#so you're always neglected and hurt and it's always your fault

[myheartxmyman]

And you saying things like 'yes I know it happened a lot, but other people don't act out the way you do', is such a horrible thing to say. If we would have been just friends at that time you wouldnt have said something like that, ever! And for the strange case that you would have had the audacity to say so you would have been 'my friend'. Really, I am again in shock off how rude I let you treat me. Sometimes I change perspectives, I am one of my girlfriends and you become her partner. Honestly I would tell her to leave him for good. And if she wouldn't I fear there would come a time when i would throw my fists at him. At least if I would see her unhappy again and again. If her boyfriend would say something like that around three times it would have been to often. Mistakes happen, but what repeats itself again and again is not a mistake; its a pattern.

[neellscapsule]

My Heart — Part Five

summary | your family realizes how much they have missed. the problem is that you are a grown up by now, and terrible hurt by their neglect.

pairing | platonic yandere batfam x batsis!neglected!reader. conner kent x reader.

warnings / tags | angst, hurt/little comfort, y/n is mentioned as a female, trauma, family issues, mostly trust and daddy issues. they all love each other (PLATONICALLY) they just don't know how to feel it and express it correctly. it gets darker (not now). kissing with conner.

word count |

authors note | hi there!! english is not my first languaje so there might be some mistakes, or not, it can depend :) please vote <3 dick is 28. jason is 23. reader will be 22 in a few months. cass is 21. tim is 20. duke is 18. damian is 13. conner looks 22 as well.

we get to see more of the family interacting: we notice the more yandere's traits they have. timothy "stalker" drake, i'm looking at you.

taglist | @cebrospudipudi @jjoppees @corvoqueen @nirvanaxx1942 @lilyalone @aixaingela @lettucel0ver @time-shardz @pix-stuff @galaxypurplerose @cupid73 @theproblemisthattimnotfictional @vanessa-boo @timebomb1101 @chemicalwindexbottle @chiizuluvr @ihavenomuse @mat5u0 @thismessyshe @lovebug-apple @myjumper @angwlart @esposadomd @nisarelle @mrmacwaffles @mazixxss @ememgl @naomi-xxi @bbmgirll @ash0-0ley @rowan-no-rizzz @hearts4mica @sillyheartmoonnyx @crumbs-and-covers @nininehaaa @ironsaladwitch @c4xcocoa @keyllsbk @welpthisisboring @redkarmakai @yuyuzi-ling @91-kya

previous. next.

The first thing you feel is the cold.

Not the physical kind — no — this is the cold that burrows under your skin, spreads through your chest, weaves like smoke into your bloodstream. It wraps your heart in ice and squeezes until it barely beats.

It starts the same way it always does — with their eyes.

Lifeless. Vacant. Glassy.

You were fourteen the first time you saw them like that.

Your dream drags you back to that night, just as it always does — a loop you can’t seem to break no matter how many years or how many walls you’ve built around it.

Gotham’s alleyways bleed shadows as you run. Sirens wail somewhere far, but not far enough. Your breathing is ragged, frantic. The acrid sting of chemicals still burns your throat.

Crane's toxin hits differently when you're young. The moment it fogged your mask, your lungs screamed, your vision tilted — and then they appeared.

Jason. Alfred. Dick. Tim. Cass. Even Bruce.

Limp bodies, rotting where they stood, faces sunken and gray, eyes milky and unseeing. Your family, dead, decaying, abandoned in the dark — and all of it your fault. Bruce, too. His cowl half-melted, eyes gaping holes, jaw slack with death.

It wasn’t real. You knew it wasn’t real — but logic is weak against fear when it slides like oil down your spine.

You remember screaming their names, clawing at the hallucinations, sobbing against decayed limbs that shouldn’t have been real but felt so real — and then, beyond the rot and bones, his voice:

Jonathan Crane.

Soft. Mocking. Even though you couldn't understand a word of what he was saying. 

He stepped out of the shadows with that stitched mask, needles glinting at his belt, and you snapped.

You were fourteen. Fourteen and trained by the Bat. Fourteen and drowning in terror and rage.

Your fists collided with him before he could react. The world blurred. You were a hurricane — wild and furious — every punch cracking bone beneath that burlap mask. His blood splattered your gloves, your cheeks, your tongue — copper sharp and animalistic.

He stabbed the syringes into your arms, desperate to slow you, but the toxin already drowned your mind. What was a little more poison when your whole world was rotting?

You kept hitting him until his mask split, until he whimpered like a kicked dog, until his teeth glittered red in the moonlight.

You remember that.

The smell of blood and toxin. The sound of your knuckles breaking his jaw. The cold that never left.

You don’t remember stopping. You didn’t stop until Bruce and Dick pulled you off him, you know that.

The following days were a blur of fever dreams and locked doors. You hid in your room. Refused to see them. Couldn’t bear to look at their faces, afraid they’d still be decomposing, still blaming you. Hiding from your own reflection, your own family, unsure if what you saw in the mirror was skin or rot beneath.

You don’t remember much after that. But the fear never left.

You bolt upright in bed, tangled in cream-colored sheets, breath clawing at your lungs, hair plastered to your neck with cold sweat. The bedroom is quiet and far too warm.

Your chest heaves, lungs dragging in shaky gulps of air as your pulse pounds behind your eyes. The silk sheets tangle around your hips, damp with sweat, cool against feverish skin.

The apartment is still. Safe.

You’re not fourteen.

You're in Gotham.

You're not drowning in Scarecrow's nightmare.

It takes a beat to remember. To piece together reality. To let your heartbeat slow under the hum of Gotham’s traffic.

A low breath curls against your spine, warm and steady.

Conner.

You turn your head, heart slowing as you see him sprawled beside you — his arm stretched over the sheets, hand splayed lightly against your stomach.

He’s shirtless. Hair messy. Lips parted in sleep.

There’s a crease between his brows, even unconscious — that stubborn frown he always wears when he’s worried or… dreaming of worse things.

You ease onto your side, clutching the sheet to your chest as your breathing settles. His hand slides gently over your skin, thumb tracing a path along the curve of your waist.

“You alright?” His voice is rough with sleep, low and gentle. His hand twitches faintly, fingers curling like muscle memory.

You blink at him, surprised.

“You’re awake.”

He cracks one eye open, offering a crooked, sleepy smile. “Kinda hard to sleep through your breathing like that, Huntress.”

Your lips twitch despite yourself. “Nightmare,” you admit, voice barely a whisper.

Conner’s expression softens immediately. He props himself onto his elbow, the sheet slipping down his torso. His hand strokes your side, careful and grounding.

“Wanna talk about it?”

You hesitate. The memory is heavy, clawing up your throat like bile. But his eyes — steady, concerned — anchor you.

You swallow. “Scarecrow. First time I… got hit with his toxin.”

Conner exhales slowly, thumb stilling on your skin. “Shit.”

He knows. Of course he knows. You told him once, years ago — in pieces, over rooftop beers and sleepless stakeouts.

You exhale, a long, shaky sound. Your free hand drifts across the sheet, curling over his wrist, thumb pressing to the steady thrum of his pulse. It calms you more than you want to admit.

“They… they were all dead,” you whisper. “Rotting. Just… walking corpses. I was alone. Again.”

Conner’s jaw tightens. His fingers curl against your waist. “It wasn’t real.”

You nod. “I know.” You pause, then add softly, “Didn’t feel like that.”

There’s a beat of silence, then his hand cups your cheek, gentle but firm. His thumb strokes the edge of your jaw, tilting your face toward his.

“It’s not real,” he says, brushing his forehead against yours, nudging gentle. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah.”

He presses a kiss to your temple. “You’re not alone. Not now.”

A pause. You swallow, throat tight.

“Not ever?”

“Never.”

The promise is whispered into your hairline, soft and raw, and you lean into it. His warmth soaks through the chill clinging to your bones, and for the first time since the nightmare woke you, you breathe — steady, deep.

Your hand slides from his wrist to cup his jaw, thumb tracing the corner of his mouth.

“You’re obnoxiously good at this,” you murmur, lips quirking faintly.

He grins, sleep-laced and boyish, dark hair mussed wildly. “What? Being charming?”

“Comforting,” you correct, biting back a smile.

“Well…” He tilts his head, grinning crooked. “Stick with me, sweetheart.”

You lean in, lips brushing his, slow and languid — grateful. The kiss is soft, unhurried. He lets you guide it, lets you set the pace. His hand curls at your waist, steady, protective.

Your fingers twist in his hair, pulling him closer, and the kiss deepens — all warmth and messy, quiet want. You sigh against his lips, the lingering tension bleeding out, dissolving under his touch.

The fear loosens.

The memory fades.

Only him remains — solid, steady, familiar.

His hand tangles in your hair too, mouth coaxing yours open, deepening the kiss with patient, aching care.

You sigh into him, the sheet forgotten between you, the warmth of his body drawing you in like a lighthouse through fog. Your legs open, a quiet invitation that he quickly takes, positioning with a smooth movement that takes a chuckle out of your chest. 

The kiss lingers — slow, soft, desperate in its tenderness — until the sharp buzz of your phone shatters the quiet.

You groan, fumbling blindly for the device on the nightstand.

“Let it ring,” Conner mumbles against your neck, nipping gently.

You manage a laugh, swiping the screen without looking.

“Hello?”

“Good morning, Miss Y/N.” Alfred’s familiar voice filters through, calm and faintly amused. “I trust I’m not interrupting?”

You stiffen, mortified. Conner snickers softly against your shoulder, teeth grazing your collarbone. You flick his ear. 

“No,” you say too quickly, voice cracking. “What’s up?”

“I took the liberty of preparing breakfast. Your favorites — those tartlets you’ve always adored.” There’s a pause, weighted but kind. “I thought perhaps… you’d join me and the rest?”

Your chest tightens. You glance at Conner, his smile gentler now, eyes curious. He lefts another kiss on your collarbone, warmer than before.

You blink, stunned silent for half a beat. The familiar ache coils behind your ribs — bittersweet, raw, impossible to refuse.

“Alfred…”

“No pressure,” he says, gentler now. “But it would mean… quite a lot.”

Your eyes drift to Conner. His brows raise in silent question, his hand still warm at your back.

You exhale softly. Smile, small but real.

“I’ll be there,” you whisper.

“Excellent,” Alfred replies, tenderly. “Take your time, dear.”

The line clicks off.

“Breakfast with the bats,” Conner teases, shifting under the sheets, propping himself up on one elbow, the wickedest little grin curling at the corner of his mouth. “You should probably find a bulletproof vest, but instead of bullets, it should cover your neck.”

You snort despite yourself, tossing the phone back onto the nightstand and burrowing deeper into the mattress, dragging the blanket halfway up your face in dread. “It’s not funny.”

“Oh, no, it’s hilarious,” he says, and before you can dodge or protest, his hand snakes under the blanket, fingers splaying across your waist as he lunges.

“Conner—”

Too late.

He attacks, pressing a barrage of rapid, sloppy kisses across your jaw, your cheek, your neck — anywhere his mouth can reach, relentless and laughing as he does it.

“Stop—” You squeal, laughing despite the weight of anxiety knotted in your stomach, batting at his shoulders. “Conner, I’m serious—”

“So am I,” he shoots back, lips brushing your collarbone, nose bumping against your throat, the grin in his voice unmistakable. “Serious about distracting you before you spiral.”

“I’m not spiraling,” you lie, breath hitching when his teeth nip playfully at your pulse point.

“You’re thinking too much,” he counters, peppering another trail of warm kisses up your jaw. “I can hear your brain overheating.”

You giggle, shoving weakly at his chest, but he doesn’t budge — just keeps kissing you, soft and obnoxious and entirely unbothered by your half-hearted protests. Your laughter bubbles up, real and bright, smoothing the edges of fear lingering in your ribs.

“Conner—”

“Kiss truce?” he offers, finally slowing, hovering over you with that boyish smile, eyes sparkling with something warmer, heavier. His hand curls gently against your waist, thumb brushing lazy circles over your hipbone.

You sigh, breathless, still laughing faintly as you grab the front of his shirt, tugging him down.

“Fine,” you mutter, lips brushing his, “but only because you’re insufferably charming.”

“Hey,” he grins against your mouth, voice dropping low, teasing, “you’re the one kissing me now, sweetheart.”

And you do —

Kiss him again.

Hard enough to forget, just for a moment, about breakfast. About Gotham.

About all of it.

Wayne Manor hasn’t changed.

Not really.

The stones still hum with history, the sprawling estate looming against the gray Gotham skyline like a relic frozen in time. The windows gleam like polished obsidian, sharp and silent. The front doors creak the same way they did when you were seven, sneaking back in after hours spent curled under the rose garden arbor, sketchbook clutched to your chest.

You pause at the front steps, fingers brushing the cool wrought-iron railing, a familiar tightness curling in your ribs.

Everything feels… too heavy. Too loud with memory.

You hated how much you missed this place.

