#kevlar thread

[writingfromruins]

dead electric morning, every nerve standing on end because i woke up yesterday + stayed woken up alltheway until this morning and there is terror in me, terror in every single cell and i am afraid and afraid and i cannot sleep for it. i want to put my fear entire in my mouth where it is safe, where i can bite down on it at any moment, where i can swallow it down over and over again until it digests but my fear lives in my lungs instead + because it lives in my lungs it lives in my blood and my heart and my whole entire body shaking shaking with it- a convulsion half like a death rattle cough + half like a laugh + the laugh scares me more and whatever the part of me that isn’t me or the fear says

“You have to laugh at it. You have to laugh at the way you stand outside a door and pantomime knocking without ever making contact because otherwise you would scream or cry and that would be worse to explain then the laughing or the knocking you’re not doing. Sometimes you stand there hand raised and stop yourself before you can kick or collapse against or headbutt the door, anything to tell someone to open it, and you have to laugh because your laugh is silent anyways when you laugh like this. You have to laugh because you scream silent too and when you drive yourself to tears to knock on the door even then the knock is only the first step and every cell of you is still being circulated full of fear from your lungs. But the laughing keeps it all from shutting down before you knock.”

dead electric night and it is quiet in the winter as the clock ambles towards dawn and i am still all alight. Still too much in a body, too much to breathe right + laughing laughing laughing silently because there’s nothing else to do and it really does seem funny when i can’t sleep from it. Might have to shut myself down the hard way. Might have to cover the eyes and the mouth until breath hisses against the suction against the palm and my eyes seal shut. if i can make myself small and quiet and hold my breath until the ribs are tight around it the fear goes away before i can. and when the fear is gone i can breathe in and out and in and out and the only thing that pours through me is pure elation + when i laugh there is no scream i am trying to avoid just an absence of fear unfamiliar + when i am done laughing now i can finally sleep.

OH HYSTERIA // PD

[gffa]

ABSOLUTELY EATING THIS UP because I don't think this is just grimdark Batman for the sake of grimdark Batman, there's a thread throughout this issue of Dick teetering on a tightrope of being a child and being a mirror of Bruce's anger and rage. Earlier in the issue, Bruce is refusing to let Dick out onto the street yet, saying that he's not ready, while Dick eavesdrops and looks ready to punch someone in the face about it. Woven in around this, is Jim Gordon asking to set up basically a playdate for Robin with his niece Barbara so they can go trick-or-treating together and Batman legit drops him off, like a kid about to go have fun. It's not until the Batsignal goes off that Dick runs off, and he's actually fairly happy-go-lucky as he's swinging through the air and kicking people in the face. Then this moment. A dark moment where Bruce is beating Julian Day so badly that the artist makes a point of all the blood on his fists, of Dick having a moment of, "I... didn't know he was an orphan." And the WHOLE POINT of the early days of Batman and Robin is that they were both orphans and that's why Bruce connected with him so hard, because he couldn't turn away from that little orphaned boy. And I think that's the point of these scenes, that Bruce isn't ready to let Dick into these fights because he doesn't want Dick to become him and see what Bruce himself has become. Bruce thinks during that fight that it was Alfred who made him wear the Kevlar, that he only agreed if it was thin and light. Bruce thinks about how he knows that kind of gun that was used in the killing. There's a thread running through the issue that Bruce is dealing with Harvey Dent becoming Two-Face, feeling betrayed about it and wondering if he could have saved his friend if he'd told him about Batman, given him a lifeline. It fits so well with what Dick Grayson is to Bruce Wayne--he's not just another orphan, but he's the one that will refuse to be made into a mirror of Bruce, that he will refuse to not be loved, that he will refuse to let Bruce stay in the dark. One of the main points of baby Dick Grayson as a character is that he was angry in the way Bruce was angry, but that he looked at the situation and said, you know what, I'm not going to let us fall into the dark, I'm going to drag us both out of here if I have to. This series comes with the context of Dark Victory before it, where Dick is portrayed as an angry child, but there are moments of adorableness and light. And that's it--you can't have Dick's character without recognizing that there's anger in there, but also you can't have Dick's character without one of the main themes of him is that he chooses to turn back to love and joy. This scene goes as dark as it does because it's a turning point for Dick, a point where he's realizing that he has choices in front of him. Bruce is saving him by giving him training and a home and people he loves, but Dick will be saving him by refusing to stay out of the light. And what a messy, convoluted dynamic that makes between them! A tiny child shouldn't be making that kind of decision, Bruce should be the adult here, but that's just who they are, and in a comic book story, it's really a testament to how incredible a character Dick Grayson is that he had all that anger and rage in him, will always carry it with him, but has the iron will to turn away from it and to emotionally go toe to toe with Batman and win. That child is going to bright laughter and love to Bruce Wayne's life, he's going to bring back the compassion and kindness that Bruce has buried in his heart, and there's nothing Bruce can do to stop him.

[mamawasatesttube]

Ohhh what if timkon for no. 27 "im going to carry you now, okay?" Where kon can swoon over tims arms

warning: canon-typical scifi dehumanization, medical trauma, etc

“Kon!”

Footsteps, rapid but light across the tile floor. Dazed, Kon tries to lift his head; the magical restraints holding him to the lab table tighten in painful warning, and he chokes on a gasp. “Nnh?”

Red Robin appears at his side, his mouth set in a grim, unhappy line. The red sun lamp casts his face in warm shadows. His hands frantically trace the glowing bonds, then down to the control panel on the side of the table. “I’m getting you out of here,” he says, his voice low and blank with… with rage, Kon realizes. That’s how he sounds when he’s really, truly furious. “What did they do to you?”

It… it doesn’t matter what they did to Kon. His vision blurs with hot, humiliating tears as he remembers what they did to the other clones. The ones they called defective. They were people, people who never even got to open their eyes or take their first breaths of air outside the tubes.

Kon was too late, too weak; he couldn’t save them. All he could do was watch, shackled and helpless and defeated, and scream.

Bzz-zap!

The restraints fizzle out and vanish with the acrid smell of smoke. Kon nearly sobs in relief as his TTK comes surging back; he can feel the room now, the table under him and the mechanisms in its control panel, the floor, the walls, the door.

And Tim. Tim, his heart pounding in his chest, inhaling through his nose and slowly exhaling through his mouth. Taut with anger.

And yet, his voice is achingly gentle. “Can you stand?”

Kon tries, he really does. He makes it halfway into a sitting position before his wobbly arms give out under him; Tim’s quick reflexes are the only reason he doesn’t crash back down to the table.

“Kon,” Tim breathes. His gauntleted fingers flex against Kon’s shoulder, pulling him tighter to himself. “Shit. Okay. Okay.”

“Sorry,” Kon mumbles, lifting one shaking hand to his temple. The room spins. He wants sunlight. “I… they… anesthesia, for…”

“Of course they did.” Tim scoffs acidly. He lets out a slow breath again, then shifts Kon in his arms, pulling him to his chest. He moves awkwardly with one arm for a moment, fiddling with something at his shoulder; then there’s a click, and his cape detaches. He drapes it over Kon, wraps it around him to cover him, then gathers Kon into his arms. “I’m gonna carry you now, okay?”

And then he picks Kon up, just like that, with only a slight grunt of effort, and—

Oh. Wow. Kon expected to have to use his TTK to float, because… well, he knows he’s a big guy, like Superman, and he’s heavy, and yet…

Something wells up in his chest, his heart pounding. It comes out as a pathetic little noise as he curls into Tim’s chest, pushing his face into the kevlar around his neck. He feels so unexpectedly safe.

“Rob,” he burbles, his breath catching wetly in his throat. “I—I couldn’t save them.”

“I know.” Tim carries Kon down the hallway, towards the elevator. Back towards sunlight. He turns his head, and his lips brush Kon’s temple. “We… found what was left.” He hefts Kon in his arms, holds him a little tighter, and kisses his hair with purpose this time. “I’m sorry, angel.”

Kon closes his eyes. He can’t hear Tim’s heartbeat, not until he gets his superhearing back, but he can feel it, his TTK threaded through the muscles and bones of Tim’s body. It’s soothing.

“Steel volunteered to take down those creeps, so I could sneak past the fighting and just come get you.” The elevator doors close behind them, and Tim uses his elbow to nudge the right button. “He told me to take care of you. So that’s what I’m gonna do.”

“Oh,” Kon mumbles. He curls his fingers into Tim’s cape, holding it closed around himself. It smells of smoke and leather. It feels like safety. He’s never been good at letting anyone take care of him.

But maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing to try.

[diejager]

How would each of the monster 141 react if hunter were like- straight up killed in front of them. Like no wiggle room “oh they might be alive and just unconscious” but just straight up dead. Sorry I am a sucker for angst and I feel like this would be a fantastic read considering how bonded and feral they all are to protect hunter. Thanks in advance! Love the blog! Keep it up 👍

Are you trying to get me killed? Do you want me to have a heartattack?

End of the line Cw: death, suicidal thoughts, angst, mention of suicide, blood, injury, tell me if I missed any.

It had been a mistake, a costly one, but still a mistake. In that moment, everything had lost its point, the mission, the goal, the enemy and the celebration were pointless, forgettable. Time slowed, lagging behind in minutes when the shot rang out, booming in your restless minds until all they could hear was a loud thump, a body slumping down.

It was a rookie mistake made by their eagerness to return home, bodies bruised from the last deployment and still sore, skin painted in black and purple, but you pushed on, being sent from one end of the planet to the other. They were hanging on a thin thread of perseverance and training, practiced to live on perpetual soreness and exhaustion.

But that didn’t ease the pain, the open wound in their hearts. They watched you slump over, blood pooling from the wound in your chest —shot center mass. They dropped everything, Rudy rushing to turn you over, hands shaky and eyes blurry, he choked down a sob and a tear slid down his cheek. You were unresponsive, eyes glazed and dull, the light that they all loved gone in a breath. You upper torso bled, a bullet pierced through your kevlar vest, the bullet’s calibre higher than anything they expected.

Ghost joined Rudy, desperate to see if there were a chance to resuscitate you, to bring you back to them. His hands were frantic, tremors wracking his whole body as he loomed forward, trying to find a pulse, hand pressing against your still warm throat. He felt his fears surging forward, the dark voice at the back of his mind grinding out words, terrors that followed him at every step. It was like the last Christmas, when Tommy and Beth died, when Joseph and his mom were shot, when the people he cared for were killed.

Ghost felt his voice leave him, croaky and dying, it made him unable to utter a single word, and so was Rudy, mind blank. So Alejandro was the one to tell the verdict, but they hadn’t needed him to tell them to know. Soap, König and Horangi heard your heart stop, the powerful muscle in your chest explode from the bullet and grow silent. The pain clawed at their hearts, the overbearing weight on their chest made their retreat harder.

However much Price wanted to cry, to fall to his knees as cradle your body against his chest, he was the TF’s leader, he had to bring the rest of them back home. He ordered Gaz back from his perch for the sniper after he dealt with it, Gaz’s advanced sight catching the glint of the scope. Holding the title of a Task Force’s captain meant a lot, it placed a certain amount of responsibility on his shoulder and he couldn’t let his men down. Price could let a few tears slip, but he had to hold it in until he had a moment to himself in the silence of his office.

Gaz was silent during and afterwards, watching your limp body being carried in König’s arms until you reached the aircraft piloted by Nikolai who shared an equally heartbroken and saddened expression as them. His voice died with you, unable to voice his mind or his sorrows, confining himself to his room in silence. Although he lost himself, he had the others to bring him back like you did when Ghost wandered too deeply into his mind, bringing back up memories.

Soap did what he knew best, throwing himself into the fray, overworking himself with solo mission and spearheading other joint work. He almost worked himself to the bone until Horangi pulled him back, scuffing him and beating your wishes into his mind, telling him that you wouldn’t want them to break away like this, to wither away as if they were never here.

Despite helping Soap, Horangi suffered the same as the werewolf did, silently crying himself to sleep, fingers clawing at his head in desperation to quiet down the loud screeches in his mind, degrading words thrown at himself for failing you. He knew you didn’t want him to hate himself, but how could he quell the bleeding wound in his heart when you weren’t here to ease the pain away? The memory of you did.

Alejandro tried his best, acting and trying to feel better until it ultimately failed, he wasn’t in the right place to see you nor talk about you to others, murmuring your name when he slept and woke up with a start. He wasn’t as lost as Ghost was, didn’t shut the world around him down and closed in on himself, but he was following closely behind if he didn’t have the Task Force.

Rudy was the most human out of them, he felt more strongly but couldn’t cry. His mind was blank, the beat in his chest loud and erratic, yet his mind was silent, a ground of deathly quiet. He couldn’t do anything, work became hard, waking up exhausting, and taking care of himself harrowingly difficult. You’d scold him if you saw how he was behaving, how little care he had for himself —to near hunger and insanity. He hung onto your words, your confession, the three words you gave them as a parting gift, that’s what forced him out of his shell.

While the rest worked through their pain, to reach a stalemate together, none fell as hard as Ghost and König, both having a difficult childhood and a harder time following their enlistment. The lost themselves easily, becoming much more violent and deranged in their kills, ripping men in half and swallowing them whole, leaving all but a puddle of blood behind. The only thing that stopped them from ending their pain, to reaching out towards the knife that hung on the side of their thighs were your words, the handwritten words on your will and a message for everyone.

You wanted them to live, to be happy without you being there and that you’d be waiting for them on the other side until eternity. You were patient after all. At least a part of you hung from their necks, your ashes shared between the eight men and your items spread equally.

“I love you.”

