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psycho-pills · 6 months ago

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A Second Life for Strays! ฅ (•˕ •マ.ᐟ sylus x reader fanfic // prev // next

౨ৎ⭑˚ RATING; 18+ (mdni)

౨ৎ⭑˚ PAIRING; sylus x afab!reader (not the mc)

౨ৎ⭑˚ SYNOPSIS; you are a soldier reincarnated into the world of love and deepspace, except you're not the mc. she still exists. despite looking exactly like her, you don’t act or sound the same. and to make things stranger, cats follow you everywhere.

౨ৎ⭑˚ GENRE/WARNING; angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn, (mutual?) pining, eventual fluff, eventual romance, eventual smut, cursing, graphic descriptions of violence, blood, mental breakdowns, ptsd, death, isekai, reincarnation, cats/cat puns, mc is named serenophe to avoid confusion/reader is not mc

౨ৎ⭑˚ AUTHOR'S NOTE; a gentle reminder: this is written in third-person limited with she/her pronouns. only the prologue is written in second-person. i use the terms [name] [surname] instead of (y/n) (y/ln) because it's easier for me to write. also, i know this idea is kinda weird and outlandish, but i love cats and love and deepspace, so why not combine the two? ;v;

౨ৎ⭑˚ LINKS; ao3 // masterpost

ch. one — a cat-astrophic realization! ౨ৎ⭑˚ word count; 3.9k

Where… She thinks. Where am I?

Her eyes flutter open before immediately squinting from the fluorescent lights above. The constant beeping of the patient monitor spikes in sound as her heartbeat increases. Instinctively, her hand reaches to shield her eyes, only to stop short with a sharp tug. A flash of pain shoots up her arm, drawing her attention to the thin IV tube embedded in her skin. She grits her teeth and lowers her hand, squinting through the blinding lights.

Gradually, her vision adjusts. One eye peeks open, the other still closed in protest. She slowly sweeps over the room. As her surroundings come into focus, her heart rate steadies.

The hospital room is bathed in morning light that filters through the large windows. As [Name] glances toward the windows, long shadows cross the room. Outside, there's a breathtaking view of the bustling, futuristic city below. The overall view of the world is serene, completely unlike the storm of confusion in [Name]'s mind.

The room is comfortably sized. Modern yet contemporary furniture and pale grey walls accommodate the small space. Sleek medical equipment lines the side of the room, but there's a sense of luxury present. Crisp linen sheets, plush chairs, and a vase of fresh flowers on a side table. It's more like a boutique hotel than a hospital room.

A soft beige blanket covers her body, and the scent of jasmine whiffs up her nose. An unoccupied recliner sits in the corner near the windows, perhaps meant for a visitor; however, the room is isolated. The medical equipment strap to her arm and chest drones on. The rhythmic beeping indicated the steady tracking of her vitals. A small monitor occasionally blinks, recording her heartbeat and oxygen levels.

As she begins to stir, her body drags her down. Everything feels heavy. Her limbs, her eyelids, even her thoughts. There's an overwhelming sense of disorientation like she's floating between worlds. Memories stir, hazy at first, but slowly they sharpen. One after the other, they trickle back—chaos, pain, death.

Her death.

Her body feels sore, but her head feels worse. She remembers the battlefield. She remembers succumbing to her bullet wound. The sensation of death still lingers like a cold shadow. Yet now, with her eyes fully adjusted, she takes in the pristine hospital room, and it becomes apparent that something is wrong.

I'm alive.

The thought feels impossible. Absurd, even. And yet here she is—breathing, heart pounding—fully conscious. It was like she finally woke up from a long, deep coma.

With more awareness, she takes in the room. Across from her bed is a small, flat-screen television, turned off, reflecting the room's dusky mood. Besides it, a small door leads to what she assumes is an adjoining bathroom. Everything about the room is carefully designed to be soothing, sterile, and impersonal. However, it's oddly welcoming in a way she can't quite grasp.

Her body protests as she fumbles to sit up, mindful of the tubes and wires attached to her arm and chest. As she adjusts herself, she catches a glimpse of her reflection on the dark, glassy screen of the television. With some effort, she leans forward to take in her appearance better.

Instantly, [Name]'s breath catches in her throat. She pauses. Her reflection stares back at her, but something is off. Her face is hers, but it's not. All of her features are the same. Hair, eyes, mouth, nose… However, everything is just sharper now. Clearer. Her skin smoother, and her hair fuller. If she didn't know any better, she'd swear she looks almost identical to the female lead of her favorite otome game.

But that can't be right. Can it?

A chill runs down her spine, and her eyes dart downward to her chest. Panic flares in her gut as she remembers the battlefield, the bullet wound that should have taken her life. Slowly, as if afraid of what she'll find, she hooks a finger under the collar of her hospital gown and pulls it away from her body, expecting to see a scar, a wound, anything.

There's nothing. Her skin is smooth, unmarked. No bullet wound, no scar, no evidence that she has ever been injured at all. Her heart stutters in her chest, and the panic she's been trying to suppress starts to rise like a wave, threatening to swallow her whole.

"What the hell is going on?" She croaks.

Her throat feels dry and scratchy, like it hasn't been used in days. A rough cough forces its way up and makes her wince. She tries to settle her breathing, but it's no use. The confusion, the fear—it's smothering her.

Just as she's about to lose herself to the spiraling thoughts, the door to her room clicks open. She jerks her head toward the sound. A man steps in, tall and composed, his black hair framing his face in sharp, elegant lines. His demeanor's cool but professional. There is a slight air of authority that immediately draws her attention.

She blinks, and her stomach drops.

There's no way.

Her eyes widen in disbelief as she stares at him. It can't be. It can't be. But there's no mistaking the man standing before her, his confident stride, the careful way he carries himself. His gaze idles before settling back on his notes. She knows that face, that presence. She can practically hear her heart pound louder as the impossible claws at her.

She glances at the name tag pinned to his coat, just to be sure. Zayne. It's there, clear as day. The doctor with a cold exterior and a reputation for being emotionally untouchable. Yet beneath it all, there's a hidden tenderness. He was one of them: a character she had admired, the one whose storyline was as complex and fascinating as the others.

Her mind reels. Oh, my Gods. This can't be real.

She blinks several times, expecting his face to change into something else, but nothing happens. He's still there, as composed and meticulous as ever. The exact character she once admired behind a screen now stands right before her.

The disbelief overtakes her. It's suffocating and all-encompassing. How can this be happening? She died—she remembers dying—and yet, she woke up here. Her body tenses. Her muscles tighten as the pieces of her situation fall into place, and realization sinks its teeth into her.

She can't breathe. It's impossible. All of this, everything around her, feels like a nightmare. A twisted dream she can't wake up from. There's no way, there's no way she's been reincarnated. And not just anywhere. In the world of Love and Deepspace, the very game she escaped into for fun is her new reality now.

"You're awake," Zayne says calmly, but verging on something more unreadable. Confusion? Suspicion? He takes a step closer, his gaze lingering on her face longer than a doctor's should. [Name] can tell he's trying to remain composed. However, his eyes hold hesitance, like he's looking at something he can't believe.

Slowly, as if worried she might vanish if he speaks too quickly, he continues, "I'm Dr. Zayne, and you will be under my care for the foreseeable future." His voice is smooth, but his words are cautious.

"And you must be Miss…" He pauses and glances down at the file. His eyes squint as if the name doesn't match what he was expecting. "…[Name] [Surname]."

She swallows, almost choosing silence, but her raspy voice escapes anyway.

"Yes?"

The word barely sounds confident. She's frozen under his gaze, trapped in disbelief. Zayne's sharp eyes roam her face, drifting down to her upper body. It's not the casual assessment of a doctor checking on a patient. No, this look—it's familiar. It's the same gaze she used to see when playing the game, the moments when his character's cold exterior would briefly soften during some of his bonds and memoria. Her stomach churns with anxiety.

What. The. Fuck.

Zayne pushes his glasses up, and his professional mask slips back on. He steps closer to the bed, his expression shifting, but she can sense the tension beneath it.

"I'm just checking for any signs of concussion or physical injuries," he says. However, it sounds more like he's reassuring himself than her.

He leans in, and his eyes dart over her face. He scans her features for any signs of bruises or swelling. "Given your condition when you were brought in, we need to monitor for potential head trauma."

[Name] stays silent as he gently lifts the edge of her gown at her shoulder. His fingers brush her skin as he places the cold metal of the stethoscope against her chest. His touch is light and purely professional, but she can't help but feel a rising discomfort.

Zayne may act like this is routine, but she can see the tension in his posture and how his gaze keeps finding her face. He's trying to hide it, but she can tell—he's scrutinizing her for more than physical injuries. It's like he's trying to fit together puzzle pieces from different boxes.

The metal is cold and harsh. She inhales deeply without him even asking. Then she exhales, and the stethoscope leaves her chest not a moment sooner. He scribbles something down in his notes. Almost hesitantly.

"Everything seems to be in order. There doesn't appear to be any visible scarring or physical trauma," Zayne mutters. A bit too neutral. As he steps back, his eyes idle on her a beat longer than necessary. "Regardless, we'll run a few more tests to be sure."

She gives a slow nod, observing how his jaw tenses as he adjusts the equipment by her bedside. He's trying to play it cool, but the cracks are there. Something is bothering him, and she knows exactly what it is.

He recognizes her face.

She looks too much like the heroine of the game, the one who's the center of this world's story. [Name] isn't supposed to be here. She isn't the main character of the game. She's something else—an anomaly.

Zayne frowns when he catches her staring at him. He quickly returns to his task, clearing his throat like it can shake off his weariness. "If you're feeling any discomfort, let me know. We'll have the results of your tests soon." He says calmly, but his eyes still carry that hint of confusion.

As he jots more notes on her chart, her mind spirals. This is far more than she expected, far more surreal, terrifying, and overwhelming. She never anticipated finding herself in this situation, least of all being reincarnated into her favorite otome game. But here she is, alive in a world she once thought was fiction.

Zayne looks at her again, his lips parting like he's about to speak. His face is composed; however, there's a shadow of skepticism beneath. Yet before he can get a word out, the buzz of his pager cuts through the moment. Instantly, the room's atmosphere shifts and his posture straightens.

The hospital's overhead speaker crackles to life, the receptionist's voice urgent: "Code Blue. Code Blue. Paging all medical personnel to surgical room two, please."

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he hesitates. Zayne gives her one last look, like he's trying to commit her to memory. When the voice over the intercom repeats the emergency, he finally breaks away. His eyes tear from her face with visible reluctance.

"Please excuse me," he says with urgency as he prepares to leave. "If you need anything, Nurse Yvonne is down the hall."

Without waiting for her response, he sharply turns and exits the room. His footsteps fade down the hall, leaving her alone with her racing thoughts. In his absence, the room feels eerily still, like the air is holding its breath. Then, the silence starts to eat away at her. The impossible truth digs into her, and something inside snaps.

In one swift motion, she throws the sheets away from her lower body. [Name] swings her legs over the side of the bed and stands—albeit too quickly. Her legs, frail from disuse, buckle beneath her. She stumbles, catching herself on the IV pole.

The cold metal anchors her as she settles down. Her muscles are weak, but determination propels her forward. [Name] drags the IV stand along as she shuffles toward the attached bathroom. Her steps awkward and sluggish.

Reaching the door, she kicks it open with the bare heel of her foot, too focused on her next task to bother with formalities. She lumbers inside, not even closing the door behind her. The thirst clawing at her throat is unbearable, a raw itch that she can no longer ignore. Like a starved animal, she ducks under the sink. She twists the faucet open and lets the crisp, refreshing water pour into her mouth. The liquid soothes her parched throat, the cool sensation spreading through her body as she gulps down as much as possible.

When finally sated, [Name] wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and turns off the faucet. However, just as she's about to leave the bathroom, her eyes catch something in the corner of the mirror—her own reflection. She freezes, seeing her face a lot clearer in the bathroom mirror than with the television's blackened screen.

Slowly, she leans closer, her hospital gown brushing against the wet edge of the sink. Her breath catches in her throat as she studies herself. "It’s me," she whispers. "But… Different."

Her fingers rise to touch her face, to trace the contours of her facial features. [Name] turns her face left, then right, her brow furrowing. Despite the striking resemblance to the game's protagonist, there's something off—something that makes it evident that she's different. Something subtle but undeniable. She's not the protagonist, but she's dangerously close. It's like she's staring at a near-perfect replica with slight imperfections that make it clear she's an outsider.

A thought jolts her back to the present. Actually, she thinks, why did Zayne call me by my real name? If I look this much like the protagonist, shouldn't he have called me—

Her mind goes blank. She tries to recall the heroine's name, the one who should be at the center of this world, but… nothing. She can't remember. Her forehead creases as she struggles to dig the name out of her memory. Yet the name remains out of reach, like a forgotten word on the tip of her tongue. [Name]'s mind is foggy; that part of her knowledge yet to recover from her reincarnation.

The blankness gnaws at her, but she pushes it aside. She can't focus on that right now. Her mind races to piece together what little information she has. Considering Zayne's reaction, he knew she wasn't her despite how closely she resembled the protagonist. That may be why he called [Name] by her real name instead. Yet this realization only poses more questions. How does he know her name? And, more importantly, who had brought her to the hospital? Zayne's words implied that someone dumped her here, but why?

Her thoughts swirl as she steps out of the bathroom, a little steadier now. [Name] is exhausted, mentally and physically, and all she wants is to make sense of this unfathomable situation. She heads back to bed, ready to collapse. But just as she's about to sit down, she stops dead in her tracks.

A plump tuxedo cat is lounging on the sheets. Its round face stares at her with a manner that borders on playful mischief. Its green eyes gleam with amusement at her shock. The sight is so unexpected that she blinks several times in a row.

"Um," she stammers, gesturing the cat away from the bed. "Can you move?"

The absurdity of talking to a cat doesn't even faze her anymore. After everything she's been through, who will judge her? She's all alone in this strange, new reality.

"Sure," the cat replies. High-pitched and child-like.

Her heart skips a beat. The cat just spoke.

Like everything's normal, the plump creature hops off the bed and waddles to the counter. [Name] stills. Her mind struggles to catch up with the sheer insanity in front of her. She can only watch as the cat leaps onto the counter and grabs a clear plastic bag hidden in the sink with his mouth. The cat drags the bag out, dropping it unceremoniously with a dull thud. The contents of the bag spill out in front of her—her military uniform, stiff with dried blood around the breast pocket. The sight of the uniform jolts her, the memories of the battlefield flooding back too quickly for comfort.

"Change," the cat orders, his tone matter-of-fact. "We're leaving."

Her mind stalls. She doesn't move. She doesn't breathe. All she can do is stare in utter disbelief. It takes a moment before her body reacts at all. When it finally does, she starts laughing. It's loud and hysterical, almost tipping on sobs. She's dreaming. She has to be. It's the only logical explanation for everything.

"I've officially lost it," she gasps between fits of maddened laughter, clutching her sides as tears sting her eyes. Suddenly, the room feels uncanny, like she's trapped in some B-rated horror movie. She crawls onto the bed with shaky hands, diving under the sheets and wrapping herself in darkness.

She shuts her eyes tightly, curling into herself and willing everything to disappear. A soft chant escapes her lips. Fragile. Desperate. "Wake up. Wake up. Wake up."

The silence that follows is almost palpable. Heavy. The only sound is the soft patter of paws on the tiled floor, growing louder as they approach. Suddenly, she feels the bed dip next to her head. The cat's weight presses into the pillow. Before she can react, the tuxedo cat tugs at the edge of the blanket, pulling it back just enough to reveal her face.

"Stop playing around, Human," the cat says impatiently. "We gotta scram before they find you."

Her eyes snap open, her heart hammering in her chest. The weight of reality—or whatever this is—crashes down on her like a tidal wave, leaving her breathless.

"Who?" [Name] croaks out, barely above a whisper. "Who's coming to get me?"

The cat lets out a huff, a sound that might have been a purr if it wasn't laced with annoyance. "Do you really want to find out?" His tone is sarcastic like the answer should be obvious.

[Name] shakes her head slowly, her body unable to process the fear and confusion fast enough. She barely understands what’s happening, but something deep inside warns her that whoever—or whatever—is coming for her won’t be friendly. Sensing her resignation, the cat sits back on his haunches, his green eyes glinting with satisfaction.

"Good," the cat says with a slight nod. "The name's Spots, by the way. Not that you bothered to ask."

Another silence settles between them, until [Name] realizes Spots is waiting for her to get up. She stills for a moment, weighing her options.

She could stay here, close her eyes, and hope this dream fades into nothingness. Maybe everything is just a product of her exhausted mind. A hallucination caused by trauma and stress. Maybe, if she holds on long enough, she’ll wake up in the real world, back to the life she knows. However, something tells her this doesn’t end with a simple waking.

The next best solution is that she could believe what’s happening. As impossible and terrifying as it seems, she could trust the cat—or at least trust that he knows more than she does. [Name] could just ignore the absurdity of a talking cat and follow him, because the alternative is facing whoever is coming for her alone. Zayne might return, but even that possibility feels unsettling. There’s too much confusion between them, and she doesn’t know if she could handle his reaction if he discovers what she’s beginning to accept: that she doesn’t belong here.

But Spots knows. He knows something about her situation. He knows what’s coming. And right now, that makes him the only source of guidance she has.

A frustrated heave escapes her as she finalizes her decision.

"Fuck it," she mutters.

Against her better judgment, [Name] slides out of bed, her legs no longer shaky as she drags the IV pole with her. She crouches down to pick up her clothes and combat boots. She glances back at Spots. He's swinging his tail lazily, eyes closed, a Cheshire grin permanent on his fluffy face.

Like ripping off a bandage, [Name] grits her teeth as she yanks the IV tube from her arm. The sharp sting makes her wince, but she pushes through the pain. She's quick to regain her composure. Without hesitation, she slips out of her hospital gown and into her military uniform. The fabric is stiff with dried blood, a cruel memento of her death.

But as she dresses, a disturbing thought begins to nag at her. If this is a dream, then… will she wake up back on the battlefield? Back in the grassy outskirts, far from the perishing city, fighting some meaningless war? Did she really want to go back to that? Can she even go back to that?

Her hand instinctively drifts to her heart, to the spot where the bullet pierced her. Her fingers brush over the dried blood. The hole in her uniform is the only proof of her last moments. She sighs and shakes her head, trying to dispel the unwanted thoughts. No. The mere thought of waking up back there—back in the war—terrifies her more than this new reality ever could.

Moving to the sink, she grabs a paper towel and runs it under cold water. Carefully, she dabs at the bloodstain, trying to clean it, but the water only spreads the mess. A frown tugs at her lips as she realizes her mistake. Spots hop down from the bed, noticing her frustration, and he is far too impatient to wait. He strolls over to her and stretches his paws against her leg, nudging her to pick him up.

Taking the hint, [Name] heaves and scoops the plump tuxedo cat into her arms, holding him close to her chest. Conveniently, Spots’ round body covers the bloodstain on her uniform.

"Ready?" Spots ask.

He gestures toward the closed door with his head, his green eyes narrowing to urge her forward.

Reluctantly, she nods and moves toward the exit of her hospital room. Her hand wraps around the cold doorknob, but then she hesitates. Frozen with uncertainty. Afraid of the unknown guaranteed outside this small, contained room. Her fingers still on the knob as she takes a shallow breath.

"Human," Spots purrs. It's a soothing rumble against her heart. "It's okay. Whatever happens, you have me now. You're not alone in this."

[Name] presses her lips into a tight line, reassured by the cat’s comforting words. Something about his presence, about his gentle confidence, calms her. It doesn’t make sense, but she doesn’t care to question it. Right now, she craves stability, no matter how strange the source.

Without another word, she pulls the door open and peeks her head out. She scans the hallway. The sterile, quiet corridor stretches out in both directions. Unbeknownst to her, that first step beyond the door will set a chain reaction of events into motion, incidents and experiences that will shift the story she once knew, casting her into a role she never imagined playing.

"Here goes nothing," she whispers, stepping into the unknown.

ao3 // masterpost // prev // next

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lads #lads sylus #lnds #lnds sylus #l&ds #l&ds sylus #sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x afab!reader #isekai reader #reincarnation #multi chap fic #multi chapter #chaptered #a second life for strays #psycho-pills

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too-much-tma-stuff · 4 months ago

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Years Later

Previous | Masterpost

It had been almost three years since Danny and his twin brother Damian had come to live with their father and Danny thought that they had both done pretty well for themselves. Damian had settled in, bonded with the family, stopped trying to kill their siblings, and made friends with Superman’s youngest son. He still had a very hard time relating to civilians, but everyone had their issues, right?

While their father had been missing for a while they’re all had to step up, and their eldest brother Dick had become Batman and finally made Damian the new Robin. It wasn’t how they had expected that to happen, but even through the grief of losing their father both Damian and Danyal had been happy he got the roll. Dick being Batman had been temporary because both Tim and Danny had been sure Bruce was still alive, and with both of them they’d managed to convince others and free Bruce from the time stream.

When Bruce had recovered and was ready to become Batman again Damian had remained Robin and Tim had gone on to be his own hero, Dick returning to being Nightwing. Damian was happy to work with their father again, training and bonding as heroes. He was good at it too, even if his methods were a bit more violent then Batman would have liked, they were working on that.

As for Danny, he had never joined the night life properly. His siblings teased him about it a little, but Bruce had nearly cried for joy when Danny had been firm in that regard even if he couldn’t escape it entirely, being surround by it as he was, he could refuse to put on a mask. He still wanted to help keep his family safe, so he worked with Tim and Bruce on manufacturing the bat’s gear, and learned how to hack and program with Babs. He ended up an engineer and a ‘guy in the chair’ for his family while they went out to fight crime.

It was calmer, and more fun for him, not to mention less exhausting which allowed him to focus on being as much of a ‘normal kid’ as he could be. He joined more clubs then Damian, and made some civilian friends! Including Sam Manson, who had rich parents who were uncomfortable happy with their daughter hanging out with a Wayne, and Tucker who was at the private school on a scholarship because of his engineering prowess. They were good friends, and Danny was happy to have them despite Sam’s weird family, who he tried to avoid.