The halls are the same. Portraits hanging like ghosts of the past — old Waynes, stoic and stone-eyed, watching you walk the corridor as if you don’t belong. Maybe you never did.

Laughter down these same halls you were never quite part of. Cold nights on the roof waiting for a father who never noticed you’d fallen asleep waiting. Echoes of piano keys under your hands, playing to the ghosts of people still living.

But the smell…

It wasn’t home — not anymore, not for years — but it still smelled like your childhood. The faint warmth of Alfred’s coffee brewing. The sharp, citrus-clean scent of polished wood. The faintest sweetness of something baking. It’s the same.

Your footsteps echo as you make your way to the dining room, the clock on the wall mocking you — ten minutes late. You could’ve been early. You could’ve walked in like you were supposed to. But your legs dragged, your spine resisted, your heart whispered not yet.

They’re all here. The entire family sat gathered around the sprawling breakfast table, the silverware glinting against fine china, the food — fresh tarts, waffles, berries, all the things you loved — barely touched.

The moment you slip through the threshold, you can feel it. Tension. Anticipation.

Barbara’s seated nearest the head of the table, red hair tied back, elegant as ever. Dick’s beside her, arms folded, blue eyes flicking to you instantly with a grin that’s a little too proud, a little too… relieved.

“Birdie,” Dick’s voice finally cut through the silence, his grin stretching wider as he crossed the room in three strides and crushed you into his chest without waiting for permission.

Your arms hung stiff at your sides.

You let him hug you. Let him press his chin to your hair, rocking you gently like you were something fragile he forgot how to hold. But you didn’t hug him back. Not yet.

“Ten minutes late,” Dick whispered, breath warm against your temple. “You owe me for that.”

Jason’s leaning back in his chair, legs sprawled wide, toying with the edge of a coffee cup like it’s a weapon. His eyes cut toward you as you enter, unreadable, but there’s a softness buried somewhere beneath that sharp jaw.

Cass is beside him, quiet, sharp-eyed, assessing you with that hawk-like stare that never misses anything.

Tim, next, flipping casually through something on his phone — only to stop dead when he sees you. His smile is smaller than the others, but real.

Steph waves from across the table, already chewing on what looks like a muffin, bright as ever. Duke gives you a simple nod, polite but watchful.

And Damian— seated beside the chair left empty for you — his eyes sharpen immediately, like a hawk spotting prey, and before you can even consider another seat, his hand slides to the back of the chair beside him, pulling it out in silent demand.

You hesitate. Only a moment.

But the silence says enough. You walk forward, heels clicking against marble, and lower yourself into the chair— wedged between Tim and Damian, your youngest brother already shifting, moving his own chair closer with a sharp scrape of wood, until there’s no space left. His shoulder brushes yours. You say nothing.

“Nice of you to join us,” Duke teases gently, his grin easy, like this isn’t suffocating.

“Traffic,” you lie smoothly, reaching for a coffee cup.

Alfred appears at your shoulder, refilling it before you even finish the motion. His eyes crinkle faintly. You mouth a thank you.

The talk swirls— casual, loud, overlapping. You barely listen.

Until Bruce’s voice cuts through it. “Where are you staying?”

You pause, fingers curling tighter around your cup. Your lips part to answer.

“She’s at the Royal Resort,” Tim pipes up, glancing down at his phone like the information’s public knowledge.

Your mouth snaps shut. Your head tilts toward him, brows furrowing, irritation bubbling low beneath your ribs.

“How do you—?”

“Credit card trail,” he answers simply, like that explains everything. “Nice place. But you know that.”

Your jaw ticks. Your eyes narrow faintly, and Damian’s quiet scoff beside you draws your attention before you can retort.

“No Wayne should stay in a hotel when the Manor is theirs,” Damian says bluntly, green eyes sharp, arms crossing over his chest. “It’s pathetic.”

You roll your eyes, leaning forward to grab one of the little lemon tarts perched neatly on the silver tray in the center of the table. Before your fingers even brush the plate, a hand beats you to it— Jason.

He grabs one tart, drops it silently onto your plate, eyes lingering on you for a second, unreadable, before turning his attention to the waffle platter, scooping one onto his own plate. Neither of you says anything.

Your jaw tightens. The warmth in your chest clashes with the frustration.

“Thank you,” you mutter, biting the edge off the words as you slice into the tart.

“You should come home,” Bruce says plainly, cutting through the conversation like it’s strategy.

Your fork pauses halfway to your mouth.

“Here we go,” you mutter under your breath.

“Father’s right,” Damian insists, straightening beside you. “The Manor is your home.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me,” you shoot back coolly, finally turning your gaze toward Bruce, challenging. “I’ve been just fine where I am.”

“‘Fine’ is a low standard,” Tim interjects, voice dry, sipping his coffee. “We can do better.”

You glare. He doesn’t flinch.

“It’s not a negotiation,” Bruce says, voice soft but firm — Batman creeping in around the edges. “This is your home. It always has been.”

Your stomach knots. Years of silence. Neglect. Overlooked birthdays, missed recitals, absent gazes during galas when you were practically begging to be seen— it all surges up like bile.

“I don’t—”

“You belong here,” Damian cuts in, sharp, insistent, his chair nearly flush to yours now. His green eyes burn with possessiveness only a child that never learned to share can wield. “With us.”

Your tongue darts across your bottom lip. You hesitate, but the room leaves no space to breathe, no space to speak.

“You’re not serious.”

Bruce’s jaw ticked, that faint clench you’d seen too many times before. “You’re not safe.”

“I’ve been safe for years,” you shot back, the weight of the old argument settling over your shoulders like a threadbare cloak. “Without you.”

“We didn’t know where you were,” Dick added, voice soft, as if that might somehow make it hurt less. “That’s not okay.”

“That’s exactly how I wanted it.”

Damian’s hands tightened into fists on the table, his leg pressed fully against yours now, unmoving, steady, anchoring you in place whether you wanted it or not.

“You’re a Wayne,” Bruce continued, firm, final. “You belong here.”

Your lips twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“Since when?”

Jason’s fingers drummed against the edge of his plate. He didn’t look at you. “Since always.”

You exhaled slowly, dragging your gaze away from them, scanning the familiar walls, the weight of the manor sinking into your ribs like it never left.

The lemon tart tasted exactly like you remembered. Alfred still made them just right. And that’s what made it hurt more.

It was suffocating.

Cass’s gaze pins you, quiet support buried beneath sharp awareness. Barbara watches you softly, expression unreadable. Jason’s jaw tightens faintly, eyes flicking to you, then away. Duke, Steph, Tim— they’re all watching, waiting.

And Bruce—

Bruce’s gaze softens, only a fraction, but it’s there. That quiet, fatherly plea buried beneath years of stubborn, stoic failure.

The tart on your plate mocks you. The Manor hums around you, familiar and suffocating.

There’s no room to say no. Not really.

You sigh, setting your fork down.

“Fine,” you mutter, eyes locked on your plate.

You can feel their quiet satisfaction settle over the table, thick as the walls surrounding you. And once again, Wayne Manor swallows you whole.

The table doesn’t fall back into the same rhythm after your reluctant acceptance. No— it thickens, something denser now floating around the plates, in the glances they trade when they think you’re not watching. The way Barbara’s eyes linger on you when she thinks she’s being subtle. The way Duke’s smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes now. The way Tim taps his fork against his plate with that knowing edge, like he’s already planning the security sweeps he’ll make to ensure you’re not booking another hotel behind their backs.

It’s suffocating.

You cut another small bite of the lemon tart, chewing slowly, trying to keep your breathing level. Across from you, Jason is picking apart his waffle, dragging his fork in absentminded circles, occasionally flicking his gaze up toward you, then away like he’s pretending not to watch you this closely.

Like he wasn’t the one who deliberately placed the tart on your plate to begin with. Like he didn’t just decide to slip right back into your habits like he never left.

You hate how familiar this is. You hate how much your chest aches with the weight of it.

You hate that you missed them.

“Alfred,” you call softly, folding your napkin with delicate precision. The butler steps closer almost immediately, as if he never left the edge of the room. “Do I— does my room still…?”

His smile creases warmly. “Your room is precisely as you left it, Miss.”

Your mouth twists. Your room. Not guest room. Not temporarily made up for you. Your room.

Even though you left years ago, and you were never supposed to come back.

You catch Bruce watching you over the rim of his cup, his expression carved in that deep, impenetrable stone that always used to make you second guess what you meant to him.

The silence drags, then Dick leans forward, the weight of his folded arms settling over the table.

“We can help you move your things,” he says, soft, careful, like he’s handling you the way you handle old paintings— afraid you’ll crack with the wrong touch. “I mean, unless you plan to stay in a hotel for the rest of your life.”

You raise a brow at him, fingers smoothing over your napkin, pretending to consider. “Tempting.”

Damian shifts closer — which you didn’t think was possible — until his chair scrapes a few more millimeters forward, his shoulder fully pressing against yours now, steady, grounding.

“I will help my sister. Titus can carry her stuff while I help with the rest.” His brows go back to normal, looking at you with his slight narrowed green eyes. You have always admired just how cute your brother could be: perhaps, with a normal childhood, he could have been a stereotypical Draco Malfoy.

But he's not. He reminds you a bit more of a mix between Malfoy and Harry.

His lips carry a smirk that you have seen in your father. The perfect mix between he and Talia, of course.

You snap your head toward your other young brother, incredulous now that you remember the reply minutes ago. “You’ve been tracking me?”

“Not ‘tracking.’” Tim shrugs, not bothering to look up from his phone. “Monitoring.”

Your jaw ticks. “That’s not any better.”

“It’s more responsible.”

Your breath puffs out in disbelief, fingers tightening around your cup.

“Tim, I could be halfway across the world and you’d still have eyes on me, wouldn’t you?”

He finally glances up, soft, smug smile twisting his mouth. “Could be, but you’re not across the world. You’re here.”

Your stomach knots. You should be angry. You should be furious, even. But you know Tim. He’s always done this. He’s always catalogued everything, everyone. He doesn’t let go. Especially not when it comes to family.

Especially not you.

“I should’ve expected that,” you mutter under your breath, taking another slow sip of coffee.

“You should’ve,” he agrees, not missing a beat.

The tart on your plate is half-finished when Jason's voice cuts through the low hum of conversation, sharp and unexpected.

“What the hell are those?”

The fork stalls halfway to your mouth, lemon curd trembling slightly at the edge of the silver. Your spine stiffens. Your eyes lift, meeting his across the table.

Jason’s gaze isn’t playful now. It’s sharp, narrowed in on you with a familiarity that only older brothers possess, and his hand gestures vaguely to your collarbone — or more specifically, the faint bruising peeking just beneath the open neckline of your sweater. The marks you hadn’t bothered to conceal this morning, half out of carelessness, half because you didn’t think they’d look that close.

A hush falls over the table, the scrape of a chair leg echoing somewhere as everyone turns to look.

You lower your fork. Slowly.

“Sorry, what?” you ask, tone deceptively light.

Jason leans forward, elbow braced on the table, expression unreadable but sharp with suspicion. “Those marks. On your neck. And your wrist—” his eyes flick down, zeroing in on the faint reddish imprint around your wrist bone, peeking from beneath your sleeve, “—what the hell, sis?”

Beside you, Damian’s eyes narrow, gaze flicking from your neck to your wrist, his posture straightening, the edge of his chair scraping closer again, practically caging you in now.

“They’re nothing,” you say flatly, adjusting your sleeve as casually as you can manage.

“Yeah, sure,” Steph chimes in, voice half-muffled by a bite of muffin. “You just tripped over your own charm and face-planted into a set of hickeys?”

Heat burns along your neck, but you force your expression blank, slicing another neat bite of tart onto your fork. “You all need to mind your own business.”

“Oh, that’s rich,” Tim mutters under his breath, flipping his coffee stirrer between his fingers. “The girl who used to hack into the GCPD for fun is telling us about boundaries.”

“Tim,” Cass warns softly, her voice calm but carrying weight as always.

But it’s too late— the floodgates are open now.

Dick raises a brow, that annoyingly big-brother grin slipping onto his face as he leans onto his forearms. “So… who’s the lucky idiot?”

“There is no idiot,” you bite back, glaring down at your plate.

“Those marks say otherwise,” Jason deadpans, reaching casually for the coffee pot like he’s not interrogating you in front of the entire damn family. “You look like you got attacked by a particularly enthusiastic vampire.”

Your blush deepens, teeth sinking into your cheek as you shoot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. Damian, beside you, shifts slightly, still watching you with hawk-like intensity, green eyes narrowed and calculating.

“You should tell us who it is,” he says, voice deceptively neutral for a thirteen-year-old. “It would be… concerning if someone thought they could handle you like that.”

“‘Handle’?” you repeat, scoffing under your breath, “God, you sound like Father.”

Bruce’s gaze sharpens slightly at the end of the table, coffee cup paused halfway to his mouth. “If someone’s putting hands on you—”

“They’re not,” you cut in quickly, jabbing your fork at your plate with a little more force than necessary. “I’m perfectly capable of making my own terrible decisions, thanks.”