Tag list: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @yeetusspagheetus @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @ki-cant-spel

[brucewaynehater101]

I think that prior to Tim being found out as a spider demon, only Cass had good thoughts about Spiders. And maybe Damian but in more of a "don't kill it, you put it in a cup and move it to the garden" kind of way. Dick *hates* them and Jason had a bad experience with Beast Boy using the form of a spider the size of a dinner plate to jump scare him when he was still Robin.

As for how he makes his silk, i once saw a design of a spider demon that had two black dots at the corners of its mouth and when it pressed a finger to the dots and pulled them away, a line of string was hanging between their finger and the dot. I think his thread looks like normal spider thread (including the size) but is durable enough that only a few strands can stop a charging Bane. It's possible for him to take the silk he produces and turn it into thread and from thread into fabric. The fabric moves and feels like high quality silk but is about twice as durable as Kevlar due to how strong his threads are.

The only reason all of the Bats aren't already decked out in full Tim Silk Gear is because of the sheer amount of time and energy it takes to make that much thread. If he uses all of his spare time to make thread and turn it into fabric as quickly as he can, he would only make 2 or 3 fabric napkins in a month. If he was only eating, sleeping, and making silk he could produce a single sheet about the size of a picnic blanket in the same amount of time. Not exactly a lot of fabric to work with. Plus there's the fact that his thread is very weak by the standards of his species due to a mixture of malnutrition, constant exhaustion, and frequent injuries.

However, most of his family does have at least one thing that he made with his thread for them. They have no idea what kind of fabric it is that Tim brings them things made of and when asked if he can get more, he simply shakes his head and says, "I wish I could, but farming to much of the material needed to make this stuff can seriously harm the type of creature that creates it. I'm keeping it vague so that you guys don't try to buy it yourselves. The person I get this from have been very, *very* heavily researched to make sure that it's done in a humane way. Basically anywhere else you find this stuff is almost garenteed to be horribly mistreating the creatures to force them to produce as much as physically possible. And I got my guys entire stock just to make this for you." This throughly covers his tracks and makes it so that the Bats won't consider trying to buy more silk from other sources. Most of the things he makes for them are small, like gloves or Domino Masks or at most an under shirt to give them an extra layer or protection. Cass's whole cowl is made of Tim's Silk.

As for what kind of malnutrition Tim has, the Bats already knew about that, sort of. John saw Bruce's new gloves and after feeling them asked where the fuck he got that much Jorogomo Silk and why it's such Shit Quality. When Bruce asked for him to elaborate, Constantine ran his hands over the gloves a few times while muttering to himself before sighing, "Malnutrition. Their silk is a direct reflection of their health. Whoever made this, they have *not* been eating well. Probably only just enough to survive and with no... well, you'd probably be glad to hear that the one who made your gloves hasn't been chowing down on an human flesh. But it's an important part of their diet. Yeah, this one seems to have been trying to use supplements for the shit it needs, but that'll never truly work. Like you can take all the vitamins tablets ya want, but unless you go out and soak in some sunshine every now and then you'll always be deficient in Vitamin D cause your body just won't process it. If I were you, I would get in contact with your seller and get them a deal with the local mourge. After all, you're from Gothem. I'm sure no one would notice if a few of the already dead disappeared."

That night Bruce had an uncomfortable conversation with Tim about how his seller might not be as good as he thought and what Mourges tended to "loose" bodies most often. Tim did start eating some from the already dead but he hates it. Not because hes eating people but because they've been dead for a while and only fresh bodies taste good.

As for Jack, he goes into a coma until Tim gets there and he uses some of his threads to make Jack his puppet. However, Tim doesn't have any practice with preserving the bodies of his puppets yet so after about a month, Jack is starting to fall apart a little so Tim sets up for him to be part of a car crash and makes a new puppet to be Uncle Eddie. The second puppet does last longer, but only about 2 and a half months and then Tim eats what's left of Uncle Eddie. Maybe one day he'll be able to make puppets that last for years like his mom did, but not just yet.

Also she isn't dead and does stay in contact. She just got bored of her life as Janet Drake and ditched her puppet, telling Tim "here's my new number and new name and the puppet of your father. Good luck kiddo." And Tim was like "YOURE THE BEST MOM" because really, by their standards she is. Most of his species are completely abandoned once they can walk, hide themselves, and produce silk. Most don't have any idea who their parent or parents are at all.

Ooh! The way you made his silk OP but then put in a very realistic limitation was cool as hell.

I'm also curious how the Bats would feel about Tim needing to consume human flesh. If Red Hood is still killing, it would he super cool of him to offer up some of the people he murders. Hopefully that will be a bit fresher and better tasting for Tim.

Also, would Alfred try to cook food for Tim's diet? Or would that be too much for Alfred to handle so he refuses to cook human flesh?

If Tim or someone else cooked that food (post-reveal), they probably would have to build an entire kitchen just for him. They wouldn't want to cross contaminate that since it could make the humans really really sick.

You mentioned that Tim doesn't hate consuming flesh. Does he have any reservations about it? Are there parts of his being that he hates for not being human enough?

At least Bruce doesn't seem to mind a creature consuming already dead people. Though, maybe Tim (pre-reveal) worries Bruce would mind if it was someone he knew.

I'm also hella curious where puppet Uncle Eddie comes from. Dead body? Bad guy Tim doesn't mind turning into a puppet?

Love Janet Drake. Maybe Tim could go visit her every once in a blue moon. If not, at least both of them seem happy and content with their relationship

[bullet-prooflove]

5500 Follower Celebration: Unbuttoned Shirt - Nolan Price x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @topmagtiger @ireadfanfictionontheweekends @bruceewayne @itsdanajane16

You’re in pain, Nolan can tell from the way you hiss through your teeth as he unbuttons your shirt in the bedroom. The fabric falls away revealing your black sports bra and a starburst of indigo bruising that blossoms across your ribcage. He notes the threads of pink, broken blood vessels exploding out from the epic centre where the bullet had impacted your vest, the Kevlar plates snapping under the force of it, absorbing the velocity.

He fixates on the myriad of colours, his fingertips tracing lightly over the darkest area, the place where the most damage has been done.

“Nolan.” You whisper and he tilts his head up to meet your gaze.

There’s such a turmoil in him in that moment, you can see it like a storm in those vivid eyes of his. He’s always known how dangerous your job can be but seeing the reality of it, it’s like a gut punch.

“I nearly lost you today.” He whispers, cradling your face between the palms of his hands. “You almost died…”

He’s starting to spiral, you can see it in the way his breathing starts to hitch.

“But you didn’t.” You reassure him, taking his hand in your own and guiding it down to the space where your heart resides in your chest. He can feel it beating underneath his fingertips and it soothes him in a way that’s almost visceral because you’re still here, still with him.

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[clementinegreye]

false god

spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

summary: it's never a good idea to reminisce about a relationship, especially one that ended with betrayal left you with a permanent scar

word count: 1.2k

warnings: angst, no happy ending, major character injury, talks of general CM related violence and murder (nothing graphic), jeid you squint but its not endorsed lol

a/n: wrote this in an hour when i was feeling sad. its not proof read and i lowkey don't love it but whomp whomp

She always thought that the ground looked so far away just after take-off. Everyone below looked like specs of dirt that you had to really focus on to see. How insignificant everything looked compared to the vastness of the sky above. The illusion of importance shattered by the cover of clouds.

Pulling the blind down she sat back in her seat, headphones drowning out the noise in her head. The jet was silent, too focused in quiet contemplation of the reading material in front of them.

Her body instinctively leaned slightly to the left, seeking the comfort it once found in his embrace. But the illusion was shattered, and she knew that no matter how much she wanted to, she could no longer lean into the familiarity. She pushed her body towards the window, forcing her eyes out to the clouds.

Her thoughts, once filled with his presence, felt unmoored.

Now she could focus wholly on work. But the space that thoughts of him once filled was now left behind and filled with a silence that echoed through her. She was alone with the sky, the clouds, the vast expanse of the world below, and her thoughts.

His scent still lingered, he’d spent so long in the seat next to her that it must have melded with the fabric. A mix of pine and the cold winter morning air. She closed her eyes, a single tear escaping, sliding down her cheek. She was left with nothing but the ghost of his presence, a cruel reminder of what once was.

But now, the seat remained cold and empty. Even the scent of him, hugging her senses, used to be a source of comfort, was now a bitter reminder of the fallout between them. She hugged herself as if trying to fill the void as vast as the sky.

She forced herself to breathe, each inhale a sharp reminder of the love that was no longer hers. But it felt different now, hollow and cold as if the warmth he once provided had faded.

You see, Spencer Reid had broken her heart, and he’d done it easily.

Spencer Reid had chosen to protect someone else over her.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

The takedown was supposed to have been simple.

She turned her head slightly, the dust from the room seemed to have uprooted and created a cloud of mist. Morgan looked like he was running towards her. Why was he running towards her? Why was she on the ground? Why did everything feel so cold? It was the middle of July, she’d been warm in her Kevlar vest. Why were her fingers so so cold?

‘Agent down!’

The words echoed in her ears. It was as if the fog cleared and she tried to sit up, pain lit up her body like electricity before going numb. Suddenly everything seemed so silent. The world shifted, she could feel the cold concrete on her back as clearly as if it were in her bones.

Morgan was fast, it must have only taken him seconds to get to her. Which was odd, she’d been standing next to Spencer, but she couldn’t see him from her line of sight. She tried to force herself up again. only to be met with Morgan’s strong hands pushing on her shoulders.

‘No, don’t move.’ She turned her head to the side and through the haze of what was happening she saw something that made her eyebrows furrow in confusion. Maybe she’d hit her head. She must have hit her head.

Spencer was standing in front of JJ, his whole body poised like a shield protecting her. His arms around her shoulder, her hands gripping the front of his vest. Then the confusion unravelled like a loose thread, tugged on.

Spencer had moved to protect her. He’d left her side to protect JJ from the Unsub’s shooting. He’d actively moved further away from her to go and stand in front of JJ. But he wasn’t in love with JJ. He was supposed to be in love with her, so why had he gone out of his way to protect JJ? Was he in love with JJ?

They’d always been close, she knew that. But this? This felt more than friendship, you don’t dive in front of just a friend instinctively if the supposed love of your life is right there in the line of fire. Surely, your instinct is to follow your heart, is that what Spencer had done? Had he followed the true line of his heart?

She wanted to ask him why. Why he had done this? But her voice had deserted her, her throat drowned in icy silence. She felt the darkness creeping in, wrapping around her like a shroud.

The pain of the betrayal was raw, every nerve in her body seemed to buzz with it. She felt like a marionette whose strings had been cut, left to crumble under the weight of her realisation.

Morgan was next to her, holding her, placing his weight on her torso, he was lit up in a golden halo and his eyes looked like they were gleaming with fear and un-spilt tears.

‘Where’s the damn medic?!’ He shouted backwards in what must have been the general direction of the team.

‘It’s five minutes out.’ The voice was level, in charge. It must have been Hotch, but her eyes were getting too heavy to check.

She wanted to tell Morgan to stop looking so scared, to assure him she'd pull through like always, but the words died in her throat. Her breath hitched as a new wave of pain washed over her.

'Hang on,' Morgan pleaded, 'just hang on.'

She could hear Spencer, his voice sounded panicked, high pitched and his breathing thready. He was muttering something that sounded like an apology and a lot of cursing or praying to God. She couldn’t tell.

She wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but the strength had left her body. The edges of her vision were blurring, and the last thing she heard was Morgan's desperate plea echoing in her fading consciousness.

'Stay with us,' a voice commanded, each word punctuated with a raw desperation. But the darkness was too inviting, too persistent. And as the world around her faded, she couldn't shake off the sinking feeling that something irrevocably had changed.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

The hum of the engine lured her out of her memory. Maybe it was her fault. She’d loved Spencer like it was breathing, had worshipped at the altar of his love, only to find it empty. It was clear he hadn’t done the same, that convenience was simply his reason.

The false god she had created of him had fallen, shattered into pieces. The truth of his mortality, his flawed humanity, had never been so palpable. The feeling was both liberating and terrifying.

She looked out at the sky and the world below, the vast expanse seeming to mirror the emptiness within her. Emptiness echoed in her ears, filling her with a sense of loss that was almost unbearable.

The scar below her left collarbone throbbed beneath her shirt, it could almost be mistaken for heartache.

[luciacaminoz]

APOLOGY for the gaslight gamerbro himself perhaps? idk i would just love it if you had a reason to make julian grovel for his wife just a lil

Hearts/Wires (2.2k, nsfw)

February 2021

Here’s the thing about Julian Sim: when he wants to gut you, he uses a scalpel, not a cleaver.

The main area of the penthouse haven is all dark wood, black marble, muted LED underglow—reeking ego.

Three neon-lit servers hum like a hive mind stacked neatly in a small, panelled alcove; on top, a lacquered black terminal and various split-screen monitors. There’s an entire wall of vintage gaming consoles and rare, limited edition collector’s items, all bespoke shelving and shiny sleek casing.

A cyber koi dominates another wall on a matte black canvas, silver and teal metallic paint catching light, glowing circuit-board patterns along the scales and through its fins. There’s an Eames chair beneath that; dark grey, horrific little Licker plush perfectly centered, and a thin, bioluminescent algae tank splits the space, tints everything in cyan.

Portishead’s Glory Box is an audio autopsy; drags lazily from somewhere.

Sol leans against the back of a leather suite by the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching her first snowfall skirl thick over the city. Elena’s in the HQ sublevel garage; Nadia’s still spying downtown.

Julian’s fingers fly over a tablet.

“Hey,” he says.

Sol just glances over her shoulder.

He swivels in his chair, grinning—that fuckboy grin. That one.

“Got something for you.”

“If it’s another USB drive of NFTs I swear to god, Julian, I’m out.”