It was all going pretty well, except for one thing, the experiments on the Lazarus water. He had started working on it with Tim and Bruce, but been right that Bruce would hold them back, and it meant that the experiments were going nowhere. He thought that he probably could have talked Tim into doing some of the more out there things he wanted but then Tim left, and Bruce was still keeping track of what Danny was doing leaving him unable to work without fighting against his father every step of the way. His brother too, because he had been right that Damian would be loyal to Bruce once their father earned it.

Danny had theories, and charts, and things he wanted to try. But they all came from hunches and dreams which just weren’t enough proof for The Batman even though this was at least half magic and that was half instinct. Danny was nowhere near where he wanted to be at this point, and could not even manufacture his own substitute.

It hadn’t been an imminent problem until the League of Shadows finally realized neither Danny nor Damian had any plans of returning and started trying to claw them back. Talia still sent Danny bottles of Lazarus water sometimes, but it seemed like she was having to smuggle it out which meant he was getting significantly less. There were the clones too. The lack of Lazarus water seemed to be how they were trying to flush Danny out and force him to return, and the clones were being sent to drag Damian back as well.

So far there hadn’t been any clones of Danny, but he was keeping an eye out just in case. The lack of water wasn’t an immediate threat since he had some stockpiled but he was very worried, and if he didn’t figure it out soon it would turn into a problem. He wouldn’t be able to run tests anymore if he was having to save all of it, and if he couldn’t run he wouldn’t find out how to manufacture it. It would end the same way, with him having to return to the League of Shadows or try and steal more water himself which would just end in the same dilemma when he ran out again.

He could try to convince Bruce again in light of this, but they’d had multiple talks about this over the years and though the dependence on the league was becoming a bigger issue Danny wasn’t sure that would matter. Bruce’s world view was uncomfortably black and white. Besides he had bigger long-term plans.

It wasn’t just to recreate it, yes that was the initial goal but that wasn’t going to be where his experimentation ended and he knew it. He knew in his bones that once purified the waters could be used for so much more then just healing the sickly and killing the healthy. The raw energy in them was meant to be so much more! And then there were the dreams, which had never stopped and had only been getting more vivid and insistent as time went on.

More then just a voice calling him now, they showed him things. They showed him an ancient war that had torn holes in reality, an ancient king of blood and magic who had done much harm. And again and again the glowing green portal that he knew he had to build! He had never cared much for destiny, but he couldn’t just ignore this, especially when he could feel the pain of the ancient being who called to him. Just another secret to keep from his family because he didn’t want them to interfere.

It would be easier to do what he needed to do without adult supervision, and he had some ideas about how to go about it. He needed space first, and equipment. Money could get all of that, but how much could he steal without father noticing? He had already started of course, skimming a bit here and a bit there off the top and stashing it away, but the way that was going it would be far to long before he had enough money for everything he needed.

There was another thing that worried Danny too, that he’d seen during his time as ‘the guy in the chair’. The new player in Crime Alley, that Bruce was… worried about, but not hugely yet, he was just getting established after all. The problem was, he was incredibly violent, and his techniques reeked of the league, and of something more. Danny had the uncomfortable feeling he knew exactly who it was beneath the red hood, another secret that he’d kept coming back to bite him. But everything in him still rejected the idea of just coming out and telling all his secrets. Knowledge was power after all, and maybe he could still use this as well.

In fact, he was sure that he could use it. He just had to play the game right, and this might turn out to be exactly what he needed.

It had been easy to steal some of the other bat’s gear, just a mask, and a few weapons just in case. Easier still to sneak out on a night when they were already out on patrol and head to crime alley with put being spotted. They rarely patrolled there anyway, not that there wasn’t crime there, but because all of it was so integrated in gangs and organized crime there wasn’t time for the little fish and trying usually just lead to more trouble. He would have heard if there was a planned strike because it would have been all hands on deck.

So he put on the mask, and the symbol of the bat, and simply wandered into the territory of the Red Hood. He grappled to an inaccessible roof where he wouldn’t be easy prey for petty thugs and simply waited knowing that Red Hood would find him. It wasn’t long before he heard the thump of someone much heavier landing on the roof behind him and turned to see a familiar hulking man. Danny felt his breath catch in his throat with the chill and he breathed carefully through the odd sense of Pit being nearby that he hadn’t felt since leaving the league confirming his suspicions.

“Well well, you’re a long way from the roost aren’t you birdy? And all on your own?” Red Hood asked, a modulator disguised the sound of his voice, but not really his patterns, Danny smiled and rocked back on his heels.

“All by my lonesome. Because I wanted to talk to you, I recognize league training when I see it. Did they send you?” He asked cocking his head to the side. He refused to tense up or act like he was intimidated or afraid, that would only make him seem like prey and wouldn’t do any good. He was here now, and wasn’t sure he could beat Jason so if the other did attack… well Danny would just have to lay in the grave he’d dug for himself.

“No,” Jason snarled, his fingers twitching around the gun in his hand as he stepped forward. “I don’t work for those fuckers. But they told me, they told me what Bruce did, and how quickly he replaced the last robin with another blue eyes black haired boy. Are you the next one in the chain? He needs to pay for the way he treats those kids.”

“Ah so they cocked you like a gun and pointed you in our direction,” Danny said with a sigh. “No, I’m not the next robin, and that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because I have a deal to offer you, Jason.”

Jason snarled and moved quickly, before Danny could blink the gun was pointed straight at his head. “What sort of deal Brat? Because if you’re planning on blackmailing me what’s stopping me from just shooting you? You won’t be able to tell anyone then.”

“I don’t think you’d shoot a child Jason,” Danny said softly. “But no, I mean, not telling Bruce is part of the deal but I have more to offer then that. There are experiments I want to do, things I want to find out that father will not let me. I need a space and equipment for a lab. In return, I won’t tell anyone your secret identity and I can get you access to Bat tech, and build some new things for you. I’ve been building and adding to bat tech for years, without the Batman’s strict morals holding me back I bet I can build you some… interesting weapons.”

There was a long moment of silence between the two of them before Jason threw his head back and laughed, lowering his weapon. “Well I want to get back at Bruce, and I think enabling another one of his kids to turn against him is an excellent start.”

Danny relaxed and grinned as well, he wasn’t actually planning on turning against his father or siblings but he didn’t feel like arguing about it. Especially when they probably would see this as a betrayal. As if they hadn’t all kept secrets. As if Tim still hadn’t told Damian or Bruce about the Legue of Shadows bases he had blown up and all the people he’d killed while searching for Bruce. Not that Danny was going to out his brother of course.

“I’ve been clearing out any gangs that use kids from the Lanes,” Jason said, his posture relaxed now. “They left plenty of empty warehouses, you can have one of those for your lab. I can get you a decent amount of equipment taken from mad scientist and drug rings I’ve busted but I’m not getting you a fucking grocery list. Anything you want that’s missing you’ll have to get yourself,” Jason said, pointing at Danny.

“I wasn’t expecting you to play nursemaid. Anything you can’t get I can get a hold of myself. I still have access to Bruce’s bank account and he’s used to me regularly making orders of mechanical parts and scientific instruments for the work I do for him. I can get what I need.”

“Good, I know you’re a kid, but I’m not holding your hand,” Jason sneered.

Danny laughed and shook his head; “You should know that none of us Batman take in are kidsin any way that matters. Dick had already been out fighting crime for four years by the time he was my age. I’m no different, I was raised in the league even before moving in with dad. If you tried to hold my hand, I’d cut it off.”

“Feisty,” Jason said in a tone of approval. “Meet me at the docks same time next week. I’ll have gotten what I can for you by then, you can set it up on your own.”

“I can handle it. I’ll build you something to start, but after that I won’t be keeping a schedule. You can make requests if there are things you need but I have a lot of work to do,” He said before he rolled off the roof backwards and slowed his fall enough to get the grapple out and swing away.

To his disappointment his powers hadn’t really grown as he did, so slowing himself was still the best he could do. Just lessen gravity’s effects on him a bit, density shift his limbs for a few seconds but not longer, and not his whole body, blend into shadows but not disappear. He was stronger, faster, and a little more sensitive then the average person, but that was all which was both annoying, and confusing because the voice in his dreams promised him he could be so much more.

He was home that night before his brother and father, and he had a proper fucking plan! He was going to have a lab, a secret place that he could do what he needed to do free of restrictions. He would need a secret identity of his own, a suit that would hide him fully so not even Damian would be able to recognize. A full helmet and a vocal distorter like Jason had, maybe one that sort of matched though he’d have to run that by Jason. So much for not putting on a mask he supposed, though he wasn’t exactly planning to be a hero.

He couldn’t wait!

---------

It was easy to ask Sam to act as a cover for if Danny was caught out of the house. He would get in trouble for sneaking out to stay the night with a girl of course, but that was much better than his lab being found. She was happy to enable his rebellion though he hadn’t told her the entire truth about what he would be doing, just asked that is his family called she would say he was with her.

He spent his down time in that week using scrap from the cave to build his helmet and since he was always tinkering with one thing or another no one really noticed. He left cosmetic details for later so he could ask about making it match with Red Hood’s a little bit. For now, he kept it black for the most part. He’d need a suit too. Black, white, and red sounded good, he could easily get the black and red material since it was used in Batman’s and Robin’s suits, the white would be something he’d have to make himself.

With that in mind he started working on his suit as well. He was going to be essentially a villain for now, he might as well lean into the aesthetics of it and have some fun right? He wasn’t planning on hurting anyone or being ‘evil’ but he was going against Batman and teaming up with Red Hood so he knew how that would look. He didn’t know fully what he wanted it to look like, but he knew that he wanted claws so he started with that and after a few sketches he had a design.

All of the vital areas of his body were clothed in black, a vest tunic that went down to mid thigh with a red wrap belt to keep it from flapping around too much. The long sleeved shirt underneath was white, going down over his hands in tight gloves tipped with red claws like they were stained with old blood. Each arm was wrapped elbow to wrist, and around the palm with black bandages of thick material that made them nearly gauntlets. The pants underneath were loose and white, stuffed and secured into black boots with thick durable tread and laces in red.

The helmet was black as well, with red eyes and white detailing along the seems and forming a sort of mouth. It would do for now, he could always change it later but he wanted to have this done by the time he started working on his lab so there was a pretty tight deadline. He was still putting the finishing touches on it the day before he went to see Red Hood again, on a weekend night of course, the bats would be busy and everyone could sleep in in the morning.

He fully suited up with tools tucked into his belt and his weapons strapped to his back and snuck out the window not long after the bats flew the roost, making his way quickly to the Alley and down to the docks. Landing on one of the taller roofs he pulled out a pair of small binoculars equipped with night vision and thermo sensors and scanned the area, quickly spotting Jason and a few, what looked like workmen, bringing boxes into the warehouse. Just in case it was a trap Danny waited for them to leave, and once Jason was alone dropped down and slid into the warehouse.

There were tables set up around and boxes on the floor, the lights were on which was good, he’d need electricity. And there was Red Hood, standing in the middle of the warehouse with his arms crossed, his posture tense and impatient. He turned and looked Danny up and down, letting out a distorted chuckle. “You really committed to the bit huh?” He asked, amusement coming through the distortion.

“Well I’m going to be doing this, I might as well. The last thing I want it to be recognized coming in and out, or caught by any of the bats or birds,” He hummed, reaching up to turn off his own vocal distortion which made his voice sound like ghostly whispers. “By the way, I am trained to fight and I practice daily. If you need backup call me. I won’t hurt father or our siblings, but if anything is compromising our deal or my lab I’ll defend it.” He started to open boxes, seeing what equipment Jason had found for him.

“They’re not my siblings,” Jason snarled, his fingers twitching on his crossed arms.

“As you say,” Danny said blandly, rolling his eyes under his mask. “I should warn you as well that I’m going to be working with Lazarus water here.”

“What?!” Jason practically roared. “You’re going to be bringing Lazarus water HERE?!”

Danny dodged on instinct, and was almost surprised when he found Jason hadn’t tried to shoot him. “Yes. I know what the league uses it for, but it clearly has a lot of untapped potential. I think if I can purify it and harness it right I can use it for something Good. I know you’ve had a bad experience with it, I have too,” Danny said, turning back towards Jason with his hands on his hips.

“I died too, when I was eight and they dunked me in the stuff as well. I saw what you were like after they pulled you out, I know why you’re afraid of it. But I know what it’s like and I swear that is Not what I will be using it for. And I’m not doing it for the league either, I don’t want any of this research getting back to them. I have my own motivations, and that includes healing the lasting effects the Pit had on me, hopefully I can heal you as well. I’m not making any promises since I haven’t even started yet, but I might.”

Jason took deep, slow breaths and even through the eyeholes of the mask Danny could see Jason’s eyes were glowing green with familiar maddening rage. “Fine,” Jason growled and stocked out of the building.

Danny let him go. Jason clearly needed time to cool off, but Danny hoped he would come back before he had to leave so that they could talk more about check ins and how to contact each other. If he didn’t it wasn’t the end of the world. Danny would be coming back regularly and didn’t need permission to do so. Jason would know where to find Danny when he was ready to talk about whatever.

Danny pulled a trip wire and a few bombs and batteries out of his pouches and set up a first perimeter with alerts and a second one with traps. Once he felt more secure in his space Danny started to empty the boxes and set up the burners, beakers, distillers and the other equipment Jason had managed to get for him. Danny was surprised and pleased to find a generator as well! This way if he needed extra power he had a way to get it without raising any flags.

It took him a few hours to get everything set up and make a list of the things he still needed, which was mostly more advanced and sensitive. He muttered to himself as he checked over the building knowing the rudimentary security he’d set up was Barely enough for a regular lab, he’d need much more substantial protections for this. Probably a fail safe to destroy the research if someone unauthorized gets in as well. Despite wanting to rush there was no way he could start working with the Lazarus water for at least a month, till then he could tinker with weapons between deliveries of equipment and other things to do.

He didn’t see Jason again before he headed home, but he wanted to be there a bit before he knew dad and Damian would to avoid running into them. He stripped off his costume leaving him in the white pants and a tank top before carefully climbed back through the window to his bedroom. He knew the placements of the cameras like the back of his hand and was sure he could sneak in and out without being seen but just in case he’d rather be spotted in civilian clothes. He wasn’t a known yet and he wanted to stay off his family’s radar as long as possible. Especially because despite having a costume he hadn’t thought of a name yet!

He could always just wait and see what his family started calling him when they eventually became aware of his… rogue persona, and go with that but they didn’t always have the best taste. With his assassin training and his abilities, he thought that it would make sense to have some sort of name referencing a ghost. He didn’t want one that was too obvious though so it was probably time to do a little bit of research to find a ghost that would suit him. Maybe on a school computer so it couldn’t be easily traced back to him.

He should ask Sam too, she was really into this spooky stuff so she’d enjoy helping him pick a name. He wouldn’t be fully honest about what he was looking for, just that he was researching different ghosts, she’d be happy with that. She might put two and two together once his ‘rogue persona’ became known, but as long as he didn’t hurt anyone he thought she’d be on board. He just didn’t plan to tell them till he had to, one less potential avenue for exposure.

There were a lot of things he hadn’t told her or Tucker, that was the problem with having a family like his, whether he was involved or not any relationship had to be built on lies. He couldn’t tell them about being raised in a cult of assassins, about being heir the Demon Head and the Batman, he couldn’t tell them about his family’s hero work. What was one more secret on top of all the ones he and the family were already keeping?

#dc x dp #danny phantom #fanfiction #demon twins au #danyal al ghul #damian wayne #dick grayson #bruce wayne #sam manson #tucker foley #multi chap fic #tim drake #cassandra cain #alfred pennyworth

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istoleyoursphenoidbone · 5 months ago

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In Search of Kindred Spirits - Chapter 1

DPxDC, Dead on Main

Summary: What happens when two young kids have a fate meeting on the streets of Gotham? Kindred Spirits get formed of course, ones who despite their fates will search to find each other once more.

The streets of Gotham were an endless labyrinth of shadows, filth, and danger. Even at midday, when the sun struggled to cut through the thick layers of smog and skyscrapers, Gotham felt like it existed in a perpetual twilight. For 8-year-old Danny Fenton, it was like stepping into another world—darker, grittier, and far less friendly than Amity Park’s suburban quiet.

Danny trailed behind his parents as they animatedly argued about the schedule for the Paranormal Science Conference. Jack and Maddie Fenton were brilliant, but their hyperfixation on ghost hunting often left Danny feeling like an afterthought. He sighed as they turned another corner, too distracted by their plans to notice him lagging behind.

Something shiny caught his eye—a penny glinting on the grimy sidewalk. Danny stooped to pick it up, grinning at his small treasure. His parents were already several steps ahead, their voices blending into the city’s cacophony.

“Lucky penny,” Danny whispered, pocketing it. When he looked up, his parents were gone.

Panic crept into his chest. He spun around, scanning the street for the telltale flash of Jack’s bright orange jumpsuit or Maddie’s blue lab coat. Nothing. The crowd pressed around him, and for the first time, Gotham felt suffocating.

“Mom? Dad?” Danny called, but his voice barely carried over the noise of honking cars and shouting vendors. He took a few hesitant steps forward, unsure which way his parents had gone.

“Hey, kid,” a gruff voice interrupted. Danny turned to see three older boys, maybe in their late teens, grinning at him in a way that made his stomach twist.

“Lost, are we?” one of them said, stepping closer. He reeked of cigarettes, and his hand casually rested on a switchblade at his belt.

Danny swallowed hard, taking a step back. “N-no, I’m fine. Just looking for my parents.”

The tallest of the group laughed, his yellowed teeth on full display. “Oh, we’ll help you find ‘em, alright. But it’s gonna cost you. Hand over whatever you’ve got, and we might just point you in the right direction.”

Danny’s heart pounded. His mind raced through every ghost-hunting gadget his parents had ever built, none of which were currently on him. All he had was his "lucky penny," and he doubted it would do much good against a knife.

Before he could respond, a voice cut through the tension like a whip.

“Hey! Leave him alone!”

All eyes turned to the boy standing at the mouth of the alley. He looked to be about Danny’s age, though he carried himself with the confidence of someone far older. His dark hair stuck out in messy tufts beneath a red hoodie, and his hands were balled into fists at his sides.

The tallest thug sneered. “Scram, kid. This ain’t your business.”

The boy didn’t move. If anything, he stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “Yeah? Well, now it is. So unless you wanna explain to the cops why you’re picking on a little kid, I’d suggest you back off.”

Danny couldn’t help but admire the way the boy stood his ground, even as the thugs towered over him.

The one with the knife scoffed. “You’ve got guts, kid. Too bad they’re gonna get you in trouble someday.” With a final glare, the group turned and slunk away, disappearing into the crowd.

Danny let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “T-thanks,” he stammered.

The boy shrugged, a lopsided grin spreading across his face. “No problem. Name’s Jason. You shouldn’t wander around Gotham on your own, y’know.”

Danny gave a sheepish smile. “I wasn’t trying to. I got separated from my parents. I’m Danny, by the way.”

Jason’s grin widened. “Nice to meet ya, Danny. You’re not from around here, are you?”

Danny shook his head. “We’re just visiting for a few months. My parents are scientists—they’re at some big conference thingy.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Scientists, huh? That explains the whole… mad scientist vibe you’ve got going on.”

Danny laughed. “You should see my dad. He’s like, twice as loud and ten times weirder.”

Jason snickered, and for a moment, the tension melted away. “C’mon,” he said, motioning for Danny to follow. “I’ll help you find your parents. Gotham’s confusing if you don’t know your way around.”

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

Over the next few weeks, Danny and Jason became inseparable. Jason, who’d always been wary of strangers, found himself drawn to Danny’s unfiltered curiosity and easy laughter. In return, Danny admired Jason’s bravery and quick wit, marveling at how someone his age could navigate Gotham’s streets like they were his personal playground.

Jason introduced Danny to the hidden gems of Gotham: the best place to get day-old bagels for free, the rooftops with the best views, and even an abandoned theater where they could sneak in and watch old movies.

One afternoon, as they sat on a rooftop overlooking the city, Danny turned to Jason with a wide grin. “Y’know, you’re kinda like a superhero.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

“You saved me that day in the alley, didn’t you? And you’re always looking out for people, even if they don’t deserve it. That’s what heroes do.”

Jason shrugged, but his cheeks flushed faintly. “I’m no hero, Danny. I just… do what I can.”

“Well, if you ever decide to put on a cape, I’d totally be your sidekick,” Danny said, grinning.

Jason smirked. “Yeah? You’d probably trip over it.”

Danny stuck out his tongue. “I’d be the brains of the operation. You’d just punch stuff.”

They both laughed, the sound echoing into the twilight.

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

The day Danny’s family had to leave Gotham came too soon. Standing outside the train station, Danny clutched a small photo of himself and Jason that they’d taken in a cheap photo booth.

“I’ll write to you,” Danny promised, his voice thick with emotion.

Jason gave him a crooked smile. “You better. Don’t ghost me, alright?”

Danny rolled his eyes but smiled through his tears. “Deal. And you better stay out of trouble.”

Jason’s expression turned serious for a moment. “I’ll try. But Gotham’s not exactly easy on people like me.”

“You’re tougher than this whole city,” Danny said firmly.

Jason looked down, his hand brushing the small charm Danny had pressed into his palm earlier. It was a simple necklace with a crudely drawn ghost emblem on it. “For good luck,” Danny had said.

“Thanks,” Jason murmured. “For everything.”

The train whistle blew, cutting through the air. Danny hugged Jason tightly before running to join his parents. As the train pulled away, he pressed his face to the window, watching Jason grow smaller and smaller until he disappeared entirely.

Though Gotham faded into the distance, Danny’s resolve didn’t. He’d made a friend for life.

And no matter what, he wouldn’t let Jason Todd down.

#dpxdc #dc x dp #danny fenton #danny phantom #jason todd #red hood #dead on main #platonic #multi chap fic #cross posted on ao3 #These children about to get trauma :D #It's fine it'll build character #constructive critism welcome #fanfic writing

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okwonyo · 2 years ago

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STAN TWITTER ﹒LEE HEESEUNG.