Steph snickers beside Barbara, who just hides a smile behind her glass.

Jason shakes his head, tapping his fingers against the tabletop in thought. “Nah. I don’t like it.”

“Of course you don’t,” you snap, finally tossing your fork onto the plate with a sharp clatter. “Because God forbid I have a life outside of this family circus.”

“You’re family,” Dick reminds you, annoyingly calm. “It’s our job to meddle.”

You groan, fingers pressing to your temples. “You’re all impossible.”

Duke, quiet until now, finally pipes up, smirking faintly over his cup. “You missed us.”

“I missed Alfred,” you correct without missing a beat.

The butler, returning with a fresh pot of coffee, arches a brow, entirely unbothered. “Flattery will not spare you from their interrogation, Miss.”

Jason points at him. “Thank you, Alfred.”

“Traitor,” you grumble.

“Don’t deflect,” Damian mutters beside you, voice low. His chair edges closer still— impossibly close now, thigh brushing yours, as his sharp gaze narrows. “I know who it is. You are copulating-”

“Copulating?” You repeat, disgusted. Your siblings share the same expression, looking more alike than ever. “Who taught you that word?”

“Yeah, say 'fuck' like any normal person, Jesus,” Jason grimaced, and then points to you. “You are so not getting out of this.”

“Language, Jason.”

“Well, teach your son some sex ed. I will vomit if he says copulating again.”

“Drop it,” you warn, stabbing a piece of waffle with unnecessary force.

But you can practically hear the gears turning in their collective heads. Barbara’s gaze sharpens from across the table. Cass tilts her head, reading you like an open book, eyes narrowing faintly in quiet realization.

Steph smirks, leaning toward Duke to whisper something conspiratorial under her breath, while Duke just winces, clearly aware that this is about to escalate.

“I swear to god,” Jason mutters, pushing his chair back slightly, eyes still locked on you. “If it’s some trust fund idiot from the gala—”

“It wasn’t,” you cut in coolly, but the room’s already spiraling beyond your control.

“Wait,” Tim says suddenly, frowning, and your stomach drops before the words even leave his mouth. “You disappeared at the gala early.”

You sip your coffee, eyes narrowing. “I’m allowed to leave parties, Timothy.”

Damian shifts beside you, straightening abruptly like the pieces have clicked into place. His eyes burn with that possessive, entirely unearned little-brother rage that could level cities.

“You were with him,” he says simply, like a verdict.

The table pauses.

Jason’s jaw clenches. “With who?”

Tim stills, processing. “Who’s him?”

Cass’s eyes widen a fraction, realization dawning.

Barbara sighs under her breath. “Oh, hell.”

“You were drinking with him at the bar,” Damian continues, voice low, lethal in that thirteen-year-old, miniature-Bruce-Wayne way that makes your skin crawl. “Superboy.”

The room explodes.

“CONNER?!” Jason practically shouts, chair scraping back, hands slapping the table as every sibling conversation devolves into chaos.

“Wait—Conner as in—Superboy?!” Steph’s eyes widen, practically giddy, because of course she’s here for the drama.

Tim’s entire expression freezes, mouth parting in disbelief. “You hooked up with my best friend?!”

“You’ve got the worst taste in men,” Duke says, mostly to himself, grabbing his coffee like it’s the only thing grounding him in this disaster.

Cass doesn’t speak, but her eyes glint with knowing, watching the unravel like a cat observing trapped prey.

“Calm down,” you snap, glaring at Jason and Tim, who both look two seconds away from either passing out or throwing a chair.

“I am calm,” Jason lies, pointing an accusing finger at you. “You, on the other hand, have hickeys from a Kryptonian.”

“Allegedly,” you say dryly, biting into your tart like this isn’t your worst nightmare.

Tim looks visibly ill. “Why would you—he’s—he’s Conner!”

“Your best friend is hot,” you shoot back without mercy, because if you’re going down, you’re going down swinging.

Damian scowls, arms crossing so tight you can practically hear his ribs protest. “He’s also an idiot.”

“Better than the parade of emotionally repressed vigilantes in this family,” you mutter, and Steph laughs, covering her mouth with her hand.

Bruce, finally, speaks—voice low, quiet, but commanding enough that the table halts.

“We’re not discussing this at breakfast.”

You glance at him, arching a brow. “Why? We discuss everything else. Including where I sleep, apparently.”

A flash of guilt crosses his expression. He doesn’t argue.

“Are you seeing him?” Tim pushes, wounded pride flaring in his tone.

You shrug, licking lemon curd off your fork with infuriating calm. “That’s between me and Conner.”

Jason groans into his hands. “I need aspirin.”

Damian still simmers beside you, eyes dark, but says nothing, clearly cataloguing ways to poison a Kryptonian.

The chaos simmers, the table still thick with tension, but you ignore it, sipping your coffee with slow, deliberate ease.

“Relax,” you mutter, half to yourself, half to them all. “You’ve got bigger problems than my love life.”

“Not if you bring him around here,” Jason threatens weakly, stabbing his waffle like it insulted him.

You smirk faintly, eyes glinting.

“Guess you’ll have to be on your best behavior then.”

And just like that, the first real sibling fight in years ignites fully—loud, overlapping, messy—like you never left.

And for a second, you almost let yourself enjoy it.

[babysfirsthaze]

Frustrated...(Caitlyn Kiramman x Reader)

Synopsis: Your girlfriend is a commander of war. She' needs someone to be mean to, and you're willing and able.

Content: MEAN!Caitlyn, dubcon if you squint (yg have a safeword I promise.), dacro if you squint, degradation, sex referred to as 'bullying' one (1) time, reader compared to a dog one (1) time (not in dialogue), fem!reader, fingering, spanking, pussy spanking, aftercare, reader's bush is mentioned one (1) time

A/n: im gonna need you guys 2 be super nice 2 me ab this one okay. I'm 3 cones deep time of writing. Caitlyn I need you SOOOO BADD, this fic is very not normal proceed w caution

Caitlyn Kiramman is not a gentle woman. She never has been, not really; learned to shoot things down and dead when she was just a child, carried that sentiment with her to womanhood. And you've been her girlfriend for a few months, she's never really mean to you. Always treats you with the sort of respect she expects people she deems important be regarded with.

But – there's a war brewing. She's a commander. She's been a little stressed lately, of course she would be, and she needs to get that tension out somehow.

Which is how you ended up in this situation, folded over her lap as she spanks you. Hard.

"T-..ten," you manage, nails digging into your palms as you're made to count the harsh, unforgiving blows to your ass. Caitlyns fully clothed, you're stripped bare and dripping arousal all over her nice pants. You can't see her face, but her jaws still clenching, she's only getting madder.

"You like that, don't you? Always been a slut," she spits, her slender hand now grabbing roughly at the fat, kneading it under her palm. She tugs at the skin, spreading open your ass to expose your neglected pussy, making you whine. "So wet, and for what?"

Before you can respond she's spanking you again, affording a harsh slap to the skin where your ass meets your thigh. "Eleven," she supplies for you, her voice mocking, seething with an anger that's not directed at you. "If you can count that high."

You mewl incoherently, ass wiggling to try and get away from the pain. Cait doesn't like that. She grabs you again, and then, all of a sudden – you're being manhandled, shifted so you're more on your side, and she tugs your leg into the air.

"Wha–..?" No time to voice your confusion, because she's already delivering a harsh smack to your pussy, making you moan, loud. She groans appreciatively, her mouth twisting into a (sadistic) smile for the first time since she's been home.

"Pretty girl likes that, huh? Such a good whore."

She presses her hand into your pussy, the heel of her palm against your clit, her tough too rough, too much – she's hurting you, she's enjoying hurting you. It makes you so wet. She has her right hand absent-mindedly (and a little clumsily) stroking your hair, cupping your face – you just look so pretty when you cry, it's not her fault.

"C-caitt! 'S too much, please, too much.." you're sobbing, pussy already puffed up and overstimulated when she slips two fingers in, firmly pressing against your g-spot. And groans, eyes closing for a moment to collect herself. Her face is all flushed by now, and she's smiling, hard; she loves this, taking all her energy out on her pretty, slutty girlfriend. She stuffs her fingers into your hole, curling them up and fucking you so good.

"Fuck, princess, pussys so fuckin greedy...you love this, huh? Love being used like this?" You nod, your body all curled up so you can press your face into her side, muffling your whines. She strokes your hair distractedly, the way one would a fussy dog.

You're getting her top all wet with tears, her pants all wet with arousal. "So messy," she tuts, although her voice is far away, absent-minded. She's more focused on the filthy noises you and your pretty cunt make, on the way your hole swallows her now-wrinkled fingers up so, so greedily.

She lets go of your face for the first time to instead grope one of your tits. It's a simple act of cruelty, of degradation– and it just snaps something in you, your orgasm spilling out of you, all over your thighs, up her arm, getting everything wetter than it was. She moans out loud, just about cums from the sight herself. "Shit, baby, you're such a fucking slut, I love you," she's rambling, digging and rutting her fingers into you, bullying you through your orgasm. You hit her lightly a few times, she hardly notices. She fucks you through it, she's so mean, so unreasonably mean, it's the hardest you've cum in a long time.

Eventually she starts to kiss a line up and down your arm, hand slowing, then pulling out delicately. She cups the back of your head again, her now-free hand coming up to her face so she can suck your arousal off her fingers, one by one. By the time you open your fingers she's licking delicately up her palm, just wanting to taste as much of you she possibly can. You moan out loud again.

"Y'such a good girl, did so well f'me," she cooes, gently running a (wet) hand over your (wet) thigh, trying to soothe the muscle. Her mouth trails up your shoulder and to your face, gently catching your swollen lips in a kiss.

"Did I tell you how much I love you?" She asks, her head still reeling, stomach still swirling with the feeling. You cling to her, overwhelmed and confused and fucked out.

"I got you, baby, I got you...you're so fuckin pretty, yknow that? Made me feel so good, so much better, my good girl, yeah, fuck, baby.."

She nuzzles into your cheek, gently scooting you so you're layed down on the bed. The towel she put under you is completely soaked, seeped into some of the sheets. Oops. She lifts your legs up gently to pull it out from under you anyway, softly kissing on your thighs to distract you.

"Caitlyn," you sob, and she shushes you, shaking her head. "'M done, baby, 'm done. Gonna clean you up now, yeah? Stay awake f'me, baby," she mumbles, pressing her mouth to her hips before straightening up, dropping the towel in the hamper. She'll clean it up in the morning. She also strips off most of her clothes, they're soaked and smell like pussy anyway.

And she returns in panties and a singlet with a soft hand-towel, patting dry your thighs, pussy, bush. Once she's satisfied she moves up to kiss your face, wiping the tears off your cheeks, quietly shushing you.

"Such a messy girl," she cooes, nudging her nose against you affectionately. "You did soo well, baby."

Published on 16/2/25 by babysfirsthaze on tumblr

[miniaturesuitgladiator]

Batfam x Neglected Mortal

Kombat reader

Lucid Dreams llll

Notes: this is part four to lucid dreams.

Warnings: child neglect and abuse.

___________________________________________

Your words ring through the room. They're fiece and they make everyone uncomfortable. You know this. And yet you've still said them.

Your word are simple. They ask a very simple question. And they have a very simple answer.

Sadly, you know your mother won't say the simple answer. Because regardless of what DNA has to say she's more damians mother than she is yours.

'So what he can say whatever he wants to me ,but I'm just supposed to stay silent?' Are your exact words.

Your words have been praticed. Praticed infront of a mirror in your room alone. By yourself. And you know your not super to say these words out loud. These words were reserved for only your ears to hear.

No, you correct yourself these words are what a good daughter and big sister aren't supposed to say.

But you aren't a good daughter or big sister are you? Atleast not in their eyes. So you don't regret your words or how they make everyone speechless.

Because you've always wanted to say them and now you have... Why should you feel regret?

Your mother's speechless and for moment you feel like you won..... Sadly the fight had just begun.

"He's only ten he doesn't mean what he says." Is her response. And yeah he is only ten. And yeah maybe you shouldn't have said what you said to a normal ten year old. But damian is no normal ten year old.

" Well he always wants everyone to treat him like he's an adult. So how is it my fault when I gave him exactly what he wanted?" You say and everyone eyes slightly widen at your words. Because damian does more often then not demand to be treated as an adult

"He's a child." She says it's a bullshit excuse you know that. She knows that. Everyone knows that Damian knows and means what he says so why can't you do the same?

'This ends today' is your final thought before you say the words that flow out of your mouth so freely. And you're right. Today something does end ,but it isn't what you hoped it would be.

"And I'm your child. Or do you despise me that much mother that you've forgotten that?" Your words are sharper then any blade and it cuts through the room with devotion and aim. And it's aimed right at your mother's heart. Bullseye.

You watch as her angry eyes turn into something else. Some other emotion that you can't quite place. And before you know it she does something so different then what you thought she would do.