“Nope.” He stands, all lean lines in his stupidly expensive techwear, and gestures to a black case on the marble-topped kitchen island. “Open it.”

She saunters over, pops the latches.

Inside: a leather jacket—deep shade of grey-brown, oversized, buttery-soft, lined with Kevlar. The back’s embroidered with two tiny hummingbirds in black and silver thread; the cuffs studded with citrine and gunmetal hardware. Sewn into the pocket: a rosary—each bead delicately carved obsidian.

“Customized the Kevlar weave,” he says, too casual. “Stops .50 cals, UV-resistant, self-healing nano-fibers. Also, y’know. Looks hot on you.”

Sol runs a thumb over the hummingbirds.

“You had this made?”

“Nadia sourced the leather. I did the code for the nano-fibers.” He steps closer, smelling of designer cologne and mint gum—he’d held another 2100X lecture at the University of Denver earlier this evening. “And the embroidery’s mine. Took a week. Fuckin’… needlework.” He mimes stabbing himself. “Torture.”

Sol keeps her expression carefully neutral.

“You should’ve stuck to hacking.”

“Probably.” His grin fades.

The jacket’s perfect. Infuriatingly perfect. So perfect she wants to cry or hurl him through the ten-storey window. Instead, she shucks off her old one, slides into the new. It molds to her—alive.

Sol can’t help the small smile. Her palms run along the smooth leather and she turns to him with a brow raised, exaggerated bedroom-eyes: Like what you see?

Julian’s gaze darkens. He closes the distance and smirks as he fixes her collar, tucking loose hair behind her ear, and it’s like every drop of squirming vitae in her system suddenly streams towards his touch.

She slaps his hand away.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t do that. The… soft shit.”

He catches her wrist.

“You’re mad. I get it, Sol. Be fucking mad.” They’re chest-to-chest, her back against the counter, so close his breath ghosts her scar. “But let me at least try while you’re mad.”

“Try?” She snorts. “Try what? Try to fix this? You get fucking and fighting and nothing else. You don’t know the first—”

Julian drops to his knees.

Sol shivers.

Hands on both sides of her hips, his mouth laves a hot, pleading stripe up the inner seam of her jeans. Sol grips the counter’s edge, knuckles white.

“Julian,” she hisses, but her thighs part anyway. Fuck him. Fuck his pretty little mouth, fuck his goddamn eyes—wide and wet like he’s the one being gutted. She shoves him back, but he catches her foot, pressing a kiss to the snake at her ankle. “Fuck. You.”

“You first,” he murmurs, tugging her jeans down.

She should knee him in the fucking face. She should. Instead his breath scalds through the fabric of her underwear and she whines like a kicked dog. He noses her clit, deliberately slow, savoring.

Sol’s head thuds back against the cabinet. She fists his hair—god, his hair, still so fucking soft, no one but her allowed to mess with the stupid fucking coiff—and grinds down.

“Hate you.” It sounds laughable on the tail end of a moan.

“Mmhmm.” Julian drags her panties with his teeth, then bites the fleshy inside of her thigh hard enough to leave a bruise. Two fingers slide into her, curling exactly right, and she hates how he remembers her body. “Tell me again, Sol.”

She doesn’t. She can’t, because his tongue replaces his fingers, lapping at her like she’s the last O-neg he’ll ever fucking see. The whimper chokes out of her throat, sharp, shallow, broken. Julian groans against her, vibration ratcheting her even higher.

“Solona,” he rasps, fucking her with his tongue now, deep and filthy. “Missed you. Missed how you taste—”

Her legs almost give out. Her claws unfurl, digging into the marble.

“Shut—fuck—shut up—”

He doesn’t. It’s Julian—he talks; words muffled but relentless against her clit.

“I remember when you used to beg me not to stop—”

“Julian—”

“Beg.”

“Go to hell—”

He pulls back, cold air hitting her soaked cunt. Sol nearly sobs. He looks up at her, lips glistening, pupils huge.

“Say it.”

She slaps him.

He blinks; when he meets her eyes he’s smiling again—shit-eating, I’m-untouchable—but his hands tremble.

She holds his gaze for two seconds before her heel slams his shoulder.

Julian crashes back into the algae tank, cyan light rippling violently over the room. In that moment he looks scary; his fangs drop with one slick schlick, eyes flat black fucking fury—

Then he laughs.

“You’re savage tonight.” He staggers up, licking vitae from the cut on his palm. He sounds as unhinged as she feels, spreading his arms like some shitty messiah. “Okay, Solona. Hurt me.”

She’s on him, fangs bared, slamming him against the server wall. Monitors clatter; the Licker plush tumbles to the floor. Julian’s cock strains against his pants, and the scent of his blood—wired monsoon nights, algorithmic zips of lightning; hers, her Sire’s, mine mine mine—drags a guttural moan from deep in her chest.

“Hate you,” she sobs, clawing his shirt open. “HATE.”

“I know. I know—”

It’s not a kiss she pulls him into. It’s teeth and tongue and ten years of fucked-up festering feelings. Sol shreds his belt with her claws. He lifts her onto the marble counter, ice-cold against her bare skin, and she resents how easy it brings her back—how his hands stay gentle, how his cock twitches against her stomach, leaking and desperate, how she wants to curl up and keep him inside her forever.

“Sol, look at me,” he whispers.

“No.”

“Please.”

“You left,” she snarls.

“I came back. I was always coming back.”

“To use me.”

“And you let me. Is that what you want to hear?”

She slaps him again, harder, tips of her claws splitting skin; two thin jagged slices across his cheek bone.

The crack echoes. Julian’s head snaps sideways, hair falling over his eyes. He touches the blood blooming beneath his eye and just sighs.

“Feel better?”

“No.”

He cups her jaw, pressing his forehead to hers and Sol exhales a shuddering breath between them.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Forget it. Just fuck me.” Her eyes are steepling with red. She’s using every gram of composure to keep them from running over.

Julian fucks her like he’s trying to carve an apology into her bones. Sol fucks him like she’s digging a grave.

Her heels cut into the small of his back. The counter’s edge bites into her ass. He slows, angling deeper, hitting that spot that makes her vision white. It’s a conscious effort to retract the claws, but she does, finally gripping his shoulders, grasping the nape of his neck, their foreheads still tight together.

“Look at me.” Begging. Begging. “Solona, please.”

Sol opens her eyes and stares into him the way she did when she thought he hung the stars.

Then, tears.

“Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—” The words glitch out of him—staccato, inelegant, cracking. His thumbs swipe, smearing blood like warpaint.

He kisses her. It’s clumsy. It’s not enough. It’s everything. His lips tremble against hers, hands cradling her face like she’s made of cracked glass.

She kisses him back, nails digging crescents into the softness of his neck. Blood mingles metallic and salt-bitter between them. Julian’s hips stutter, buried to the hilt, chest hitching.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” he repeats against her mouth.

She doesn’t answer. She wraps her legs tighter around him. Her hips roll slow now, aching, like she’s trying to fuse their skeletons.

Julian matches her pace, each thrust deep and punctuated—I’m. Here. I’m. Here.

His kiss trails along the thin ridge of her scar, her throat, her collarbone, every mole and freckle he finds there. When she comes, it’s silent—clenching around him, full-body shudder. Julian follows with a choked groan, forehead to her sternum, watching mingled vitae paint her thighs.

For a long moment, they stay like that, suspended—sticky, bleeding, Julian’s arms locked around her waist like she’ll ash if he lets go.

The algae tank continues to pulse, low and steady.

Sol shoves him.

He stumbles back, red scratches across his cheek almost closed over, Dior shirt hanging in tatters. She eases off the counter, legs shaky, and stalks to the bathroom. Julian follows, silent, hovering in the doorway as she splashes cold water on her face.

“Sol—”

“Don’t. Please.”

He doesn’t.

She strips, steps into the shower. Julian leans against the sink, watching through the glass as steam fogs the edges of her silhouette. When she’s done, he’s there with a towel—

Sol snatches it, wrapping herself tight.

Julian’s fingers brush her wrist.

“Let me fix your hair.”

“Fuck off.”

He retrieves a comb from the drawer anyway.

She gives him a look… but perches on the toilet lid.

Julian kneels behind her, carefully detangling the damp mass of waves. He used to do this—since the first weeks after her Embrace, when her hair would snarl from Sonoran winds whipping through the Geo and in the later 00s after messier Camarilla hit jobs. His fingers move in gentle, practiced patterns.

“We’re so fucked up,” she mutters.

“Maybe.”

“Lettow should’ve killed us both in Tucson.”

His mouth twitches.

They don’t speak after that. She leans into his touch despite herself.

Julian finishes her hair, silently debating a shower. Not wanting to leave her alone long, he burns vitae to blur through the motions, veins sparking with hunger, then dresses in a faded Evangelion t-shirt and black sweatpants.

Ridiculous, giddying relief slumps his shoulders when he walks back out into the living area and finds Sol slouched in the Eames chair, toeing the Licker plush on the floor, wearing one of his older hoodies—still raiding his wardrobe even here, even now.

Snow whirls behind her in the darkness outside, choking Denver’s skyline. Her eyes are closed, head drooped, limbs heavy, and he feels it too—the pressure droning behind his brow bone, blood beginning to stick and clump as arteries dry up to collapse. Dawn’s close.

Julian rakes his fingers through damp, painfully mussed and un-styled hair, and grabs the prayer mat tucked in a compartment beside the arch leading to the bedroom. It’s silk, deep olive green and embroidered—ayat al-Kursi in delicate gold calligraphy.

“Prayer time,” he says lightly, mostly to bridge the awkwardness stretching between them.

Sol looks up and frowns. He’s paler than usual, deep circles under his eyes, movements sluggish as he hits in a key code on the far wall and then lays out his mat.

“Skip it.”

Julian pauses.

“You know I can’t.”

She strains and stands, grabbing the Licker plush and what can only be an incredibly expensive throw blanket from the arm of the leather suite.

Julian watches, an almost imperceptible tightening in his jaw, as she follows him over, drops both to the floor beside him, and lies down.

“Fucking hypocrite.” She sighs, eyes closing. “You think Allah’s cool with diablerie?”

“He’s cool with me surviving sunrise.” Julian shrugs. “I’ll be quick.”

She watches him kneel, forehead pressed to the rug, earring glinting as he rocks forward, and thinks he looks beautiful like this.

The murmured Arabic is a familiar rhythm. She’s listened to it a thousand times as a fledgling in their trailer, but tonight it aches differently.

When he finishes, he doesn’t move.

“Julian?”

“I meant what I said in Santa Fe, Sol. Monterrey’s yours if you want it,” he says quietly. “I’ll follow you. No scripts. No strings.”

“No backseat Blood Sorcery?”

He finally flashes a smile at her, but she’s still lying on her back, eyes closed. He rolls up the mat with quick precision, even half-dead and mid-dying, and crawls over.

“None.”

“Liar.” Sol opens her arms.

He collapses into her, face buried in the crook of her neck.

“Missed this,” he mumbles.

“Missed you whining through Fajr.”

“Mean.” He flicks her nipple through the fabric.

Sol tugs his hair just enough to hurt. Julian purrs, fucking purrs, like some deranged cat.

Right before daysleep takes her:

“...Thank you. For the jacket.”

Julian smiles against her skin.

“Wait til you see what’s in the garage.”

[ prompt list ]

[clockwayswrites]

Danny/Bruce, Blue, Blue Lily

@starlightcat04

“Bruce.”

“Hn.”

“Oh, I see we’ve already been reduced to the ‘hn’ phase. That’s great. It’s always such a good sign when we get to that point.”

“Hn.”

Danny sighed and stepped the rest of the way into the cave. He padded over, bare feet pleasingly cool on the cave floor, to perch on the arm of the chair.

The large screen of the Bat Computer was illuminated with every avenue of research possible. Danny gently threaded his fingers through the hair at the nape of Bruce’s neck. It was getting long again. Alfred would make Bruce cut it soon. Maybe Danny could trim it up for him, he knew Bruce hated to have a stranger at his neck like that.

“Come to sleep Bruce.”

“I can’t.” Bruce choked the words out.

“Yes you can. You have every search imaginable running. I have my shades on it too. You sent Dick and Jason both to bed already. We’ve talked about how you need to be a better example for them.”

Bruce turned and pressed his face into Danny’s stomach.

Danny sighed. He curled forward to press a kiss to Bruce’s hair. It smelled of sweat and Kevlar. “I don’t mean to shame you, Bruce, it’s just true. And you promised you would try. Come to bed. You can come back down here after breakfast. If anything happens, I’ll have a shade wake me.”

“Hn.”

“Thank you.”

Did some prompts, here is the masterpost.

Feel Free to continue this one if you want!

[dehydrated-turtle]

Blood and Stitches

//warnings// 16+, mdni

//contents// Jason Todd x transmasc!reader, Blowjob, blood, stitches

//synopsis// Jason Todd comes home from a particularly bad patrol, bleeding onto your apartment floor. You have to stitch him up because he never listens to you but well, you love him what can you say? - wc: 1.2k

//on ao3//

Blood, blood, blood, and more blood. It's dripping slowly onto the wood panels of your bedroom floor from the clearly open wound on Jason’s side. The viscous and extremely pigmented liquid rolls down his abdomen, blending in with the blacks and dark reds of his suit but still visible, and the huge gash, exposing his skin to the cool wind coming in from the window he left open in your apartment. 

“Hey…” he says weakly before collapsing onto the floor. 

“Oh Jesus Christ, Jason.” You say, annoyed because he never listens to you. You told him last time he passed out on your floor, he has to protect himself better and stop being so reckless while on patrol or he’s going to get himself killed. You roll him over and pry off his jacket and kevlar before peeling off his under armour shirt that's been coated in blood. You struggle to pull his arms out while he’s unconscious due to how heavy they are but you do nonetheless.