✸ SYNOPSIS ！idols flirting with their fans during fan-signs is not something new, especially on stantwt. but you never thought it would happen to you.

or in which heeseung experienced love at first sight with you, made you gain a lot of followers AND haters and is now stalking your account on a daily basis.

PARING ⌇ lee heesung x fem!reader

𐙚 GENRE idol au, stranger to lovers (?), fluff, humorous, angst, smau + maybe some written chapters, twitter language.

FEATURING ୭ৎ enha! all

📁 enha 🆙 ﹒being normal ✖️ being on stantwt ✔️

MASTERLIST

001 forget enhypen i want you 🫵

002 sitting under a three k i s s i n g

003 is this a safe space

004 IM JUST A GIRL IN THE WORLD

005 it MIGHT be me ig

006 hello

007 IM NOT A COP ??

008 DREAM BLUNT ROTATION

009 U FUCKING TRAITOR

010 when you know, you know ( written ! )

STAN TWITTER II

REVAMPED VERSION.

(chapters names may change)

TAGLIST : @j1nniee @mimi1xx @hangecanweholdhands @flwrshee @xyadix @gyuszie @wooonkies @manooffline @bbangricz @ghostiiess @dearflwrz @rodygr @lol6sposts @haechansbbg @ilovewonyo @flmtunes @ikeulvr @spilled-coffee-cup @ashy1um @woncine @ughpixa @jaeyunology @jungwoneez @doublasting @lol6sposts @kimiczi @stariqwon @thekinkpopstandsforkrackheads @iea-tsand @anyavaramyr @hoeinthehouse @lovvette @makiswrld @yenqa @ibsysbsfsunsbs @yeokii @jiawji @ririlovesrenjun dm or send a ask to be added.

NETWORK @kflixnet

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greenandsorrow · 6 months ago

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Flowers in December, a mini series

Luke Danes x fem!reader ☕🧣🧤🌨️

Summary.

A gal in her early twenties moved to Stars Hollow three months ago and since then, Luke's Diner has practically become her second home. Twice a day, like clockwork, she's sat at a table, sipping her coffee... Not to mention all the to-go cups.

Warnings.

slow burn, jealousy, possessiveness, sexual content, age gap, size kink, touch-starved!Luke, dom!Luke, virgin!reader, sassy!reader, selfish!reader, grumpy x sunshine, hurt, comfort, angst, feelings of inadequacy, alcohol consumption

Author's note.

Not me entering ANOTHER fandom. I can't be stopped and I so declare myself a public threat. Yep, I'm new to the Gilmore Girls fandom, so nice to meet you all! <3 I haven't even read any Gilmore fics... YET. Luke is Dilf material and this fic is very self indulgent… I can't help myself. But hey, maybe that is good for you 👀

Ch.I soon

Ch.II soon

Ch.III soon

Ch.IV soon

Support a struggling uni student! Every penny means the world coming from you. Thank you so much! 💙 CLICK HERE (PayPal link)

My masterlist.

Fic title -> Flowers in December by Mazzy Star

Dividers by @strangergraphics and @saradika-graphics.

You can ask to be added to the taglist. 🩵

Please do not copy or repost my work anywhere.

Taglist: @mimiibear @gurlintheyellowhat @imdoingitareyou @riverishlina @saint-boudica

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ellesthots · 13 days ago

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Fateful Beginnings

LI. “ambrosia”

read on AO3 🦇

parts: previous / next

plot: bittersuite domesticity suddenly isn't as bittersweet.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, fluffy fluff fluff

words: 8k

a/n: hiii lovelies!! back for another installment with these two lovebirds <3 as I’m writing this, tomorrow is my last day of school EVER !!! what !!! then I have a Master’s degree !! writing that in the notes of a battinson fic has me feeling like that meme of ‘I lowkey have a Master’s degree’. lmao. enjoy !!

“This is how sleepovers start?”

You grabbed his other hand and started painting the black polish on his thumb; it took every ounce of energy left in your wilting body to keep your breathing regular and thoughts from spiraling. His fingers were always softer than you thought they would be, especially so when you held them delicately, like now.

“If they’re fun.”

The floor was starting to hurt your crossed legs, but you trucked along with only three nails left. Your thumb and forefinger tilted his hand to the right before the polish flooded the side, and Bruce complimented your technique. It was crucial, actually, that he didn’t say words like ‘technique’ while you took in the size and shape of his fingers.

The stale lighting of an overhead bulb that hadn’t been changed in half a decade was barely enough to have a proper look at your craft, but more than enough to illuminate the depth of his inky hair as it grazed his cheek. Your dad had bugged you to change the light before leaving to Gotham two years ago, citing your future self’s gratefulness at not having to change a bulb the first day you came back from graduation. Now, you couldn’t imagine how you’d function if you were seeing Bruce in high definition.

Two years. Two years? You barely knew about Bruce Wayne before moving; just enough to know that he was a sort of celebrity, and it hit you all at once that the man was now sitting here, in your sleepy little town, letting you paint his nails. What the fuck?

Two more.

Ring finger… painting this one felt different. Childlike electricity pulsed through you as you imagined a metal band adorning it. You loathed to know it could never be you. Plagued by how intensely you wished things were different. If you let yourself digest just how intensely, it would end in a state of tears and disbelief.

Bruce’s eyes followed yours like they were his own, flicking from the nail to your face with an encouraging grin. You rushed through his pinky, your body filling with a vague sense of anticipation that bubbled up all types of emotions you’d tried to stuff down the past hour.

While you capped the lacquer, you reminisced on how scared he’d looked at the thought of having sex with you. So scared, in fact, that it nullified your original hypothesis (and left you reeling—he didn’t want to fuck you?). If not to control you, dominate you, what the hell did a billionaire want with the one person who knew his biggest secret? As much as your mind wanted to run away with alternative explanations for why this vigilante was sitting pretty talking about girly sleepovers, none took. He’d been trustworthy on every other front, so what reasons did you have to think he was lying now? Your own insecurity?

Still, the visceral sensation of forcing someone to ‘go along’ with your interests made you a bit sick. If you hadn’t offered to paint nails, it wouldn’t have happened. If you hadn’t needed a flight home, he wouldn’t be here. Who was to say he wasn’t just humoring you? Perhaps in it for the long-con?

He was smart enough for it. God, his mind worked like a whip. The ease with which he switched into Appeasing Bruce in front of Oz, the way his posture and cadence changed the few times he’d addressed a group, and the mere fact he’d been going out nightly as a fucking vigilante for four years and not one person was onto him. For how antisocial he was, he could transform into a chameleon at a moment’s notice.

What if he thought appeasing you was the only way to safeguard himself? Your heart fluttered. Could he cry on cue? Get his eyes to look as tender as they did whenever you tried to leave?

Too late you realized you’d gotten lost in your thoughts. And like the softest yet sharpest knife you’d ever felt, Bruce waited patiently. His mouth was even sloped to form a soft grin.

“You can choose what we do next.” You clasped your hands around your knee, subtly rocking your hips to self-soothe. He glanced at the box of polish, confused.

“You don’t want yours done?”

“Didn’t think you’d want to.”

He laughed like you’d challenged him, and it entered you like fresh, cool air whistling through your tight chest. “I’d love to.”

Something had shifted when he mentioned your friends. On the drive back, instead of silence, he’d asked how often you came here, what you liked about this road, if you knew any constellations, and occasionally to ID a tree when the headlights illuminated one. He held the front door open for you on arrival, and was already halfway to Walter’s bowl when all you’d done was mention that he might be hungry. Not to mention: tolerating this.

Your friends had always disliked Walter. Complained about how ‘needy’ he was, and walked through the house without worrying if he was underfoot. They stepped on his paws and tail and knocked the side of his head when they’d walk down the hall, to the point you’d had a breakdown the last time they’d visited. Cradling him, crying and sniffling over how careless they were. Bruce paused every other step, letting Walter weave through his legs as much as he pleased. You didn’t even know if Bruce particularly liked you, and the bar was disastrously low, but you would’ve married him on the spot for that alone. He’d never been more attractive.

It hadn’t even been an hour since his shell cracked open, and you wondered who would cave first: you confessing how wonderful he was, or him burning out and reverting back to his old, man-of-few words ways.

Bruce thumbed through the various tones and textures, and you told him he could pick. He pulled a few shades out and held them to the side of your face, analyzing. First a green, then a red, then black, then: a shimmer. His brow cocked almost imperceptibly. “You like glitter, right?”

You’d crack. You’d absolutely crack first.

You nodded, and the anticipation bubbled into something almost unbearable in the space between uncapping it and him grabbing your hand. Was there some law of the universe that allowed only enough space for one of you to be talkative? Because since he’d started speaking, it’d become increasingly difficult for words to materialize. Like some sort of spell.

“The makeup you wore at March’s rally.” Bruce took your hand and gently pulled your fingers toward him; at this point noticing how softly he touched you read like an oxymoron. Who taught him to be so tender? Your breath came sparingly, mesmerized by the sheer force of what sat in front of you. “It looked like this.”

“You know,” you cleared your throat, tightening your core to reign in a tremble from cascading down your arm. “It’s intimidating how observant you are.”

“Could say the same to you.”

“I’m not an infamous detective.” Somehow the words were falling out, and thank god, because any longer of this tension and you would’ve blurted something unhallowed. He just grinned, and very precisely placed a stripe of shimmer on your thumb. It was slightly cold, and stunk more than the black you’d put on him. He was so precise… even with his own wet nails.

Said detective moved to the next finger, eyes twinkling with something unsaid you really wished he’d name. Was he having fun? Was he miserable and covering it up? You searched his face for any giveaway, but he looked almost peaceful. Taking his time with the painting, taking his time to respond. “Aren’t journalists the same? Never know when you’re on record.”

“So we’re both intimidating.”

“Very.”

And there you sat for the next few minutes while he finished, the longest silence since stargazing. You couldn’t grasp where to focus your attention, with both hands wet and the only things in your point of view being Bruce and your bed. Which… you couldn’t focus on too much, not while he was literally being the sweetest, most attentive man alive sitting cross-legged, staring intently at your fingers as he painted them with unparalleled, meditative focus.

But your mind wandered, unable to resist the temptation of learning he’d not only kissed someone before, but fucked them. You’d assumed so with someone like him, a miserably attractive billionaire in the big city, but it clung to you differently since he’d confirmed it. An undisclosed number of people walked around with the memory of his body on theirs, knowing how he looked, sounded, felt… was there anyone he’d gone back to?

“You okay?”

“What?”

“Your breathing changed, wondered if we needed to open a window.”

You looked down to see two fingers left. I can manage. I’m good. I’m so good. “Like I said: observant.”

“Yeah, well,” he moved to your ring finger (only one left, fuck!) and sighed. “When one of my first memories of you was how you nearly stopped breathing,” he dipped back into the shimmer. “I started paying attention.”

Oh, this man… “That’s why you brought the Benadryl to City Hall.”

Bruce tapped his upper thigh with the heel of his palm, careful not to smudge. A slight outline of a rectangle became apparent through the faded black fabric. “Just in case.”

You blinked. Swallowed. This much consideration was excruciating, and decades of mistreatment washed over you at once. It would’ve been so simple to give you what you’d always wanted; someone to sit with you, really, truly sit and consider you. Enjoy you. Cooper had, but then she left. Never to be seen again.

“Talk to me.” He flicked a well-executed stroke onto your pinky and covered it in one fell swoop, placing the polish back into the box.

“It’s the same old shit.” That I don’t want to burden you with, so please, stop looking at me like it’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted to do.

“Then say the same old shit.”

“I don’t want them taking up time.” You waved your hands around to try to stave off the trove of energy that launched into you, hurry up the process of the nail drying, and direct his attention anywhere but your face. None of it worked. “They just never cared about any of it. This, peaches, Walter.”

“Walter?” He balked at it, eyes practically bugging out of his head.

“Bruce, stop.” His name sat strangely in your mouth, like it was rapidly taking on a different meaning.

“Stop what?”

“Handling me with gloves.”

“I’m not.” He stared at you plainly, unwavering, and you felt pinned. He blinked a few times, then broke the contact to stare at the carpet. You let out a heavy breath.

Silence stretched between you like a wide, empty field. You couldn’t begin to fill it, so you sat, willing your lips to stop trembling, and tears to stop forming, to no avail. He didn’t call attention to it, which you appreciated. His consideration was like a rose’s thorn, smelling so sweet but cutting through thinned skin.

“I think we have similar problems with people.”

Such conviction. You stared into him like he could save you from slipping and asked a question that already had an answer. “Pity?”

Despite the exhaustion you were certain was wearing him down, his eyes were clearer than they’d ever looked. You wanted to tell him to get some sleep, let himself relax, but he wouldn’t listen. Apparently you not buying the concept of him liking that you knew his biggest secret was horrifying to him, instead of basic sense. He was steadfast on his mission of trust, like any mission he set himself on, you were learning.

“I’m not pitying you, you’re not pitying me.” Bruce surprised you when he held out a pinky, so out of character you almost didn’t track what it meant. “Truce?”

Leveling the playing field. You hesitated. “But what if it’s not pity but it’s still something bad—”

“Y/n.” He said your name with a sigh that blasted through your eardrums; a sigh that was kind, that straddled the line between amused and apologetic.

“Bruce.”

The moment stalled, and he was caught between two choices: tell you it, tell you it all, to take you out of this momentary suffering and clear the air that was so tangible, that you were so right about; or keep you from what it might mean. Keep you safe. This was strange, he could tell you knew it, and he could tell it was affecting. He was here with things below the surface, sure, but it wasn’t an ulterior motive. Just… keeping a secret. One that helped you.

Your eyes glittered with tears, and all deliberation left his body as he was struck with the realization that keeping you safe would win every single time. No matter what.

Eventually the silence hung too thick and you took his pinky in yours, moving quickly to put away the polishes like you were running from the promise. Meanwhile, all he could do was barely keep himself afloat from the incessant touching and the intensity of your eyes when they locked onto his.

“What’s next?”

“Uh,”

He attached to the hesitancy in your tone and dismissed it, pressing on. “What are you thinking?”

“I have an old jewelry kit I never opened, but it’s babyish,”

“Bring it.”

You tinkered around in your closet, then plunked a plastic kit down on the floor. You stared at it. Then laughed. You mimed lifting the lid and heaved a sigh as you sat back. “Too wet. So disappointing.”

Jesus… what the fuck did I just say? Peeking at him showed he wasn’t reading into the diabolical innuendo, or at least he wasn’t showing it.

“We can wait.”

Could you?

Bruce and you sat in silence without anything to distract. You pretended to be very interested in the tree branches swaying outside your window, one you could barely make out through the streams of moonlight. The whisper of the kitchen clock ticked, and you concentrated on a leaf hitting the window’s glass. After you felt your body would implode from the tension, you tapped the edge of a nail and felt a slick smear. Like it’d only been two seconds.

“What do you want to make?”

He rarely interrupted the silence, and it startled your wound-up spirit. Which magic word made him spill? Was he so offended by the notion that he just wanted to fuck?

“There’s only a few things. Braided bracelets, beaded bracelets, or a necklace I guess if you get long enough string.” You tilted the packaging with the back of your hand to squint at the side label. “And stud earrings, but it’s probably nickel or some shit. Can’t do it.”

Bruce didn’t miss a beat. “I’m willing to try.” Nickel. You can’t have nickel jewelry. Allergic?

You barely heard him, seeing on the side in colorful cursive: Summer Edition, which apparently meant beads of apples, peaches, pears, and bananas thrown in the mix. Your stomach flipped, confronted with the memory that Rose had gotten this one for you way back when. She’d laughed with Gabbi and Lara when you thanked her, and you hadn’t known why, you just knew their laughter didn’t feel good. Maybe Bruce was right: they’d never cared.

“Hmm?”

“Earrings.”

You scoffed. “I’m not piercing your ears.”

“Way ahead of you.”

You looked up expecting to see him brutally stabbing his ear with a stray pin or special gadget, but he just used the back of his hand to show a microscopic dot in the middle of his earlobe.

“Pierced them in high school.”

“No way!”

Evidently your shock had alerted the only other resident of the house, and Walter came careening in. You shot your hands up and quickly told Bruce to stop his movement to pet him, or else his nails would be fuzzed to hell. Walter thought this was a game, and started jumping to reach the nothing that was in your hand.

Standing became the only option, and you managed to squeeze your way out the front door to the windy porch. Bruce followed in tow, peeking behind him while he shut the door with the back of his calf. You held your hands up to catch the breeze, feeling the whoosh against your damp nails and your cheeks you had no idea were that flushed.

Deep breaths brought the tension in your chest to a simmer. With shut eyes, you tried to pretend you didn’t feel him behind you like a physical touch. Slow and even, fresh and cooling, all that mattered right now were the breaths getting in and leaving.

Part of you flooded with guilt at even thinking about something as trivial as sex while your mom was hospitalized. Another part argued through a stabbing feeling of defiance, reminding you that she was alright, that she was in some ways, once again, better than you thought before the call. That right now would be perfect; fuck around and get the grief out of your system on one of the last days you had the house to yourself. Fuck around and let yourself become a billionaire playboy statistic.

Bruce stepped to the edge of the porch, glancing at you in a way you knew was another wellness check before facing the road. Your heart strangled in your chest. This wasn’t just a ‘fuck around’ thing for you, and the mist was starting to clear around his intentions, too, in a way that sent your mangled heart to the back of your throat. A ‘fuck around’ perspective might not track here if he actually cared.

You focused on the flicker of the driveway light for courage. Pretended like you were speaking to nothing but open air. “I’m sorry about what I said.”

“About what?”

“You don’t have to pretend you don’t know what I mean.” The flicker was frustrating, so you stared at the rusted, dinged windchime instead, remembering so clearly the day your mom set it up. “Thinking you wanted to have sex.”

“It’s okay.” He hadn’t let your sentence linger for a second before blurting a placation. He ached thinking about how you’d described it: power fantasy. Even if you were apologizing now, that had come from somewhere that wasn’t just gone. No wonder he couldn’t get a pulse on you; you might’ve thought you were evading a lion when to him, it was nothing more than casual conversation.

“You probably get that a lot, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer, not knowing what to say. He did hear it a lot, in some variation; people mistaking his introversion for being a closed-off loser looking for nothing more than a conquest. He winced thinking about how many people treated him like a toy, a scandalous story to run and tell their friends about; and how long it took him to realize that was happening.

Bruce looked downtrodden, and a hole was drilled into your chest. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that.”

The longer this continued, the greater the likelihood of him turning his filter back to full power. He shot you a grin that was weak, too weak, hoping that you wouldn’t press it, please god, and changed the subject. “Looking forward to the next item for tonight.”

“If my nails ever dry.”

Bruce gripped the front of the porch, its wood paneling weathered and splintered. It was hard to believe anything moved out here. That time even passed.

The pause between was physical pain.

Nothing marked the passage of time here. No ambulances, no cars, the only light source a dim porch light and half-dead carport bulb. Thoughts were hard to form. Nothing, absolutely nothing served as a distraction. And he’d committed to stepping up for you, so he couldn’t very well crawl inside of himself.

What to say?

What to say?!

You drummed your fingers on the feathered wood, the edge of your shirt catching on a splinter. For some reason, it reminded him of Alfred.

“Alfred texted, by the way. Said they got everything.”

“Nice.”

What were you thinking about?

He couldn’t tell if you were upset. Did you feel trapped having to come back to his place? When he’d offered it, did you feel obligated to agree? When else had you ever felt obligated to agree with anything he ever said?

“You don’t have to stay tomorrow. I’ll be fine if you want to head back.”

Oh. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it does.”

You wondered how this might feel if people had chosen you at any other point in your life. If this wasn’t the first time someone was persistent in their want to be around you, would it sit differently? Would it feel soothing, would it feel normal? right now, it tempted to piss you off. He said no ulterior motives, but it was so foreign you couldn’t enjoy it for what it was. Pity reared its ugly head.

“You might be right about the pity thing.”

“Hard to swallow?”

“Don’t say that.”

“A lot of innuendos tonight.” He said it so plainly, giving you no choice but to surge forward to excavate meaning.

“Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“Just worried about you.”

“So because someone talks about sex it’s worrisome?”

“You never talked about it before your mother was hospitalized, and we were completely alone.”

He wasn’t terse, or rolling his eyes; in fact, he wasn’t saying it how you could so easily imagine he would’ve if it’d only been a month prior. Spoken in an accommodating tone, with gentle curiosity, and it threatened to piss you off. Ants crawling on your skin. A feather kissing the back of your neck.

“What’s your diagnosis, detective?” Flustered. Annoyed.

“I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

He fucking looked at you again, and you were set to liquify unless you steeled yourself. You crossed your arms, eyes narrowing. “I don’t.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“I can hold my own boundaries, Bruce.”

“I know you can.” He faced the outside of the porch, and you couldn’t tell whether he was staring at the concrete or the car’s trunk. “But when you start talking about power fantasies, I start thinking about how long that’s been festering.”

“Where did all this chatter come from?”

“You’re deflecting.”

Fuck. Couldn’t his generosity extend to not calling you out right now?

“I thought you didn’t want me to talk about sex.” Saying the word around him still felt blasphemous, like every time was an invitation. He didn’t react, again, like the concept of sex was the most benign thing. You glanced at his lips, and realized the concept of kissing him felt even more intimate. At least right now. It was softer. More… romantic. Can’t think about that right now.

“I’m pointing out something I’m seeing.”

“Which is pressure?”

“Are you denying it?”

You huffed, steepling your fingers against the aged wood. “I don’t get how this turned into an argument.”

“It doesn’t have to.”

“Don’t like how you said that.”

“There’s a lot going on, you don’t need to feel pushed.”

Don’t tell me what I need. “I don’t.”

“Actually?”

“You can’t believe that someone would want to hang out with you without wanting to fuck.”

“Isn’t that what you accused me of?” Bruce turned toward you, and you burned. A rush of throbbing, untended grief only barely covered by rapidly slipping defiance. His blue eyes pulled you in, but you resisted. Weakly.

“Whatever.”

Another standstill; where one was right, and the other didn’t want to accept it. Your shoulders tensed then relaxed when he leaned close, his smooth rumble in his voice soothing your eyes shut and coaxing tears out. “I’m trying to check in.”