She smacks you. Right on the face.

And suddenly the room is no long full of shock or disappointment. No, now it's filled with the sound of her hand making contact with your face. And echos almost cruelly.

She hit you. She really did hit you. And you can't believe it. You just can't.

Your cheeks burning and you've been hit way harder before ,but this? This is more than just a hit.

It's betrayal. And that shit hurts.

The room is silent and no one knows what to say. You heads hang low but you still see your mother's shocked face. Because not even she can believe that she hit you.

'This ends today' was what you had said in your head but now you realize the depth of your words. You had meant that the way she had been treating you these past years would end.

But now? Now you words take a whole other meaningful.

Because today is the day that your relationship with your mother ends.

That thin invisible line that had kept you two together just broke. And no words can tie that string back together.

And maybe your mother's knows that and that's why she's staying silent?

Either way it truly doesn't matter atleast not anymore. Because not even the blood that you two share will connect you to her any longer.

You heads still hung low while you begin speaking.

And your don't quite remember where you heard what your about to say from. Probably some dumb movie.

But your mouth moves faster then your mind on what your about to say.

Because surely your mind wouldn't have approved about the words that leave your mouth.

'You slap like a fucking Bitch.'

___________________________________________

Thanks for reading!!

Taglist: @dhanyasri , @kore-of-the-underworld , @i-adorehannah , @plsfckmedxddy , @phoenixgurl030 @bunbunboysworld

[a-lurking-fae]

Thinking about the reader being Focalors/Furina's grandchild. What if they adopted a child, and let's say that the kid could have been transported between worlds, they end up in Gotham, taken in by Martha and Thomas Wayne.

Now, after a couple of years, readers mom ends up with Bruce. He takes in Dick, then Jason, after your mom gets pregnant, and during childbirth, she dies. Instead of Bruce neglecting the reader because "They were the reason why my love is dead." type of neglect (っ- ‸ - ""), which is always pretty stupid if you ask me,

He can't look at the reader because you look like a mix of both the two women he has truly loved in his life. His mother, the one who sang him bedtime songs, the one who brought him to his love, your mother. The one who accepted him for his faults, the one who was there during rough times, the one who gave him the greatest gift of all time— you.

But instead of treasuring the precious diamond he was given, Bruce ends up throwing you away. A shame, really, after all, how can he look at you without being reminded of them? How can he look into your eyes, which took the shape of his mother, and held those (e/c) eyes that used to look at him with so much love?

Dick would also have a hard time acknowledging you. After all, you were sort of the reason why his mother had died (reader's mom), but you were her child too. You can't experience what he and Jason got from her, bedtime stories and all.

But at the same time, he can't help but look a little closer, enamoured by the same eyes that saw him, acknowledged him, loved him. He really doesn't know what to do, so he avoids you when he has the chance.

Now, Jason— he's a good child before he died. He's definitely your best friend before he died. How can he not love you? The child of his parents, how could he possibly turn away from you? So imagine his surprise and disappointment when both Bruce and Dick actively ignore you.

Oh, he is angry. How dare they! He argues with them during meal times, but they shut him down! Let's time skip a few years now, Jason is dead, then he turns up alive, apparently?

You try to approach him, hoping he was still that big brother you once knew, even though he looks a bit scary and big right now! He avoids you like the plague, you don't recognise your big brother anymore...

When Tim was taken in by Bruce, you hoped that you'd form a bond with your new brother, and he's very smart too! You hope he can help you with homework, but he says that you're not really worth his time. That stung a bit!

Then Cassandra, Barbara, and Stephanie are in the picture. You still had a bit of hope that you'd bond with your sisters! They might be different from your brothers! Ah— it's the same thing over again.

Finally, Damian, he's your younger brother. Clinging on to your last hope, you approach him, hoping— but to no one's surprise, he rejects you. He hates you so much. He hates that you were so weak, how, although he is strong, forced to cater to his mother and grandfather's wishes, robbed of the childhood he dreamed of, you ended up with a peaceful childhood, the one thing he always wanted. (He didn't know you were robbed, too.)

It's honestly your last straw, so after packing your bags, you head to your mother's home— Fontaine, and it's a hell lot more nicer than Gotham. The fresh breeze of the sea, cute adorable sea creatures, and a whole lot more things you could explore!

Your grandfather, Neuvillette, adored you, both of your grandmothers who loved you so much, the friends you made in Fontaine, even adventures you went off to. It's no surprise that you didn't want to go back. Yeah, Alfred would miss you a lot— but you're sure he'd be happy to know that you're in a better place, safe from the crime-filled-gotham!

Now, enjoy the last days in Teyvat because they want you back. How could they not? Bruce and Dick never hated you— no. They'd kill themselves before that. It's just that it hurt too much to see you! But, they've realised their mistakes now, they'll make it up to you, don't worry! Bruce will throw you lavish parties anytime you want! He has deep pockets, after all, and that old room of yours? Your new room will be next to him, to make sure you're safe.

Dick will be there for you. Even though he wasn't there before, he'll be next to you every step of the way this time and make no mistakes. He won't let you out of his sight, not anymore. You can count on the best big brother in Gotham to make sure you'll be safe. With a little help from Tim, who'll place trackers on you when you get home. It's for safety precautions, you'll understand.

Jason blew when he realised you've been missing for weeks— and none of them have noticed! He was the best big brother to you, right? Won't you come back home to him? He knows you, and both of you could bond by the things you guys used to love, right? You probably still like the colour (f/c) you don't anymore. He'll cook your favourite food with you, and all you have to do right now is to come back home.

Casandra, although a perceptive person, she never realised the small figure that trailed behind her grew up, not to be seen in weeks. She knew something was missing. The small figure that she'd see in the kitchen during ungodly hours, who'd leave her little notes of praise time-to-time, was not there anymore.

Every time Barbara and Tim had migraines, you'd be there, handing a tray with two cups and medication. They wondered where those always came from, and then it suddenly stopped. To think it was their sweet baby sibling all along! Those little hints that you were there weren't really noticed, but they appreciated you and the small actions you did for them. They want to repay the favour, don't you wanna play games with Tim? Or get ice cream with big sis Babs?

Damian will demand attention from you. How dare you give your love to those good for nothing children of lower breeding, he's your blood brother! Sure, he said he hates you— but he really didn't mean it! He didn't know you were robbed of the same childhood as him. And without his older sibling, how can you expect a complete family? You don't have to worry about being weak. He'll protect you. He's strong enough for both of you.

Neuvillette is having trouble closing the multiple portals they tried to create. With the help of the Justice league, of course. Don't worry they'll get you back sooner or later.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ

This was already posted!<33

[inotakumagf]

look out for the little guy

✶ jason todd x gn!reader

word count ✺ 6.8k

summary ✺ there are three times you’ve gotten yourself into trouble, and one time that Red Hood is late.

warning ✺ blood, death, murder, corruption, etc etc in a level that is appropriate for Gotham. Jason is in vigilante limbo here. soooo angst heavy, you might hate me. there’s hurt/no comfort & character death so proceed with caution. also Gotham is in NJ i will die on this hill

──────────𝜗𝜚──────────

Your mother always tells you that your nose will lead you right into trouble. You’ve always been too curious as a kid, and that hasn't changed at all as you got older. It’s worse, even, because you’re a journalist in Gotham of all places. There’s always trouble brewing just under the skin of this city, and the corruption, the evil…it all drives you crazy. Every rich asshole in this city has their teeth dug into some drug ring or money laundering scheme or world-ending villain plot. And it's personal, because one of those rich assholes is the reason why your family fell apart. 

They’d wanted to bulldoze the apartment that you grew up in to turn it into some million dollar project and your mother had been adamant that you stay put. Rich people don’t like taking no for an answer, and they’d made it their mission to tear your family to shreds, like you were ants under their gold-plated boots. No one cared, no one ever stepped in to bring justice to your family, because the corruption ran so deep. It pushed you to journalism, so that you could document and show people the truth. It’s not your fault that the stories you were chasing went from regular corrupt assholes to superpowered and Arkham-worthy ones.

Like the story you're pursuing now, about the uptake in missing person reports across Gotham. The pattern of the kidnappings has been…weird, and—as your contact at GCPD was hesitant to reveal to you—it’s left the detectives stumped. But you’d been studying the disappearances and the victimology, and you think you’ve tracked a lead. Really, it only took a bit of effort—effort that the GCPD can’t bother to spare. Rather than hand this information over to the very incompetent and lazy police department, you’d decided that you were just going to find out what was happening to these people on your own. 

An evident similarity between all of the kidnappings is that each missing person had reportedly last been seen on fairgrounds or in parks, and you’d found similar missing reports out-of-state. In your research you’ve discovered a travelling circus group that had very conveniently travelled and performed at these locations, and it explains the pattern in which these people are going missing. And the circus leads right back to Gotham, because all things do. The Circus of Strange is very illusive on Google, but you’d found one name in association with the group. The owner of the circus, Lazlo Valentin, owns a boarded up beauty parlor right in Gotham, and—against your better judgement—you’re going to do some sleuthing.

You stare up at the sign that’s falling apart, that claims that this building is the Pretty Dolls Parlor. You take an unconscious step back. This building looks like it walked right out of an R. L. Stine book, and you’re starting to regret your “run in now, ask questions later” mentality.

“You look lost.”

You jump, fumbling with the pepper spray in your coat pocket. “Get back, or I swear I’ll…oh. It's you.”

Red Hood is a terrifying sight, and you should be more scared, but he’s kind of reformed? Maybe? It’s shaky territory, but between the creepy building and an anti-hero/vigilante/Bat-associate, you’d prefer to stay on his good side. 

“You sound very excited to see me,” he says in a deadpan. “Is there a reason we’re standing outside Stephen King’s wet dream, orrrr…?”

You straighten your back out. “Actually, I’ve been tracking the missing persons case that the GCPD has been neglecting, and I think it has something to do with this building. Lazlo Valentin…does that name mean anything to you?”

“Might,” he says. “How did you connect him to those missing people?”

You explain your theory to him, and to his credit he listens to your whole spiel, even though you’re totally rambling. When you’re done, you spread your hands out to the still-very-creepy building. “Ta-da! That brought me here. You know what, your timing is actually perfect, ‘cause this place is really freaking me out.”

He huffs and steps forward towards the building. “That’s great. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a deranged scientist to stop.”

He gets up to the entrance before he notices that you’re trailing behind him. “What are you doing?”

You give him a side-eye. “I’m coming with you.”

He turns so that he’s facing you head-on. “Uh, no the fuck you’re not. Look, I don’t know if you’re looking for a thrill or if you think you’re Sherlock Holmes, but you are most definitely not coming with me.”

You frown. “I’m a journalist at the Gazette, and this is my story. Everyone thinks I’m making this up, but if you’re here then that means this is real. I want to help.”

He sighs. “You can help without putting yourself in danger.”

“But I need to know what happened to those people. If I walk away now, I’ll never find out. Please, I’ll be so quiet, you won’t even know I’m with you.”

“Not happening. But,” he says over your sounds of protest, “if you give me your contact information, I’ll give you my report of events. How does that sound?”

You want to argue, but that actually sounds like a good deal. You get your story and you don’t have to go into the creepy building? “Deal. Here.”

You dig through your wallet and pull out one of your business cards. “This is my email. And I swear your source will stay anonymous. Scout’s honor.”

He nods in appreciation and pulls off the wood plank that keeps the door boarded up. “You should head home now. Oh, and before you go…”

“Yeah?” You ask.

“Stay out of trouble.”

You grin and give him a two-fingered salute. “No promises, but I’ll try.”

──────────𝜗𝜚──────────

You do try to hold yourself to his request. Especially because the report that he’d emailed you had been flawless, and it had gotten you a stand-out story. Terrible for all the people that had been turned into Valentin’s deformed puppets, but at least it got the GCPD to get up and do something. Although it had really been Red Hood that brought him in to Arkham. So, how else do you thank a vigilante that you’ll never see again, other than ensure that you never have to bump into him while following a sketchy lead?

Well. 

You swear you did try. But sometimes...life happens. It’s not like you were trying to get caught in the middle of a robbery.

You were minding your business grabbing some crappy late night “dinner” from your favorite bodega, when some guy decided that this was a great time and place to interrupt your very precious schedule to rob the store at gunpoint. You’re tucked behind in the candy aisle as this is all going on, and you can probably sneak right out the back if you had a pinch of self-preservation. But this is your favorite store on this side of Gotham,, and you'd feel really bad if you just left Angel to fend off the robber by himself when he always turns a blind eye if you're a few cents short.

You sneak up behind the guy as Angel is emptying the register into a pillowcase for him. “So…are you expecting me to roll all these coins? Because it'll take forever if I do. And this has already made my day ten times worse.”

The guy is getting impatient. “I don’t care, just put the money in the damn bag.”