Once you throw his blood ridden suit into a pile on the floor, you get out the first aid kit and some damp towels from the bathroom to clean him up. As you are gently dabbing the skin around the wound clean, Jason regains consciousness with a groggy groan rumbling in his throat. 

“Shhh, stay down, I’m cleaning you up.” you say, pushing his shoulder back down to the floor, his head landed with a soft thud and another croak of pain. “Ok, I’ve got to put some peroxide on it now, stay still.” 

“I can handle it, I’m fINE–” he grips your free arm then repositions to your hand. He squeezes hard as he hisses at the sharp sting. You clean the wound efficiently so he doesn’t have to be in pain for so long before taking out the stitch kit from the bin full of first aid. “Do I really need the stitches?” Jason said with obvious worry in his voice, he’s never liked getting stitches, being afraid of needles and all. 

“Yes, Jay, this is really bad… I’m sorry.” 

“No, no it’s ok, you gotta do what you gotta do.” he looks up at the ceiling and takes a deep breath before nodding, signalling to go on with it. “Just get it over with.” 

After thoroughly sterilizing, you take the curved needle and the thick thread and start to sew his flesh together, guiding him through it while he whimpers on the ground. Something so special about him being so vulnerable with you like this, it makes your heart swell. As soon as you tie off the last stitch, you pat it again with the peroxide just to get rid of any excess blood and bacteria then put a bandage over top. 

“There, that should do it, just be careful not to pop a stitch. Do I need to get out the tiger balm or are you good?” You say helping Jason off the floor and onto the bed. 

“Oh that would be great, I think I pulled my everything.” He chuckled, then instantly regretting it, gripping his side and keeling over in pain followed by some soft profanities. 

“I’ll get you some water too while I’m at it, don’t wanna get dehydrated.” You remark before leaving the room then quickly coming back with a cold water bottle and a pot of tiger balm. You walk over to the dresser and pull out a pair of PJ pants and a sweater, you put all the items on the bedside table then start to help Jason take his pants off, something you have done many a time before, you are no stranger to the Red Hood’s belt buckle but this time was less heated, you just wanted to get him comfortable. 

“Boxers on or no?” 

“Uhh, nah take ‘em off, don’t want my balls being strangled all night.” He gave you a soft smile with those kind eyes that only a select few saw, so thankful that you were one of them. So you hooked your fingers underneath his pants’ and boxer’s waistband and shuffled them down his thighs, soft dick resting between them. You sneak a peek at it before making eye contact with Jason and give him a smile. He smiles back with his eyes wide and innocent, all the while he’s growing slowly against the skin of his legs. You can hear his breath quicken while you spread his ankles apart and see that his cock jumped while still growing steadily. You make your way up the bed to sit yourself in between his legs, taking his mostly hard cock in your hand and pumping it slowly while massaging his thighs and hips lightly with your free hand. He lets out a soft moan, closing his eyes briefly and laying his head back on the headboard. 

You lean forward to place a light kiss on his head before licking a purposeful stripe up the length of his cock before taking his head all the way into your mouth, swirling your tongue. Your cunt clenched as he whimpered ever so slightly but just enough for you to hear. One of his large calloused hands reaches down to move your hair out of your face, his lazy eyes meet yours, looking so innocent for such a crude act, he loves it. His hand made its way to the back of your neck, making his cock go deeper into your throat which almost made you gag but you successfully kept it in. 

Jason never took his eyes off of you, saliva leaking around your lips and onto his balls, he couldn’t peel his eyes away from that sight, it’s almost physically impossible. “Fuck, honey… I’m gonna cum.” he whispers, thinking you’re going to pull off so he can wait until he’s buried in your heat, but you don’t, you just keep going, sucking him down and looking him in the eye, almost begging for him to cum in your mouth with just a glance. His breath hitched as his cock twitched against the roof of your mouth before a string of profanities pour out of his mouth and white rivers pour out of his tip. Your mouth slowly filled with his semen, hot, sticky and just the perfect amount of salty. Jason whimpers as you pull off his cock with a pop and a smile on your face as you swallow all he spilled into your mouth. 

“Feeling any better?” you ask with a cheeky tone. 

“Mm, so much better, thank you my beautiful boy. I almost forgot about the ginormous gash on my abdomen.” You lean down to kiss his happy trail all the way up to his sternum before resting your head on his chest with a heaving sigh,wrapping your arms gently around his torso, being careful of said gash. “Don’t get too comfortable, honey, I’ve gotta put my pants on still.” 

“Oh, I forgot about that, oops.” You say, getting up off of him and taking the PJ pants you got out for him before. “Here, put 'em on.” You throw them onto his chest with a chuckle while he got up. You jump onto the bed where he was while he puts on his pants then snuggles into you, crawling back onto the bed. 

“I love you, my prince.” He whispered into your collarbone while leaving peppered bruises along it. 

“I love you too, Jay. Now get some rest, it’s the only way you’re going to heal properly.” 

“Jeez, you sound like alfred.” 

“Goodnight.” 

“G’night, honey.”

[okasuka]

Damian wayne x Reader - this was just a secondary version of my last post,

A/N : i finished this on the toilet….

Part 1: The Mission Aftermath

The Batcave was eerily quiet when Damian and Bruce returned from patrol. Y/N, sitting at the main console, was focused on tracking a new lead Oracle had sent over. She’d stayed behind that night, acting as backup, coordinating their intel and providing support from the cave.

The hiss of the Batmobile brought her attention to the duo stepping out. Damian strode in first, his movements stiff but controlled, his cape flowing behind him like a second shadow. His uniform was torn at the side, revealing a deep cut across his toned torso. Bruce followed, his gaze impassive as always, though the sight of Damian’s injury had clearly left a mark of concern in his furrowed brow.

“Y/N,” Bruce called, his baritone voice snapping her out of her thoughts. “Damian needs stitches.”

Y/N sighed, standing up and grabbing the first-aid kit from the desk. “Of course he does.”

“I’m fine,” Damian snapped, brushing off his father’s attempt to place a hand on his shoulder.

“Fine?” Bruce raised an eyebrow. “You’re bleeding through your suit.”

Y/N approached, her short wavy hair bouncing slightly as she walked. The red streak glinted under the Batcave’s harsh lighting. She crossed her arms, fixing Damian with a pointed look. “Take off the top half of your suit. I can’t exactly stitch through Kevlar.”

Damian glared at her, his green eyes sharp. “I don’t need—”

“Now, Damian,” Bruce interjected before Damian could argue further. “You’re not going out again until it’s treated.”

Damian huffed, rolling his eyes dramatically as he unhooked his cape and began removing the top half of his suit. He winced slightly as he pulled it over his head, exposing the jagged cut across his torso. His skin was flushed from exertion, his muscles taut as he crossed his arms, glaring at nothing in particular.

Y/N grabbed a pair of scissors and approached, carefully cutting away the fabric around the wound. “Hold still,” she ordered, her tone firm.

“I’m perfectly still,” Damian shot back.

“You’re tense,” Y/N countered, pressing lightly near the wound to inspect it. Damian flinched, his jaw tightening as he instinctively moved away.

“Stop squirming, Damian!” she said, exasperated.

“I’m not squirming,” Damian retorted, though his shoulders were practically glued to his ears in discomfort.

Bruce sighed, shaking his head. “Good luck,” he muttered before retreating toward the Batcomputer.

Part 2: The Stitching Struggle

Y/N crouched beside Damian, her gloved hands working quickly to clean the wound. The proximity made Damian visibly uncomfortable. His fingers tapped restlessly against his thigh, and his jaw clenched whenever she moved too close.

“Damian,” Y/N warned, looking up at him. “If you keep moving, this is going to take twice as long.”

“I’m not moving,” he muttered, though his fidgeting hands said otherwise.

“You are literally twitching right now,” she said, gesturing to his restless fingers. “Do you want me to mess up and leave you with a scar? Because I will.”

He scowled, his cheeks slightly pink. “You’re incapable of messing up, so don’t patronize me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Then hold still and stop being so annoying.”

“I’m not—” Damian began, but the sharp sting of antiseptic cut him off. He hissed, his hand shooting out to grip the edge of the med table.

“Oh, suck it up,” Y/N said, unamused. “You get stabbed all the time, and this is what makes you flinch?”

Damian glared at her. “Tt. You’re insufferable.”

“Funny, I was about to say the same about you.” She smirked, grabbing the needle and thread. “Okay, this is the fun part. Try not to squirm.”

Damian shot her a look that could curdle milk. “I said I’m not squirming.”

Y/N leaned closer, her focus narrowing on the wound as she carefully began stitching. The closeness was unavoidable, and she was acutely aware of Damian’s quickened breathing.

“Y/N, can you—”

“What?” she asked distractedly, pulling the thread taut.

“Nothing,” Damian muttered, his gaze darting anywhere but her face. The faint pink in his cheeks deepened, though he tried to mask it with a scowl.

Part 3: Disaster Strikes

After a few more stitches, Damian shifted again, his muscles tightening as she worked.

“Damian,” Y/N said through gritted teeth, “if you don’t stop moving, I swear—”

“I’m not—” Damian moved once more, causing Y/N to lose her balance. She slipped forward, her knees landing awkwardly between his legs as she caught herself on his chest. Her face was inches from his, their eyes locking in shared shock.

“Uh…” Y/N started, her voice faint.

Damian’s eyes widened, his cheeks now a vivid crimson. “Get off of me!” he snapped, though his hands instinctively caught her waist to steady her.

“I am!” she shot back, struggling to push herself upright. Before she could, the sound of footsteps made both of them freeze.

“Damian—” Bruce’s voice cut through the air as he rounded the corner. He stopped abruptly, taking in the scene: Y/N practically sprawled across Damian, their faces far too close for comfort.

“What…” Bruce’s brow furrowed deeply, and he crossed his arms. “Am I interrupting something?”

“It’s not what it looks like!” Y/N blurted, scrambling to her feet.

“Clearly,” Damian added, his tone sharp as he stood as well, brushing imaginary dirt from his pants.

For a moment, Bruce stared at them, his expression unreadable. Then he sighed, rubbing his temple. “Just… finish treating the wound. And try to stay professional.”

Damian opened his mouth to argue, but Bruce was already walking away, muttering something about “teenagers” under his breath.

Part 4: The Teasing Begins

The awkward silence between Damian and Y/N didn’t last long. As soon as Bruce disappeared, the unmistakable sound of stifled laughter echoed through the Batcave. Y/N groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Don’t,” Damian said sharply, glaring toward the source of the laughter.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Dick said, walking into view with his hands raised in mock surrender, though his grin betrayed him. “I just… That was priceless.”

“What are you even doing here, Grayson?” Damian snapped, still visibly flustered.

“Making sure you’re not dying,” Dick replied. “And, apparently, catching some quality entertainment while I’m at it.”

“Shut up,” Damian growled, his fists clenching at his sides.

“Wait—what happened?” Tim’s voice carried through the air as he jogged into the Batcave, Jason following closely behind. “Why is everyone—oh. Oh.”

Tim’s eyes landed on Y/N and Damian, and a slow grin spread across his face. “Did I miss something? Please tell me I didn’t miss something.”

Jason, who was leaning against a nearby wall, raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. Damian did something stupid again.”

“Not this time,” Dick said, clapping Jason on the back. “Y/N fell on him.”

“And Bruce walked in,” Tim added, his grin widening.

Y/N threw her hands in the air. “It wasn’t like that!”

“Oh, but it looked like that,” Dick teased, waggling his eyebrows. “The proximity. The awkward tension. The panic. Chef’s kiss.”

“Grayson, leave,” Damian barked, his face practically glowing red now.

“But I’m having so much fun!” Dick protested, flopping onto a chair. “Besides, I’m not the only one enjoying this.”

“Obviously,” Tim said, pulling out his phone. “This moment needs documentation.”

“No pictures,” Damian snapped, lunging toward Tim.

Tim dodged easily, laughing as he darted behind Jason for cover. “Relax, Dami. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Since when?” Damian countered, his voice low and threatening.

Jason snorted. “You two are such children. At least Y/N is staying out of this.”

“I’m really not,” Y/N muttered, glaring at the group. “You’re all the worst.”

“Aw, c’mon, Y/N,” Dick said, grinning at her. “Admit it—you’re having fun.”

“Not even a little,” Y/N replied flatly, though the faint blush on her cheeks suggested otherwise.

Part 5: Stephanie Joins the Party

As if things couldn’t get worse, Stephanie appeared at the top of the stairs, leaning over the railing. “What’s going on down here? Why is Tim giggling like a maniac?”

Tim waved her down enthusiastically. “You’re just in time. Damian and Y/N had a moment.”

Stephanie’s eyes lit up with mischief as she descended the stairs. “A moment, huh? Do tell.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Damian growled, his tone icy.

“Except that Y/N fell on him,” Dick said, unable to resist fanning the flames. “And Bruce walked in at the worst possible time.”

Stephanie gasped dramatically, clapping her hands together. “No way! This is perfect.”

“It’s not perfect,” Damian shot back, his voice rising. “It’s none of your business!”

“Correction,” Jason said, smirking. “When it happens in the Batcave, it’s everyone’s business.”

Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Can we all just move on?”

“Nope,” Stephanie said, plopping onto a nearby stool. “This is too good. I mean, when else are we going to see Damian this flustered?”

“I’m not flustered!” Damian insisted, though the redness in his face betrayed him.

“Sure, you’re not,” Stephanie said, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, I think this calls for a celebration.”

“Don’t,” Y/N warned, narrowing her eyes.