Tears smeared across your arm as you swiped at your cheeks, sniffing up snot before it could dribble. The air was no longer breezy, slicing through you with a vengeance. You felt his eyes right on you though you fought to avoid them, and him, and the very fact that you were here now when you didn’t plan to be, but you had, but you’d forgotten, too busy with Bruce to remember your sick mom. You should be in bed, sleeping, or thinking about Bruce, not standing here in front of your empty house with him because your mom was, but she didn’t, she was, everything was fine.

You shoved words from behind your teeth. “‘A lot of innuendos tonight’ doesn’t sound especially caring.”

It was his turn to be silent, giving you time to shove your tears in a bag. Still, still still still, his presence was an undeniable force that let no other thoughts visit.

“It feels awkward to be straightforward.”

His candor made you laugh, then pause. How many layers did he have up, then, because you never knew him to beat around the bush. “You had no issues being blunt when we first met, Batman.”

“Things were different then.”

“How?”

“Before I cared what you think.”

Per usual, in a way that was quintessentially you, you rolled your eyes at any sign of compliment. He smirked. “Fine. Blunt.”

Bruce leaned forward, the arm of his shirt brushing yours. You were so… you. “You’re not used to people saying they care.”

“Maybe I’m not.”

“It’s so impossible to think someone actually cares that you can’t hold it.”

Fingertips brushed goosebumps as you tried to cover them with crossed arms. Couldn’t he get off your back? “Psychoanalyzing me now, huh?”

“We have the same problems with people.”

A shy grin tugged at your lips. Air shot into Bruce’s chest. “… you are Bruce Wayne.”

“You do know.” He didn’t know what he meant by this next part, but he said it nonetheless, because it was teetering off his tongue. “Does that make this impossible?”

Your grin was now a smile. “Maybe.”

“Maybe not.”

It faltered. “Says the person with all the power. To someone who does know.”

“I know.”

You remained tense, and if anything, his response had made your shoulders scrunch in on each other. Did he know?

A small knocking sound signified the late closing of the screen door. A peek over his shoulder and his eyes immediately locked onto the worn black handle, slightly warped and rubbed down to its base metal tone from decades of use. It was thin, and didn’t have a lock. The front door was sturdy, but singular. One lock, one deadbolt. Hell, this porch was available to anyone at any time. If something happened to you, you’d be wide open. This wasn’t an even field. Whatsoever.

“But I don’t.”

The last piece of it all thunked into place. Standing here in the middle of your life, seeing how quiet and tight-knit things were, the wear and tear, the life of it all, it had never felt so fragile.

You weren’t. Your family wasn’t. But it was. The container that held you.

“I don’t know.”

Relaxed. You finally relaxed. All of this fighting, all of this wanting to bridge something so impossible; no wonder you’d been so pissed off each and every time. Everything felt different here. You sounded tired. Of course you did. Of course. “How could you?”

“By not spending all my time with stockbrokers.”

“So I’m a growth opportunity for you?”

“No,” he winced, having meant it as a joke, but why was he joking right now? Why was he so uncomfortable? He felt like fucking Mount Everest. “But you are helping me get it.”

“Get what?”

“Why you don’t like me.”

You spun to glare at him like he hadn’t reflected what you’d told him from the beginning. It was like he’d thrown a brick at you. “You think I don’t like you?”

“Of course you don’t like me.”

“You don’t like me!”

“I do.” Bruce’s heart began to pound. Did you like him? Suddenly, he felt a pint of lukewarm Phish Food in his hand and the breeze of a dingy alleyway.

You laughed. Just like stargazing. Like it was ridiculous. Hadn’t he made himself clear? Too clear, in fact?

“You’re fun to spend time with.”

“What’s fun about me?”

The pounding built to a goddamn racket. “How stubborn you are.”

“Now I know you’re kidding.”

“I mean it. People aren’t usually like that with me.” It dawned on him that that might have been the reason he always argued back. With Alfred he tried to leave, the man was too firm, not passionate, always sounding like a parent.

“So you like arguing all the time?”

“I like someone vehemently disagreeing.”

Billion-dollar word. The flushing that just died down was warming your cheeks again.

“I like your perspective on politics, too.”

“So we can argue about politics all the time, got it.” Should’ve taken him for a masochist.

“I like hearing you talk about your family. How you like animals. Nature.”

“Sounds like the most basic Tinder profile.” Throw, deflect.

“I like how easy it feels around you.”

You swatted that one away the instant a tingle ran up your spine. “You’ve spent most of the time I’ve known you either avoiding me or actively telling me you don’t want me around.”

The wounds from those times were still fresh. Yelling at you in the kitchen. The car. Glaring you down like you were gum stuck to his shoe. Avoiding looking at you. Grimacing when you’d show up. The scowls and clenched jaws. They were all branded into your skin.

“I’m sorry.”

Yeah, sure.

“Hey,” he tapped your shoulder, and only then did you notice you’d shifted away from him, absentmindedly staring at the concrete. You knew when you looked up that he’d…

“I wish I could take them back, but I can’t. I’m sorry.” An apology. An apologetic face. Apologetic tone. Like he actually meant the damn thing, and meant it so thoroughly you couldn’t reasonably ignore it. “I’m not used to you, and that’s not an excuse”

“So I’m an acquired taste?”

“You have a rebuttal for everything.” He was standing across the U.S., thousands of miles away from people who needed him, right NOW, and he was hellbent on having you know he liked you. His world had become backwards in a matter of weeks.

“Maybe I do.”

Honesty was the best policy here, right? Outside of blurting that he liked you, like a fucking middle schooler? He chose his words carefully. “I didn’t think I could enjoy someone’s company so much.”

While the compliment struggled to grip, your heart fluttered like it wanted to accept it. So much? A war broke out in the few seconds it took you to conjure a response. The familiar refrain spun your thoughts of if he’s mean to you, that means he likes you. But that was bullshit. Entirely bullshit. Throw it back at him. “So you secretly like everyone at City Hall?”

“I pretend to.”

“I should be honored you’re an ass to me, then?” You raised an eyebrow at him, sizing him up. “Because at least you’re not pretending?”

“Do you want me to pretend?”

To you, it felt like he already was. “You’ll just treat me like you do when Oz is watching.”

“Do you want that?”

“So concerned with what I want when you’ve rarely given me it.”

The air clumped together and thickened like clouds.

“And what’s that?” His mouth was dry as the Sahara, his tingly, numb arm moving to rest on the handrail.

It could’ve been something raunchy, and your mind landed there initially. I want you on top of me, I want you inside of me, I want to know what you taste like. But what you really, deeply, truly wanted, was to know him. “To figure you out. To know you.”

“Our interests match, then.”

“Someone to match your stubborn?”

A roguish grin dazzled you. “I’m known to be very flexible.”

“Another innuendo.”

His laugh was lemony—bright and sharp—like you’d read into his smile a little too excessively. You inhaled slowly, then exhaled hard.

“So you’re a fucking Wayne, I’m not. You know that.”

Could be, Bruce thought, but held it close to his chest.

“I know shit that you don’t want to get out, and that makes me second-guess everything, too. You’re antisocial and I’ve been basically bullied by my friends since forever.”

“Well said.”

“Shut up.” With a twinkle in his eye, like you were so amusing to him. It was a lost cause stifling the laugh erupting from your belly. “Like actually, this is the most you’ve ever talked and it’s weirding me out.”

“I can be stoic.”

Another giggle. So he was self-aware. “I like it. It’s just new.”

“Hmm.”

“Stop.” Your cheeks scorched, strong as a hot flash.

“What?” Bruce played innocent, soaking up the way it plucked at you in just the right way to make a laugh rumble.

“I know it’s the same thing you’re saying.”

“Perhaps.”

“Oh my god.” Rolling your eyes. Shaking your head. The apples of your cheeks becoming prominent as you fought showing him a smile. Such normal things eliciting such an intense response; he always wanted to do this to you.

“I want you to know me.”

“I don’t know if that’s true.”

“It is. I want to talk like I write.” To you. With you. No one else.

You recalled a stack of old journals taking up considerable portions of his desk. Titled Notes and Observations: Gotham Project, you hadn't exactly thought he was spilling his personal guts. If you had, you might've snuck a guilty peek. You only thought you'd been named there because it related to Batman.

“I don’t want you to leave.” You slapped the wood, and Bruce wondered how your palm wasn’t covered in pointy fibers. “But I know you want to go.”

“I said I want you to know me, not that you already did.”

You shot a playful glare at him, equal parts pleased and annoyed at his newfound comfort. “You said before that I know you better than most people.”

“I did.”

“One is still better than zero, so.” You scrunched your nose at him and moved to open the door. “Neither of us is technically wrong.”

A satisfied sound accompanied the successful tapping of your now-dried nails. “Let’s bake.”

He caught the door on its wide swing. “Bake?”

“You cannot drop this, Walter can’t have chocolate.”

Glaring beeps signified the oven had preheated. In his squinting at the neon-green numbers he apparently moved the bowl slightly off from the middle of the pan, and you scoffed, swiftly grabbing his wrist to reposition the batter.

“Ever made brownies before?” You took the bowl from him and licked the back of your thumb, tossing the bowl in the sink before spreading the batter to each side of the glass pan.

Bruce filtered a snide comment about salmonella. “I’m still a human.”

“Didn’t know if Alfred was the only person to ever cook.”

“My mother didn’t want me to be spoiled.”

“Is that why Alfred gets Breyer’s and not overpriced custards?”

A spoonful dropped in the utensil’s journey to the sink. Walter, who had been watching at a very close distance, was narrowly intercepted by Bruce’s elbow.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “She says you can’t have it.”

Completely oblivious to the conversation you were interrupting, you finished rinsing the bowl and mused aloud. “You’ve had Betty Crocker?”

“Oh, yeah. All the time.”

A glance over your shoulder saw Bruce wiping his hands with a paper towel, nonchalant. Too nonchalantly. You turned off the water and stared at him until he broke, giving his head a little shake. “Knew it.”

Walter suddenly caused a commotion, snagging his claws into Bruce’s pants. He jumped, scaling up past his knee until he plopped onto the ground, meowing and trying to re-claw. Bruce looked mildly alarmed, a single step back ramming his hip into the counter of the small kitchen. “Um,”

“He hasn’t done that since he was a kitten.”

The kitchen lights appeared to dim when he bent down to pick him up. Correctly. Bruce’s hands under Walter’s armpits, hoisting him up to rest on his shoulder. He flopped in his arms and batted at the frayed edge of Bruce’s tee shirt collar. Faintness threatened to overwhelm you. “He really likes you. Are you sure you didn’t sneak in catnip?”

“Impossible for someone to like me.”

He moseyed to the living room, putting half a wall between you. Did he wink? Had he even been looking at you?

This wasn’t kind to your heart. Ever since watching the recording from the club, it’d been run ragged. Not only was now no exception, it might’ve been the worst outside of stumbling the hospital hallways. It was the only thing which felt tangible and real; Bruce certainly didn’t, and not having your mom laughing in the other room had her disappeared like quicksand.

Closed eyes. Puffing breaths. Time moved too fast, packing too much into a moment. Brushed shoulders, shared gazes, navigating a shared kitchen. The warmth propelling from the oven reflected a surge of kindling he’d placed in your chest. Unprecedented—this was unprecedented.

A strong wind sought to fell you, striking you at the knees from behind. Something felt close. Too close. You gripped the counter for balance and tried to breathe through it. Accept it, whatever the hell it was. The atmosphere was too warm. So inviting it loosened your filter, rapidly breaking down the walls between what was said and what was known.

Walter thumped and jumped in a race around the living room, a back paw sliding onto the linoleum as he regained traction. Bruce’s low, rumbly chuckle swaddled you in warm cotton. Despite how weird it felt, it felt…

Walter slammed his paw on the wall precisely where the laser was pointed.

Steady.

Despite it all, Bruce was steadfast, and holy hell did that feel great, and terrifying. So great that you wanted to run up, grab him, and never let him go. Let yourself talk for hours, knowing that he’d actually listen. And terrifying: he’ll actually listen. It injected lead weight into your words. After so long of no one seeing you, it felt like a magnifying glass beneath the sun.

The oven beeped again. On autopilot, you put the brownies in, cleaned the bowl, and bit your lip when Bruce emerged, asking if you needed any help. Walter sat beside him, tail flicking, eyes bright and dilated. God, he’d never liked anyone as much as Bruce. “What do you want to do now?”

“Jewelry?”

“Eh.”

“Talk?”

You wiped your hands on a dishtowel, his offer reminding you of how much he had back home and he was just sitting here, doing what you wanted. “Do you want to talk about the journalism student stuff? The people we housed, or Oz, or Morrison, or anything about your work?”

Work. No one had called it that before. “Not right now.”

“Are you sure? I know if you were in Gotham right now you’d be… patrolling?”

He would be. He needed to be. Guilt nipped at his frayed nerves. Only a few days. Only while you needed him. “If I need to talk about it, I’ll let you know.”

You rested your weight against the fridge, crossing your arms like it might protect you from his charms. He filled the space, of course he did. His stamina was shocking.

“Now: where are you taking me tomorrow?”

“I thought we’d drive and walk around.”

You measured his expression for signs of disappointment. There were none.

“What’s your favorite place in town?” He mimicked your body language, pressing his shoulderblade into the side of the doorframe and crossing his arms.

“This field down the road. We can bike there to start in the morning.”

‘This field down the road’, and you looked about to burst at its mention. He could do this forever, even with the frame jamming into his back. “What do you like about it?”

What did you like about your favorite place in the world?

“It’s quiet. But a good quiet. Like no one could bother me, or see me, and there’s this little creek that probably has a billion different bacteria in it, but it’s pretty. Lots of trees surrounding it. Big open space, lots of grass, some wild plants. Blackberries grow near the creek. I’d get sick eating so many of them and my mom would have to ban me from going, or check my fingers to see if they were stained.”

Bruce swore you didn’t even take a breath rushing it out. He also swore he’d never known the word ‘invested’ until looking at the crinkle in your eyes. “Did you find a work-around?”

“I’d squish them off the vine with a leaf, and open my mouth super wide so it didn’t stain my lips.”

He swore his smile would break his cheeks.

“I think they’re still in season, so you might get to try them.”

“You’re setting a high bar. Don’t know if they’ll measure up.”

There was a comfort in his teasing—a billowiness that caught wind. “I like when you’re not overthinking yourself.”

He eyed you. “Sure you won’t regret it?”

You nodded, sealing fate.

The glimmer in his eye intrigued you. “I really think we should revisit that kit.”

“I really think you’re humoring me, but I’ll allow it.”

Crossing the threshold from the hall to your room, guilt grabbed you by the throat. It squeezed your cheeks together, put pressure on your teeth, and made your skin hot. I’m lying to him. He wouldn’t act like this if he knew.

You grabbed the box, and the instant you brought it to your chest, Alfred bobbled in and out of your psyche. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.

Steeling yourself with the memory of that and Bruce telling you—vehemently—that he’d never be upset about safety, you made your way back to the table. Walter stared at the tabletop like the secrets of humanity lied just out of reach, and Bruce pulled up the seat to your left.

No one had ever sat in that seat. You’d never realized how empty it was.

He took the initiative and opened the kit, snagging the leaflet to peruse. He kept one hand holding a packet of beads, zooming through the instructions to not waste a lick of time or show a grain of hesitancy. You wanted to make jewelry, and suddenly that was all he ever dreamed of. Out of the corner of his eye he noted you ogling at the back of his chair, and shifted in his seat. Was he sitting in some sacred space?

He cleared his throat. “‘Friendship Bracelets’, hmm.”

“We don’t actually have to follow the instructions.”

“I think it’s required.” He fixed his face with a deep concentration, scouring the page in a flurry. “Says here there’s two sets of each ‘specialty bead’.” Leaning in, he placed a finger on an imaginary line, squinting at it for good measure. “‘If you’re making brownies, specifically at a sleepover,’”

“Bruce,” your mouth twitched.

“‘It is critical to use each set together, or the knot won’t hold.’ Crazy tech they got in this.”

You looked away, hiding your smile. So fucking ridiculous…

“This is serious business, Y/n.” He was trying to stay serious, and shit it was impossible, but he managed a confused, affronted look; he held the pamphlet to you. “Do you want to read it?”

“Fine.” You snatched it from him. “Since the kit will blow up if we don’t, what do you want to make?”

“Hm,” he reflected on it, feeling the smack of Walter’s paw at his ankle. “I believe the owner of the kit has to pick.”

The moment was almost too saccharine; the twist of your mouth as you swirled beads in your cupped hand, the subtle scent of chocolate wafting from across the room. He let his muscles relax, the chair creaking as he rested against it. He watched as you discarded blue, then purple, then green.

A delicate sound hummed from your chest. He longed to bottle it up. Bead picking was evidently deeply significant; he saw your thoughts whizzing by like a comic strip. He felt Gotham slip away into the buttery melt of being with you.

Apples, pears, bananas… apple? Peach!

It clicked, and you poured two of each into your palm. “Since I almost died from them the night I found out about you, one peach each.”

Two more. “And apples for the mulligan…”

“Mulligatawny.”

“Yes! Also because they’re ninety percent of your diet.”

It felt absurd to enjoy something this much. Just a table, circles of plastic, and some words. Simple materials for such ambrosia.

“I’ll make yours, you make mine?”

“Red and… pink?” Orange wasn’t a bead color, making him very aware that citrus had been excluded from the affair. You knotted the bottom of your string, and he followed suit. Wrapping it around your wrist, you clipped it an inch further, then slipped it to him. You got straight to work, alternating beads with practiced ease.

Pink, red, pink, red. Having a purpose to the beading that wasn’t just getting discarded in your jewelry box put you into hyperdrive. Each clink of plastic on plastic fueled the sunlight spearing through your ribs. Maybe he wanted to be here. Maybe you could trust it.

He fell behind two thirds of the way through, struck by the crooked smile creeping up on you. He’d judged you too quickly. If not for your persistence, he wouldn’t be here. Enjoying this. Feeling this.

“Which wrist do you want to wear it on?”

Done already?

Carefully setting down his work-in-progress, he held out his left wrist. You pulled the bracelet on; it fit with the perfect amount of slack, the peach and apple nestled together in the middle. He knew the second your hands left that he’d wear it until it fell apart. “I love it.”

You beamed, securing a long-awaited triumph. Feeling impossibly silly, you got up to metabolize the rush prickling your fingertips. “I’m gonna check on the brownies.”

Ripping his attention from you to the task at hand, he hurried beads onto string with manic focus until he: “Finished.” Pride circled him until he noticed his mid-job pause resulted in a solid chunk of pink too deep to redo.

You walked over and held out your right wrist. He apologized for the mistake, but you told him that was the point: “It’s homemade. I love it.” And your smile sold it to his anxious heart.

The coolness of the hollow plastic stuffed your head with static. Not even a couple hours in and he’d accomplished his mission. A silly little thing, so pathetic you wouldn’t dare name it aloud. You’d forgotten about the kit. You’d forgotten this part of you hurt.

“Peaches and apples go well together.” Pads of your fingers caressed the perimeter of the fruit, speaking just loud enough to travel the silence. “Never thought they would.”

You left him sitting there, breathless, swirling in repose as you grabbed a knife. His rose-colored glasses bloomed crimson.

“I like to cut them immediately so there’s less crumbs,” you pulled the dessert out and fussed with a hard edge, accidentally flipping a chunk to the floor. In the space of placing the knife down, your hand collided with Bruce, already knelt in front of you picking up the pieces. It was suddenly too loud, your pulse hammering in your ears.

“Thanks,” you breathed.

Bruce sunk into a calming bath under your praise. Blush shrouded his skin in words he couldn’t say as he pulled himself to his feet. As he tossed the brownie in the trash, the weight of the bracelet shifted. The first anchor he’d felt in twenty years.

taglist: @noisylime @jonathancranesgf @hedonisticwomen @vampiresvengeance @serynstorylover @crayzmarvelfan800 @dreamer7black @sarcasticwalrus0 @sad-ghouls @smellingbats @eddiew-k @kha0sblossom @omithemonki @badbishsblog

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spaghettixdemon · 8 months ago

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J Stands for more words than one PT.1

“While introducing his new girlfriend to the team, JJ is automatically confronted with her feelings for Spencer when they begin to get in the way of things"

DISCLAIMER You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Minors do not interact. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read it.

Warnings: Drinking/Drunkenness, P in V, getting freaky in a car, fighting, slight mentions of death, Jealousy??

Pairing: Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

This was originally in my Google Doc but I seem to have lost access to it :( SO I am re-writing it! (I will definitely add more chapters bc omg this is long)

part 2 here | part 2.5 here | part 3 here

—————————————————————————————————

"Alright anndd finally done!" Emily turned to JJ, clapping her hands together and beaming. Today was a paperwork day, and everyone had been working until the late hours. "These reports are killing me...I've been on the same one the majority of the day..." JJ spoke to Emily with a sigh and a slight smirk playing on her lips. Yes, JJ had been stuck on the same case most of the day, but it wasn't just the amount of work, no. That wasn't the only reason her day was moving so slowly.

Right across from her desk, in perfect view, was Spencer Reid- their little resident genius. His legs were crossed in his office chair, his curly hair fell in front of his eyes, and his long, slender fingers traced down the written report, scanning every word and spreading it within seconds effortlessly. JJ had always been close with Spencer- because of their tight-knit team, their ages, and of course, the butterflies she would get around him. They were the two closets in age at the BAU, so maybe that was part of the reasoning behind her crush, but honestly, she just thought he was very attractive.

So earlier today, when Spencer was talking on his phone nonstop, JJ was confused. Spencer was not a fan of technology, thinking back on how it took Spencer literal years to finally sign up for an email address. So, whatever was keeping Spencer on speed dial on the other line clearly didn't bother him too much. JJ would sneak glances towards her coworker hourly, taking in his body language and how he seemed to be head over heels. He would fidget and spin in his office chair as someone talked to him, he had a faint blush on his cheeks, and a smile plastered on his face. In all actuality, she'd never seen Spencer look so dopey- maybe he truly was just happy right now, but the emotions on his face surprised her.