You can hear Angel grumble his complaints as he complies, and that’s the distraction you need to tip toe behind the robber. Once you’re close enough, you jump onto his back. You take advantage of the loose grip he has on the gun to smack it away. It clatters as it lands somewhere near the entrance. The guy turns, trying to knock you off. Aside from getting the gun away from him, you hadn’t really thought this far. He almost knocks you off balance, and you have to tighten your arms around his neck. You kick and bite and scratch where you can, screaming up a storm. 

You and the robber tumble to the ground as he loses his balance, and you roll around so that he’s face down and you’re sitting right in the middle of his back, facing Angel at the counter. He tries to push you off, but you’ve finally pulled out your pepper spray, so you give him a taste of it to placate him. You huff and puff, trying not to look as much of a mess as you feel. Angel is already on the line with 9-1-1, and he shakes his head as you stare up at him. 

“Man, you’re fucking crazy. You sure you’re not one of those circus freaks that are always swingin’ around this city?”

You laugh. “If I was, I think that would have looked a lot cooler.”

The bell rings as the front door is pushed open. You can hear heavy boots stomping your way. 

“Wow. GCPD actually showed up to an emergency, and we didn’t have to wait an hour. Got any lottery tickets for me, Angel?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” a strangely familiar voice says.

You turn your head. Of all the vigilantes to intercept this call on the police radio, it had to be Red Hood. Goodbye to that lottery ticket.

“Oh. Hey,” you try for a casual greeting. Maybe he’s forgotten about you.

“Was I talking to the air when I told you to stay out of trouble? Or are you crazy?” He walks around so that he’s right in front of you. He disarms the robber’s gun and tucks it away in a quick movement. He crosses his arms, and even though you can’t see his face, you know he’s disappointed in you.

“That is not fair, man. I didn’t ask the universe to put me right in the middle of a robbery. Do you think I do this to myself for fun?” You’re still sitting on top of a pepper sprayed robber, so you don’t exactly sound sane right now. 

He extends a hand down to you, and you take it. You let him pull you off the guy, and Red Hood is quick to handcuff his arms behind his back, leaving him on the ground to groan and moan about your roughness. 

You peer up at Red Hood. “Look, I wasn’t just gonna sit back and let him rob the place. Also, he was taking change. Do you know how stupid that is? I really don’t think he was going to do serious damage.”

You don’t wait for his response, grabbing the microwave dinner, the can of Arizona, and a few snacks that you had left on the ground and placing them on the counter for Angel to ring up. You drop a few crumpled bills on the counter to pay, but before you can grab your things and head out, Angel stops you.

“You’re short a dollar seventy-five.”

You look down at the counter and wince. “C’mon, Angel, cut me some slack here. I just saved your ass.”

He snorts. “You call that saving? You looked like a cat getting sprayed with water. Besides, I’m already gonna be on thin ice from this, I don’t need to give my boss any other reason to nag me. Sorry, kid.”

You groan and dig through your bag for some more change. You grin when you find a handful of quarters in a pocket, but a very muscled arm reaches in front of you as Red Hood places a folded 5 dollar bill on the counter.

You open your mouth to thank him, but he grabs the plastic bag that Angel has placed your things in and guides you out of the bodega. 

“It was nice knowing you, kid,” Angel calls out as you leave. Very funny.

“It doesn’t matter if you thought he wasn’t gonna hurt you. You can’t throw yourself into danger based on what you think someone will do. Especially not in Gotham.”

He hands you the plastic bag, and you take it hesitantly. “Isn’t that hypocritical, though? You jump into trouble all the time.”

He shakes his head. “I’m trained, and I know what I’m getting into. You either have a death wish, or you think none of this can touch you.”

“I…,” you trail off, not sure what he wants you to say. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t exactly have a lot of time to wait for the GCPD to do something. I just knew that if I didn’t do anything, it would be my fault if Angel got hurt.”

Red Hood’s shoulders drop, and he lets out a soft sigh. “It’s not your fault when people like that do what they do. Just…don’t put yourself on the line like that. That’s what I’m here for.”

You laugh. “Well, you can’t exactly be everywhere, can you?”

“You never know. C’mon, let me take you home.”

You let out a low whistle. “Woah, how ‘bout you buy me a drink first?”

But you tell him your address anyways, and he walks with you the whole way back. You spare glances at him every now and then, straightening your head forward when he catches your eye.

“So,” you start, unable to stand the silence, “why do you do this? I can’t imagine it pays well to run around in spandex.”

He snorts. “First of all, I don’t wear spandex, I’m not a freak. I’m…I’m not the kind of person you think I am.”

You roll your eyes. “This is where you tell me you’re a dark soul and you hurt everything you touch. I’ve had enough ex-boyfriends, I don’t need that speech from you too.”

“This isn’t a joke. I’m not a good person. I don’t do this because I think I can change Gotham. Everything I do is out of anger and spite.”

You shrug off his words. “Well, yeah, I did report on your…debut as Red Hood. It was pretty fucked up. But I also wrote about your impact on Crime Alley. I’ve interviewed people that live there and in other parts of Gotham that rich assholes won’t go near. Whether you like it or not, people do look up to you. We—they see you as a symbol.”

Red Hood stares at you, shaking his head. “A symbol of what? That murder is always the answer?”

“That we can—should fight back. Maybe not to such extremes, but you’ve shown us that we don’t have to roll over and beg when rich men tell us to. I think that counts for something.”

“I don’t know if you're the best judge of character, trouble. Not if you think there’s any good in me.”

Your face scrunches up. “Trouble?”

He laughs. “That’s what you are. I think it's a fitting name.”

You grumble, but you can’t exactly argue against his point. You get to your apartment building then, and you turn to Red Hood one last time. “Thank you for walking me home. I’ll try not to run into any burning buildings or chase after cats in trees.”

He nods in approval. “That’s a good start. Let me see your phone.”

You comply, and he spends a few minutes on it before handing it back. “I added a number you can reach me at. It's a secure line, but if you share it with anyone I will know.”

“Oh, you like me so much you had to give me your number, huh?”

He rolls his eyes at your teasing tone. “If you think you’re about to do something stupid that I’ll yell at you for, just call or send me a text, and I’ll handle it, okay?”

You blink up at him. His shoulders are tense, and you get the feeling that he’s being very vulnerable right now. “Thank you. I’ll be sure not to abuse it.”

You scurry off into your apartment building, clutching your phone like a lifeline.

──────────𝜗𝜚──────────

A part of you hopes that you never have to contact him, but this is Gotham and you’re a journalist. Without intending to, you sniff out trouble like a bloodhound. You keep your messages to Red Hood as professional and concise as possible, laying out just the most basic information so that he doesn’t get annoyed with you. And you know he takes everything you say seriously, because you either write or hear about his activities all the time. 

It makes you happy to know that he takes your words and your concerns seriously. You haven’t had a lot of that all your life. 

Over time, your messages to Red Hood allow yourself to get more casual with how you message Red Hood, and as the months go by, you get to know him a bit better. His favorite book is Pride and Prejudice, though Frankenstein is a close second. He grew up in Gotham, and he’s spent almost all his life here. And the most surprising thing you’ve learned is that he likes to cook. You’d learned that accidentally. 

The first time he’d returned to your apartment since your initial meeting, he was injured and he’d hesitantly asked if you could help patch him up. After making sure he wasn’t going to die on you, you were reluctant to say goodbye. You’d just finished making your first actual meal all week, and you invited him to join you. You hadn’t expected him to say yes, but you’re glad he did. Because now, he stops by to make dinner with you every now and then. He still occasionally stops by for the purpose of getting your subpar medical attention, but most of his visits are specifically so that he can hang out with you. Red Hood might deny it, but the two of you are friends now.

You tell yourself that you’re friends, at least, because sometimes you don’t think you can chalk up how you feel about him as platonic. You stare at him far longer than is polite, but he doesn’t ever make fun of you when he catches your eye. And sometimes, he sits or stands so close that you think he might lean a little bit closer, before he realizes your proximity and pulls back.

You never thought you’d ever be close to one of Gotham’s vigilantes, least of all Red Hood. But despite all of his self-loathing, you see the sweetness that he hides under all that gruffness. He cares so much about this city, and it kind of scares you to see how much of his heart is laid out so plainly. To you, his anger and violence are evidence of how much he cares.

It makes you feel more guilty for what you’re about to do. You can’t get his face out of your head as you research and plan your current story.

You’ve heard chatter about something that the power-hungry billionaire Max Shreck is planning. It’s been very tight-lipped, especially to someone like you who is so far removed from what concerns Gotham’s elite. But you’re good at blending into backgrounds unnoticed, and billionaires sure get talkative at all the galas and charity events they attend. It sounds exactly like the kind of scheme that Red Hood would tell you to stay away from. If you bothered to tell him the hole you were digging yourself into. 

You should tell him what you’ve heard—that Shreck is working with the Penguin to drain Gotham dry. You don’t know enough about what they’re planning, but you know it will hurt regular Gothamites the most before it touches the rich parts of this city. And Red Hood would definitely take your concern seriously if you told me. But he would never in a million years let you be involved, and you won’t be able to walk away from this without doing something to help. People like Shreck are the reason why your childhood was so unstable, and you don’t want to stand by and let it happen again. 

Shreck visits the Iceberg Lounge every Thursday evening, and tonight is as perfect an opportunity as ever. Red Hood is busy dealing with an outburst from Condiment King, so you’re not worried about getting caught. 

The queue to get into the Lounge is long, and by the time you get to the front, your shoulders are shaking anxiously. You straighten out when the bouncer gives you a look over.

“Sorry, can’t let you in tonight,” the man says dismissively.

You falter for a moment before putting on your best condescending glare. “You can’t be serious. Do you know who I am? The Valestra family supports your boss quite generously, and I would hate to weaken our ties.”

But the bouncer just shakes his head. “I understand. But there’s business to be taken care of tonight at the Lounge, and we can’t let just anyone in.”

You gasp. “Just anyone? Who do you think you are? This is utterly ridiculous, and I–”

There’s an arm around your shoulder, and it distracts you enough that your entitled rant trails off unfinished. You stare at the man that has joined your side. He looks familiar, and it takes you a moment to realize that this is Thomas Elliot, the head of one of Gotham’s richest families.

“This is my guest for the night,” he says smoothly, pulling you closer to his side and walking through the entrance. He doesn’t even wait for the bouncer to let him in, he just…does what he wants. Is it that easy for people like him?

He gives you a sideways glance and a vicious grin. “You’re a pretty little thing aren’t you? Valestra, you say? Are you one of Salvatore’s pups?”

It takes everything in you not to shrivel at his words. “Third cousin actually. Sal promised me I’d have a grand time at the Lounge, and he said I must try the drinks here. If you’ll excuse me, I want to–”

The hand at your shoulder holds you close. “No need. I’ll get us a table, and the help will bring it to us. Come.”

He all but drags you to a table with velvet-cushioned seats. You curse your terrible luck for leading you right into deep shit, again. You look around for an exit from this ego-inflated idiot, but everyone is so wrapped up in their own worlds. You can see Shreck standing on the mezzanine above, having a very intense discussion with Cobblepot himself. You look away before they can notice you. 

Elliot draps a soft hand over your own as you wait for a waiter to bring over some drinks. “So tell me, dear, do you live in Gotham?

You laugh as obnoxiously as possible. “Oh, please, I wouldn’t be caught dead living in this rat-infested city. No offense, darling. I have a penthouse in Metropolis. I’d much rather be home, but you know how it is with Sal.”

He nods absentmindedly. “Hm, yes. Valestra has always been a sentimental man hasn’t he? I can’t blame you for not wanting to stay in Gotham. It's good land, yes, but as you said the rats make it so hard to enjoy it. Always complaining about their lives as if they haven’t dirtied the streets with their crimes. It’s disgusting, what they’ve done to this city.”

Your fist clenches under the table. Your vision goes white with anger, but you let out a breath to calm yourself down. You try to laugh with him, but it comes out half-hearted. Thank god, your drinks arrive, and you immediately lift the flute to your lips.

Elliot leans forward, running his finger along the rim of his glass of whiskey. “You know, you might actually be able to move back to Gotham soon.”

You smell an opportunity. “Oh? How so?”

He glances up at the pair still talking on the mezzanine. “I shouldn’t tell you, but…Salvatore’s a friend. Shreck’s investing in a pipeline through Gotham. It’ll get us a lot of money. And all those rats?” He chuckles.

He leans in closer, a weird, sultry tone in his voice. “They’ll do what they do best, and scurry far, far away. It’ll be impossible for them to afford even an inch of this city. Gotham will go back to what it was meant to be.”

Your heart thrums. You know that Elliot’s view is very misguided, because this city could never thrive without the working class. And with Arkham so out of control nowadays, landlords couldn’t afford to raise their prices. 

Still, building a pipeline through Gotham is worrisome, especially with all the toxic waste that has already been pumped into this city by the Joker and Scarecrow. The city couldn’t survive another biohazardous disaster. You need to know more if you’re going to tell Red Hood.

“Oh, that’s a relief. So this pipeline…”

You don’t continue, because a large shadow dwarfs your figure. You don’t know if you should be relieved or worried to see Red Hood standing over your table, beefy arms crossed over his chest in intimidation.