Stephanie ignored her. “We should totally tell Alfred. He’ll love this.”

“Stephanie!” Damian and Y/N shouted in unison, their voices laced with panic.

Jason barked out a laugh. “I’d pay good money to see Alfred’s reaction.”

“Why do you all insist on tormenting me?” Damian growled, his hands balling into fists.

“Because it’s fun,” Tim said simply.

Part 6: The Kitchen Incident

After what felt like an eternity of teasing, the group finally dispersed—though not without a fair amount of snickering and side comments. Damian and Y/N were left in the Batcave, the tension still thick between them.

“Are you okay?” Y/N asked after a moment, her voice soft.

Damian glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because your brothers are… well, them,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the direction they’d gone.

“Tt. I can handle them,” Damian said, though his tone lacked its usual edge.

Y/N smiled faintly. “Good. Because they’re not going to let this go anytime soon.”

“Unfortunately,” Damian muttered, running a hand through his hair.

The rest of the evening passed without incident—until the group reconvened for dinner. Y/N found herself in the kitchen, helping Alfred clean up while the others lounged around the dining room. Damian, ever the perfectionist, joined her, claiming he couldn’t stand the sight of Dick’s lazy posture.

“Pass me that towel,” Y/N said, motioning to the counter.

Damian handed it to her without a word, his movements stiff and precise. Y/N couldn’t help but notice the faint tension in his shoulders—a sign he was still on edge from earlier.

“Relax, Damian,” she said lightly. “It’s just dishes.”

“I am relaxed,” he replied, his tone defensive.

“Right,” Y/N said, smirking as she turned back to the sink.

That’s when Tim walked in, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Need any help in here?”

“No,” Damian said immediately.

Tim ignored him, sauntering over to the sink. “You’re doing a great job, Y/N. Very thorough.”

“Thanks, I guess?” Y/N replied, raising an eyebrow.

Tim leaned casually against the counter, a little too close to Damian. “You know, Dami, you should learn a thing or two about teamwork. Maybe take some notes from Y/N.”

Damian scowled. “Tt. I don’t need advice from you, Drake.”

“Suit yourself,” Tim said with a shrug. Then, with calculated precision, he nudged Damian’s shoulder—just enough to throw him off balance.

Damian stumbled, colliding with Y/N, who was leaning over the sink. The sudden impact sent her forward, water splashing everywhere as Damian’s hands landed on her waist to Part 7: The Kitchen Chaos

Damian’s hands instinctively gripped Y/N’s waist to steady her, but the proximity was, once again, way too close for comfort. Y/N froze, her hands braced against the edge of the sink as Damian practically loomed over her back.

“Damian!” she snapped, whipping her head around to glare at him. “What the hell?”

“I didn’t mean—” Damian started, his voice flustered and defensive. “Drake shoved me!”

“Tim!” Y/N exclaimed, glaring past Damian. “Seriously?”

Tim burst out laughing, nearly doubling over as he pointed at the two of them. “Oh my God, this is perfect! You guys are like magnets for awkward moments.”

Damian released Y/N as if her skin burned him, his jaw tightening in irritation. “I’ll give you a five-second head start, Drake.”

Tim, unfazed, held up his hands. “Relax, Dami. It’s just a joke.” He smirked and added, “Though Bruce might not think so if he walks in right now.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Damian growled, taking a step forward.

But before Damian could lunge, a voice cut through the room. “Do I even want to know what’s going on here?”

Bruce stood in the doorway, his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. Behind him, Dick and Jason peered in with barely contained grins. Stephanie had joined them, and she was already laughing.

Y/N groaned, covering her face with one hand. “This is not what it looks like.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed, his gaze flicking between Damian and Y/N, who were both still slightly damp from the sink mishap. “It never is,” he said dryly. “But I keep walking into these situations.”

“I’m being sabotaged,” Damian muttered, glaring at Tim.

“Oh, come on,” Dick chimed in, stepping into the kitchen. “This is hilarious. You two are like a sitcom.”

Jason leaned casually against the doorframe, his smirk growing. “I mean, if you guys wanted some alone time, you could’ve just said so. No need to involve the dishes.”

“Enough,” Damian barked, his patience clearly at its limit. “You’re all insufferable.”

“I think it’s adorable,” Stephanie said, grinning at Y/N. “You guys have such great chemistry.”

“There is no chemistry!” Y/N snapped, her face heating up. She turned to Bruce, desperate for an ally. “Can you please make them stop?”

Bruce stared at her for a moment, then at Damian. Finally, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve given up trying to control them.”

“That’s because he secretly enjoys it,” Dick whispered loudly, earning a sharp look from Bruce.

“I heard that, Richard,” Bruce said.

Part 8: The Aftermath

After much bickering, Alfred finally appeared to restore order. “Master Tim,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Perhaps you’d like to assist me in organizing the pantry instead of causing chaos?”

Tim groaned. “Fine. But I stand by my art.”

“Art?” Damian repeated, his tone incredulous. “You’re ridiculous.”

As Alfred ushered Tim away, Dick and Jason decided to follow, leaving Damian and Y/N alone in the kitchen. The silence that settled was heavy and awkward, the tension from earlier still lingering.

Y/N sighed, grabbing a towel to dry her damp hands. “You okay?”

Damian scowled, his gaze fixed on the counter. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because your brothers are maniacs,” Y/N said, leaning against the sink. “And they seem to enjoy making your life miserable.”

Damian’s lips twitched into something that might’ve been a smirk. “Tt. I’ve dealt with worse.”

“Yeah, but you’re also a terrible patient,” she teased, her tone light. “You make everything harder than it needs to be.”

“Maybe you’re just bad at your job,” Damian retorted, though the faint pink in his cheeks betrayed his usual bravado.

Y/N rolled her eyes, tossing the towel onto the counter. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Of course I do,” Damian said, his smirk growing slightly.

Part 9: The ension Breaks

For a moment, Y/N considered throwing the towel at Damian’s smug face, but instead, she exhaled and gave him a tired smile. “At least you’re self-aware.”

Damian crossed his arms, leaning back slightly. “I don’t see how that’s a flaw.”

“Of course you don’t,” Y/N muttered, turning back toward the sink to finish cleaning. “You’re too stubborn to see anything as a flaw.”

“I prefer ‘confident,’” Damian corrected.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh softly. “You really are impossible.”

The sound of her laugh made Damian pause. For a split second, the tension in his posture eased, and he tilted his head slightly, studying her. “Why do you even bother?” he asked suddenly, his tone quieter.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “Bother with what?”

“Helping me,” Damian said, his voice uncharacteristically uncertain. “Dealing with my—” He hesitated, clearly reluctant to admit any sort of fault. “—attitude.”

Y/N turned to face him fully, her expression softening. “Because I care,” she said simply. “And because someone has to.”

Damian’s eyes widened slightly, the faintest hint of vulnerability flashing across his face. He quickly masked it with a scoff, looking away. “Tt. You’re too sentimental.”

“And you’re too proud,” Y/N shot back, smiling faintly. “Guess we balance each other out.”

Before Damian could respond, a loud crash from the dining room interrupted the moment.

Part 10: The Final Push

“What now?” Y/N muttered, already moving toward the source of the noise.

When she and Damian entered the dining room, they were greeted by the sight of Dick sprawled on the floor, laughing uncontrollably. Jason stood nearby, holding a chair that had clearly been knocked over in the commotion. Tim and Stephanie were perched on the table, grinning like mischievous children.

“What happened?” Y/N asked, her hands on her hips.

“Teamwork,” Jason said simply, gesturing toward Dick. “He thought he was sneaky, but I caught him.”

“Caught him doing what?” Damian asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Trying to rig the kitchen door to lock,” Jason explained, smirking. “Probably planning to trap you two in there. Again.”

Damian’s glare turned murderous. “Grayson…”

Part 11: The Plan Backfires

“What?” Dick said, holding up his hands defensively as he climbed to his feet. “I thought you two needed some quality time to sort out… all this tension.”

“What tension?” Y/N snapped, her face heating up as her gaze flicked between Dick and Damian.

Dick gave her an exaggerated look, one eyebrow arched. “The tension, Y/N. It’s practically its own entity at this point.”

“There is no tension!” Damian growled, his fists clenched at his sides.

“Right,” Tim said, grinning. “That’s why you look like you’re two seconds away from throwing Dick into the Batmobile.”

“Not a bad idea,” Jason muttered, smirking.

Y/N groaned and pressed her palms to her temples. “Can we all just act like normal human beings for five minutes?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Stephanie chimed in, swinging her legs off the table. “Besides, this is way more entertaining than a quiet night.”

“You’re all ridiculous,” Y/N said, crossing her arms.

“And yet you love us,” Dick quipped, winking at her.

“Speak for yourself,” Damian muttered under his breath.

Dick ignored him, turning his attention back to the group. “All I’m saying is, maybe we’re just trying to help. You know, give you two a little push in the right direction.”

Damian’s glare darkened. “You’re pushing too hard, Grayson.”

“Am I?” Dick replied, feigning innocence. “Or are you just afraid to admit that I’m right?”

“Keep testing me, and you’ll find out exactly what I’m capable of,” Damian warned, his tone low and menacing.

Jason snorted. “Careful, Dick. He looks like he’s about to blow a gasket.”

Part 12: The Fall

As the bickering escalated, Y/N decided she’d had enough. She turned to head back to the kitchen, only for her foot to catch on the edge of the carpet. She stumbled forward, her arms flailing for balance—just as Damian instinctively stepped toward her to help.

Unfortunately, Damian misjudged his footing in the rush, and the two of them collided, tumbling to the floor in a heap. Y/N landed on top of Damian, her hands braced against his chest to steady herself.

The room fell into a stunned silence for a moment before Jason let out a bark of laughter. “Well, this just keeps getting better.”

Y/N’s face turned bright red as she scrambled to get off Damian. “I—I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Damian muttered, though his cheeks were tinged pink as he avoided her gaze.

“Aw, that was adorable,” Stephanie said, clutching her hands over her heart dramatically. “You two are like a rom-com waiting to happen.”

“Shut up, Brown,” Damian growled, his voice dripping with irritation.

“Relax, Dami,” Tim said, smirking. “It’s not like we’re judging you. Much.”

Damian sat up, his glare cutting through the group. “I swear, if any of you say one more word—”

“—you’ll what? Brood harder?” Jason teased, earning a few snickers from the others.

Part 13: The Kiss

Y/N groaned, rubbing her temples. “You guys are impossible.”

“Right back at you,” Dick said, his grin widening. “But, hey, I think you owe Damian a thank you for breaking your fall.”

Y/N turned to Damian, her embarrassment still written all over her face. “Uh… thanks, I guess.”

“Tt,” Damian replied, standing up and brushing himself off. “It was nothing.”

“Nothing?” Jason echoed, leaning against the wall. “Looked like something to me.”

“Maybe we should give them some privacy,” Stephanie suggested, grinning.

Before Damian could respond, Y/N let out a frustrated sigh. “Fine. You all want a show? Here.”

And then, without thinking, she turned to Damian, grabbed the front of his shirt, and pulled him into a kiss.

The room erupted into chaos.

“Whoa!” Dick shouted, his eyes wide with shock.

“Holy—” Jason started, but his words were drowned out by Stephanie’s excited squeal.

“Finally!” Tim yelled, throwing his hands in the air.

Damian froze for a moment, completely caught off guard. But as the initial shock wore off, he found himself leaning into the kiss, his hands tentatively resting on Y/N’s waist.

When Y/N pulled back, her face was bright red, and Damian looked like he was struggling to process what had just happened.

“There,” Y/N said, her voice a little breathless. “Happy now?”

The room was silent for a beat before Dick burst out laughing. “Oh, we are definitely happy now.”

Part 14: The Aftermath

Damian turned on his brothers and Stephanie, his expression a mix of embarrassment and fury. “If any of you say another word—”

“What? You’ll kiss us next?” Jason teased, dodging Damian’s attempted punch.

“I hate all of you,” Damian growled, though the redness in his cheeks undercut his usual menace.

“Aw, don’t be like that, Dami,” Stephanie said, grinning. “You’ve got a girlfriend now! You should be happy.”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” Y/N said quickly, though her voice lacked conviction.

“Not yet,” Tim muttered, earning a sharp glare from both Damian and Y/N.

Bruce walked in at that exact moment, taking in the scene with a raised eyebrow. “Do I even want to know?”

“No,” Damian and Y/N said in unison.

Bruce sighed, shaking his head. “I’m too old for this.”

“Join the club,” Y/N muttered under her breath.

Part 15: The Endless Teasing

The chaos didn’t end with Bruce’s weary departure. If anything, his brief interruption seemed to embolden everyone else. Dick, Jason, Tim, and Stephanie all huddled together, whispering conspiratorially and shooting sly glances toward Damian and Y/N.

Y/N, still standing uncomfortably close to Damian after the kiss, could feel the weight of their teasing looks. She crossed her arms, trying to mask her growing discomfort. “Okay, you’ve had your fun. Can we move on now?”

“No way,” Dick said, grinning from ear to ear. “This is the best thing that’s happened all week.”

“Best thing all month,” Stephanie corrected, leaning against the table. “Do you know how rare it is to see Damian look this flustered?”

Damian bristled, his fists clenching. “I am not flustered.”

“You totally are,” Tim said, smirking. “And honestly? It’s adorable.”

Jason chuckled, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the wall. “Dami’s growing up so fast. Next thing you know, he’ll be writing sonnets about Y/N and picking flowers.”

“Would you all shut up?” Damian snapped, his voice dangerously low. “Or I swear—”

“What? You’ll throw another tantrum?” Jason interrupted, his smirk widening. “Careful, baby bird. That’ll just make this even better for us.”

