knew you wouldn't be able to go through with this.

He may have harmed and killed so many, but he was still your father. He'd still raised you; been loving and caring throughout your entire childhood. You couldn't help but view him as your dad, even after everything.

Plus, there was a deeper part of you that knew you two were one in the same. Just because you hadn't acted on your murderous tendencies in life didn't automatically make you better; especially when you'd gone on to kill so many sinners as an angel in death. It didn't matter if that was what heaven had commanded you to do; you were still a murderer in your own right.

So as you went to take a step towards your dad, angelic spear raised and ready, you already knew you wouldn't be able to go through with it. He seemed to realize it too, because as he pushed himself into a sitting position against the partially destroyed wall, there was a hint of pride in his eyes. He knew his own kid; knew that you'd sooner betray heaven than your only family.

"S-sir," you said, turning back to Adam now, "Are you sure you want me to be the one to-"

"Yes." The angel replied before you could even finish, "Now, get on with it! We have more little bitches to slaughter." So much for making up an excuse not to do this, you supposed.

As you turned back to Alastor, you attempted to keep your body from shaking. With fear, regret, or sadness? You weren't sure, but whatever it was, it was enough to stop you once you were within stabbing-distance of the Radio Demon.

"What's wrong?" Adam asked from behind you; his tone telling you he very much enjoyed the entertainment the situation was bringing, "Too scared to kill off your old man?"

So he did know. Your eyes narrowed, still facing away from the angel, but now that that revelation had come to pass, even when you'd suspected it already, you felt a bit of anger boil up inside you. He was doing this purely for entertainment; using you to make the extermination more fun for him. And you decided now that you weren't having it.

So, to everyone's surprise including your own, you turned around and hurled your spear directly at his face. No matter how murderous you'd felt in the past, you couldn't bring yourself to kill your own father, and it pissed you off that he would even try to make it happen.

"Do it yourself!" You shouted. He took a step to the side so the spear missed his head by a long shot but it had been enough to get your point across.

Adam's eyes narrowed and now you knew there was no going back.

..........

Technically, Alastor had never wanted kids to begin with. As entertaining as they were, he found them to be more responsibility than they were ultimately worth.

However, the people around him seemed to consider them a positive thing; almost a necessity, when it came to human life. There was so much emphasis on that picture perfect family everyone seemed to have; a wife, children, a beautiful home.

...To the point where it was considered odd not to have or want those things in some degree.

Alastor had always known his favorite 'pastimes' were considered unacceptable to the rest of society. That was why he'd gotten so good at hiding it; whether through his smile, his charm, or the rest of his meticulously planned out actions. He always took much care in making sure no one suspected him of being different or 'odd.'

Which was why it irked him once people began questioning his wants in life. "When are you going to settle down?" They would ask, "ever thought about having kids of your own?"

"It's odd to be so happy yet so alone at your age. Perhaps meeting a beautiful woman would do you some good."

Every comment increased his anger, having never felt the need for such aspects of life, but he knew it meant people had started to see him as odd; that he stood out from the persona he so desperately tried to make blend in with the rest of society.

He needed a way to reassure them all that he was 'normal' if he wanted to continue keeping the suspicion off of him. And since he could never bring himself to marry or be romantically involved with another, it had seemed he only had one other option.

Which was how he eventually found himself visiting the adoption agency just a few blocks from his home. Keeping up his cheerful and charming act had been more difficult than ever, considering he'd never wanted to be doing this, but it was necessary, and the very next day, he walked out with the first child he'd found there.

You.

He didn't know where you'd come from before he took you in and, frankly, he didn't care. You were just a way for him to keep the suspicion off himself; a means to continue his 'activities' uninterrupted.

And at first, he only did the bare minimum as your parent. You'd been five when he took you in, which he'd deemed was old enough to be left to your own devices most of the time. He provided you with food, water, clothing, and a space to live in, but that was it. For the first year since he took you in, the only 'fatherly affection' you ever received had come while you were out in public and he'd needed to make sure people questioned nothing. Beyond that, he was just a person that lived in your house.

Alastor wasn't sure when that dynamic had changed, nor what had made it do so. One day, he'd felt nothing other than basic responsibility towards you, and then the next, it had seemed your young self had him wrapped around your little finger.

He pulled back at first, not wanting to become attached to the kid he saw as nothing more than a tool to continue his murders, but in time, he came to accept it. Even if he hadn't wanted a child of his own at first, it had seemed that was what he'd gotten when he signed up to take care of you.

Somewhere down the line, you became his, and by then, there was no going back.

..........

"What the fuck did you say, you little bitch?!" Adam demanded as he stood up tall, seeming to grow in size now. He came towards you but you stood your ground between him and your dad despite the fear.