"Hey lover-boy, what's going on over here?" JJ shot her head down, burying her face in her work. It was Derek who popped the question already on JJ's mind. Derek crossed his arms and leaned against Spencer's desk as Spencer looked up at Derek. Rolling his eyes and hanging up the phone, Spencer set the phone down on his desk. "Was that a girl on the other end of the line? I don't think I've ever seen you so happy to pick up a call at work." Both men laughed as Spencer grew a little quiet, sheepishly shrugging. "I mean- yeah, actually, you're right for once." Spencer laughed as an expression of excitement and shock plastered onto Derek's. "Wow really?" He laughed, a little in disbelief "Congrats man! That's awesome!"

JJ watched as the two guys hugged and discussed Spencer's new girlfriend. Weirdly, JJ felt a pang in her chest of embarrassment...or more like frustration. Why? She wasn't sure. JJ could read anyone within minutes, but she could never read her own emotions that well.

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

Days had passed, and work was pretty much back to normal. Normal meaning JJ wasn't constantly hearing about Spencer's new girlfriend, who he adored so much. It was cute, yeah, and she did feel happy for the man and his newfound love, but it would get pretty repetitive after a while. Derek and Penelope, in particular, would not let up on the subject. It was cute when Penelope giggled and twirled her hair when asking about this girl, but the way Spencer would drop information on her so easily was frustrating.

Penelope beamed, ecstatic over all this new news. Then, looking at Derek, she gasped and clapped her hands together. "You should bring her here! We could all meet her it would be so nice..!" Spencer looked a little uneasy. The few times his relationship did start getting this serious, work would interfere and often kill the relationship. Though, Derek backed up Penelope and agreed it would be fun.

"I don't know guys...That might be a little intense..." JJ heard this and thought over the idea in her head. Meeting the girl Spencer was so enamored by might be interesting...to say the least. She looked up and smiled at the three talking. "No Spence you should totally bring her in! I want to meet this girl!" Spencer gave JJ a hesitant look, visibly thinking over the interaction in his head. He slowly smiled and rolled his eyes, looking at the three before him. "Ok Ok..I'll bring up the idea and if she's cool with it, I'll bring her here next Friday"

Penelope and Derek cheered while JJ sat there, smiling quietly. She clapped her hands together and sighed "Amazing! I can't wait".

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

The week that followed that conversation wasn't a pleasant one. The team had traveled out of state to work on a pretty gruesome case- Spencer, in particular, had a rough time during the case. He should be used to the horrible feelings that came with the job, but it was never really easy dealing with death so often.

The team had thankfully made it back to base Friday, and everyone was exhausted. They spent the day quietly filling out paperwork and trying to unwind as they worked into the early hours of the night. Around 7pm, Spencer got a call. JJ noticed this in particular because of how eager he was to answer the phone. A small smile appeared on his face, and the faint blush was back. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, hanging up the call with a simple goodbye.

Spencer looked around at his friends as the smile on his face grew. "My Girlfriend is apparently downstairs in the lobby! ...I was thinking of bringing her up is everyone ok with that?" The office was suddenly filled with energy again, and everyone seemed to wake up. JJ in particular, shot her head up and looked at Spencer, a little shocked. She had completely forgotten this would be happening...She made eye contact with Spencer and looked a little hesitant as she spoke up. "um...yeah that would be great..!"

"Yes, PLEASE bring her up! I need some fun to distract me from all this work." Penelope popped her head out of her office as she spoke to Spencer. Spencer looked a little confused by what JJ had said but smiled and nodded anyway. He slowly made his way towards the elevator, a bit of pep in his step.

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

Everyone in the office had quickly wrapped up what they had been working on and made their way to the office cubicles to meet this girl Spencer was so into. Penelope pulled up a chair next to JJ and beamed. "Are you excited to meet her?" JJ...still felt very conflicted. Just earlier that week, when they had been solving the case, She was staying in the hotel room next to Spencer's. She thought about how she ran into him shirtless and wearing sweatpants. He apologized and made his way inside his room, but she felt so conflicted.

She wasn't upset that he was shirtless...definitely not...but something about getting caught off guard like that made her blush. She remembered the feeble nerd she used to work with. He was in his mid-twenties and looked so new to the BAU world. Now, the man she saw earlier that week and today was a bit different. He had toughened up more and was a bit more muscular- not to a Derek level, but he definitely wasn't feeble anymore.

"Something like that" JJ mumbled to Penelope, a faint blush on her face. Penelope was about to question JJ, just as an elevator 'dinging' noise saved her. Everyone's attention was on the elevator and who was inside.

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#criminal minds #fanfic #spencer reid smut #smut #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #big girl fanfic #curvy girls #criminal minds x reader #x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #chapter 1 #multi chapter #multi chap fic

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hynzsn · 1 year ago

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★ STRAWBERRY KISSES ★

☆ choi soobin x male reader

-> sunshine baker!soobin x grumpy (secretly soft) farmer!reader

꩜ .ᐟ fluff, multi chapter fic, ongoing

contents: loosely inspired by strawberry shortcake (tv show), alternate universe - modern setting, m/m, romance, slow burn, happy ending, confessions, mutual pining, opposites attract, small town setting, baking, food porn, strawberries, summer festival, jealousy, first kiss, feel-good story, sweet moments, shared kitchen shenanigans

a/n: chapter one is out!!

♡︎♡︎♡︎ likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated ♡︎♡︎♡︎

₊˚ ꒰ 𖦹﹕CHAPTER ONE: BERRY BEST BEGINNING ꒱ ˚₊

meet soobin, the sunshine baker known for his award-winning pastries and infectious laugh. his bakery, "crumbs & co.," is the heart of your small town, especially during the annual summer berry festival. but disaster strikes – he's out of strawberries, his star ingredient! enter you, the gruff but handsome owner of "sun-kissed berries," known for your organic, mouthwatering produce. soobin, desperate and flustered, begs you for help. you, initially hesitant due to the last-minute request and your own demanding schedule, is charmed by soobin’s passion and agrees to help, setting the stage for a week of unexpected collaboration.

₊˚ ꒰ 𖦹﹕CHAPTER TWO: FIELDS OF STRAWBERRY DREAMS ꒱ ˚₊

soobin is a fish out of water as you show him the ropes of berry farming. you navigate rows of vibrant strawberry plants, your banter a mix of teasing and genuine curiosity. soobin is captivated by your quiet confidence and connection to the land, while you find yourself drawn to soobin’s infectious enthusiasm and city-boy wonder. a playful competition erupts – who knows more about their respective crafts? the day ends with a shared picnic basket amidst the strawberry fields, a moment of quiet intimacy under the setting sun.

₊˚ ꒰ 𖦹﹕CHAPTER THREE: SPRINKLES OF AFFECTION & MIDNIGHT SUGAR ꒱ ˚₊

back in the cozy chaos of soobin’s bakery, the real magic begins. you experiment with new recipes, flour dusting their aprons and laughter filling the air. you discover a hidden talent for pastry-making, your hands surprisingly adept at delicate tasks. soobin is mesmerized by your focused intensity, your arms brushing as they work side-by-side. as midnight approaches, a moment of charged silence hangs between you, broken only by the soft whir of the oven and the unspoken longing in their eyes. a near kiss, a stolen touch of fingertips, leaves you both breathless and wanting more.

₊˚ ꒰ 𖦹﹕CHAPTER FOUR: BERRY FESTIVAL JITTERS & A PINCH OF SOUR GRAPES ꒱ ˚₊

the day of the summer berry festival dawns bright and bustling. soobin is a whirlwind of nervous energy, putting the finishing touches on his berry creations. you, despite your usual composure, finds yourself inexplicably drawn to soobin’s side, wanting to ease his anxiety and bask in his radiant energy. but your budding connection is threatened by the arrival of beomgyu, a charming, flirtatious artist who sets his sights on you, much to soobin’s dismay. as the festival begins, soobin grapples with a confusing mix of jealousy and self-doubt, unsure if his feelings for you are reciprocated.

₊˚ ꒰ 𖦹﹕CHAPTER FIVE: STRAWBERRY KISSES & A BERRY SWEET FOREVER ꒱ ˚₊

the festival is in full swing, a kaleidoscope of color, music, and the intoxicating aroma of baked goods. soobin’s strawberry creations are a hit, but his heart feels heavy with uncertainty. you, sensing soobin’s turmoil, finds a quiet moment amidst the crowd to confess your feelings. you gently take soobin’s hand, your fingers intertwining, and with a look that speaks volumes, leans in for a soft, sweet kiss that tastes of strawberries and promises. the chapter (and the story) ends with a final scene at the festival, the ferris wheel twinkling above you, your laughter mingling with the sounds of summer night, your love story as bright and hopeful as the stars overhead.

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sandywritesfics · 23 days ago

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Living The Dream (18+)

What happens when you're the only girl in NCT Dream? Sharing a dorm with and teasing these handsome idols. What anyone else would be inclined to do, of course.

Dream x Fem!Reader | Multi Chapter | AO3 | Incomplete

Smut, Pet names, Kinky, Porn with Plot, Humor

Part 1 : Na Jaemin

Part 2 : Lee Jeno

Part 3 : Lee Haechan

Part 4 : Huang Renjun

Part 5 : -

Part 6 : -

#nct smut #nct #nct dream #nct fanfic #nct imagines #nct x reader #female reader #x reader #multi chap fic #multi chapter #ao3 #first person pov #pet names

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lilacxquartz · 1 month ago

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UNSHACKLED;

younger jinichi zenin x f!reader

plot: forced to marry into the zenin clan to escape poverty, you get involved in something far more sinister instead.

ask/reference: “Hi! Were you thinking of writing about someone from the Zenin clan? I liked Jinichi Zenin, but there really aren't any fanfics with him (and I understand why)😭. If you don't mind, if the story is about Jinichi and a young reader (a reader from a small and poor clan for example) being forced to get married” — full ask here.

a/n: i feel like this is easier split into two parts, hope that’s alright! considered it as a longer one shot, but the continuation felt more correct as a separate chapter — cw: forced marriage, pregnancy, miscarriage, implied but non-graphic noncon, abusive relationship, zenin clan is its own warning! • masterlist • next chapter > • on ao3

If you had to pick one grim choice over the other—which do you think could be the worse one to bear?

This was the question that you kept asking yourself over and over as you stood before a mirror, taking in your reflection and the eyes of the girl whose hope was quickly fading away. You looked beautiful—more than you ever had been—though it was all for a wedding with someone whom you just couldn’t bring yourself to like.

The first grim choice you had to consider brought you back to living out in poverty. You would have to return to a family as yet another mouth to feed when they could barely afford to eat themselves. The second option, however, brought you to being the unwilling bride, ready to accept life within the Zenin estate with a man who likely didn’t even see you as human.

Indeed, not only were you a woman, but you weren’t particularly strong either. At best, you were considered because you were easy on the eyes and within the golden age—in your early twenties—prime to produce a potential heir. You could be considered a curse-user, but your technique wasn’t anything special. However, this alone bettered your chances at passing anything down than a regular person.

You felt trapped wherever you looked as a result, and wherever you went, with the two choices that were available, making you feel cornered and more alone than ever before.

Though given your position in life—if you had to compare it to anything else—you would be foolish to refuse a life that meant a consistent roof over your head, where you would be warm and well-fed. Saying no to someone who could take the struggles of life away from you wasn’t so easy either. Especially not when the offer seemed too good to outright refuse. Jinichi Zenin—the man who propositioned you with such promise—likely took this into account, too.

All that he needed for you to be was compliant.

Then the rest of what he had in mind could follow.

Perhaps he knew something that you didn’t, which is why his offer was presented so plainly. He didn’t seem to care about you as a person when talking you into this whole mess, only taking note of how desperately you wanted out of the situation that you were in before. True to his name as a Zenin, he didn’t wait long before he took on the opportunity to exploit that weak point. With one simple promise, you signed your life away to him, unknowing just how devastating it all truly was.

After all, there was no hope within the clan for women. None at all.

Such a concept simply did not exist.

(And yet, that was a risk you took.)

You broke away from your thoughts as you heard someone call out to you, and you blinked, trying to make sense for the umpteenth time of what on earth you were doing. You could hardly begin to even recognise the woman that stood before you in the mirror, still regarding her with wide, lost eyes. The makeup they caked you in had erased all of the exhaustion, putting together the illusion of a polished and well put-together bride. You almost looked like someone who belonged, you thought, if not for the tremor in your gait.

As you parted away from the mirror and towards the door, you couldn’t help that you were leaving behind a critical part of yourself that you weren’t ready to let go of just yet. That side of you that still had hopes and dreams of her own, all tossed aside to make some strange man happy.

Was it really worth the trouble?

It was made clear that when you finally locked eyes with Jinichi’s down the aisle where he stood at the altar expectantly, that you finally understood why this choice felt just as damning as staying behind at home.

This wasn’t the look of a man in love, even if he was certainly enticed.

This was the beaming glow of a man who looked like he got exactly what he had wanted.

Not just a bride, but an investment.

~~~

At the very beginning of your newlywed life, it wasn’t as awful as you expected.

Jinichi brought you over to the Zenin estate as he had planned to do so, settling you into a quaint little home that was tucked along the left-most wing on the grounds. It was a single-storied house that seemed to boast more privacy than the other homes, tucked away and laced behind the many sprawling leaves branching from the garden.

To your surprise, he gave you room to breathe, as well. At least within the house. He wanted you to feel comfortable enough to set foot wherever you pleased, to sit and lie on whatever surface you sought. That much was unexpected for you. He also never once questioned it when you moved things off to the side or the decisions you settled on for the interior decoration, but that was all there was to it. Your say mattered only indoors. The outside was an entirely different matter.

He left no room for argument when he first said it.

“You’re better off kept at home, away from the prying eyes of… everyone else.”

This was the most difficult part of your new life to accept. You weren’t used to such isolation—such confinement. You liked walking and enjoying the air when the time time felt right. To spend your life entirely kept indoors, away from everyone else as he had put it, felt like it was all over.

That your life had ended at just twenty-two years old.

Defiant as you were, however, you decided at one point to sneak out. This would also be the last time you could ever get away with doing so.

You just wanted a breath of fresh air at one point, that was all. You didn’t plan for anything big or major—just a step outside, maybe a stroll around the residential area. It was never meant to be anywhere far or invasive, nor was it ever done to challenge any sort of norm inflicted upon you. So, when you slipped outside, just past midday when Jinichi was gone for lunch and the rest of the estate felt quieter than usual, you took the opportunity to explore. Just a little. It wasn’t a big deal, you thought the whole time, it was no different than a walk in the park.

However, that taste of freedom was short-lived.

Just as you rounded the corner intending to turn back, an elder, one of the older residents of the clan, shot out to grab your arm. You had never met him before, but he likely attended the wedding. He probably knew who you were, and that made his opinion of you, likely not a pleasant one.

Your first mistake in the confrontation was to talk first. It was easy to forget the many rules they had in place against the women who lived here. It was never this way when you lived at home.

You blurted out an apology, not thinking of the potential consequences at stake, “I’m sorr—”

Only to be cut short with Jinichi appearing on the scene within an instant. Given the venom in the elder’s eyes, you thought that you were safe from whatever was about to occur, but that didn’t seem to be the case.

You repeated yourself, or you tried to at the very least, “I was just having a walk, I’m sor—”

Rather than hearing you out in the presence of his elder, however, he raised his hand and then struck you clean across the face. The sound was sharp in the quiet outdoors, and it didn’t echo. The pain was grounding, too, sending you plummeting to your knees as you processed the aching sensation.

The old man who caught you where you shouldn’t have been, at the least, seemed satisfied, nodding with a grunt of distaste before leaving you both to it.

When he brought you back home, or rather, to your gilded cage—better yet, prison—he didn’t apologise either. He simply locked the door shut and sighed as he took in the look on your face. You couldn’t quite tell what was going on in his eyes as he took in the sight of the angry red welt forming on your skin, but it was surely unreadable enough, as if he wasn’t exactly proud of what he had just subjected you to. Though this didn’t excuse his actions either, you detested him all the same. Nothing that came out of this whole unsavoury experience had surprised you at all. You had an idea that something of the sort would happen eventually, you just didn’t expect it so soon.

“That,” he started, referring to the attack just moments before, “was me protecting you from something a lot worse. Do you understand?”

You didn’t respond—you couldn’t, but you did indeed start to get it. You weren’t a wife in the sense of being a potentially equal partner, but you were one as a piece of property to be sought. The idea of it made you feel genuinely nauseous, wondering what on earth you let yourself be talked into.

To be a possession somehow seemed worse than knowing what hunger was like.

It didn’t take too long for you, beyond that point, to adjust to life on the grounds. You didn’t want to repeat the assault on your skin, so you pulled yourself together and made an effort to bury the personality you once had, at least on the outside. Maybe in that sense, you could understand his insistence to keep you all locked up and freely able to express yourself indoors, because that way, he wasn’t exactly doing anything wrong, but you still felt resentment build towards him adhering to the clan politics and regime.

Above all, you hated that Jinichi was right—you were let off easy—at least in comparison to others.

All you had to do to see that was to take a look around the other women that lived here. While Jinichi allowed you to walk side by side with him as long as you kept quiet, others didn’t even have that privilege. Always a couple of steps behind, tailing away like a reluctant shadow. Some flinched whenever a hand was raised for anything at all, so it led you to understand that beatings could happen whenever, not just for punishment's sake.

Jinichi never repeated such a demonstration upon you either. He never raised his hand nor his voice at you in private, never berated you nor did he try to corner you. Just as he had self promised, he could live the illusion of something normal, but that could only happen indoors. When the rest of the clan started to pry beyond the safety of that space, did it ever become a problem for the both of you.

An example being whenever you had no choice but to follow him out. The women had to attend clan meetings that made definite decisions and commitments as a means of keeping up with the clan politics and order of things, but they had no say in the feedback stage. This was something that you didn’t immediately know. Jinichi managed to get away with a quiet correction and the warning of a raised hand, but luckily he didn’t have to commit to the real thing. This repeated a couple of times as you got the hang of the life you married into, but ultimately, each time you nearly slipped up, it was risky.

At home, however, it was always different. It was such a stark contrast that it almost felt confusing. If something happened beyond the stretch of the front door, then he never discussed it at home. Instead, he’d sit close to you and change the subject; let the conversation fill with something—anything else. He'd take those moments and make them productive and try to learn about you. things would stick, too. If you liked anything at all, be it a type of food, a style of jewellery or clothing, then it would show up a couple of days later.

A part of you saw it as bribery, however.

As a means to keep the peace.

What a gilded cage, indeed.

However, you were still human, so all of those times when he threatened to hurt you or came close to doing so, all built up to an unwitting grudge. You couldn’t help but eventually flinch at his touch even if he hadn’t done anything particularly horrible towards you. It was an instinctive sort of reflex, long honed by your spirit gradually weakening.

This seemed to offend him in turn. “Don’t do this,” he’d say, commenting on the way you’d flinch or stiffen. His voice, like him, gruff and strained, barely held back the darker side of what was locked beneath the surface. He tried to keep you safe from it, but he was still a Zenin in his core.

You supposed that’s what made it all confusing. the whole back and forth. All it took was slipping up outside and then the next day the harshness would be long gone. He'd hold you extra close as you slept, in a way that almost made you feel loved, if not for the lingering possessiveness of it all. Maybe he did love you in his own way, you thought, but also, maybe he didn’t. It felt like you were owned more than you were cherished.

Jinichi, however, not that he could describe it to you in words, was falling in love with the idea of what you could yet become. The quiet beauty who never let her eyes wander, who never spoke up in complaint, who never teetered on the edge of the boundaries he set in stone. The very thought of you being lusted for or being touched by anyone else, made him sick and over time, he grew very protective of you, without ever even intending to do so.

Again, he’d never say it out loud, but he liked being the only one who held any sort of power over you. He liked that any bruises on your skin could be formed because of him. That any love bites that welted on your neck, would have been parted from his lips. It was like a boundary marker; you were his and his alone.

You got a taste of what that truly meant during a clan event.

It was never supposed to be that serious. The women all gathered at the opposite end with their own refreshments and the men all conversed by themselves. There were other clans visiting around that time, another big name but nowhere near with as much renown as the home one, that had their own lurking around the vicinity. They weren’t that familiar with the norms that the Zenin’s had set out in place. Or maybe they were, but they just didn’t care.

One of the men as a result, ended up approaching you and striking up a conversation. At the time, you didn’t think anything of it andyou politely answered his questions as you sipped on a drink, although you were admittedly confused on why you were being focused by someone else. He wasn’t being too invasive either, and at most, just asked about the food, the event and what life was like for you here.

You never gave too much away, of course.

Jinichi, on the other hand, saw it completely differently. He saw the hidden intentions radiate from the guy’s body language alone. From the way that he leaned in when he found an opening or the way he laughed a little too loudly at his own jokes. No, Jinichi understood perfectly well what that guy was playing at, because he had the perfect example of it swarming away within his own home grounds.

You, as oblivious as you were, had no such idea what his thoughts were until you returned back home, feeling the mood in the air shift within an instant from the moment the door clicked shut.

Nothing was said at first, but you quickly understood that something must have been wrong from just one look at him.

He started off curtly. “You humiliated me.”

Your lips dropped open but you stalled, unable to find a response in time. Before any sound could be uttered, his hand flew up and this time it wasn’t a warning. He actually struck you down with the intention to hurt you.

You didn’t even register it at first—that’s how sudden it was—but within mere seconds, you went from standing, to reeling on the floor. Your eyes blurred as they tried to blink into focus, trying to gulp away at a metallic taste that formed in your mouth. Your fingertips dabbed along your lips in a bitter sort of realisation, spitting out a loose tooth from the impact.

All you could do was look up in confusion, still dazed and not properly processing the gravity of the situation.

A part of you wondered why you weren’t crying, why you weren’t screaming back. You couldn’t, though, that was the problem. No words came out. It was like an unseen force was choking at what you had wanted to say, leaving you gasping in stunned silence.

Jinichi in turn, stood there, rooted in place and frozen solid. His brows knitted together as a new expression formed; maybe not regret, but perhaps something closer to horror instead. Not because he hit you, either, but because he broke apart his carefully crafted illusion with his own hands.

It was no use pretending anymore.

(That he could be different from the rest of them.)

“Let’s just go to bed,” he muttered quietly, clenching around his wrist with his other hand as if to stop himself from doing anything else. He didn’t look at you when he said it.

However, you didn’t move from your spot for a long time, not even when he left you all alone in the dark. When you were able to stand up again, your body shook violently. Uncontrollably. It wasn’t from pain though, that much had long numbed away. It was probably from fear.

That night, you finally understood what else he wanted from you aside from just blind obedience, getting that he wanted quiet loyalty too. Had this been a normal arrangement, you could have had a quiet and fair talk about the matter, but there was nothing fair about this whole mess from the start.

After all, this was something you were forced into.

(You never had a choice.)

That night, when you returned to lay in bed beside him, he wrapped his arms around you in silence, pulling you close against his body. You let him, understanding that if you did so, then your life could maybe be a bit easier. Your mind didn’t want to, but you pushed all such conflicting thoughts away. Forgiveness had nothing to do with it. This was just reluctant acceptance, if anything. You knew it was wrong, of course, but what else was there to do?

Jinichi however was quietly desperate to restore what you both had before. His grip around you tightened, but only just. He held onto you carefully, like he didn’t quite trust himself. His breathing was uneven and ragged and you felt every warm exhale rush down the bare flesh of your back. He was trying to restrain himself from giving into anything worse.

His fingers twitched around you, forcing himself to remain calm. Perhaps he was delusional to think that he could be different. It wasn’t like he was blind to the unfairness of it all, because before he was who he had become today, there was a time when he was just his mother’s son, who got to see the light gradually leave her eyes. Maybe it was simply inevitable. He would become who he hated the most, just as everyone else here did.

Though, he did try. He exhaled once more before pressing his lips against your neck. “Don’t repeat that again.”

You paused as you took in the words, feeling the sinking feeling in your gut deepen since you were expecting an apology instead of… whatever that was.

“I’m not sure if I can contain myself next time,” he added, a genuine, serious threat laced in his words.

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond to that. Instead, you turned your face into the pillow to breathe out the dull ache that had formed in your throat, letting the soft fabric dab away at any spilling tears, before letting out a meek, defeated, “Okay.”

Jinichi sighed as he processed your actions and your response. “It could always be worse, that’s all I’m trying to say. I’m not like the rest, but I can be. That’s only if you push me enough, though.”

You bit back a scoff at that note, but you couldn’t stop yourself from letting slip of the next thing that left your lips.

“That’s such a cowardly thing to say.”

He didn’t stop you from talking, letting the rest of what you had in mind air out at last. Maybe this could prove beneficial, since he was admittedly dying to know what you thought of this whole arrangement, but also, maybe this was detrimental towards everything else he had worked to maintain.

“If you were truly strong,” you continued, “then you wouldn’t let a bunch of old men in charge decide how you treat me.”

At that, though, his grip on your body tightened enough to hurt. He wasn’t shy about his scoff like you were, letting out a sharp breath of air that echoed in the stillness of the night. Although, his next words were unexpected.

“…I truly hope that I’ll never see your spirit die,” he finally said, “it’s refreshing.”

You didn’t say anything, but when he pulled you closer, holding you with possessive tightness once more, you didn’t resist.

And when his hands began to wander after enough silence had sat heavy in the air, you let him. Your body ached for comfort and that’s something close to what he could offer. His touch was gentler that night, perhaps even careful. It was if by being as soft as possible, he could undo the hurt he inflicted with both his hands and his words, even if you both knew the truth.

When it was over, he simply held you, kissed you goodnight and then come the next morning, he moved on like the night before had never happened.

Except it was different that time.

He left you alone for the better part of the week, leaving you to live however you’d like within the confines of your gilded cage.

This would continue on and off throughout the next couple of weeks, but then one day, you missed your period.

It wasn’t something that you knew how to bring up, but Jinichi somehow knew. Maybe he could read the change in your body after having lived with you for a while, or maybe he kept track of your cycle on purpose, but it was like something changed in him overnight.

All of a sudden, he was more involved. He became more mindful, asking if there was anything that you needed or wanted, dedicating less time towards training and stopped closing himself away.

You, on the other hand, having experienced life on these grounds, were terrified. With all of your heart, you hoped that it would be a boy. Not out of preference or anything like that, but out of fear.

If this was what you were subjected to as a wife, then what little hope did that leave for a daughter born into this whole mess?

On the other hand, a son was still just as bad. Born into the world with so much hope and promise, and yet doomed to become the spitting image of his father in the end.

No matter how you looked at it, it left you feeling uneasy all the same.