“Jason,” Y/N said, stepping forward with a glare. “You’re not helping.”

“Wasn’t trying to,” Jason replied with a shrug. “But thanks for noticing.”

Y/N groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “This is ridiculous.”

Part 16: Stephanie’s Master Plan

“Ridiculous, yes. Hilarious, also yes,” Stephanie said, pulling out her phone. “We should really commemorate this moment. Group photo, anyone?”

“No,” Damian said immediately, his voice sharp.

“Oh, come on!” Stephanie pouted. “Just one picture. It’ll be cute.”

“Stephanie,” Y/N warned, her tone low. “Don’t you dare.”

Ignoring her, Stephanie raised her phone and aimed it at Damian and Y/N. Before she could snap the picture, Damian lunged forward, snatching the phone from her hands.

“Hey!” Stephanie protested, trying to grab it back. “That’s not fair!”

Damian held the phone high out of her reach, his expression a mix of irritation and smug satisfaction. “Consider it a lesson in boundaries.”

“Ugh, you’re the worst,” Stephanie muttered, crossing her arms.

“And yet, I’m still smarter than you,” Damian replied, tossing the phone back to her.

Part 17: Peace Negotiations

Before Stephanie could launch into another round of teasing, Dick stepped forward, clapping his hands together. “Alright, alright. Let’s call a truce before Damian actually murders one of us.”

“Tempting,” Damian muttered under his breath, shooting Jason and Stephanie a warning glare.

“Look,” Y/N said, raising her hands in exasperation. “I know you guys live for chaos, but can we please move on? This whole thing has already gone too far.”

“Too far?” Tim repeated with mock surprise. “We’re just getting started!”

“Tim,” Y/N said, her tone sharp. “Don’t.”

Tim smirked but wisely backed off, retreating behind Jason.

Jason, however, wasn’t so easily deterred. “Fine, fine. We’ll drop it—for now. But I’m keeping tabs on you two. Never thought I’d see the day Damian Wayne became a certified softie.”

Damian took a menacing step forward, but Y/N put a hand on his chest to stop him. “Jason, enough,” she said firmly.

Jason raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, nurse. Whatever you say.”

Damian glanced down at Y/N’s hand on his chest, his expression softening for a split second before he caught himself and stepped back. “Let’s leave before I lose my patience entirely.”

“Good idea,” Y/N muttered, already turning toward the door.

“Wait!” Dick called after them. “At least let me get—”

The sound of the kitchen door slamming shut cut him off.

Part 18: A Quiet Moment

Once safely out of the dining room, Damian and Y/N stopped in the hallway. The muffled sound of laughter still echoed behind them, but at least they were alone.

Y/N sighed, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms. “Your family is insane.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Damian said, his tone dry. “They’ve been unbearable for years.”

Y/N chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Still, they mean well. In their own, chaotic way.”

Damian’s expression softened, and he leaned against the opposite wall, studying her carefully. “You handled them better than most.”

“I’ve had practice,” Y/N replied with a faint smile. “Besides, someone had to keep you from losing it in there.”

“I didn’t lose it,” Damian said defensively.

“Not yet,” Y/N teased, her smile widening.

Part 19: Unspoken Understanding

Damian crossed his arms, his brow furrowed slightly as he looked at Y/N. “You really don’t have to deal with all of this, you know. My family… they’re relentless. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to avoid it altogether.”

Y/N tilted her head, her expression softening. “And leave you to face them alone? Not a chance.”

Damian’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile. “You’re persistent.”

“Someone has to be,” she replied lightly. “Besides, they’re not all bad. They’re just… enthusiastic.”

“Tt,” Damian scoffed, though his tone lacked its usual edge. “That’s one word for it.”

Y/N straightened, stepping closer to him. “Look, I know they like to push your buttons, but I think they do it because they care. They just have a weird way of showing it.”

Damian hesitated, his gaze dropping for a moment. “They’re insufferable.”

“Maybe,” Y/N said with a small shrug. “But they’re your family. And honestly, you’re kind of insufferable too.”

Damian’s eyes snapped back to hers, narrowing slightly. “Excuse me?”

Y/N grinned. “You heard me. But that’s okay. I guess I’m starting to get used to it.”

“Starting?” he asked, his tone laced with mock offense. “You’ve had plenty of time to adjust.”

“True,” she admitted. “But you’re a lot of work.”

Damian huffed, though there was no real anger behind it. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

“No,” Y/N said softly, her smile fading slightly. “But you need it.”

Part 20: A Subtle Shift

For a moment, the air between them grew heavy, charged with something unspoken. Damian held her gaze, his usual confidence replaced with a flicker of uncertainty. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

“I do,” Y/N said quietly. “You don’t have to do everything on your own, Damian. No matter how much you think you should.”

Damian swallowed hard, the vulnerability in her words hitting him in a way he wasn’t prepared for. “I don’t… trust people easily.”

“I know,” Y/N said. “And I don’t expect you to change overnight. But I’m here, okay? Whether you like it or not.”

Damian was quiet for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. “Thank you.”

Y/N smiled, the sincerity in his voice enough to warm her heart. “You’re welcome.”

Part 21: The Return to Chaos

The moment was short-lived, however. Before either of them could say anything more, the kitchen door swung open, and Dick poked his head out, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“There you are!” he said, his tone overly cheerful. “We were just about to come find you. Thought maybe you’d snuck off to—”

“Finish that sentence,” Damian interrupted, his voice icy, “and you’ll regret it.”

Dick held up his hands, feigning innocence. “Relax, little bro. Just wanted to say that Alfred made cookies, and we thought you two might want to join us.”

Part 22: Back to the Bat-Family Circus

“Why do I feel like this is a trap?” Damian asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at Dick.

Dick’s grin widened. “Oh, come on, Dami. Do you really think I’d set you up again after all this? I’m offended.”

Jason’s voice called from behind Dick. “You absolutely would.”

“Not helping, Jason,” Dick muttered before turning back to Damian and Y/N. “Look, cookies. Good vibes. No teasing—probably. Just come on.”

Y/N sighed, exchanging a glance with Damian. “It’s not like we’re going to get any peace out here anyway.”

“Tt. Fine,” Damian said begrudgingly, though his sharp gaze remained fixed on Dick. “But the first person to make a comment is going to regret it.”

“Noted,” Dick said with a salute. “No comments. Scout’s honor.”

Part 23: Cookies and Chaos

When Y/N and Damian entered the living room, Alfred was already setting out a tray of freshly baked cookies and tea. Jason was lounging on the couch, Tim and Stephanie were locked in a fierce battle over the last cushion, and Bruce sat in his armchair, reading a thick dossier as if none of this chaos was happening around him.

“Ah, Master Damian, Miss Y/N,” Alfred said warmly, gesturing to the tray. “You’re just in time. I saved a plate for you.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Y/N said, smiling as she took a cookie. “At least someone here knows how to be civilized.”

“You wound me,” Jason quipped, grabbing a cookie from the tray. “I’m always civilized.”

“That’s debatable,” Tim muttered, earning himself a glare from Jason.

As Y/N sat down on the edge of the couch, Damian stood awkwardly for a moment before settling into the seat next to her. The teasing eyes of his siblings immediately turned toward them, but a single sharp look from Damian kept them quiet—mostly.

“So,” Stephanie began innocently, “how’s everyone enjoying their evening?”

“Don’t,” Damian said warningly.

“What?” Stephanie asked, all wide-eyed innocence. “I’m just making conversation.”

Bruce lowered his dossier, glancing between them briefly. “I’m assuming this is related to whatever it was I walked in on earlier?”

“Oh, definitely,” Jason said with a smirk, earning a sharp kick from Y/N under the coffee table. “Ow! Violent much?”

“I said drop it,” Y/N said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Bruce sighed, closing the file. “I don’t need to know the details. But whatever this is,” he said, gesturing vaguely between Damian and Y/N, “just make sure it doesn’t distract from training. Or missions.”

Y/N and Damian both turned bright red, speaking at the same time.

“There’s nothing going on—”

“This isn’t a distraction—”

The overlapping denials only made the others laugh harder.

Part 24: A Moment of Calm

Eventually, Alfred’s cookies distracted the group long enough for the teasing to settle down. Y/N leaned back on the couch, exhaustion evident in her expression. “Your family is exhausting,” she muttered to Damian under her breath.

“I tried to warn you,” Damian replied, though there was a faint smirk on his lips.

“Yeah, well, I guess I can handle it,” Y/N said, taking another bite of her cookie. “But you owe me for this.”

Damian raised an eyebrow. “Owe you?”

“For putting up with all of this,” she said, gesturing toward his bickering siblings. “And for not letting me know what I was getting into when I started hanging out with you.”

“You should’ve known better,” Damian said, though there was an unusual softness in his voice.

Y/N glanced at him, her teasing smile fading slightly. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “Maybe I should’ve.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything, the noise of the Bat-family fading into the background. Then Damian leaned slightly closer, his voice barely above a whisper.

Part 25: Nightfall and an Unlikely Arrangement

As the evening stretched on, Alfred appeared in the doorway, looking uncharacteristically apologetic. “Miss Y/N, I regret to inform you that the construction in your room will not be finished tonight. It appears the repairs were more extensive than anticipated.”

Y/N frowned, setting her teacup down. “Oh. That’s okay, Alfred. I can just crash on the couch.”

“Nonsense,” Bruce said, not looking up from his reading. “You’ll stay in one of the guest rooms.”

“Unfortunately, Master Bruce,” Alfred interjected, “the guest rooms are also undergoing renovations.”

Jason let out a low whistle. “What a shame. Guess you’re stuck with us, Y/N.”

“Don’t even think about it, Todd,” Damian snapped, his eyes narrowing.

“What, you’re volunteering to host?” Jason smirked, leaning back with a wicked grin. “That’s very generous of you, baby bird.”

Damian glared at him but didn’t respond. Y/N, sensing an argument brewing, sighed. “I’ll just sleep on the floor or something. It’s no big deal.”

“No,” Damian said abruptly. Everyone turned to look at him, surprised. Clearing his throat, he added more evenly, “You can stay in my room.”

The room went silent for a beat, and then Jason burst out laughing. “Oh, this is too good.”

“Quiet,” Damian snapped, his face slightly red. “There’s no need to make this a spectacle.”

Y/N hesitated, her own cheeks warming. “Are you sure? I don’t want to—”

“It’s fine,” Damian said firmly, standing and gesturing for her to follow. “Let’s go before they make this even more unbearable.”

Part 26: Sharing the Space

Damian’s room was surprisingly neat, the decor minimal but tasteful. A large bed with a black-and-green comforter dominated the space, and a few books and weapons were arranged meticulously on the shelves. Y/N glanced around, feeling slightly out of place.

“Your room is… very you,” she said, offering a small smile.

Damian shrugged, pulling off his jacket and tossing it onto a nearby chair. “I prefer order.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Y/N teased, sitting on the edge of the bed. “So… where am I sleeping?”

Damian frowned, as if the question hadn’t occurred to him. “The bed, obviously.”

“And you?” Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The bed,” Damian said, crossing his arms. When Y/N gave him a skeptical look, he sighed. “It’s large enough for both of us. We’ll stay on opposite sides.”

“Alright,” Y/N said, kicking off her shoes and climbing under the covers. “But if you hog the blanket, I’m kicking you.”

“Tt. As if I would need to,” Damian muttered, sliding in on the other side of the bed.

The two lay in awkward silence for a while, the only sound the soft rustle of blankets. Y/N stared at the ceiling, her mind racing. Sharing a bed with Damian Wayne was not something she had ever anticipated. She glanced over at him, noticing how tense he seemed, his back rigid and his hands clasped over his stomach.

“Damian,” she said softly, breaking the silence.

“What?” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant.

“Relax,” she said, smiling faintly. “I’m not going to bite.”

“Tt. That’s not what I’m concerned about,” he muttered.

“What are you concerned about?” Y/N asked, propping herself up on one elbow to look at him.

Damian turned his head slightly, his emerald eyes meeting hers. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, and Y/N wondered if she’d pushed too far. Then, he sighed, his usual guarded expression softening.

Part 27: The Confession

“I’ve been avoiding this,” Damian admitted, his voice unusually vulnerable. “Because I don’t know how to say it.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. “Say what?”

Damian sat up slightly, leaning against the headboard. His hands fidgeted with the edge of the blanket—an uncharacteristic sign of nervousness. “You’re important to me,” he said quietly. “More important than I thought anyone could be.”

Y/N blinked, her breath catching. “Damian…”

“I know I’m not the easiest person to deal with,” he continued, his gaze dropping to the blanket. “I’m stubborn , and I push people away because I’m afraid of letting them get too close. But with you… I don’t feel that way. I can’t push you away. I don’t want to.”

Y/N’s heart raced, and for a moment, she couldn’t find the words. Damian Wayne—stoic, guarded Damian—was opening up to her in a way she hadn’t expected. His vulnerability was both shocking and endearing. Slowly, she moved closer, her hand reaching for his, instinctively seeking connection.

“You don’t have to push me away,” she whispered, her voice soft but certain. “I’m not going anywhere, Damian. You don’t have to be afraid of that.”

Damian looked up at her, his eyes searching hers, a mix of longing and uncertainty swirling in them. “I’m not good with this,” he admitted, his voice low. “With… feelings. But I want you to know how much you mean to me. More than I’ve ever let anyone else in.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She reached up, gently cupping his face in her hands. The moment felt so intimate, so raw, that everything else in the world seemed to fade away. There were no distractions, no jokes from his siblings, no teasing from the others—just the two of them in this quiet space, holding each other in a way that was more meaningful than either of them had imagined.