"I said I'm not doing it." You replied firmly. It was a miracle your voice wasn't shaking right now with how much fear you felt. "I'm not going to kill my dad for you."

"So you really are that cunt's kid," Adam hissed, "No wonder you were one of my best exorcists; being the child of a serial killer." Then something in his demeanor shifted. "Why the fuck do all my best people turn out to be traitors?" You knew he was referring to Vaggie, which made your blood boil even more.

"At least I'm not too much of a coward to kill a demon myself." You spat. A second later, there was a stinging on your cheek as Adam slapped you; making you fall to the ground with a cry.

"Don't act like you're any better than me!" Adam cried, clearly upset now, "You've killed just as many of these little vermin as I have."

"I have," you agreed, staring him down despite still laying on the ground, "But not anymore." You reached down into your right boot now, pulling out an angelic dagger you always had stashed on your person and launching it at your boss.

This time, it hit, landing in Adam's leg as he cried out in pain; golden blood dripping down his clothes. "You bitch." He spat before taking out his own weapon and slashing at your left eye with it. You screamed in pain, feeling your own blood run down your face. Had this happen to Vaggie too, when she'd fallen?

Wait, were you falling? Was that what this was?

In both your pain and confusion, you didn't notice the familiar black tentacles that rose from the ground now and started attacking Adam, despite Alastor's weakened state. The angel grunted in annoyance more than anything as he slashed through them with his angelic weapon before finally turning back to you.

Off to the side, Alastor seemed both more furious and more exhausted from the brief exchange.

"Someone like you doesn't belong in heaven." Adam spat as he stood over you now. You tried to get out of his way but between your pain and bleeding, it was no use. "You wanna be with your old man so bad? Fine, then enjoy hell, bitch!" And with that, he reached down, grabbing your wings between his hands and pulling so hard that you felt them rip right off your back.

The pain was immeasurable and you screamed in agony; blood now shooting out from the two holes in your back. You'd never thought you would be falling from heaven like this, but now that you were, it was as if everything you once had was being ripped from your hands.

You felt Adam preparing to stab you again and immediately rolled out of the way, crying out when the ground made contact with your now-exposed wounds. Behind you, Alastor was seething and your angel boss only seemed to revel in it more.

"I should have done away with all of you sinners a long time ago," he said finally as he grabbed you by the collar and lifted you from the ground, "starting with you, Jez. Then I'll kill your old man and every other demon here!"

"That's not my name!" You managed to shout, sounding strangled due to Adam's harsh grip on the collar of your clothes. It was something you'd been keeping in for a long time now, and since it seemed like you were about to fall from heaven, now felt like a good time to let it out.

Adam's eyes narrowed at that and then he tossed you to the side, causing you to collide with the very same wall your dad was currently leaning against. Luckily, you didn't hit Alastor but the impact of the wall against your head was enough to finally knock you out. You really weren't used to actually being injured as an exorcist and before today, hadn't even been aware demons could hurt angels at all.

Despite his own injuries, Alastor managed to stand and take a few steps over so that he was now between you and Adam, who scoffed.

"Really, you're gonna protect them now, old man?" He asked with a condescending tone, "Didn't I tell you radio's fucking dead?!" He slashed at Alastor, who managed to block the attack with a small shield that then immediately dispersed.

"Radio's not dead," Alastor replied as he let his shadow grow behind him, panting heavily, "but it is ending this broadcast!" And with that, both you and him melted away into the shadows where Adam couldn't reach.

The Angel in question let out a grunt of frustration before turning to join the rest of the battle. He'd have the chance to deal with you later, he decided. For now, you and your pathetic father had already taken too much of his time.

..........

Both you and Alastor reappeared inside his radio tower, which was in rough shape but otherwise unaffected by the battle outside. You were still unconscious and his shadow gently laid you on whatever soft things it could find; consisting of a small pile of pillows and fluff.

Your face and back were completely covered in your golden angelic blood but otherwise, you seemed relatively alright, which Alastor was thankful for.

Rage enveloped him once again as he thought back to how he'd not only lost the fight against Adam but also been forced to watch his own child be harmed by the first man after not seeing you for so many years. The fact that Adam had even laid a hand on his kid made his blood boil and he swore that if Charlie and the others didn't take care of Adam, he would.

Your dad's shadow provided some basic first aid to you as you slept, though it turned out to be rather fortunate that you weren't awake to witness the Radio Demon's temporary slip of composure. He resolved to have revenge on heaven for what had happened today, as soon as his own deal was broken, that was.

Finally, Alastor sunk into a seat near the radio tower's control panel before glancing back at you. He didn't even need to verbally ask his shadow what it was thinking; instead it seemed to just know as it gently plucked you from the ground and brought your now-bandaged body to him.

Feeling some of his anger melt away at the sight of you, he reached out and pulled you away from the shadow and into his arms, hugging you the way he had many times in life. 