“Hood–”

“We’re leaving. Now.” He is pissed. So, worried it is.

Elliot tries to stop him, but he doesn’t stand a chance. Red Hood nudges you out of your seat. Before Elliot can protest, he places a gloved hand between your shoulder blades and guides you through the busy room until you’re out through a side door.

You try to say something, but you can feel his seething look through his mask as he holds a hand up and jerks his head towards his bike. He tosses a helmet to you, and you climb on behind him after securing it to your head. The entire ride is silent, and you know you're in for a lecture. But your mind is still so focused on what Elliot had told you. 

Red Hood lets you brew in your thoughts until he’s led you up into your apartment.

“What,” he seethes, “the hell were you thinking. Scratch that—clearly you weren’t thinking, because you were in the Iceberg Lounge. Are you serious? Is this what you call staying out of trouble?”

You try to calm him. “Hood, come on. I was fine.”

“Fine? The Penguin was there tonight. If he knew you snuck your way in—if he knew why you were there—he wouldn’t have hesitated to kill you. And if I hadn’t been there–” he cuts himself off to shudder out a breath.

“This is my job, Hood. You can’t ask me not to follow a lead like this! The people need to know this, and if I can get it published in the Gazette–”

“No. You’re done. I tried to guide you away, but clearly you’re not going to stop. You will never stop putting yourself in danger.”

“I’m still here, aren’t I? I must be doing okay.”

He stares at you in disbelief. “And how long are you going to be okay when you’re acting like this? Do you know what they’ll do to you if you publish that story? They will find you, and they will tear you apart. I can’t lose you!”

You try to shrug off his confession. “This is my choice, Hood. You do what you do because you want to help people, and this is how I help people. You can't ask me to stop.”

He hesitates for a moment. “You’re right, I can’t ask you to stop. But I can make you, if you’re fired.”

You recoil, like he’d slapped you. “What? You can’t do that.”

He can’t even look you in the eye. “Wayne Enterprise owns the Gazette, and Bruce Wayne happens to owe me a favor. I can. But I don’t want to do that. I’m begging you to drop the story, to stop putting yourself in danger. Or I’ll be forced to make you stop. Please.”

You scoff. “Get out of my apartment.”

He calls out your name softly, taking a step closer to you. 

“Get the fuck out! Or I’ll call the police and tell them you broke in.”

“Thought you said the GCPD is useless.”

“They are, but I’m sure there are a few vigilantes who want to bring you in. You’re still a criminal.”

His hands hover before him, and he clenches his fists tight at your words. You hate to even say something like this to him, but you want him to leave, and this is the only way you can think to make him. 

He walks over to your window, pulling it open in a quick motion. Before he leaves, he turns back to you and says, “Please just tell me you’ll drop the story.”

You turn away from him to hide your tears. “I never want to see you again.”

He doesn’t say anything. When you turn back, the window is sealed shut and he's nowhere to be seen. It's like he was never here.

──────────𝜗𝜚──────────

GOTHAM, NJ — The Martha Foundation raises a startling 3.5 billion dollars at last week’s charity gala. Mr. Bruce Wayne, the Foundation’s primary benefactor, has spoken with the Gazette about where these funds will be invested. Notably, a large portion will be used to repair the Gotham Public Library, which was destroyed in a recent explosion that has left all of Gotham shaken. While authorities have yet to confirm the source of the explosion, rumors indicate that

You groan and backspace the entire paragraph. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Everyone knows who caused the explosion, but you can’t go around accusing people in the paper, not unless you want your head on a stick. Red Hood was right, you just can’t stop looking for trouble, can you? 

The thought of the masked man makes you lean down and press your forehead against your desk. You haven’t seen him since you kicked him out of your apartment, and you can feel the loss of his presence. You can feel the pang in your heart every time you think of him and remember how you ended things. You know you don’t have the right to, because you were the one to push him away. Still, it hurts to think of him, and you want nothing more than to see him again. Maybe you’re petty for not seeking him out, but you can’t bring yourself to call him. Next week, you promise yourself. Next week, you’ll apologize and promise not to do anything stupid ever again. 

When you spare a glance at your computer’s clock, you realize just how late it is. Your work day should have ended an hour ago, but here you are, wrapped in your thoughts. You save the scrap of a story that you’re working on and shut off the dingy computer. You’ll just work on it tomorrow. Or rather, you’ll write and rewrite it a million times over tomorrow. 

The streets of Gotham are strangely empty right now. Sure, people usually stay in when it gets dark earlier, but its especially quiet. It feels like the city is holding its breath as it waits for the ball to drop, and you don’t want to be out when that happens. After living in Gotham all your life, a person gets to know when something is undeniably wrong.

You don’t notice the men following you until you’re a few blocks away from your apartment. You knew, you knew something wasn’t right. And yet here you are, alone in Gotham at night. You ignore the sound of their fast approaching boots, staring straight ahead. But another man is walking in your direction, staring right at you. They pinch you in on either side, forcing you to stop at the lip of an alleyway. You know they’re from the Penguin. You’re sure you’ve been on his radar since Red Hood had to pull you out of the Iceberg Lounge, but also the penguin themed ski-masks kind of give it away. You hope it's not the last thing you see before you die, because that would really suck. 

You weigh your options really quickly. You wonder if you can make a quick escape. But a scan over the men surrounding you makes it clear that there is no way you can take a single step without getting shot in the back of the head.

“Hey, fellas. I’ve had a really long day, so if I could just be on my way–”

They step even closer. The man in front smiles at you with cruelty in his eyes. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice about messing with the Penguin.”

Before you can think, say, or do anything, he shoots you right in the stomach. You gasp involuntarily, as if surprised that a bullet was actually able to hurt you. It's a sharp pain that starts suddenly and then just doesn’t stop. You press your hand to your stomach, flinching at the contact your hand makes with sticky, hot blood. 

One of the men kicks the back of your ankles, sending you down to your knees. You wheeze, staring up as the man in front steps closer. 

He snorts. “Let’s see if your Big Bad Wolf can save you this time.”

You don’t want to just sit here and take this. You want to scream, kick, or curse them to hell and back. But it’s too late. They’re gone, and you’re bleeding out in an alley of Gotham.

Your brain scrambles up enough energy not to give up right away. What had the man said about a wolf? No, not any wolf—your wolf. Your Red Hood. You pull out your phone, trying to ignore how badly your hands shake. You find his contact on autopilot, heart clenching at the contact photo you have set of his brooding mask.

It rings once. You worry for a moment that Red Hood won’t answer, that he’ll ignore you like you did him. But he picks up after the first ring.

“Trouble?” You hate to hear the hope in his voice. You hate that you’re going to rip it away from him again.

“Red,” you say, trying not to choke on your own breath, “I need you. I can’t–”

You squeeze your eyes, trying desperately to block out your fatigue. You don’t want him to notice your pain. But of course he hears it.

“I’m coming. Where are you?”

You try to remember what street you were on, but all sense of logic has slipped your mind. You sob out, “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay, I’ll find you, just hold on for me, okay?” His voice calms you, and you lean back against the wall. You vaguely register that he’s speaking again, but not to you. You can tell, because his voice is now erratic and demanding.

After a moment, his voice returns to its soothing rasp. “Okay, I have your location. I’m only a few minutes away. Can you talk to me? I need to hear your voice.”

You nod, then realize he can’t see you over the phone. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a pause on the other side before he says, “Don’t. Don’t apologize.”

“But you were right, I should have listened to you. I was too stubborn.”

“Then apologize when you see me.”

“I miss you.” The blood loss must really be getting to you, if you’re admitting something like that so easily. But you do miss him. You wasted so much time being stupid, and you regret it so much.

“I’m almost there. Please stop talking like you’re gonna die. You’re going to be fine, you hear me?” He sounds so confident, and you desperately want to believe him.

You press your head back against the brick wall behind you. A light drizzle of rain paints your face, and you shut your eyes and pretend that nothing is wrong and that you’re not scared that Red Hood won’t come.

You don’t wait long, and it feels like only a second before a gloved hand is cupping your cheek. Your eyes flutter open, and you stare into familiar, blank eyes. Red Hood is crouched down in front of you, staring right at the hole in your stomach.

You cough, which only causes you to hack up more blood. You wince as it splatters all over Red Hood’s mask.

“S-sorry,” you gasp out. You reach a shaky hand out to wipe away the blood, but you’d forgotten the small fact that your blood is already stained on your hand. You end up spreading more blood over his mask. It makes you want to cry. “Fuck. ‘M sorry.”

You pull your hand away so that you don’t make even more of a mess, but Red Hood grasps your hand in his, keeping your palm pressed against his cheek.

“Don’t you dare apologize, trouble. EMS is en route, can you just keep your eyes on me?”

You shudder out a breath, but do your best to nod. “Please don’t leave. Don’t wanna die alone.”

You can feel his grip tighten. “You’re not going to die, I’m not gonna let that happen.”

The fervor in his voice makes you smile. “You’re my favorite person, Red.”

He dips his head low for a moment. Then, he does something you never thought you’d see. He unclasps his half-mask and lays it beside him. Next goes his domino mask. You study his face, brows furrowing at the pain in his eyes.

“My name is Jason,” he says softly, and the sound of his voice without the modular voice-changer makes you shiver. How you have the time to be lovesick as you’re bleeding out, you’ll never understand.

“Jason,” you repeat, trying the name on your tongue. “Thank you. I’ll take your secret to the grave.”

Your eyes crinkle at your own terribly-timed joke, but you regret it when his face falls apart in anguish. It is worse, to be able to see him laid out before you like this.

He shudders a breath and leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours. “I’m so sorry.”

You run your palm over his smooth cheek, brushing your fingers against an oddly shaped scar that cuts into his lips. “It’s not your fault, Jason. You were right. There’s so much in my life that I wish I could change. But meeting you? I wouldn’t change that, even if it kills me. You are–”

You cough weakly. You’re so tired, and your body is begging you to shut down, to give up. But Jason asked you to stay focused on him, and you don’t want to take your eyes away from him. “You are the best thing that has happened to me.”

Tears flood your eyes. The thought of leaving Jason all alone makes your heart clench.

“Hey, sweetheart, look at me, okay?”

Your eyes readjust, finding his face back in your view. You hadn’t even noticed that your head had dropped. You feel the fight in your body drain. Your hand flails out in desperation. “Jay–”

He takes your hand in his carefully. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

When you don’t respond, he cups your cheek in his strong hand. “C’mon, talk to me. What was that book you were telling me about last month?”

He searches your eyes desperately. Your face has gone blank, and your eyes have glazed over.

“No. Sweetheart, please look at me. Please.”

He cradles your face between both of his hands before pulling you into his chest. He sobs without caring if anyone will see him like this, on his knees and hunched over your limp body. He mutters apologies into your hair, running a careful hand over your back. 

He can hear his earpiece crackle to life, and Babs starts speaking on the other line. “Red Hood? EMS is nearing your location now.”

He lays you gently against the concrete, making sure the back of your head doesn’t hit the ground harshly. He stands and retrieves his domino and half-mask shakily, making sure they’re secure before addressing Babs. “Oracle,” he gasps out. “Tell EMS it's a 10-45D. The coroner…the coroner needs to be here.”

Her keyboard stops clacking. “Ja–Red Hood? Are you…should I call in Nightwing? I’m going to–”

Jason turns his comm off. He knows she means well, but Jason cannot listen to her right now. He doesn't want anyone to see or speak to him. He just wants you. He kicks a discarded bottle of booze further down the alley, causing a pack of rats to scurry away. He screams into the air. He doesn’t care that it won’t achieve anything. 

Jason sinks to his knees beside your body. “I told you to stay out of trouble,” he says weakly.

There’s no comeback from you this time.

──────────𝜗𝜚──────────

[cheynovak]

Holdover

CHARACTERS: Mark Meachum x YN former coworker/ boss

SCENE: Abandoned Motel, late evening.

THE VIBE: Hurt/comfort, lovers-to-enemies-to-lovers, brutal honesty, slow-burn steam

CW: Language, emotional conflict, hints of (past) intimacy, romantic tension

The door slammed open hard enough to bounce off the wall.

YN stepped inside first, her breath ragged, sweat streaking down her dirt-smudged neck. She didn’t even look around. One twin bed. A dead ceiling fan. The motel reeked of rot and neglect.

Mark trailed behind, dropping his duffel with a heavy thud. “This place looks like it hasn’t had a guest since the Cold War.”

“You weren’t exactly giving me options, were you?” YN snapped. “Oh, right. Because you’ve been so good at giving people options.”

She spun around. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You know what it means.” Mark's voice was low and bitter. “You’ve been calling the shots since you got that promotion—and God forbid anyone challenge Saint YN.”

“Don’t start with this,” she warned. "You just couldn't handle a woman being your boss."

“No, I will start with this. You climbed the ladder, and somewhere along the way, you started looking down on the rest of us—me especially.”