“I care about you, Damian,” Y/N said, her voice barely above a whisper. “More than you know.”

Damian’s expression softened, the tension in his shoulders easing as he leaned into her touch. For a brief, fleeting moment, it was as if the world had paused, leaving only the two of them in this fragile, perfect moment. Without another word, he leaned in, his breath warm against her cheek.

And then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, he kissed her.

The kiss was tentative at first, both of them unsure, testing the waters, but as the seconds stretched on, it deepened. Damian’s hand gently cupped her neck, pulling her closer, and Y/N responded instinctively, her fingers threading through his hair. There was no rush, no urgency—just a quiet, intimate connection that felt like it had been building for longer than either of them realized.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads resting against each other, neither of them spoke. The kiss had said everything that needed to be said. Damian, usually so careful with his emotions, had laid himself bare, and Y/N had met him halfway, offering him the one thing he feared most: acceptance.

“I don’t know what happens next,” Damian said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Neither do I,” Y/N replied, her voice equally soft, “but I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time in a long time, Damian allowed himself to believe that.

A/N - whooo!! that was a long one. i may or may not have been constipated writing this….

[bookwormbynight]

random but if Bruce were a girl do you think she'd be femme or butch??

Honestly?? I think she'd end up threading a line. She'd just naturally lean more butch probably (don't have evidence, just a feeling), and she'd want her hair to fit under the cowl and to have the muscles she'll need to be Batman, but she does NOT want to make that shit too obvious when in her civilian persona because too many similarities mean people start connecting the dots. Mayhaps she'd wear very flowy feminine clothes (or a lot of thick layers when she can get away with it), and her hair would be cut into like a more traditionally feminine bob so it's still short but Not Too Weird.

Side note, I think Batman would still be called Batman. I've got a headcanon that Batman didn't name himself - he showed up in his fucking bat attire and criminals point and go "holy shit that's a bat-man!!" Especially since in several iterations he's referred to as "THE Batman" like it's the title of a cryptid instead of a person. (I've never seen Clark get referred to as THE Superman. He's just Superman. Like it's his name lol.) So, if a human-shaped bat creature showed up with a huge mask over the face, being tall and menacing, strong AF, and boobs are hidden by a combination of cape and kevlar? I don't think people are gonna guess woman on the first try and then the name's gonna be Batman again lol.

[ssleeping-in-a-coffin]

How to Neutralize and Contain a Vampire: A Practical Guide

Vampires are creatures with superhuman strength, speed, and regeneration. To take one down, you’ll need careful planning and a systematic approach. Here’s a step-by-step guide based on their physical traits. Ready, my dear Van Helsings?

1. Putting Them to Sleep

First things first, you need to temporarily neutralize the vampire. Use a tranquilizer with silver nanoparticles. Silver slows their regeneration, while the sedative knocks them out fast

Delivery Method: A syringe dart or gas spray

Pro Tip: Make sure the dosage is calculated for their supercharged metabolism

2. Securing the Mouth

Let's say you did manage to put the vampire to sleep for a while. Now you have to act fast! To prevent biting or hypnotic tricks, you’ll need a strong gag made of Carbon fiber or Kevlar

3. Blocking Their Vision

A vampire’s eyes are dangerous, especially if they’re into the whole hypnosis thing. Use a lightproof fabric with an extra layer to block UV rays

4. Muffling Their Hearing

Vampires have crazy-good hearing, which means they can pick up on the tiniest sounds, like your heartbeat. Go for noise-canceling ones or electronic plugs that generate white noise (Alternative: A soundproof helmet if the vamp is extra feisty)

5. Restraining the Arms

A vampire’s arms aren’t just for show—they’re strong and armed with claws. Use one made of tough materials like Kevlar or steel threads, and make sure it pins their arms behind their back

Extra Security: Add titanium or silver cuffs for good measure

Claws: If you’re feeling bold, trim them with heavy-duty tools

6. Locking Down the Legs

A vampire’s legs let them move at insane speeds, so you’ll need to keep them in check

Shackles: Heavy-duty metal cuffs that limit movement

Bonus: Chain their legs together for extra security

7. Suppressing Regeneration

To stop them from bouncing back, use silver rods.

Insertion Points: Target major muscle groups like the thighs (quadriceps) and shoulders (deltoids)

Effect: The silver slows regeneration and causes discomfort, keeping them subdued

8. Long-Term Containment

Once neutralized, you’ll need a proper place to stash the vampire. Keep the room at around –25°C (Ideally -40°C). The cold slows their metabolism and keeps them docile

Final Thoughts

Taking down a vampire is no walk in the park—it’s all about precision and preparation. Use durable materials like Kevlar, titanium, and silver to lock down their physical abilities. And remember, even a restrained vampire is still dangerous, so stay sharp. Good luck to you hunters!

[fandomfluffandfuck]

https://www.tumblr.com/fandomfluffandfuck/760383227115536384?source=share

YOU HAVE TO WRITE MORE. PLEEEEEEEAAAAASSSSSSEEEEE 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

the original link goes to my tags on this post here, but... I think you'd be more interested in this other iteration, lol, so I'm linking that one, too.

I have no idea what to add, though... like, no thoughts, just depraved mental images of Steve and Bucky fucking hard 🥴🥴

I do think about Steve getting fucked in his uniform often, though. I can't help myself. Especially the stealth suit, y'know? Like, okay, it's just a hot suit, but pulling that thread, he stole the red white and blue combat uniform from the museum, specifically to help jog Bucky's memories.

However.

The stealth suit was still a big fucking part of CA:TWS to me.

And I just feel like as Bucky was piecing his memories back together--finding out who he was again and being pursued so fucking heavily by this big man in his kevlar-swathed suit, all dark navy and secretive, containing his large but lithe form so well, nearly a damn catsuit--that suit definitely ended up being a part of some harsh, fast, forbidden feeling fucks.

With Steve on the run, sometimes hitting up safe houses or sometimes random ass hotel rooms, but always with Bucky lurking just around the corner, slipping in the window or lingering in the woods around back... yeah. There were definitely times that Sam was out collecting supplies, or Nat was running ahead to meet with her elusive contact, leaving Steve alone and raw feeling. Then, stumbling into Bucky and clinging to him while Bucky took to him like a desperate, wild animal. Defiling him in that suit. Both suits. Stealth and flashy red, white, and blue. But especially the stealth suit. Because the vaguely familiar suit had Bucky feeling a little gentler. He knows this man. He does. He had this man before. He was precious to whoever James Barnes was. But the stealth suit... that's a stranger. That doesn't belong to James Barnes or anyone, and whoever the soldier is, whoever he is now nameless and drifting, he desperately wants to own that stranger.

He's beautiful. And it's a fucking problem. He is drawn to him helplessly. Recklessly. Blue eyes. Mused blonde hair. Plush, pink lips (especially that bottom one, lord have mercy). He's big and set and stubborn. His jaw square, shoulders huge, and waist tiny. Yet, when he touches him, grabbing harsh and rough, reckless, and cut-loose, he crumbles as if he isn't anywhere near as strong as he looks.

Whimpering and crying out beneath him, begging wordlessly for more. Anything he could dare to give him, he wants. Hands biting into his waist, digging into his hips, collaring his throat; lips on his lips, lips around his pert, pink nipples, too sweet for such a large, heavy-set chest, lips on his weeping cock; dick shoved deep into his tight, drooling mouth, dick squeezed between his thick, quivering, somehow hairless thighs, pale and untouched, dick carving itself into his body, fighting to find room in such a tight, hungry hole.

It's feral. That's what it is. Feral, unchecked lust and strength that can only be found in the sheer desperation of two lovers who thought they lost each other forever and know each other so viscerally yet have been so ripped apart. It's the ferality of mine. Mine. Mine. Clawing at each other, moaning and shaking and crying.

It gets to the point, Bucky taking out those feelings he can't remember and can't name on an all too willing, sexually frustrated Steve, that Steve can't, even years later, put on the stealth suit without having a Pavlovian response to it. He slips into it, and, oops, his blood immediately turns thick and slow and hot, boiling in his veins, craving the language of teeth and nails and harsh grinding, hips against his ass, so deep in him he can taste it.

[bulkyphrase]

Female Steve Rogers: a fic rec list

@lavenderbuckyy asked on the Steve server for female Steve recs and I couldn't resist making a list! These are some of my favorite stories from AUs where Steve was always (or at least originally) a woman.

Genesis by teaberryblue (@teaberryblue) (Stony, Teen And Up Audiences, 35,578 words)

Summary: Reluctant to make the truth about their secret weapon known, the American Government tells the world that Captain America is a man named Steve Rogers. According to public record, he died, tragically, in 1945, and he became legend. In 1998, the Avengers find a body trapped in ice. She's alive. Her name is Eve. She has Captain America's shield.

turntable by Zekkass (@zekkass) (Gen, Teen And Up Audiences, 2,144 words)

Summary: "I've been a girl before, Tony."

More below the cut!

This New Air by merry_magpie (@sevenmerrymagpies) (Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers, Teen And Up Audiences, 10,979 words)

Summary: Stevie wakes up in a world she doesn't recognize and tries to build a life for herself. An Always-a-girl AU.

The Wheels of Inevitability by sinuous_curve (Stony, Explicit, 1,241 words)

Summary: “You know, once in high school I got into an argument about whether or not the serum made your tits bigger,” Toni says, threading a loop of black cord down the center of Steph’s sternum.

A Particular Style by sinuous_curve (Stony, Explicit, 3,640 words)

Summary: “The erotic tale of one camp counselor’s descent into lesbian madness?” Toni rattles off the summary, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead in a swoon that Steph can’t see. “I can’t fault your taste. It was always one of my favorites.”

Fire Drills by isozyme (@isozyme) (Stony, Explicit, 19,506 words)

Summary: Tonia Stark is the Iron Mantle. She's also dying of cadmium poisoning, fending off competition from HammerTech, dealing with the nasty leftovers of her father's legacy, and taking care of Eve Rollins, one of Rhodey's Air Force friends who needs a place to stay. An Iron Man 2 Genderswap AU where Nick Fury sends Eve Rogers to spy on Tonia Stark instead of Natasha Romanov.

girls can't play guitar by isozyme (@isozyme) (Stony, Explicit, 4,209 words)

Summary: On nights when Tonia fucked Eve, Eve left her bed sated and woke up with a guilty desire to walk into Tonia’s room, strip off her kevlar uniform, and surrender herself to whatever Tonia wanted to do next. Captain Eve Rogers has a complicated relationship with sex and masculinity. Tonia Stark has a really big strap.

Falling Slowly by neverending_shenanigans (@neverending-shenanigans) (Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers, General Audiences, 8,945 words)

Summary: When Darcy follows Jane to new York, she only did it because Jane would be a mess without her. She can't complain, though, when she meets Stella. Stella is nice, maybe a bit reserved and one hell of a woman. And, oh, Stella might just have not mentioned the fact that she is actually much older than she looks.

in retrospect by welcoming_disaster (@welcomingdisaster) (Stony, Mature, 2,128 words)

Summary: Fresh out of the ice, Eve Rogers isn't happy about being stuck onto the Ultimates' roster; the team, in her view, is a shameless PR grab with no real talent. Her teammate, Tonya Stark, might change that.

[possuminabathtub]

Spooky Scary Stem Majors - A light kidnapping & family dinner

a/n - This is a part of my Spooky Scary Stem Majors series, which is becoming less of a series and more of a collection of scenes and vague chapters, and probably won't turn into an actual fic but is fun to write anyways, so. It's mostly dp x dc, but also involves my oc Mel from another universe.

The Masterpost

Wordcount - 3.2k

---

Mel wasn’t one easily caught off guard. In fact, she’d been frequently accused of hypervigilance, by both her therapist and all of her closest friends, among others. So being drugged and kidnapped by Gotham thugs was just plain embarrassing. She was sure she’d get around to being embarrassed when the heavy haze of the drugs wore off. Her power felt far away, slippery and out of reach, a buzzing swarm of bees that danced around her fingers as she tried weakly to grab them. She was in a chair, could feel the rough wood against her back, no that wasn’t right, because she wasn’t sitting. Was she? She could barely feel her body, much less determine if she was sitting up. She could definitely smell wood though, and fuel, like a gas station in the middle of a forest. A laugh bubbled up, turning quickly to spinning nausea. Her thoughts faded out as a wave of lightheadedness overtook her and her ears started ringing. Consciousness faded again, or at least drifted far away.

A shaft of light pierced through her eyelids, sending another wave of nausea washing over her before a cracking sound echoed through her skull and more light streamed in. Squeezing her eyes closed against the light, a thin groan escaped her before she clamped her teeth down on her tongue. A modulated voice said something that escaped her twisting, drug hazed reality, and she was moving, hauled upwards and thrown over a shoulder. Ignoring the way her thoughts scattered around her brain like sand, refusing to become coherent, she acted on instinct instead. Her limbs weren’t listening, so she cracked her eyes open enough to find the nearest chink in the kevlar armor, and sunk her teeth in with as much strength as she could muster. She didn’t break skin, but it hurt enough that the modulated voice barked out a curse, and a gloved hand came up to pry her jaw loose. “Jesus fuck, I’m trying to help you,” The modulated voice snapped as she cracked her eyes open again.