The shadow melted away again as Alastor seemed to relax slightly. "There, there..." He whispered to you, who was still asleep, "It's going to be alright, darling. Nothing else will hurt you." And he meant that.

Alastor may not have been able to protect you from Adam before, but he would not fail again. He would do everything in his power to ensure this incident never repeated; especially now that you were here with him in hell, where he actually could protect you. 

He looked out the window to see the rest of the angels now flying off back to heaven since the battle seemed to have ended. They were leaving you behind as if it was nothing, but that wouldn't matter anymore. They weren't your family; they never had been. He was always your family, and he would never let harm come to you again.

No matter what.

……….

Part 3

Part 4

[donteverblameash]

Here's to Showing Up.

DISCLAIMER: Strictly platonic!!

GN!adopted! Y/N

Adoptive dad! Steve Rogers

Words: 1428

Summary: Due to a bit of tomfoolery and a chance to prove yourself, you get hurt at school. But it's not what you think it is when Steve comes to pick you up.

A/N: My ass has NEVER made a Y/N fic before, and this took me WAYYY too long to get done, but it's here! And I'm a little nervous about this one but I hope you like it!! 😭

Fic under the cut :)

In your defense, climbing the old oak tree in your school yard during break time wasn't your idea. It was your friend's, you just happened to go along with it.

When you explained this obvious logic to the school nurse, the person you had to visit because for some reason, the school doesn't allow students to lay in the school yard writhing in pain after falling out of trees for legal reasons, he didn't seem to understand and promptly called Steve to come get you.

You would have rather he done anything else. Wouldn't it be great to explain to your guardian that you nearly broke your arm while attempting to pull an act of absolute bullshitery? As much as you just loved, slash sarcastic, hearing Steve go all PSA on you on the dangers of peer pressure, you weren't in the mood for it that afternoon.

"Do you have to call him? Is it like school policy or something?" You asked, peering down curiously as the nurse wrapped up your arm and handed you a bag of ice for it. "Yup." He responded dryly, popping the 'p.'

"Besides, your guardian needs to get you evaluated by a real doctor. I don't think your arm is broken or anything, but it would still be in best interest to have it checked out by someone with proper credentials. Not to mention, this is above my non-existent pay grade." He sighed and plopped down in the chair in front of his computer, typing away, seemingly bored.

You gave a sigh yourself, shifting on the weird friggin parchment paper stuff that's laid down on the medical bench before reaching down and pulling your phone clumsily out of your backpack, holding it in your free hand. Of course, you had to land on your dominate arm, just your luck.

You decided you might as well distract yourself. Playing shitty mobile games, one handed, on the shoddy school wifi before your fate is permantely sealed was great fun, truly.

Steve surely will be pissed. You just knew it. He actually had a reason this time! You knew deep down you shouldn't have been screwing around up there. But the feeling of getting higher, climbing up branch after branch, and proving everyone wrong when they said you couldn't do it made a certain feeling of pride burn in your belly. The flames in there were roaring, and in the few quick seconds you were on top, you felt like Icarus.

But still, the poor bastard falls, and you did, too.

So this is the part where you cross your fingers and pray. Pray that Steve got called into a mission or his car spontaneously combusts before he can even get the chance to get in. You pray that he wouldn't even care to show up.

Then, like ten minutes later, you realize you must be really bad at praying because Steve runs in and nearly skirts past the room due to his super speed before charging in like a wild bull.

"Y/N, are you alright??" He asked, a bit frantic, reaching his arms out to touch you before withdrawing. Scared to hurt hurt you further. I mean, you were quite positive Steve couldn't even be bothered to hurt you as much as you could possibly hurt yourself, but you appreciated the effort nevertheless.

"What happened? Did someone hurt you??" Steve softly demanded, wanting answers and wanting them RIGHT THEN, and when you didn't immediately answer, he turned to the nurse for assistance, blue eyes wide and glossy.

You distracted yourself from what you thought of as your inevitable doom by finally decided to read that nurse's name tag. Nick Kim-Harris. Good to know.

"They fell out of a tree." The alliteration nurse, Nick, said bluntly, shifting in his uncomfortable chair. Steve narrowed his eyes, turning back at you, confusion now painted in his usually stern but calm features.

"Why were you up in a tree??" Steve stage whispered.

"Because I climbed it." You replied glumly.

"Why did you climb it?!?!"

"Cuz everyone told me I couldn't."

Steve practically face palmed. That was stupid, like, really stupid, but the fact Steve understood your logic, or lack thereof, made this whole thing feel even more stupid. It reminded him of a certain kid from Brooklyn, desperate to prove everyone wrong, no matter the cost. Wither that means being stranded in bed from an asthma attack or, in your case, a messed up arm.