“Oh, you did that all on your own. I wasn’t harder on you because I hated you, Mark. I was harder on you because you turned into this—this smug, flirty, arrogant son of a bitch—”

“Because you started to give me shitty jobs,” he roared. The room went quiet except for the sound of the broken fan creaking overhead.

Mark took a breath, eyes flaring. “You stopped looking at me like I mattered the moment you outranked me. And then you acted like I was some goddamn liability.”

“You were,” she bit out. “You stopped listening. You undermined me in front of the team. You acted like everything I said was a personal attack.”

“Because it was personal!"

“Then maybe you should’ve been professional enough to handle it!”

"Oh I handled it sweetheart!"

"You quite like a coward!"

They were toe to toe now. The tension coiled so tight between them it could snap a steel wire.

“You know what?” Mark said, voice tight. “You don’t get to stand there and judge me! You took a step back for this task force so you're my equal. No, no, technically I was here first, so you're a rookie."

She huffed "Yeah right!"

He smirked, a green with envy little rookie whose jealous of Oliveras.”

YN blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Oh please. You’ve been grinding your teeth every time I so much as smile at her. But you threw me away, remember? Or does your memory only work when it’s convenient?”

“That’s rich—coming from the guy who can’t go five minutes without acting like he’s God’s gift to women just to distract from the fact that he’s still hung up on someone who won’t give him the time of day anymore.”

Mark flinched.

“Hit too close?” she said coldly.

“I’m not the only one hung up.”

She laughed—sharp and bitter. “Please. You think I waste one minute thinking about you?”

“No,” Mark snapped. " Then why are you here YN? I think you waste every second trying not to think of me.”

Silence.

Her hands were shaking, and she hated that he noticed. She turned her back to him, biting down the burn in her throat.

“Forget it,” she muttered. “I’m done. You win. I don’t even know why I came on this mission.”

“Because you think we blew this mission, and you always have to fix everything,” he threw back. “Even things that are already broken.”

“Like you?” she said, barely above a whisper.

Mark didn’t respond.

She heard him mutter something under his breath before heading into the bathroom and slamming the door.

The water turned on a moment later.

She sat on the edge of the bed. Her hands were clenched. Her jaw ached from grinding it. But the worst pain sat somewhere behind her ribs—loud and aching and screaming at her that this still mattered

And that maybe she’d been just as much at fault.

She couldn’t sit still.

The anger had nowhere to go. The motel room felt like it was choking her. And so, for reasons she couldn’t name, she walked to the bathroom door. Slowly. Then pushed it open.

Steam greeted her like a wave.

She stepped in. Didn’t announce herself. Couldn’t.

Mark was just a silhouette behind the frosted glass, water streaming over his skin, his hands braced against the tile like he was trying to stay upright.

She leaned on the sink, jaw set.

Steam rolled toward her in thick waves. He didn’t hear her come in—he never locked the door. Water thundered against the tile as he stood in the small stall, back to her, his figure half visible through the fogged glass.

YN stood at the sink, arms crossed, biting the inside of her cheek like it might stop her voice from shaking.

“Did you ever mean it?” she asked quietly.

A beat. Silence.

Mark didn’t say anything for a long time. “Mean what?” His voice came from behind the foggy door, low and unreadable.

“You know exactly what I mean.” Her voice cracked on the edge of the sentence. “All the things you said. The nights we spent on stakeouts. That time in Madrid when you looked at me like I was the only person in the room.”

Silence. Then the water shut off.

He stayed in the stall a few seconds longer, as if bracing himself. Then the door creaked open.

Mark stepped out. Her eyes landed on his face —and he looked raw. Hair wet and curling over his forehead, water still dripping from his chest.water still dripping from his chest, lower over his abdomen to his hips lower to his ....

YN looked away instantly. “Jesus, Mark—”

“Hey, you came in here,” he said, stepping forward, grabbing a towel, wrapping it around his hips “You want to talk, have real answers?”

She kept her eyes on the cracked floor. “Just tell me it was nothing. Tell me I was a fool for thinking any of it meant something.”

Mark was suddenly right in front of her, close enough she could feel the heat from his body radiating through the humid air. His hand cupped her face—not rough, not soft either, just… real.

“You want the truth?” he said. “You terrified me. You got that promotion and suddenly it was like I didn’t know how to be around you without wanting more. And I hated that. I hated that you had control and life all figures out. I hated that it still wasn’t enough to stop wanting you. Because I didn’t deserve you.”

YN swallowed. “So you punished me for it.”

“Yeah,” he said flatly. “I did.”

They stared at each other. Just inches apart, but a thousand miles away.

She stepped closer, her voice trembling now. “You made me feel like I was... Like I was wrong for being good at the job.”

“You weren’t wrong,” he said. “You were brilliant. And I wanted to be the one who told you that every damn day. But instead I made it worse. Because I’m an idiot.”

Her breath shook as she looks into his green eyes. Mark’s jaw tightened. His hand came up to cup her face. Gently this time. Tender. Careful.

And then he kissed her.

Hard.

All teeth and desperation and years of unspoken things.

Her hands gripped his damp shoulders like she was drowning. He kissed her like he was trying to burn out the years between them.

The kiss left them breathless—foreheads pressed together, skin flushed, air hot with more than steam.

Mark’s hands were on her waist now, thumbs brushing bare skin where her shirt had ridden up. YN clutched his towel-damp shoulders, half-dazed, lips swollen from how fiercely they’d crashed together.

His voice was low—rough, uncertain, but still cocky in that way that always made her want to slap him and kiss him at the same time

“You started that,” he murmured against her lips.

She swallowed, smirking despite herself. “You kissed me first.”

“After you walked in here like a goddamn fever dream,” he breathed. “You stood there with that look on your face—I thought you were gonna kill me or fuck me.”

“Still might do both,” she muttered.

That earned a crooked grin. “Come here.”

He started to lead her backward, slowly, toward the bed. His hand was warm on her back, guiding, gently urging. His eyes were hungry now—open and bare in a way she hadn’t seen in years.

But YN hesitated.

Her hand pressed flat against his chest, stopping him.

Mark frowned slightly, eyes scanning hers. “Hey,” he said quietly. “What’s wrong?”

She exhaled, flustered. “Nothing.”

He tilted his head. “You sure? Because two seconds ago you were ready to melt into me.

She bit her lip, avoiding his gaze. “I just—look, I do want this. Desperately. But I feel…” She motioned vaguely to herself. “Disgusting. I’ve been sweating all day, my hair’s a mess, I probably smell like roadkill, and you just had a shower and now I’m standing here like—”

Mark blinked, then leaned back just slightly, a laugh catching in his throat.

“Are you seriously stopping this because you’re worried you’re dirty?”

“Yes!” she said, exasperated. “I am! Because I feel like I’ve been rolled in sandpaper and humiliation all day, and if we’re gonna—” she gestured vaguely at the space between them “—do anything, I’d prefer not to feel like I’ve been hit by a dump truck.”

Mark let out a breath that was part relief, part amusement. “Jesus, YN.”

He grinned—then softened.

“You could’ve just said, ‘Give me five minutes.’ You didn’t have to look like you were about to commit a federal crime.”

She gave him a flat look, cheeks flushed. “I didn’t expect to walk in here and end up halfway to ripping your towel off, okay?”

He smirked again, stepping closer, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

“Go,” he said gently. “Take your shower. I’ll still be here.”

“In that towel?”

“Maybe...maybe not."

She groaned and turned toward the stall, but not before he gave her a sly look over his shoulder.

“Oh, and YN?”

She paused.

“I wanted this since Madrid. So take your time. But not too long.”

--

What do we think? Need a part two for ending or not? Maybe back story to their "Madrid mission"

taglist: Jensen: @jackles010378 @libby99hb @winchesterwild78 @suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @deans-baby-momma @ancles @tulipsvanilla @thesilmarillionblog @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @kr804573 @kamisobsessed @hobby27 @globetrotter28 @kindollss @muhahaha303 @shadysoulangel @lyarr24 @spxideyver @impala67rollingthroughtown @panickedbitch @deansimpalababy @livya99 @yvonneeeee @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @imsiriuslyreal @panickedbitch @roseblue373 @n-o-p-e-never @ariasong11 @lmpala1967 @sherlockstrangewolf @spnaquakindgdom @writtenbyhollywood @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @healojane @star-yawnznn @deanswifeyy @lmg14

[cloversnstrawberries]

"this is no place of honor" parental!platonic yandere!supervillian & gn!neglected!hero sidekick!reader [oneshot] ! !

intro | masterlist

description; There has always been something wrong with you, with your powers-- nearly everyone who knows you has said so, one way or another. You wouldn't blame them-- if you overuse your powers even the teensiest bit, you quite literally become a passive threat to national security. When you break down to your new friend, Erin, about a recent incident-- you never expected for them to disagree with everyone else. To disagree with you on the matter.

additional notes; a short lil thing for malpractice, because he is... lowkey my favorite. PLEASE send in asks about this man i love him and would love to spill my ideas everywhere like spaghetti out my pocket. if you want to learn anything about worldbuilding, the agency, the hero reader works with, readers powers as well, PLEAAAASE let me know because i will infodump so hard. a torrential downpour of information. pleek.

warnings; implied child abuse, neglect, and generally immoral conduct involving reader (done by the agency), hurt/comfort, manipulation, possessive behavior, overprotectiveness, corpses, dehumanization (agency to reader D:), Malpractice and his goshdang puppets again!!, unsettling behavior, & if there's anything major I missed, please let me know, and i'll add it!!

w/c; 1.8k

You don't know why this is happening, what broke the dam and let all your emotions come flowing free. You're happy, you should be happy-- you love hanging out with your friend, so why are you crying so much? It's not fair, you thought you'd cried all you had back in your room.

Maybe it was the crushing kind of guilt about your situation right now. You aren't even supposed to be out of your room right now, much less the facility as a whole. It's not-- you should be safe to be around right now, so you didn't see much of a reason to skip out on your regular hangouts with your new friend.

Even if you had to sneak out for it. It's not like you're dangerous to be around anymore, the radioactive affect you emit should be long neutralized; the staff just wanted to keep you locked up to think about what you'd done.

And you'd thought plenty. That might be why your letting it all lose now, finally having someone to talk to that won't judge or shame you for your feelings for actions.

You've only known each other for about a month, you and Erin-- it's a terrifying thought, that this might cause them to pull away. To see how unstable you are, and decide to not want any part in your life.

If they did, then you wouldn't blame them. It's a terrible, awful feeling, being unable to control yourself. Curled up on the stone bench, settled in a quiet little grotto you'd taken to visiting a lot as of late-- your legs pulled to your chest, face pressed against your knees.

"I only wanted to help..." Despite how muffled your voice was, how crackly and warbled from how hard you were crying, you could still tell that Erin understood what you'd said.

Erin set a firm hand on your back, taking to rubbing calming little circles with their thumb. Your breath hitched, as a shuddering sob wracked your entire frame.

Deep down, you feel like you don't deserve this kind of comfort. Not after what you did, even if it was an accident. You didn't think that'd count as 'overusing your powers', enough to make you a biohazard--

"Shhh..." Erin soothed, their other hand gently holding your upper arm as you hiccupped and sniffled. "I know, I know. It's not your fault," And something about that set you off-- you'd feel better if they were blaming you, because they should be doing that.

With a monumental amount of effort (the kind that should get you an award), you pulled your face from where you'd been crushing it against the top of your knees, and looked Erin in the eyes. For just a second, before deciding it was too difficult right now, and casting your gaze to the ground as you spoke.

"No-- but, but it is! They, I-- I hurt someone, they're in the hospital fo-for radiation poisoning, and it's because of me--!" Erin's grip on your arm tightened just a fraction, but it was enough to cut your stumbling tirade short. On instinct, you looked back at their face--

You meant to only glance, before looking back to the ground. But there was something... off, in their gaze, that made you hold it. Out of fear, maybe-- something was wrong, something that wasn't wrong about 15 minutes ago when you'd entered the grotto to find them already there.

"You couldn't have known," They said with a firm kind of finality, the kind that you wouldn't dare try to argue. "And it's not like they're going to die, that level of radiation poisoning, from what you've told me of their symptoms; is hardly anything to sneeze at. Things are being blown out of proportion."

A few beats of silence passed, before your face wrenched up-- tears started anew, as you pitched forward into Erin's chest. They wrapped their arms around you in an embrace readily, like they'd been waiting their whole life to do so. Your arms wrapped around their waist in response, and they pulled you closer.

They were wearing a pretty sort of blouse-- your afraid it might be silk, with how it feels against your skin. As you cry and cry into their shoulder, you remember hearing that silk is so delicate that even water can stain it indefinitely.

But when you try to pull back, afraid that may be the case-- you find Erin's hand had settled on the back of your head, and gently guided your face back against their shoulder.

It broke you, that gesture. It might not be silk, you aren't very well-versed in these kinds of things first-hand; but if it was, which you think it may be, they're letting you stain it. The idea of it is enough to make all your walls come down, as sputtered out all your worries that's been building for months-- no, years-- before.