Red and black greeted her, a red helmet. Red Hood. She knew him. She loosened her jaw, ignoring the way threads of fabric stuck between her teeth. Damn, that would probably bruise later. A streetlight blinded her, and she shut her eyes again as the world spun and twisted. She couldn’t remember how she knew him, but as the drugs pulled her back under she couldn’t find a reason to care. The next time she came around enough to move, she found herself being hauled through a window. Failing to suppress the urge to dry heave, Hood shuddered as he quickly set her down on the couch. “‘M not gonna throw up on you,” She protested as he moved out of sight again. “Oh good, you’re awake again,” He said, setting a plastic trashcan in her lap as he moved back into sight. “Fucking hate gettting kidnapped,” She snarled, or tried to snarl, it came out pitful and drug slurred. She fucking hated drugs too. “Happen often?” Hood asked conversationally as she stared at the ceiling, watching the patterns her brain was conjuring swirl and dance. “Not in a while, got all scary n powerful, thought that’d fix it,” She mumbled, mesmerized by a blinking red light. “Fat lot of good that did me, one goddam tranq dart and ‘m back there.” Hood was silent for a while. Or it felt like a while, she couldn’t exactly trust that it wasn’t just a time stretched couple of seconds. She hated being on drugs, couldn’t be hypervigilant when you couldn’t trust your own brain. The red light on the ceiling blinked again. Maybe that was real. “Back where?” He finally asked, his voice no longer modulated.

  “With the other girls, those stupid fucking warehouses and buildings and cities, concrete and fear and blood and rage and pain and and and,” Her brain stuttered, and she took her gaze off the red blinking ceiling, instead peering over at Hood, then beyond him. A few spirits clung to him, not out of malice, but pain, regret, longing, so much longing. “You have a lot of pain and rage,” She mused, still watching the shadow of one spirit hovering behind him, “And the same spirits as Jason, Danny said she’s a shade, but we’re not supposed to bring her up.” At this, Hood physically recoiled. 

  “Don’t worry, ‘m not in your head,” She tried reassuring him blearily, “You can just tell a lot about someone by the things that follow them.” 

  He peeled his domino mask off, and she absently wondered why Jason had even been wearing one. Danny’s literature loving older brother didn’t seem like the dress up type. It took a long several moments for the dots to connect, and she hummed thoughtfully, tilting her head at him. 

  “Yeah, you’re high as a kite,” Jason said with a half chuckle, starting to peel his kevlar armor off. 

  “‘M not happy about it either,” She said, trying to manifest a scowl but failing miserably if the amused expression of Jason’s was anything to go off of. 

  “You wouldn’t be, Danny mentioned you’re a control freak,” He said, starting to unholster guns and knives and all sorts of weapons and lay them out on the table. “Don’t worry, you fit right in with the rest of the family.”

   “I don’t need a family.” She said firmly, and Jason just shrugged. 

  “Danny already half dragged you into it, I don’t think you have a choice at this point.”

  “No.” She repeated. “Absolutely not. I’m getting my degree. Not getting dragged into another squad of child soldiers.” 

  “Another?” He arched an eyebrow and she resumed staring back up at the ceiling and hoping the world would stop spinning soon. 

 “Why is the ceiling watching me?” She narrowed her eyes at the blinking red light on the ceiling, paranoia making her bones itch. “

  “That, is the smoke detector,” Jason said with barely restrained humor. She rolled her eyes, and immediately regretted the action as her stomach and brain both flipped and twisted. 

  “Is not,” She protested with a scowl, “‘s watching me. Hate being watched. Makes me itchy and crawly. ‘Specially when that shit is in your brain, and wants… fuck, what did they even want? World domination? Total eradication? Weird creepy cohabitation? Honestly wasn’t clear,” She babbled, frowning to herself. 

  “The ceiling is not watching you, pinky promise,” He offered out a degloved hand with his pinky outstretched. She went to feebly swat it away, but her hand passed through his like smoke. Staring at her hand, she felt herself go weightless for a split second before she sunk halfway through the couch. “Shit, you’re glitching.” Jason barked in surprise, “Is that new for you?” 

  A giggle escaped her before she could cage it in, and she tried to move her hand through the couch only to hit the cushion uselessly. “Old problem actually,” She said thoughtlessly, then groaned, “If I can’t control it you should avoid touching or phasing through me, or me phasing through you, whatever, just keep your distance,” She let her head fall back against the couch cushions, far less bothered by the situation than Jason seemed to be. As much as she hated drugs, the nice side effect was she wasn’t entirely conscious of just how fucked their situation was. 

 “Why? What the hell would happen?” He asked, eyeing her warily. 

  She lolled her head to the side to look over at him again. “You ever microwaved a grape?” His face paled and she sighed, “Okay bad comparison, that’s on me. You ever seen matter instantaneously inhabit the same space where other matter already is? Shit gets fucked and pushed out of the way and too much pressure in the wrong place and okay just listen to me, it’s just no bueno, capiche?” 

  “Got it,” He backed up a few steps, “Wait so,” He glanced at where her torso and part of her legs were still halfway through the couch. 

  “Honestly don’t think about it too much and it gets a little easier,” 

  He was silent for a long few moments, stepping out of sight again. Her headache was getting worse. A few moments later he returned with a plastic cup of water, holding it out to her. Thankfully, her hand didn’t phase through it as she went to grab it, just shook wickedly as she held it, just staring at it. 

  “You got a straw?” She asked, “I just,” she held up the shaking cup, “can’t uh, deal with water on my face or up my nose or anything. You get half-drowned a few times and suddenly you can’t stand the water, crazy how that happens.” Why had she said that? Jason didn’t seem to react, just grabbed a straw from the kitchen and dropped it into the cup before dropping himself heavily into the chair across the room. 

  “If I were a worse person I’d be asking you questions,” He said, clearly conflicted as she sipped on the water. 

  “I would.” She tilted her head to the side, straw forgotten against her lips, watching him run a hand over his face. 

  “We all make terrible choices, for those we care about.” Mel turned her gaze to watch the lights dance outside the window, “I assume this is about protecting your family, your city, your people. Sometimes we have to sacrifice, to make a better place for them, and sometimes we destroy ourselves in the process, and sometimes it doesn’t even matter, sometimes we’re the only ones left, and we’ve destroyed it all, and we don’t even have our morals anymore, and we just have to hope, to know, that we’ve done what we could, for them.” 

  The safehouse was silent for a long few moments. 

   “Have you considered poetry?” He asked, only halfway joking.

  “Mmmm, I’m more of a painter,” She replied, “Words always end up depressing and clunky and way too meaningful, color and shape just exist. Interpretation is on the observer, so it’s their problem if it depresses them.” 

  A snort escaped him just a moment before a knock sounded on the door. 

  “That should be Danny,” He said as he stood from his chair, but the door swung open before he could go open it, and several set of footsteps were distinct, Mel wondered if it was too late to go invisible and sink through the floor. 

  “Mellll,” Danny’s voice called through the apartment, safehouse, whatever, and she groaned in response, scowling at Jason. It was bad enough that she was drugged out of her mind around Jason, and Danny would’ve been a welcome comfort, but the rest of the batbrood was distinctly not.   

  She dragged herself out of the couch, forced her body kicking and screaming back to full tangibility, and kicked one foot up over the farther arm of the couch, then swung an arm up over the back, sprawling herself out across the entire space territorially, nobody else needed to even think about sitting on it. It was her space right now. 

  As Danny rushed in she bared her faintly sharpened fangs at him, but he wrapped his arms around her anyways and she reluctantly gave in, enjoying the physical contact while it lasted. He was cold, so blessedly cold, she wrapped her arms around him and rested her chin on his shoulder, letting her eyes fall closed. 

  “I gotta go grab your food now,” He said, a bit muffled, and she only snaked her arms tighter around him, locking her grip. 

  Even as he started to stand up again, she refused to let go, slipping halfway back into intangibility and only moving to settle against his back like a backpack, arms draped loosely around his neck and most of the rest intangible and floating, perfectly comfortable. 

  “What did they dose you with?” He mumbled to himself with a deep sigh, but she could sense that deep down he was just as content as she was. 

  “Dunno,” She replied, and he just shook his head as he started walking. 

  “Is she phased halfway through your back?!” Dick’s voice was appalled, and she almost cracked her eyes open to see his expression, but decided it wasn’t worth it

  “She told me not to even get close when she accidentally phased halfway through the couch or I’d explode like a microwaved grape!” Jason added, somehow more insulted than concerned. 

  “Can’t kill what’s already dead,” He said, a non answer, and she heard a chorus of annoyed scoffing and muttering, “She’s full intangible, won’t hurt me,” He continued, “and if she does accidentally solidify, I’d just go intangible in response, easy fix. Besides, she’s clingy, you try to pry her off. She can’t do any real damage right now anyways,” 

 She mumbled a curse at him and considered biting his ear but didn’t want to expend the energy, so settled for mimicking him childishly. 

  “‘Can’t do any damage’, my ass, could pull your organs out if I timed it right,” Mel mumbled bitterly, cracking her eyes open and squinting at him. 

  “Sure you could,” He said sweetly, reaching up to pat her on the head. This time she did bite, snagging his index and middle finger with her teeth and clamping down enough to bruise but not to break skin. He went intangible and her teeth clacked together suddenly, turning into a halfhearted scowl. Danny just grinned at her. 

  “Please tell me she’s joking,” Dick said as Danny walked the both of them over to the bags of groceries on the counter. 

  “‘M not,” She said before her mixed up brain could catch up with her goddam mouth, “‘s messy,” 

  “Removal of internal organs isn’t the most efficient,” The tiny stabby one, Damian, agreed formally, “And typically far more messy than it is worth.”

  “Didn’t have much other choice,” She snapped, and he arched an eyebrow at her. The kitchen was silent. 

  “Jay, you got a can opener?” Danny asked easily, and she closed her eyes again. 

 Tomato soup was quite possibly the best thing she’d ever eaten, Mel decided as she sat on the couch with the warm bowl in her hands. She’d returned to tangibility about twenty minutes ago, and had stolen somebody’s sweatshirt off the counter before slinking back into the living room while the sibling argued over cooking. They’d finally emerged with a dozen bowls of soup, settling down into spots across the living room to start eating. 

  “So, your first Gotham kidnapping,” Steph said conversationally. 

  “Not much worse than my prior kidnappings, the meta-drugs were new, but points off for shoving me in a crate, that was just plain rude and basic. They still got the drop on me though, so final score of 5 outta 10,” She determined with a resolute nod.

  “Not your first ever kidnapping then,” Tim mused, and Steph elbowed him. 

  “Not even close,” Mel replied as she dipped her grilled cheese into the soup. 

  “Gotham can usually be a special brand of awful that likes to surprise people,” Danny pointed out, and she hummed thoughtfully. 

  “Not nearly as weird as the last place I came from, promise, I’m used to some fucked up shit,” She said, and she could see the gathered Waynes varying expressions, from surprise to heavy skepticism. “Killer clown was new, but I did get turned into a human spy bug by a being that possessed some of my friends and trapped them in their minds, so,” She shrugged. 

  “That’s a new one,” Steph and few others mused, and Tim tilted his head to the side. 

  “Where are you from?” He asked, and she could see intelligence behind his eyes, scrutiny. 

  “Texas,” She answered easily through a mouthful of crumbs. Danny recoiled, turning to look at her, confused. “I unlearned the accent, but yeah, born ‘n raised Texan.” She let a little bit of an accent slip through, a mischievous grin tugging at the edge of her mouth as she chewed. 

  “This happened in Texas?” Tim asked skeptically. 

  “Oh no that happened in California,” She could just see the wheels turning in his brain. 

  “Mel please don’t break my brothers,” Danny asked halfheartedly. 

  “Me? Why I would never,” She pressed a hand to her chest and looked insulted by the accusation. He just rolled his eyes. 

 “Are you an alien?” Damian asked point blank, and if she’d been any more of a stable mind, she’d be annoyed, but she wasn’t, and hell meta-drugs took a while to wear off. 

  “Kid, we’ve been over this, ask me nicely and I might just tell you,” She replied, and the room went dead silent. She looked around, confused by their varying frozen expressions, until Jason burst out laughing, nearly choking on his grilled cheese. 

  “Ohhh, nooo, I didn’t know all of you were vigilantes,” She said dryly as it dawned on her, “I’m actually blind and your family is just normal rich people crazy, not the punch people in dark alleyways crazy.” 

  Danny actually did choke on his grilled cheese at that, coughing it up a moment later as the rest of the family stared at her. 

  “I can keep a secret, damn.” She said defensively, “I genuinely couldn’t care less.” She said with a wave of her hand, a lie, but they didn’t need to know that, “Child soldiership is your prerogative, unless it wasn’t your choice.” Her expression darkened considerably as it swept across them, and they all shook their heads. “Okay, well then we’re cool. You need to stay in school though,” She aimed her gaze at Damian. 

  “So Father tells me,” He retorted, “I do not see why, but I will continue to attend as needed.” 

  “Cause kids deserve to be kids, and school is important, mmkay? Some of us didn’t get even that much, don’t take it for granted.” She said before downing the rest of her soup and standing up. “And no I’m not an alien, I’m a demigod,” She walked into the kitchen to rinse her bowl out in the sink, listening to the eruption of whispers that followed her announcement. 

  Walking back into the living room, she picked her way back over to the couch and picked up her boots, dropping herself back onto her spot on the couch to start sliding her boots back on and lacing them up.  

  “You’re a demigod?” Jason finally asked over everyone’s whispering, and they quieted, “Like Wonder Woman?” 

  She finished lacing her other boot and looked across the room at him, settling a hand on Danny’s cold arm. 

  “I don’t know if the gods are the same in every universe, but yes, possibly,” With that, she stood up and dragged Danny into intangibility and invisibility, sinking the both of them through the floor and to the ground level of the building. Danny was cackling and she grinned at him. 

  “They’re gonna be so pissed,” He wheezed, nearly putting his flickering hand through a wall as he leaned over to stabilize himself. “I’ve told you how Tim gets with a puzzle,” 

  “Problem for future us,” She tossed over her shoulder, “Now come on, we’ve got class tomorrow.”