~~~

At some point during the pregnancy, when you were beginning to visibly show, you needed to pick something up from the hall. Jinichi had allowed you to do so alone, rewarding you with a walk, knowing that the family, even as unfair as they were, still had to favour the pregnant women. After all, they ensured the continuity of the clan. You wouldn’t be treated with kind, but nobody would go out of their way to hurt you on purpose.

It was like a temporary sort of guarantee of protection.

Without even meaning to, with your mind addled with the brain fog from pregnancy, you bumped into an elder—the very same one you had done so way before—just as he was exiting the building. You didn’t think anything of it, knowing how to behave that time. You waited for him to huff and scold you, but instead there was a charged silence.

There was something off about this guy. He didn’t react how you thought he was going to. Instead, he shot out his hand, pushing you back on purpose and as your footsteps faltered, you ended up stumbling forward instead of back. Within an instant, your hands flew to your stomach to protect your unborn baby, but it was too late. Something just felt wrong. A deep dull ache formed with a sudden sensation of uninvited warmth flooding in between your legs.

You forgot about the parcel at the hall entirely and just went home at that point. All that you remembered was maybe taking two steps in and the smell of something coppery—the feeling of something hot and warm—trickling down and clinging to your skin.

From the moment that Jinichi saw you, something flashed in his face that you had never seen before.

(Rage? Desperation? Fear? Maybe it was everything, all at once.)

Within just seconds, he was at your side, tending to your aid with softness in his touch. That night you both had lost everything and there was nothing that either of you could do but to wait it out and mourn what could have been.

From the second the pain finally subsided, he left you alone without a word and for a while, you thought all that it could have been was just him letting out some steam elsewhere or being alone, but it went far beyond that. After all, the Zenin estate, as grand as it was, was still limited. The confines could only hold so much secrecy before it all circled back to where it all began.

You gasped when the news finally reached you.

Jinichi killed the person who caused you to miscarry that night.

This couldn’t be something that was just excused, either.

Killing your own blood was justified if the crime was great enough, but killing an elder as someone down the social hierarchy didn’t hold that same weight. In exchange for Jinichi standing up to the system on your behalf, he took a heavy fall for it.

Which meant that you took a fall with him, too.

See, a woman was defined by the worth of who she belonged to in such a clan. You were an outsider who was married to him, so by extension, his punishment was mirrored by you.

They called it a disciplinary action.

Jinichi went down in the hierarchy and was forced to work back to his previous place before, while you were also put into the same level. Once a wife, now a maid or house servant at best, reduced to something that the clan saw as less than human.

You were pulled from the place you had come to call home and were forced to live in one of the boarding houses for their lesser staff and your work began as soon as you were settled in. Soon enough, you would be on your hands and knees scrubbing away at the boards, dusting at the shelves and reduced to back-breaking labour as Jinichi was confined to something a whole lot worse.

When you were both finally reunited and the punishment had run its course in full, something between the both of you had changed for the worse. You became more of a shell than a person, while Jinichi had adopted the same cold look in his eyes that everyone else who carried the Zenin name seemed to wear.

And that fateful night—or perhaps that doomed one—in order to restore what was once lost wasn’t something that he asked for, but rather, took from you. Your body was his, after all, so you could bear with the rough caress brushed from his own two hands. You could suffer through the pain of his desire that would only be sated once it went back to how it was all before.

It took maybe once more of such a night after what he put you through, for you to see the signs again. Your body was still messed up from before, so it wasn’t as obvious as missing your period, but you felt sick in the mornings and you craved certain things again.

So when that much finally happened, Jinichi returned to how he was before, but at a cost. He became a man obsessed. Nobody was allowed out of the house, nor in. At most, one approved midwife was allowed to oversee the progress but he too seldom left the house anymore.

Any fresh air could be taken from an opened window or from a step into the garden. Anything else you wanted would have to be done at home.

He never quite said it out loud that time, but every time he glanced at your stomach, it was as if he was telling you to not mess it up again.

It was as if he blamed you for what had happened.

And it was at that point that you began to understand that just moulding into the person he wanted you to be wasn’t enough anymore.

Anything could change and ruin it all.

This, therefore, couldn’t continue.

Oh, no, no. not at all. It was too risky.

You had too much to lose all over again.

This meant that you needed to find a way out, and soon.

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too-much-tma-stuff · 3 months ago

Text

Discovery and Progress (part 5)

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He snuck away to check on the little creature he made every day while he was waiting for his books to arrive. He was hoping they had more information because he had no idea what the little thing was! It was cute and he’d named it George but he didn’t know what it was and despite what he was working with it hadn’t occurred to him that he might Create Life!!

Like, yes he was planning to resurrect some things later, or at least test those things, but create it out of basically nothing? No, he was not expecting that and it did worry him a little bit about his future tests.

He had hit up the nearest pet store for three dishes and some cat food and rabbit food because he didn’t know I f the little thing was a herbivore or not. He put both and water in the circle but as far as he could tell it hadn’t eaten anything yet. It occasionally landed in the dish of water and splashed around a little, which he filmed, but it had yet to eat anything.

He might have worried but George was still bouncing around its enclosure as energetically as ever and actually seemed to be growing, though not at an alarming rate. He was curious about where the mass was coming from but he had taken a few samples, apologizing the entire time as he used a needle soaked in Lazarus Water to extract just a little so biopsy. He had learned quickly that things not soaked in Lazarus water couldn’t touch the little thing if it didn’t want to be touched.

From what he could see it really was just more of what he had used to make George in the first place. If it was internally producing this emotionally stable variant of Lazarus water he would have said that was a solution to his problem, if only it didn’t obviously hurt the little thing to have it extracted. He wasn’t sure how it hurt George because it had no nervous system and no mechanism with which to feel pain that he could see but it was obviously at least uncomfortable so he was going to have to find another way. Damian would never forgive him if he did anything else.

His books finally arrived a few days later, one to the manor and Sam passed the other two to him at school so he told his family he had a club to attend and then skipped out on the club to head to Crime Alley. Safe in his lab with George sort of pebbled on his lap and a blanket around his shoulders Danny settled in to read his arcane and forbidden texts. He should bring a kettle, he wanted tea but felt silly boiling water for it on one of his Bunsen burners.

He skipped until the section on the Infinite Realms, he would probably go back and read the sections on the other known magical realms later but right now he was particularly interested in why the infinite realms were calling to him. He found out why as soon as they described what the Realms looked like in the book. A galaxy full of floating islands and inhabitants who were tinged green? Now that sounded a lot like what called for him from deep inside the Lazarus pools.

Had… had no one made this connection before? But no, as far as he knew he was the only one who had ever been to the bottom of the pool and returned. He was the only one who had seen that hole in the world, and he had never told anyone about it. He had told Damian about the call but never about what he had actually seen. The league of assassins had control of the pits and they’d never done experiments regarding emotion so no, the connection had never been made.

He put the book down and pushed his face into his hands while George gave a worried little trill. It was the Infinite Realms that had been calling to him in his dreams for years, it could be something within the Realms but he doesn’t think that it was, with how huge and agent the voice was he thought it was the realm itself. Holy Shit.

He sighed, rubbed his hands over his face and back through his hair, and then kept reading. The book went on to describe the realms and the ways that people got to them, the occasional natural and unstable portals that opened on their own. Again the Pits were not mentioned, but those were not temporary portals! They had been there for centuries, and they didn’t seem like portals, they seemed like wounds.

He ran his hand back through his hair again and sighed, well that would explain why it needed help if it was wounded somehow. In that war he’d been given dreams of? Maybe. It also talked about the ambient energy of the place that they called Ectoplasm, the energy of the dead though it wasn’t only dead who lived there. That transitioned to them talking about the known species that inhabited the Infinite Realms, starting with the most basic.

Those seemed to be a sort of octopus creature and a… blob ghost. Naturally occurring species that just came into existence when the requisite elements came together. “Well, I guess I know what you are now don’t I?” Danny said, gently squishing the little creature on his lap which hummed louder and relaxed even more onto his lap, spilling over the edges of his legs just a little.

The octopi could be predatory to smaller, weaker inhabitants of the realm, and were sometimes responsible for hauntings on earth, but according to the book blobs were completely harmless. They were filter feeders just wandering around consuming ambient ectoplasm through their skins like frogs in water. That was a relief! Danny had started to worry about George not eating anything, and he could let the blob out of the circle finally too though Danny would miss it if it left.

It was also very interesting because George Had been growing which meant that that energy must have been available to it. It did say that in certain places where ‘the veil was thin’ bits of the energy of the Infinite Realms could leak through.

He gently nudged George off of his lap and went to get one of his Lazarus treated filters he’d been using to add and remove emotions and set it to filter all before waving it through the air. He felt a bit silly doing this but this was basically the way his blob ghost had been wandering around its enclosure. Once he felt like he would have caught something if there was something to catch he went and slid it under his microscope and, sat down to have a look.

There it was, in very small amounts, just traces but still he the particles of that magical chemical he was intimately familiar with now. Well that was… interesting, but it did explain some things about Gotham’s particular brand of fucked up. But that was all hypothesis, what was certain was that his attention needed to shift from Creating to Harvesting and filtering.

He already had the filters he’d used to add and remove the emotions from the Lazarus water, but they were small and impractical for this purpose. He knew the direction he needed to go though, and that was a big step!

First things first though. Letting George go, he’d already spent enough time trapped in that circle. Just to be safe Danny set up a protective circle around his safe storing the Lazarus water, he wasn’t sure if George would try to get into his supply, and for now it was still limited. Once that was done he went over and scuffed his foot through the chalk forming the ring containing George the blob. Danny hoped that it wouldn’t leave really, he was fond of the little guy! But it wasn’t right to keep it contained just for his own enjoyment.

He stood back and watched as George bumbled towards Danny, as they often did when Danny was close enough. They seemed startled when they didn’t run into the wall, tumbling a little through the air and bumping into Danny’s face.

Danny was a little startled by his own laugh, how purely delighted he felt as he held up his hands to catch George as they took a tumble. He grinned down at George as they blinked up at him and then trilled, leaping up from Danny’s hands and started nuzzling enthusiastically against Danny’s face. He laughed and playfully turned his face away as George chased him and kept nuzzling before zooming around Danny’s head excitedly cheeping before zooming off through a wall.

It left Danny breathless and smiling, feeling an odd combination of hollow and happy. He was going to miss George but they were clearly so happy to be able to fly free, and Danny was glad to be able to finally give them that. Maybe if he was lucky George would come back to visit later. Danny would be glad to see them.

He shook himself out of the bittersweet melancholy and returned to planning what the best way to filter out the ambient ectoplasm that existed in Gotham. He needed a bigger filter, it would help if he knew whether it moved with the air or if it was an independent material. Still a fan wouldn’t be hard to add, and air circulation might help. He needed to make a few prototypes and see what worked best. While they processed he could work on a way to detect it in the air so he could find the best places in Gotham to set up the finished products. Only in crime ally though, and he’d let Jason know first so he wouldn’t think the strange machinery was a bomb or something.

His mind was three steps ahead as his hands worked on the first and most basic of his prototypes. When they moved to fast and he knocked something over he forced himself to sit back and breath, re-centering himself in this moment. He could think about what he was doing next any time, but he could only work on this when he was in his lab. He needed to focus on this, and what he could add to his next prototype, before he completely lost track of what he was doing and broke something.

He exhaled and closed his eyes, taking a few more breaths before he returned to his current task.

By the time his alarm went off to remind him it was time to go home he had finished two of his prototypes and had started on the third. He considered ignoring the alarm briefly but it wasn’t worth it so he sighed, regretfully putting down his project and starting to pack up. He would have to come back as soon as he could and finish the third one. He’d set them all up at the same time and see which collected the most after a few days, then produce more of that one. They should be fine to leave, none of them were built of anything particularly volatile.

He got home just in time to pretend to everyone he’d been there the whole time, but he couldn’t stop thinking about his work, and couldn’t hide how distracted he was. He blamed it on a book he’d been really into before they came home, but he didn’t think Damian was buying it really. That was going to be a problem, he’d never really been allowed to indulge his interests as a child, he hadn’t known just how fixated he could get on things!

Tim was the same way but that was different, he didn’t really hide anything that he was working on, sometimes he just didn’t talk about it but… well Tim was always working on something! Some cold case or some new piece of tech so when he was particularly distracted no one thought anything of it. Danny wasn’t sure that Tim was of course, but if Tim wanted to hide anything he could do it in plain sight because no one questioned his obsessive behaviour.

If Danny did, if he started looking tired all the time and his grades started to slip there would definitely be questions about it! He needed to work on that, or find an excuse. An excuse sounded like a better idea if he was honest and maybe he could find one?

He excused himself to bed once he was sure his family was alright, but he didn’t sleep. At first he pulled out his notebook he’d hidden in the floor of his room and worked on ideas for a Ecto-sensor, he had to get those ideas out of his head before he could focus on what to tell his family. Once he had gotten his ideas out and replaced the book in it’s hiding spot he sit on his bed, crossed his legs and started rocking side to side a little as he thought.

The easiest excuse was the most obvious he thought. Damian’s and his childhood had been traumatic by any definition. The effects it had on Damian had always been more obvious but Danny had always presented himself as fairly well adjusted, though he knew the people closest to him saw the cracks in that facade. He could play on that. Now that he was safe and secure in his place in the family he could say the trauma of it was really settling in. He could blame being tired on nightmares about his childhood, any slip in grades or distracted behaviour could be blamed on being tired.

Bruce would believe it, and worry, he might try to get Danny into therapy but, frankly he wasn’t opposed to that. Especially if he could get some of the rest of the family into therapy as well to ‘support him’, since they all really needed it. It might also give him some tools to better help Jason. He’d already read up on some but talking to a professional to see how they act would help him better slip into the role of covert therapist for his wayward brother could be helpful.

The only thing that worried him about that option was if his family would see him as weak. He didn’t think they’d do it consciously, even Damian had gotten to the point where he wouldn’t tease Danny about showing weakness. But they might think it, treat him as something fragile and breakable. Coddle him and keep a closer eye on him making it harder to sneak out.

It was a risk, but everything was a risk and in this case… he thought the benefits would outweigh the risks. If the family did start coddling him he could always weaponize the therapist and tell them that being smothered was making it worse, he though that would be enough to make Bruce back off.

He hummed to himself and grimaced before rocking further and flopping down on his bed. He wouldn’t talk to Bruce tomorrow, or the next day. Maybe in the next week he would come up with a better idea. And if not… he thought it would be a good idea to talk to Bruce about this before he was confronted with it. Having the appearance of being open and trusting of his father was key.

It was almost 2 am when he finally got to sleep and woke up bleary eyed and annoyed to his alarm at 7 am. He sighed and dragged himself out of his bed, washing the grit out of his eyes with cold water to wake himself up before he got dressed and went down to breakfast. He ignored the worried looks Damian gave him and kept his usual smile on his face as he complimented Alfred on the food, and teased Tim about using coffee as a crutch for working to late. He didn’t think they noticed just how tired and out of it he was too, maybe he should start drinking coffee too, but he didn’t want to stunt his growth when he was already short for his age.

He let himself zone out on the way to school and put his face back on in the halls on his way to class. He doodled and leaned on one hand through class, staring in the direction of the teacher without really seeing them. His notebook was full of little cartoon ghosts, and very few notes by the time the class was over. Maybe Sam wouldn’t mind if he borrowed hers, or he could always sweet talk one of his classmates, he was good at that.

He asked Sam and Tucker to not eat in the cafeteria, and with fewer eyes on him dozed off while they bickered companionably. When he woke up it was because of the silence, and he found them both looking at him worriedly.

“Danny are you okay?” Tucker asked hesitantly.

“You’re not in any sort of trouble are you?” Sam added, with a look in her eye that promised hellfire to anyone who was giving Danny a hard time.

“No I’m fine,” Danny sighed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I’ve been making a lot of progress with my tests, but it’s coming at the cost of sleep. I don’t know how I’m going to balance family, school, sleep, and work, especially when I’m still keeping the work secret. And I don’t want to neglect either of you either!”

“Damn, that’s not really something we can defend you from,” Sam said with an expression he’d call a pout on anyone else. It made him laugh.

“No, but thank you for the thought.”

“Maybe we could hang out with you while you work? So you can at least combine too things. We could help you study then too when… whatever you’re doing doesn’t take to much attention?” Tucker suggested, which was a helpful suggestion.

“Not for now,” Danny said shaking his head. “The chemicals I’m working with have… affects from long term exposure. It’s to late for me already but until I understand them more or know how to stop them I don’t want you around that shit.

“Helping me study though… If you wouldn’t mind I think that would be really helpful. Can we do a study group once a week or something? I’m sure I’ll be zoning out more in class and be more tired as I work, helping fill in the gaps of things I miss, would be really helpful.” Danny said giving them his best puppy-dog eyes.

“God damn it that is the most boring way you could possibly ask us to help,” Sam groaned dramatically. “But fine, and as soon as there’s something more interesting we can do you let us know!”

“I will, I promise!” Danny said, 100% meaning his word this time.

“Good, go back to your nap Danny. We’ll wake you up before we have to go back to class.” Sam laughed, definitely at him rather then with him, but Danny didn’t mind.

He flopped down with his head on Tucker’s lap, Tucker complained at him while Sam laughed, but he didn’t actually push Danny off. Danny knew he wouldn’t and settled down more comfortably to grab a power nap while his friends went back to their friendly competition over… whatever it was they were disagreeing about now.

They woke him up again before class, and decided to have their study session on Thursdays since Sam and Tucker both had clubs on Friday. Danny made it through the rest of the school day in better spirits, actually managing to take some notes in his other classes, whether or not he needed them. He tore out the page full of ghosts and threw it out before he went to meet the driver, and home.