"I'm sorry." You croaked out in a small voice, knowing it wouldn't really fix anything, much less your state, but what else are you supposed to say?

Steve took a deep breath before shoving his hands into his pockets. "It's... okay." He responded. "Well, no, it's not okay, but... I'm not mad. Let's just... get you checked out, then we'll go home. Okay?" Unwilling to fret over this further in the school nurse's office, he held out a calloused hand to you. Hard in looks and soft in nature.

You put your phone in your pocket and slowly climbed off the bench, kinda looking at him like, "That's it?" But hey, at least the doom was not inevitable. You took his hand without further non-verbal forms of communication, and from that, he signed you out of school, his thumb trailing absent-mindly over your knuckles all the while.

Then there was the walk back to the non-combusted car. It was silent. Kind of awkward, kind of soft, kind of just there. Basically, you've endured both worst and better overall, but it wasn't one of your bad interactions with the man.

"Just don't... do that again. You scared me, kid." Steve mumbled once you both got to the car, his voice wavering slightly as he opened the door for you. You nodded grimly in response. Sure, your actions were stupid, but you're not stupid. That hurt like hell, 0/10. You didn't recommend and didn't do it again.

After a time that felt a little bit too long, you got buckled in with much thanks to Steve, as without his assistance, you would still be fumbling with that seat belt.

"Y'know..." Steve started once the car was on the road and on the way to the hospital. You let in a slight, sharp intake of breath, preparing for a lecture you thought you were so close to skirting by.

"I broke my arm scaling a roof once." He finished, a bit of a lopsided grimance on his face that he hoped you didn't notice in the backseat.

"Well, why were you up on a roof, Steven?" You asked, unable not to make him eat his own earlier words. It just slipped out, you swear.

He let out a soft chuckle. "Because that's just kinda what we did for fun back in the day. And like you, everyone told me I couldn't climb it, so I did. Then I lost my balance and messed up my arm real bad, probably worse than yours. I thought my ma was going to kill me."

You raised your eyebrows, now a little bit more interguied with Steve Rogers' story time. "Well, did she?"

"No." Steve smiled, stopping at a red light. "Not when she learned my reason, which is what I thought would really make her kill me. She told me she understood why I did it, but I shouldn't ever again. Because I don't have to prove anything to anyone, and you don't either."

Understandably, your first thought was to drop a sarcastic comment on him, but something stopped you. You paused, looking down at your sore arm, thinking about how you got it. "It's nice to anyways. They underestimate me, and for what?"

"Yeah, and for what? You know they shouldn't, because you know yourself. You don't have to prove a damn thing. Especially to people like that don't influence your life at all. They probably won't be thinking about you tomorrow, so don't waste another second caring about proving them wrong now." Steve stopped his sudden pep-talk. Hoping that wasn't too corny.

"Kinda easier said than done. But thanks." You mumbled, pressing your cheek against the seat belt strap, might as well get a nap in before you learned how much you screwed up your arm.

"You're welcome, Y/N...?" Steve said questionally, not knowing if you're being sarcastic or not but choosing to be polite anyway.

You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to rest but also allowing Steve's lesson to sink in.

After a while, you were at least a little glad he bothered to show up.

[insidethejob]

I have really bad memory and can't remember if I sent a request or not but can you please make some parent yandere headcannons for reagen Ridley? Where the child was adopted by Reagen, please.

OR where a 14 year old joins the cognito task force and views Gigi as a mother figure because the mother who abandoned them acted like her? You can choose which one to do.

I’m going to do Reagan, although I do have another request similar to this

She doesn’t know what to do

She didn’t have good parental role models so she doesn’t really know where to begin on being a good mom to you

She doesn't want to be like her father, so she tries everything to do better

You've met Rand less than a handful amount of times and each other was not on purpose. Also, he was an asshole each time, considering you 'Not a real Ridley' which really pissed off Reagan

^ She almost killed him. She was throwing things at him, but missed [Because she's not very good with athletic stuff]

^ "If you ever come near me or my daughter again, I will kill you."

Type of mom to embarrass you in front of your peers

She tries to do everything her father DIDNT do

She can be overly clingy and affectionate which is so unlike her usual personality (Gurl just doesn’t get social cues)

Tons of hugs and kisses on the cheek and forehead

You’re the only one she puts above work

If you’re sick or not feeling good, she’s off work and getting you from school to take you home (or just taking off work to take care of you)

She doesn’t care to much if you’re smart, in fact she encourages you to be like everyone else. She wants the absolute best for you

If you play sports, she goes to your games. Reads a whole bunch of books about them, so she can rig watch them. You haven’t lost a single game since she’s started showing up!

^ She doesn’t understand why you like the sport, but she still supports you

Is always the loudest because she wants everyone to know that she's proud of you

She goes to every assembly, award show, recital, etc that you have. She doesn't want to miss out on anything