He trained with Damian as soon as they got home, then showered and had a nap before dinner. He felt more like himself at the meal, and even Damian stopped giving him weird looks as the family chatted. Danny asked Tim about what he was working on, and then interrupted him smoothly when he looked like he was veering into something Alfred would see as business. Cass talked about her latest ballet too, and in general they all just sort of checked in on each other.

Danny opted out of going with them to the cave that day. He had an idea for forth collector and he was eager to finish them. Once he had he could set them up and catch up on sleep for a couple of days while they worked.

Sneaking out was never hard, he knew where all the cameras were placed intimately and how to avoid them. He changed into uniform and it was while he was going through the city proper that he felt eyes on him and realized he was being followed. Glancing around subtly he couldn’t help the immense relief when he saw it was Spoiler. She was just as talented as Damian, Cass, and Tim of course, but she was less likely to recognize him by his mannerisms, and there was no way she’d followed him all the way from the manner.

It wasn’t that hard to lose her, but it meant that without a doubt the bats would know there was a new costumed player in Gotham by morning. They wouldn’t know anything about Hafit, but they would know he existed to look for him. He would have to be more careful.

He shook it off as he reached his lab alone and without being followed so that was all that mattered, he could finish his work. He’d be home before they knew Danny was missing, no harm done right?

He refused to allow any doubts, he was in way to deep for that anyway. He focused on his inventions, which was easy once he started, and since he already knew what he wanted to do it was quick work. He finished all his prototypes and checked them over for any potential faults before he set them up. He double triple checked they were running, they were fine, and they were NOT going to explode. Jason had been very patient with his work, but he didn’t think that would last if Danny caused damage and brought that much attention to crime alley.

Once he was as sure as he could be he put them all to go and headed home. He was asleep before the rest of the family got home.

#dc x dp #jason todd #tim drake #my writing #danyal al ghul #damian wayne #sam manson #tucker foley #scientist Danny #demon twins au #socializing the demon twins #multi chap fic

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cryptidghostgirl · 1 year ago

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Make You Wish Chapter Five -- The Conversation

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: None that I can think of but please correct me if I am wrong.

Word Count: 1,324

Previous Part: Chapter Four -- Vox

Master Lists:

Master Lists

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Make You Wish Master List

A/N I promise I will get to the rest of the requests soon, I've just had a lot of people asking for part five of this series.

The shadows released Alastor and Y/n in his old studio. They melted into the ground around them as Y/n smiled brightly, her eyes traversing the familiar space.

"Happy to be back?" Alastor asked, watching her excitment fondly and Y/n nodded.

"I most certainly am. This is the most fun I've had in ages."

"More fun than murder?"

"Fucking with Vox like that? Definitely more fun than murder. That was the funniest thing I've seen in a long time."

"That's why you're lucky to have me around."

"Hey, you're the one who left, not me. You don't need to convince me I like spending time with you. Rather, you are in a need to be proving your care for me I should think."

"Am I, my dear?" Alastor crooned, leaning in slightly with his hands behind his back.

"Yes, you are."

He laughed.

"Well, I will have to get on that."

As Alastor approached the desk, his horns sprouting in shadows from his head, she made her way over to the corner of the space covered in of pillows and blankets. Hitting the pillows, they released a cloud of dust. Y/n shrugged slightly, waving the dust away from her nose before sitting down.

Alastor held his microphone to his mouth, recommencing his recording.

"Lets begin." Alastor announced as he sat down in his chair and began fiddling with the knobs on the table, "I'm gonna make you wish that I'd stayed gone, tune on in."

Y/n spotted her old crocheting project she'd started seven years before and smiled. Taking it in her hands, she began to continue her previous work.

"When I'm done, your status quo will know its race is run." Alastor continued, his demon form becoming even wilder and sharp at its edges.

"This will be fun." Y/n mused, watching him carefully.

Alastor turned to her, his smile sickeningly wide.

"Yes, it will be."

It was just like the old days. Alastor broadcasted his show while Y/n watched, working on whatever craft project was nearest to keep her hands busy. There was a deep seated comfort rising in her soul, a sense of belonging she hadn't felt in years.

Every once in a while over the course of his show, Alastor would turn his head back towards her. Y/n wasn't sure if he was checking in or making sure she hadn't left. Either way, she didn't care. After about three hours, Alastor at last signed off.

As soon as he hit the button that stopped his broadcast, Y/n placed her crocheting to the side. Getting to her feet, she walked over to him and took a seat on the desk, smiling brightly.

"What did you think, my dear?" Alastor asked, leaning back in his chair as he looked up at her.

"Amazing as always, Al. I swear, your voice was made for the air waves."

Alastor laughed lightly at this comment.

"I missed it. I missed you."

"I found myself missing you too, my dear. I had become so used to your constant presence, it was an odd thing to suddenly be alone."

"You like me!" Y/n teased in a singsong voice and Alastor smiled back at her, "Admit it!"

"Perchance. So, seven years." Alastor sighed.

"Seven years." Y/n confirmed.

"You work for an imp now? Seems an odd turn of events."

Y/n shrugged, turning her head to look out the window at the street far below.

"Blitzo is a friend. He helped me out a lot when you first left."

"So you joined his little team? How sinful, breaking the law and going to the living world to reap souls for paying customers."

Y/n turned back to him.

"I didn't realize you knew that much about what we did."

"I have my sources."

"Husk? Are your sources Husk? He's the only one that knows what it is I do now from the old crowd."

Alastor didn't reply.

"It's for sure Husk. How is he doing?"

"Y/n." Alastor warned, "Answer the question."

She sighed, kicking her legs slightly.

"I mean, nothing we do is technically legal." she admitted, "None of them have human disguises and our way to the human world is a book Blitzo stole from a fucking Goetia."

"You don't say." Alastor mused, "That would happen to have anything to do with this contract you're under."

Y/n's eyes locked with Alastor in silence. They glared sharply at one another in a battle of will. At last, Y/n relented.

"Yeah. It does."

"So, what is it? Why does a member of the Goetia family own your soul. Why is it that you have fallen so far."

"You really aren't gonna let this one go."

Alastor shook his head.

"Blitzo... well he was friends with the guy. Stolas, one of the Goetia princes in charge of the heavens or some shit. It's... Basically, I made a deal that if Stolas stays away from Blitzo and let us use the book, I would give him my soul."

"How altruistic. Though not unexpected from you, I suppose."

"It was only a few months after you left, Al. I couldn't take him on. Hell, you can't even take him on. He's a fucking Goetia. I did... I couldn't think of anything else. I did what I had to do to keep my friend safe."

"And why did he deserve your protection? He dug his grave and instead of lying in it, put you in."

"It's not his fault. Stolas got all weird with stuff and Blitzo was uncomfortable. There's this big threat of him tattling on us he hangs over our heads at all times. I... Blitzo did so much for me, Al. He helped me pick up the pieces of my life when it was clear you weren't coming back. I've become better now, stronger but back then, it was all I could do for him."

Alastor opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by Y/n's phone buzzing.

"Sorry, gimme a second."

Alastor eyed the device in irritation as she pulled it from her pocket. Whatever was on the screen dampened her mood even further than their conversation had. She jumped down off the table, hurriedly typing something out on her phone.

"Shit, Al. I have to go, I'm sorry."

"Work?"

"Sorta."

"Ah. Your deal. Why does he not just pull you to him like a normal demon would."

"Well," Y/n began, sliding her phone back into the pocket of her dress, "first off, he's a hellborn not a demon. And second off he has this weird thing about being wanted? Well, not weird. Everyone wants to be wanted just like, he doesn't want to force me to come. At the same time, he knows if he asks for me, I have to. It's... he's complicated, Alastor. It's complicated."

"I could kill him for you. Make it a whole lot less complicated."

Y/n laughed.

"Thanks hun but I don't think even you could manage that one."

"You could make a deal with me, that would most likley cancel it out."

"And have you own my soul? No, I've seen how that pans out for people. I think I'll pass."

"Just a suggestion, my dear."

"Is it? You've been trying to make a deal with me since I first met you, Al. I feel like you shoulda caught the hint by now."

"It was worth a try." he shrugged.

"Uh-huh. Sure. Why is it you want my soul so badly anyways?"

"No reason. No reason at all."

"Yeah. I totally believe that."

Y/n's phone dinged again and she pulled it once more from her pocket. At the sight of the words on the screen she sighed, her brow furrowing in irritation.

"Pushy pushy." she hummed, "Look, I gotta go. I'll be back later."

And with those parting words, Y/n disappeared through the studio's door.

----

Next Part -> Chapter Six -- Stolas

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okwonyo · 2 years ago

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SUPER SHY ⊹ S.JY

✸ SYNOPSIS ！ : in which there is lot of embarrassing moments in life, when you trip in front of the whole school or when your mom calls you out during a family gathering. but you know what is more embarrassing? not being able to talk to the prettiest girl on campus ─ especially when you are known for having a lot of rizz.

or in which jake has a big fat crush on you, is very pathetic and extremely delusional about it, embarrasses himself every time he tries to ask you out and his friends are no help.

PARING ⌇sim jaeyun ⨯ fem!reader

𐙚 GENRE student au, classmates to lovers, fluff, humorous, tiny bit of angst, smau + maybe some written chapters, reader is kinda oblivious at the start..

FEATURING ୭ৎ enhypen! all, lesserafim! yujin + chaewon, aespa! ningning, zerobaseone! gunwook + gyuvin

📁 riki's (un)safe space﹒ eumppappa fighting ! ﹒privs

MASTERLIST

001 i will find you (gothic font)

002 i b in situations

003 I DROVE????

004 oh okay

005 oh my ba

006 and that's when i froze

007 meanwhile

008 if you insist !

009 im trying my best

010 bald..?

...more tba

(chapters names are subjected to change)

TAGLIST : @i020904 @stories-inbetween-the-stars @txtlyn @xyadix @yunicide @suminsfav @ghostiiess @bluxjun @beomgyusonlywife @j1nniee @hyhees @mixtape-racha @astrae4 @articxari @delulu4-life @manooffline @jeongintwt @riskiriki @planethyuka @fakeuwus @haechansbbg @222brainrot @ikeuvleyz @teddywons want to be added ? go here.

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broareweabouttoviberightnow · 4 months ago

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the quietest week in tusla was the week Darry bundled all seven boys up in two cars n drove them all a million miles away to the nearest beach. On contrast, the most disruptive week in tusla was the week immediately followin.

#apparently its difficult to get up to mischief when u are all sharin the smallest cheapest rooms that will house SEVEN boys #came home sunburned n full of godawful ideas cooked up in the eight hour drive between tusla n any significant body of water #dallas is burned to a goddamn crisp #n SO fuckin mad #soda came home with this gorgeous tan that is servin to do nothin but piss dallas off more #johnnys got freckles hes never seen before in his life #ponys also burned #tomato twins #two bit fell asleep with somethin on his chest n has god awful tan lines #they all almost drowned #twice #theyre all already beggin to go back next year #darry is EXAUASTED #he needs a vacation from the vacation #he comes home n collapses face down on his bed starfish style n is out like a LIGHT #the truck broke down three times #all three times Steve got out to look n just sorta banged on shit until it started again #ponys watchin him just beatin on it goin i thought u were a mechanic #n steve kicks it real hard n its starts again n he goes well. its on now aint it.#the outsiders #ponyboy curtis #sodapop curtis #darry curtis #dallas winston #steve randle #johnny cade #two bit mathews #makin these instead of actual fics bc im so burnt out rn #but one day maybe #i can see this bein a multi chap thing

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ellesthots · 1 month ago

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Fateful Beginnings

L. “immovable objects”

read on AO3 🦇

parts: previous / next

plot: you show Bruce around your hometown, the filter between you both rapidly loosening.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, grief, fluff, yearning

words: 6.8k

a/n: i love this chapter name sm, I love all of them, but this one feels extra sweet to me because they AREEE moving !! they are no longer immovable objects, they’re moving toward each other !! big shifts!! also, because I only have a few weeks left of college EVER 🥲 and we’ve been diving into psychodynamic / object relations in class, so it feels very timely, and this whole trip with them feels so psychodynamic!! going back to childhood, roots, disrupting cyclical maladaptive patterns !!!!

Walter ate his kibble across the kitchen, tail wagging. You couldn’t believe he’d eaten, much less that the only reason he had was Bruce. Hunger strike no more: the cure was a tall, pale man who looked vaguely vampiric dishing out the goods. If the house were any less stale, you might’ve laughed at the image of him opening a can of Friskies and pouring the clump into the bowl while trying—and failing—to avoid Walter’s head as he fiended for his bowl. Walter still had some pureed chicken on his nose.

A fading cluster of daffodils sat in a vase by the microwave. The only sources of light streamed in from the window above the sink and hovered below the oven light. The low buzz from the fridge was a constant backdrop to the click of the wall clock—one that looked painted by you at some point in… elementary school? Bruce didn’t want to judge.

You picked at your bizarrely lemony noodles and stared at where the smear of your mom’s blood had been.

“Don’t like it?”

A piece of basil stuck between your teeth and it practically sent you spiralling; it would’ve been less annoying if your mom wasn’t currently being monitored and if she hadn't banned you from coming back.

“Do you need anything from home before I head over?” You stood in the hallway between your room and theirs, trying to gauge what might be most helpful. Slippers? Change of clothes? Bruce had been playing with Walter in the living room—playing used very lightly, as Walter refused to leave his side, and the man looked like he might’ve never seen a real-life cat before.

“The doctors are discharging me Monday morning, stay put. Throw on a movie for you guys.”

“Mom,”

Your dad had chimed in about how ‘right’ your mother was, and that they expected to see more energy in Bruce’s complexion by the time they arrived. “Let that boy sleep.”

The noodles looked slimier by the second. You shoved another shell into your mouth. “Not like there’s anything else.”

“Is there any fast food around?”

“Next town over there’s a Taco Bell.”

You didn’t sound particularly enthused, but maybe you’d like it more than what was in front of you. Bruce finished his second apple, his stomach a rock, only eating so you wouldn’t worry. His hunger cues were made even more fucked since starting the medication. In fact…

“Gonna grab something from the car.” He could’ve stepped across the kitchen, but he didn’t, opting for the long way around. It felt too sacred to step on the linoleum in front of you while you gazed at it so wistfully. Whenever he started feeling helpless, he reminded himself he’d cleaned the blood and soup, and at minimum, brought you here.

He was helping, even if he couldn’t take the pain away.

The brightness scared him when he stepped out, smacking him at the same second as the wind chime at the edge of the porch. The handle to the car burned his palm, and the leather of the seat stung his elbow as he reached into the backseat. Rustling into his bag, pulling out his meds, then a dry swallow. He capped the bottle, shut the door, and jogged up the ramp. He paused with his hand on the rusty doorknob.

He took in the smell of the breeze. Freshly cut grass. No burnt rubber, car fumes, vomit, or cigarette smoke tainting it. Shit. After breathing this all your life, how the hell had you managed in Gotham?

Melancholy called if he dared to linger, so he pushed his way inside. Walter jammed into his ankle again, giving him a small bite that didn’t hurt, nor break skin. Just in the hour he’d been here, he’d learned that meant he hadn’t given the cat enough attention. He knelt to pet it—him, damn—and startled when you emerged. Carpet really muffled foot sounds, didn’t it?

“Actually, there might be a taco truck open. I forgot it wasn’t the middle of the night.”

“Jesus, Bruce.” You sat back in the passenger as he awkwardly loaded his taco with sauce.

Bruce side-eyed the stuff you practically slurped with each bite. Verde sauce was always the mildest; the angry, orange-red hazard you globbed on was the real enemy. He hovered the bite in front of his lips, wary.

“Go for it.” You watched as he loaded sauce on the first bite, and cringed when he tasted it. He was making the same mistake you had a handful of years ago—assuming green meant mild, not holyshitwhatthehellisthis. You hadn’t listened when your dad warned you, and Bruce also seemed the type to learn by fire.

He chewed thoughtfully for a few moments. The flavors were rich, complex; the meat seasoned with so much depth it made the ‘top shelf’ shrimp at the meetings taste like cardboard. An acidity hit him, and an “Mm!” slipped out.

You grinned, never seeing his eyes light that much before. “Looks religious.”

He took another bite, basking in it. Maybe Alfred could learn how to make this. Why hadn’t he before? He went in for a third chomp, not finished chewing, not really caring.

“Oh, shit,” his lips tingled, then burned, and his tongue became very apparent. He glanced at the tea in your cupholder, regret washing over him in waves at the ‘No, thanks’ text he’d sent while you waited in line minutes before.

The backdrop of your laughs quieted him a bit, and he made the mistake of rubbing under his sunglasses in his distraction.

“Bruce!”

“Fuck.” Pain slammed against his eyelid. He heard a crunch somewhere, maybe plastic…?

Glasses off.

“Open your eye.”

You poured the dregs of the bottled water from the hospital into his eye, and it cascaded down his chest and pooled into his lap; he felt the slight coolness start to soak through to his thighs. Blink, blink, blink…

“So you can track every centimeter of a crime scene,” you capped the empty bottle and tossed it to the floor as you sat back in your seat. “But some salsa throws you off?”

“Guess Alfred spares me.” He thudded against the seat, shying away from the hot sun jabbing into his skin like he traced it with a magnifying glass. Was there a different sun here? Wasn’t the Pacific Northwest supposed to be dreary and cool? He squinted on each blink, right eye drenched in lukewarm water and adaptive tears.

You finished your tacos, crumpling the foil and taking a sip of jamaica. Never would he have thought rural America would hold more cultured food dividends than he’d encountered in Gotham. Then again… he never went out during the day.

“Maybe if you went out more,”

Reading his mind again. He folded the wrapper around the rest of his food and buckled his seatbelt. You questioned if he was safe to drive, and he scoffed at the clear two blocks it would take to get back to your neighborhood. “I’m good.”

You followed suit, making quick work as the buckle was in direct sunlight. It wasn’t lost on you how he didn’t even turn the car on until you clicked in. So concerned with other’s safety, but none of his own. Curious.

“Whoa,”

You glanced up to see a tractor hogging the road in front. Some hay stuck between its plates.

“Can they do that?”

You laughed at how floored he was. “You’re starting to make me feel like this place is alien.” Sitting up straighter helped your back, and seemed to soothe him. “I’ve gotten stuck behind tractors hundreds of times. And those tacos aren’t even the best in town.”

Bruce hadn’t turned onto the main road yet, the right turn signal clicking diligently while he peered with a ridiculous amount of suspicion at the green behemoth.

“I know another route.”

He side-eyed you as you made him do an illegal u-turn, which you happily pointed out was precisely in his wheelhouse due to his vigilantism—’just make a quick getaway in this… SUV?’—and had the both of you set on a dusty gravel road, flanked on both sides by old wire fencing, the occasional goat or cow, and thick lines of Douglas Fir. You asked a question you might’ve already found the answer to in the roaming of his eyes, but figured it polite to ask. Bringing a little bit of him here. “We only went to the outskirts of Gotham when it was dark. Is it like this?”

He made a sound that was half-bewildered, half tired. You couldn’t imagine he’d slept on the plane, and who knew the last time he’d slept prior to the accidental post-club nap. “No.”

Gravel’s crunch made up the decibel disparity between here and there, and once you thought a halfway point had been reached, you instructed him to turn the car off. “Hop out.”

Hardly enough warning to bring the car to a complete stop, it startled him when you opened his door. “All the way off, Gothamite.”

He removed the keys from the ignition and stepped out carefully, ensuring his ankle was supported in the thick, slippery gravel, and winced as he shut the door behind him. Body tense. Pupils constricting. But no flashes came. Only your grin and the foggy background of flying dust particles and green fields.

“Quiet, right?”

Quiet was an understatement, silent was too benign. He could practically hear his organs. The sky was bright, and every splash of color felt punctuated. Some orange and yellow clusters nestled in the trees and bushes. Low-hanging clouds fluffed the tops of the trees in the mountainous skyline. There wasn’t a building or human in sight.

“Very.”

Standing with him in boring gray gravel helped you realize at warp speed why you’d idolized the city in the first place: shit was boring. Wanna have a rock fight? Get tetanus trying to climb over the barbed wire to talk to a cow that doesn’t care, maybe get shot by a rogue farmer in the process?

Thankfully, a car pulled off where you had and started down the long stretch. You folded your hands in your lap and pretended to care about what passed the side window, trying and failing not to worry about what he thought past the ‘it’s nice’ comment he’d placated you with at the hastened getaway. Trees, grass, and gravel. Riveting.

A few minutes later, he waited at the intersection that looked like the only one in town; a bar of sunlight fell onto his arm, prickling along the already pink skin. He jumped when you touched him, and tried to work the mechanics on why he’d been so off guard the past day. “I have some aloe in the bathroom. Want to get that before it peels.”

The light turned green, and he tried to focus on the road while battling thoughts of you touching him again. It was too overwhelming here. The trees that towered like skyscrapers herding the city limits. The wind that drowned out every other sound, yet still not louder than a whisper. How, for once, he swore he could hear your breathing when he wasn’t holding you.

Bruce’s hands tightened around the wheel, and you tore at your cuticles. Were you being too overbearing?

You didn’t have time to ask. He parked, unbuckled, and walked to your side like he had somewhere important to be. The thought of him opening the door for you was agonizing, so you stumbled toward the porch before he could start and thoughts could meander. If you paused too long to think about how alone you both were, you knew you’d clam up. Not very conducive to being a good host.

Walter ignored you to make a beeline for his new best friend, and as you motioned for him to follow you down the hallway, you wondered if you shouldn’t keep them apart. At this rate, Walter might prove more devastated by his absence than you.

“Is that your room?”

Yellow-gold light popped on in the bathroom with a pfh, a familiar sound you’d never noticed before. “You can check it out if you want, I need to find that gel.” And I don’t want to be in there alone with you for longer than necessary. I might combust.

Surreal was the word bouncing across his thoughts as he strolled the small, olive-green painted room. It was evident life was lived here; the path to your bed, closet, and desk were worn from the doorway, and the brass finish on the doorknob had become tarnished from use. The bottom half of the door had nearly imperceptible grooves, likely from the cat demanding attention. Some paint was chipped by the light switch. Drawings and pictures hung askew on various walls, but the ones on your desk caught his attention.

Two photos sat on the back of your desk, one framed glittery gold, one rainbow. Dust collected in the corners of them, on an evidently used piece of furniture, like they’d been willfully ignored. In the gold frame, you looked a decade younger, leaning yourself hard toward three other girls. You almost eclipsed from view while they huddled close. Your smile didn’t reach your eyes.

The glare was hitting from the overhead light on the second one, and a single spiderweb covered in dust curled around his palm when he grabbed it. His chest tightened looking at you on a beach, eyes puffy, looking even younger than the previous photo. You leaned your head on one of the same girl’s shoulders, smiling weakly toward them with glistening eyes. They looked at each other, not at you. They seemed toasty in fleece zip-ups while your lips chapped from the chill. He set it down, heart knocking angrily against his ribs.

“Bruce?”

You stood in the doorframe, one hand on the knob. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Yeah?”

A green tube got tossed to him, and he tried not to visibly deflate at not having your hands apply it. For the better. His body was hot as it roared into hyperdrive.

“How’s your eye?”

“Fine.” You’d been a part of that friend group for at least a few years, and a million questions came to a simmer. Was this the friend group that you’d accurately described as not giving a shit about you? And who had taken that photo? Your parents, theirs, another ‘friend’? What were they thinking not intervening? If these were the ones you framed, too—

“You have to actually use it for it to work.” You leaned against the doorframe with your arms crossed, eyeing the patch on his forearm that looked redder than it had in the car.

Did you feel that way with him, and he just wasn’t catching it? Though, he’d seen your eyes crinkle enough to memorize it and could recognize your laugh in a crowd. Did they even know what it sounded like?

“You sure you’re good?”

He cleared his throat as if that were any defense against his inner machinations, and squirted some of it onto his arm. The mindless slip of it across his skin cooled him enough to refocus. Change the subject. “Alfred is going to your apartment at eight. Got a small moving crew.”

“Oh, right.” You stared at the ground, and he wished he could press a button to spill out things unsaid. Would you miss the place? He’d only been there a handful of times, but even he felt a pang.

“I can call them. You don’t have to move out before you’re ready.”

“No way.”

He wanted to press you, but knew better. He snapped the lid shut on the aloe. “Do you want your things moved to the same room?” Your room, but again, he couldn’t press it. Those photos made him so upset he was about to call the construction lead of the Wayne Foundation, get your name up on Wayne Tower instead of his. How’d they like seeing those news articles after leaving you in the dust?

“The room above yours?”

He nodded, channeling his frustration into the divot on the plastic cap. Or his room.

“Sure. Any room’s fine.”

A gray feline curled his way between your legs, meandering lazily toward where he stood at the desk. Walter stretched his paws up the leg of it and yawned. Bruce glanced at your bed, then to the bags under your eyes.

“You should sleep.”

When you didn’t immediately balk at it, he excused himself, knowing it was long overdue. The cat followed in tow, his tail tapping his shin. You started to move down the hallway, but Bruce wasn’t having it. “You’re exhausted.”

“A little.” Your shoulders hunched forward, and your breathing was deep and slow like you were already there.

Bruce heard his order in Alfred’s voice, and once again, felt a little closer to the old man. “Sleep.”

Walter meowed in agreement, and your mouth tilted into a smile. Bruce swore he could survive off of that alone. “Seems I’m outnumbered.”

“A little,” he teased. How you siphoned off his anger so quickly, he might never know. Walter climbed up his leg, and he reached down to pick him up—under the armpits, not touching the belly. The way your eyes lit up then, that could keep him warm in the coldest Gotham winter. You shut the door, slowly, but kept it open a sliver.

You fell asleep in the single worst position your body had ever been in, one leg off the bed entirely, hand bent hard at the wrist, neck tucked to your chest at such an angle you wondered how the hell you’d managed to breathe.

The cracked window let a frog’s croak into your room, the backdrop of grasshoppers making your head buzz. You sat with your head in your hands, rolling your shoulders to wake yourself. So soothing, the silence… moonlight filtered through the half-broken blinds, hatching patterns onto your comforter.

Oh, shit!

You separated the blinds and peeked up at the sky—cloudless. Yes!

You threw on a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt, and grabbed a blanket out of your closet before racing out. Walter batted at Bruce’s knee as he sat up from the couch and stared at you with alarm.

“Is your mother alright?”

“Yeah,” you yanked on your shoes and tossed the blanket at him. “Put on a jacket.” You flashed him a smile to show that it was fine, and rushed to the kitchen to fill a water bottle. The image of his inky hair mussed from your parent’s couch would hold you tight later, when you were inevitably alone in bed again.

Bruce was confused; moving with such urgency so late at night, yet nothing was wrong? Walter swatted at him when he stood. A subtle shhk of water from the kitchen sink let him know where you were—thank god Wayne Tower wasn’t carpeted, or he’d never be able to avoid his surrogate helicopter parent, who he realized he was emulating more and more every day he spent with you.

Was it normal to worry so much about someone?

He realized how tired he’d been after he blinked and you were driving onto gravel. At first it was strange to have you in control, but he moved away from the idea when he started feeling how much he liked it.

It was impossibly dark outside of the car; headlights were the only thing that gave any guidance, but they hardly made a dent. Sitting in a moving car with his hands not on the wheel felt so foreign it took until you parked on the side of a disastrously isolated road to pinpoint the last time he hadn’t been the one driving—and not due to crisis. Years, it must’ve been. Over a decade.

He stilled before exiting the car, only hopping out to be able to protect you against a coyote if one appeared. You’d rolled the windows down for a portion of the drive, and he heard one howl. He’d been stiff the next five minutes, struggling to conceptualize how to apprehend one. Sacrifice himself, hope his meat took long enough to chew on that you could make a getaway?

It couldn’t be normal to worry this much.

You tossed him the blanket after he’d carefully placed it in the backseat, and chastised him for not bringing a coat. “You’re going to get annihilated by mosquitos, Bruce.”

Going to get annihilated by you. A silent prayer rattled within him for a different time, a different world, where he might be anyone else. In a timeline where you might sneak looks at him like he had at you the whole drive, where panels of moonlight framed his eyes instead and your breath caught from the passenger each and every time.

“It’s gonna be nasty laying in a buggy field, but I’m willing to endure it for your first time.”

“My what?” His knees went weak as he felt the blanket’s fabric differently now. He dug his hips into the front fender for balance. First time? Certainly you didn’t mean… did you really think he’d never—

“C’mon.”

Tentatively, Bruce stepped away from the car and followed you off the gravel road, eyes trained on your phone’s flashlight lighting the foot in the front of you. There was no reality where you’d actually want to have sex out here, right now, with your mother still in the hospital. You’d regret that. You were riddled with grief, and he wouldn’t take advantage. Did you see him as a weapon to hurt yourself with? Only asking for sex when drugged, overwhelmed, depressed. Did it help you de-stress? Could he help you with that?

No. Obviously, no. You were just as inebriated now as at Penguin’s club. Your mom was in the hospital, for god’s sake. Thought she was comatose, why was he even entertaining this for a second?

You laid the blanket out and adjusted the corners, pulling them tight before you plopped onto your back. Your phone sat on your chest, the flashlight illuminating your face just enough to tell you were looking at him. He froze in place.

“Lay down here.” Rolling onto your side made more space, and you patted the area right beside you. His cheeks burned, sweat beading on his forehead. He plopped down near you, sitting, not wanting to get closer. You pouted, maybe mockingly, exaggerative, but he couldn’t tell for sure.

“No, lay.”

“What are you doing?” He’d be firm. Gentle, but firm. Very gentle, but firm. He couldn’t seem to draw in a full breath.

“You’re like the worst person to surprise.”

“Let’s go back to your place.”

“Seriously?”

Biting the same spot on his cheek made it start to bleed.

You gestured to the sky, letting your arm flop down on the blanket. “I wanted you to see the stars, jeez.”

He flushed with relief, his brain fighting to catch up. “I was getting in my head,”

“Why’d you think I brought you here? I thought it was obvious.”

You watched him finally lay, the brush of his shoulder against yours cording electricity up your spine, making you sit up to dig into him. “No, really. What did you think it was about?”

He had never looked more nervous, and your interest piqued. “Just a misread.”

Your heart was going through it tonight, currently jackhammering. “Can you stop being so cryptic all the time?”

Heavy, awkward, long-winded sigh. Your eyes flashed. What?!

“When you said first time,”

You gasped, all conscious thought vanishing. “You thought I brought you to this lumpy field to hook up?”

“It was confusing,” he admitted. He could blend in with a tomato, and a glow grew in your stomach.

“Now I know what scares you.”

He scoffed.

“You looked scared, Bruce. Truly terrified.”

“Uh huh.” He didn’t doubt he looked it, but for different reasons than you assumed. Falling into you would be a hole he’d never crawl out of. Even burning with embarrassment, feeling the godawful sear of it on the surface of his skin, he wouldn’t rather anyone see it but you.

“Would it be?”

“First time?” For how much he wanted it, it felt strange to talk about it with you. Strange in an enigmatic way. “No.”

“So you’ve stargazed before?” How many women had been so lucky to live the depth of your imagination?

He laughed under his breath, and the glow in you morphed into something harsher. “A few times.”

“Didn’t know you got out like that. Thought you didn’t have time.” Jealousy was its shape, and suddenly the field, the sky, none of it existed. Just him and his extracurriculars.

“Not anymore.”

Bruce was painfully aware how he had time right now, that he was here with you and not there, and really, really, really hoped that for the first time since he’d known you, you didn’t read his thoughts and pluck out exactly what he didn’t want to talk about.

“Is that really all you do? Be Batman?”

Why did dodging a bullet feel so disappointing?

“Guess I hallucinated all those meetings, too.” He hid it with a playful jab, and it worked, and his body heaved with relief when you nudged him, smirking.

“You know what I mean.”

He turned to the stars, noticing how brightly they twinkled; that wasn’t just a nursery rhyme? Was the smog in Gotham that bad? “Just about. Only the past four years.”

“Got your Bachelor’s in vigilantism.”

He snorted, which made you laugh, which made him smile and everything hazier. “I’m trying to stargaze.”

“Mm. Am I ruining the mood?”

“Everyone’s into different things.”

Light, pleasant sounds bubbled out of both of you, and you relaxed under the moon, settling into the eventual silence with ease.

For a few moments the stars were all-consuming. Fluttering and bright, but slowly pushing him younger, smaller. This compaction had him instinctually looking to you for an escape—but your attention focused on a constellation to your right. The space between distraction curdled his stomach, and forced a pause.

Tension. Weight.

Bruce kept his eyes trained on you; sloping down your cheeks and bridge of your nose down to your chin; equal parts begging to magnetize, to pull himself from this feeling, and seeking to admire you.

Tightness.

He threaded his focus back to the sky, though it stayed buried in the thick of his chest. No sounds existed here. Not even the wind.

A whirl of smoke twisted his stomach, and the tension intensified to a tourniquet. As his vision fuzzed and he pulled out of his body, he focused on a particularly bright star. Iris had always said to grow increasingly singular and intentional in these moments. What was there to do when he felt placed in a deprivation tank? No lights, cars, horns, ambulances, voices.

What would his mind do here if left to itself for too long?

“So, what do you think?”

He was trying not to, desperately in fact. “It’s nice.” It came out too mumbly, and he held his breath.

And there you came knocking. “What’s up?”

Cold breath plunged into his lungs as he locked eyes. “Too quiet.”

“You look tense.”

Bruce looked away and snorted, a bit frustrated—and relieved—that you’d read him. The quilt bunched between his shoulders, or was it a rock? “I am.”

“Why?”

He shifted. Yeah, it was a rock.

“Tell me.”

He shoved words out without care for how they tumbled. “Never been where all I can hear are my thoughts. Especially not since…” God, it didn’t make it any easier, he had these defenses for a reason… “The schizophrenia.”

The word was dry on his tongue, far too severe to be real. Bricks balanced on his Adam’s apple, catching his voice, trapping him underneath. Shame.

“Think that’s the first time I’ve heard you say it.”

He turned sharply at the pride in your tone. No pity, no coddling. His bones filled with helium. “I’m confused why you’re normal about it.”

You shifted, your gaze dropping to your feet. “My best friend had it.” Was he making you uncomfortable? Did you not want to tell him? You didn’t have to tell him. You didn’t have to tell him anything. You owed him nothing. Absolutely nothing. “Didn’t want to make it about me, so I never brought it up.”

He fixated on the word friend like how Walter had the laser he’d grabbed on the key holder by the door. “One of the people who hurt you?”

“You remembered?”

The waver in your expression sliced him clean open, a protectiveness swelling in like a sneaker wave that slipped his filter. “I remember it all.”

Oh. You held his stare a millisecond too long, as if you could measure it with him, like time didn’t fold in on itself with his gravity. “No. She didn’t. Didn’t mean to, anyway.” You stammered on, verging on hyperverbal. “Met her in second grade, she left at the end of seventh. She’d always hear and see things, but she didn’t get diagnosed until fifth grade when they pull you out of classes to do evaluations and stuff. We had a whole game about it. I came up with it to make it less scary for her. We named the hallucinations Oinky. She had a guinea pig that would not stop talking, so, naturally.”

He just watched you, carefully, and your stomach flipped. Fuck.

It made sense now. How gently you held him, the complete lack of hesitation you had when he’d clung to you—and probably scared you with his bugged-out eyes and shaking torso. But maybe not.

You’d done this before. Something so terrifying for him was like coming home for you. Hmm.

“What was her name?” He knew you wouldn’t like it, and since he’d promised, he wouldn’t do it without your permission, but if he could find some photo, some video—

“Don’t even think about it.”

Did he even need to speak around you? He turned to see you staring back with a knowing glance. Like it was his hobby to stalk childhood friends, lost connections. He hadn’t even stalked Tommy, though he hadn’t needed to. Still in New York, being the perfect surgeon. Probably…? Did he have a problem with stalking?

“Cooper.” You admitted, crossing your arms over your chest and biting your lip like he’d interrogated it out of you. “Not getting a last name, though.”

Bruce withheld a sarcastic, ‘Don’t need one,’ and flicked his gaze back to the stars. He didn’t realize he was grinning until he felt your eyes on him and it pulled back the veil. He hadn’t felt so in his body in ages.

Talking about Cooper, with her light brown hair that skirted her shoulders and the hyper way she talked next to you in middle school English, made you sore. How suddenly she’d left without a trace reminded you a lot of him. Like you were on the precipice of the rug pulling out from under you, and feeling all of that again. All for the crime of choosing the wrong seat, and letting yourself get a little too comfortable.

Why was he tolerating you, and why wasn’t he admitting that’s what this was? Your head was a storm of swirling leaves, spiraling toward a tornado.

“Do you just want to fuck me?” It blurted out of you, from a depth of insecurity you weren’t willing to admit to and hoped he wouldn’t tug on. You’d unravel. More than you already were. An unbearable amount.

“What do you mean?” His head snapped to you like a gun had gone off, that furrow back between his brow.

“If it’s not because of guilt about Batman, then maybe it’s this power fantasy of getting to fuck the person who knows, I don’t know.” Oh god, this is so embarrassing. Kill me now. You’d opened a box you couldn’t very well close.

His sigh made you squeeze your eyes shut, tense. “I care about you. Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Because you’re you.” Well, guess it’s all coming out.

“I’m not inhuman because I have money,”

“No, I mean, I kind of think that, sometimes.”

Bruce’s stare fixed on you with a pressure that could’ve drilled a hole. What were you not saying?

“Outside of knowing, I’m not special. And I don’t mean that in some bullshit flatter-me way, just, logic.”

“No, I don’t just want to fuck you.” And yes, you are. The most. The silence from before, the lack of wind, of cars, of people, became devastatingly, intimidatingly barren. He hoped you couldn’t hear the crack in his heart. At how your tears were barely contained. At the bass in your voice he hadn’t heard before. “Did I make it seem like—?”

“No. I’m trying to find an explanation.”

“You think I’m above you.”

He watched you nod, then shake your head. “I don’t know. Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I do. You’re really confusing to me.” Your lip trembled.

“How do we level the playing field?”

You met his gaze to hold it for a few seconds, as if to say you were thinking about it, too. About bitter words shouted on the way to the subway neither of you arrived at. About immovable objects. Mutually-assured destruction.

“I don’t know. You can be really warm, then really cold. I don’t like it. But I don’t want to change you. Then it’d be fake. And I hate that.” And I deserve the coldness, you bit back.

Hate rolled off your tongue with a cutting ferocity. He adjusted, nervous; this felt prickly. “But you still don’t trust me.”

“I trust you. Just not about me.”

“Interesting.”

“What?”

“I’m reliable about everything but you.”

“I’m the only one who knows.”

He held the gaze you wouldn’t meet. “You’re fixated on that.”

“Of course I am. It’s like being—”

“What if I like that you know?” His heart pounded. What if you knew that he liked you, too? What if he told you, right now, and settled the score for good?

You laughed. His shoulders sank.

“I do.” Indignance deepened his furrowed brow, fire burning in his throat.

“Yeah, right.”

“Hated it initially. Now it’s relieving.” It became a vow; it was suddenly his life’s mission to convince you.

“Ha-ha.”

“What will convince you I don’t have an ulterior motive?” Would he have to overstep and spill it all? What if he admitted that he treasured every touch, glance, syllable from you, that each minute he spent made him more sure you were absolutely perfect, that everything might’ve happened for a reason; that ecstasy overwhelmed him whenever you smiled and laughed, even right now when he was frustrated, when you didn’t believe him, when you didn’t believe in yourself. Admitted that you weren’t the problem, he was, that he wasn’t good enough for you; that he was a monster, a curse, and he couldn’t bear to bring you into it any more than he already had. That he burned, ached, died against every word unsaid and every restrained touch.

“Nothing.”

The balloon popped at how plainly and surely you spoke. Your profile, half in view, reminded him of how you looked with your friends. Resigned, isolated. Defeated. It wasn’t fair.

He heated with anger, the injustice surging him with newfound energy, and he propped up on his elbow to stare into you. “I saw the photos on your desk. With your friends. From what you’ve told me about them, they didn’t care about you.”

He could’ve sworn the bottom of your eyes sparkled with tears under the moonlight. You didn’t respond.

“And you said they were your closest friends?”

“Yeah.”

Dejected. Worn. God, you didn’t deserve this! “Look,”

“Bruce,”

“I’m not them.”

“I know you aren’t.”

“I’m not like the people at the meetings, either.”

“Obviously.” A bit of you was creeping back in, and you successfully sniffed up tears.

He hadn’t made it easy. He saw it so clearly now, pale blue waters stilling to inspect the mossy bottom; how he kept you at a distance, and how you’d taken it: as rejecting, as not being enough, as him not caring. He cared so much it scared him. Was it possible to tell you without pulling you under? “I’m sorry for being cold. It’s not you. I’m really not used to this.”

When you looked at him, there was something you hadn’t seen before to this extent. Like his mask had fallen off. Something in his ‘really’ gripped you like a vice. He wasn’t used to this at all. He meant it like stumbling in the dark in a room you’d never been in, like trying to speak a language you’d never heard. You hid a tremble. Tried to, anyway.

He meant he’d never navigated this. It felt impossible to imagine him as anything but popular; for his family name and legacy, for how he looked, for his bank account. When had that changed, and the haughty man you cursed became an unparalleled comfort?

He was dry. Nerdy. Insular. Shy. Desperate, reaching. Intent on being understood. Intent on being understanding, and you did the same with him. Because you’d never had it.

Two truths slotted into place with an intimidating thunk. Bruce was kind and self-sacrificing, but Bruce was also honest and straightforward. Which meant… you swallowed, hard. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want to be. And fuck, that scared you.

“Let me show you something different. Let me care about you.”

It was like he’d shanked you—at least, what you imagined it might feel like. A sharp, deep ache in the stomach from an external force that was currently rearranging your organs. Vulnerable. Laid-out. Seen. By the most observant man in the history of the universe.

You wanted it. You wanted it so badly you wanted to throw up, but it would kill you if he cared and you let yourself feel it, really feel it, and then he stopped; you clung to every breath your mom took, watched her breathing every night through the crack in your parent’s door ever since you thought that you might lose her. Let me care about you = let me kill you when I pull the plug.

Was it better to feel this than nothing? Under the duress of these fucking blue eyes, your footing slipped. He cared. And wasn’t that all you ever wanted—someone to choose you when they didn’t have to? Now that someone was, you couldn’t breathe.

You’d meant some plebeian from high school you forgot about. You’d meant a cashier in this forgotten town that had the same shift as your day job. You’d even meant an ex coming back and apologizing, some big romantic gesture momentarily overwhelming the suffering they put you through. Not Bruce. He was too…

He said your name with a question mark, sloping and tender.

Him. Too big, too consuming, too real, and overwhelmingly elusive. Your heart bruised itself against your ribs as you struggled to grasp the reality of Bruce Wayne.

Way, way too real. With a big, consuming, terrifying knife that broke skin at Arkham, bled when you wailed into his shirt, and hit deep tissue when he’d hugged your mom like they’d met a thousand times. Why couldn’t he be around that long?

“O-kay.” Stuttered on the dismount, but that was alright. He made you feel like everything was alright, and nothing was.

“What do you want to do tonight?”

Cry. Kiss. Cry some more. Stare at Walter. Hug Mom. Hug him. Shove him away and bolt the lock. “I don’t know.”

“What did you not get to do with your friends?”

You’d only dreamed someone might look at you like he was right now. Like the cosmos orbited you alone. You looked away just in time to see a shooting star—or maybe it was a regular one smeared by the moment. A fluffy childhood dream fluttered to you, and you alluded to it quietly, letting him know it was okay to go back to cold, distant Bruce and stop drinking you in. “It’s dumb.”

“Let me.” He didn’t look away, didn’t flicker in intensity. Like he’d do anything if you asked, with or without reciprocation, because he only existed for you. “No judgment.”

You hated the hope that filled you at his earnestness, and how helplessly you followed him; like a loose petal giving in to a caress.

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