"I-- I jus' wanna help, that's all I wanna do! But I'm... i'm always treated like-- like a ticking timebomb or something! I don't wanna hurt people, I'm supposed to heal them-- but I can't-- I can't if I accidentally push myself too far and end up becoming a danger to everyone!" It all came tumbling out before you could even think to stop it,

But Erin took it in stride regardless. They shushed and soothed you in a way no one ever dared before-- not since the agency got it's hands on you when you were young, when your powers first presented.

It's a strange idea, that you've only known Erin for a month, if even that. They know things you don't think you've told them before, like that time you accidentally stole a sucker from a gas station a few months ago, or what your favorite school subject was.

They were simple things, though. Things you've told other friends before, so maybe it just slipped your mind that you told them after all. It feels like Erin has known you longer than you have, though.

It's an unsettling kind of thought, one that was a little difficult to shake off. But right now, you didn't have any wiggle-room to think about it. Right now, you were a little too focused on (metaphorically) spilling your guts all over the stone bench underneath you two.

By the time you'd gotten everything off your chest, your whole body felt heavy from exhaustion. Distantly, you could hear police canvasing the area-- could hear on of the facility directors speaking with them, no doubt looking for you.

Even if you had been given the go-ahead for this outing, you'd stayed out way too long. The sun was starting to set, and you never knew you could cry for that long.

Erin had held you through the whole thing, and had a hard time letting you go. When you tried to pull back, their hold kept steadfast. Their strength wasn't something you could've predicted-- but you were so out of it that you didn't question it much.

"I don' want them finding out about you." You mumbled against their shoulder, but they still didn't let up. You realized that their hearing probably wasn't as good as yours-- or they hadn't put two and two together yet,

"The agency's looking for me." Voice almost a whisper, you still knew they heard you. Because they immediately said "I know." And your brows furrowed, and Erin let you pull your head back just enough so you could look up at them.

They were looking down at you in turn, their eyes looked... well, maybe it was the dim lighting, but it looked like they had bloodshot eyes-- except the veins weren't red,

They were pitch black.

it has to be the lighting, you tell yourself as you swallowed past the lump in your throat. "I have to go." Voice wavering, you hoped Erin could pick up on how much you didn't want to leave. That this was outside of your control.

Erin just stared at you, unblinking. For a terrible, agonizingly long moment, they didn't look much like Erin at all. You don't know who they looked like, but it definitely wasn't the person you've become accustomed to in recent weeks.

"I know." They parroted back, continuing to stare at you. It was like they were mulling over something very important, but you couldn't put your finger on what exactly that something was,

Not until they suddenly said "I'm just debating whether or not I should let them have you." And you hope that they didn't mean for it to come off the way it did, like they were about to steal you away like a fairytale witch in the dead of night.

Despite your better judgement, you settled on the idea that they meant for it to be comforting. That's okay, sometimes the way you say things makes it come out a little off. You won't fault them for that.

"I promise I'll see you soon-- but probably a few more weeks. I'm sure I'll get in big trouble for this." Their arms tightened "That's exactly why I don't want to let them have you. You shouldn't get punished for wanting some fresh air."

Heart beating a bit faster now, you started to squirm. Voice a litle pitchy, as you begged Erin to "Please let me go-- they might hurt you if you don't. They don't want me forming any outside connections."

Still, they didn't let go.

"I can't lose you, please--" It might've been because of the way your voice cracked so pathetically, or how your eyes started to shine with tears again, that finally had Erin releasing you.

Quickly, you hopped off the stone bench; only to stumble and almost fall face-first to the ground, before Erin gently grabbed ahold of you and kept you steady, as your body adjusted to standing after sitting for so long.

You mumbled a quick thank you, before turning and giving Erin a quick goodbye hug. it's all you could afford right now, since you heard the voices coming closer. They can't see you two together, you know that much--

"Goodbye, Erin." You quietly said, giving a short wave and you sped-walked towards the entrance/exit of the grotto. Erin gave a little wave back, the movement jerky in a way that felt a little unnatural-- but who are you to judge?

"Goodbye, dear. I'll see you soon."

The facility had kept you locked up tight for longer than you'd expected-- but the time you got out of your 1 and 1/2 month long grounding, Erin was nowhere to be found.

In their place, however, was a younger boy-- closer to your age than Erin had been-- that claims to be Erin's little brother. Saying that Erin fell ill, but didn't want you to be alone. So they sent him, who was hilariously so, also named Aaron-- different spelling, though.

They don't look much alike, you don't think; but they might be adopted. It'd be rude to ask, so you keep quiet on it. They have a very similar smile, though-- same odd way of speaking at times.

[dontbesoweirdkira]

Context

@silken-moons

Yes!! Okay so short discussion post.

like I always felt like yan! Dick is like completely scared or rather doesn't know to be authentic. It's no lie that he takes the place of dad for practically every kid over Bruce since Jason came along. He feels the pressure of being this super smiley guy all of the time. It's exhausting. He cannot have a bad day.

Most of his temperament comes from the stress of taking on the family. He's constantly expected to neglect his personal relationships, careers and hobbies all for the sake of his siblings. He doesn't mind because he loves them to the bone but he has so much resentment about his entire life and unresolved traumas that it's just sitting there.…

No one else sees this. Or maybe they do but they choose to ignore it. But you immediately noticed there was something disingenuous about him...it really irked him. He tried so hard to keep things like that hidden and he hates that was the first impression his new sis got of him. He knows that you cannot unsee it and everything might crumble because of it.

He doesn't want you telling the others about what you see in him and they then don't depend on him anymore out of worry. His entire existence revolves around them and he's just as yandere over them as he is with you.

Also yeah I do agree with the Jason thing. I think most people would gravitate to him because Jason knows what it’s like to be an outsider coming into this family.

Dick is so jealous over you and Jason's relationship tho. He cannot understand how you could feel safer with Jay over him when his younger brother has arguably more seething rage than he does.

Jason isn't always the nicest to you, and even has said hurtful things yet you still cling to him? Why is even being in the same room with Dick so nerve-wrecking for you?

Jason is also just as confused about this and asks you one day. To him, Dick is a good boy that would never harm you. If you think his big brother is bad, then he’s worse.

But what Jason failed to realize is that he’s extremely honest…even to a fault. Which is good. You know when to stay away from from him and when you’re in danger. Dick hides it so well that if you blink you might miss the crack.

"I dunno, Jay. You're just easier to read. If you're angry with me, you'll just flat out tell me. It's more terrifying to interact with someone that you have no idea what is going through their head. He rubs me the wrong way."

Jason accepts your answer and the conversation is done. Maybe Dick overheard it or maybe Jason relays it back to his brother in hopes to be helpful but it really gets to Dick.

You're not entirely wrong but he also doesn't really know how to go forward? If he suddenly stops being the happy-lucky Richard that everyone loves, his other siblings won't like him anymore...but if he acts more authentic...you might even hate that version even more. Damned if he does. Damned if he doesn't.

The best option is to just continue forcing you into submission like he did in the other post. You'll get worn down and eventually accept him as the rest do. He just knows it.

[thedarkestrivernymph]

Imagine(s)! A Heart Of Gold

Y!Charles Edition

warnings: mentions of death, potential spoilers for people who haven't read the main fic, mentions of neglect, mentions of infidelity

Younger Charles! who met you when he was fifteen and immediately fell head over heels.

Younger Charles! who first thought you were an Angel, some sort of heavenly figure gracing him with warmth and love his deceased mother had always promised him as a child.

Younger Charles! who was straight up naive. He desperately wanted you, yet learning that you were his brother's fiancée, about to be wed to this horrible man he felt sickened.

Younger Charles! who definitely cried into his pillow at night, heartbroken at you being so close yet out of his grasp. His poor heart only suffered more after the wedding as he started to see the new flush in your cheeks, hope glimmering in your eyes and your midriff plumping suspiciously, clear even under the many layers you were dressed in.

Younger Charles! who hates his brother for getting you pregnant, yet who would never dare intervene in your relationship or think about speaking up. It's none of his business after all, right?

Wrong. Younger Charles! who absolutely loses his mind whenever you both run into eachother after the prince’s birth. Not because you're so maddeningly breathtaking as always, but because of the cracks that surface in your facade and it's not long before you spill your guts to him, telling him about all his brothers wrongdoings; his neglect, his infidelity, his absence in the little prince’s life. How you have to shoulder all the burden, even with a wet nurse and servants around you, how you can never relax because you fear your new fragile position in the castle will crumble the moment you do.

Younger Charles! who wants nothing more but to flee with you. He does like his nephew, but he can tell how much this child gnaws at your sanity over the years and would rather you abandon him before your mind abandons you. Yet he is too scared, not for himself but for you. Would you both even be able to flee without being caught? What if something happened to you—what if you were hurt and it was his fault? What if you couldn't survive in something lesser than a castle? And what if you didn't feel the same fire he felt burning in his heart? What if you weren't in love with him?

So Younger Charles! who settled on being your aid, your only confidant and friend, rather than risking losing your respect.

Yet Older Charles! now thinks of himself as a fool. Cursing himself for never doing more; for never murdering his brother and taking his place or taking your hand and fleeing to somewhere unknown and private.

Older Charles! who can't even cry anymore with you in his arms, his light, his first and last love, the Angel that was sent to him, not his brother who clipped your wings instead of letting you rise high and mighty.

Older Charles! who lost a part of his soul the very day your body went cold and his remained warm.

[rizzanon]

This just came to me bc I've read some Batfam-hallucinating-Jason-post-death fics and I couldn't help but think of how would it work with your neglected!Batsis series. I've also been binge-reading some Batfam stuff and rereading Undoing Fate (and a lil bit of your Batfam Febuarary bc help your writing is contagious aaaa), and I can't help but think of a lil prompt: Hallucination!Batsis. Like, after the overwhelming amount of guilt and regret, the family is gon have some cruel hallucinations about her like–

"*whistles* Now, that's gotta hurt. Y'know, you've put a lotta effort into finding and beating these guys than you've ever been as my brother, right? Even though you've known me first, but not enough as your little sister? Haha. It's funny. How people would suddenly miss you, even though they've hardly knew you at all..."

"What are you sulking around for, Jay? You've finally proved your point: that this lifestyle got me killed! Shouldn't you be happy about that?! Now, that you're right?? ...Haha. You're sad 'cause I'm dead? That's impossible. Ever since you came back, you've made it very clear when I was alive, Jay. I thought you would've been proud of me... But I guess that's all you see me as: a failure. Just like everyone else. Maybe it really is a good thing now that I'm dead... You wouldn't have to worry how much I'm such a liability."

"This is like, the nth time you've been visiting here and you still didn't have any flowers for me?? Who cares about my favorite flowers at this point, just bring flowers! Hey, I have an idea! You could just ask me! Oh, wait..."

"You're watching that again?? What's there to figure out about? That there's some mistake I've missed so you could get mad at me about it?? That it's my fault that I'm dead!? ...Haha. What does it matter anyway? You loved to pick apart the flaws in my work... and then scold me for not figuring it out sooner. Is that why you hate me, Tim? That I'm always falling behind?? Well, good for you 'cause I won't be around to mess things up again! Isn't that so nice?"

"...I know it's your way of showing how much you care... but I wish you've made it clear to me about how much I mean to you, Damian. Because maybe... Maybe I wouldn't be so ashamed to go to you for help."

Maybe this could also be a fear toxin thing?? I dunno, this idea just came to me when I was tryna s l e e p and then I can't stop thinking abt it, so I thought I'd share it with you XD

WAIT STOP THIS IS SO???? i can totally imagine this happening in the og universe, epecially if they’re being affected by fear toxin. reminds me of that one issue from nightwing 1996 (i think it’s #9-10 iirc)

[fallingdownhell]

Hey….. soz if this is too much but can you do this https://www.tumblr.com/fallingdownhell/715302705397202944/i-absolutely-love-your-works-can-you-make?source=share

but with tighnari, wanderer and heizou thanks

Always. I always like me some angst with comfort<3 Characters Included: Wanderer; Tighnari; Heizou Summary: you have an argument with the boys, since they've been neglecting you for their work Content: gender neutral reader; established relationship; some angst; hurt/comfort; some swears and mean words; Wanderer is referred to as Kuni/Kunikuzushi Word count: 3,6k words Enjoy<3

Wanderer

You love your boyfriend. You truly do.

But between him helping out the Dendro Archon and now having enrolled in the Academiya, it felt like you didn't have a boyfriend at all anymore.

You rarely got to see him, and the times you did, he was so stressed and on high alert that he would probably snap at you if you were to bring up any topic that might put more stress onto him.

So instead, you just put up with his even more grumpy attitude towards you, trying to help him with whatever you could, hoping that it might take the edge off him a bit. But nothing ever seemed to work.

On the contrary, it has only gotten worse. For the past few days, you haven't seen your boyfriend. At all. He didn't come home and he has not been seen wandering the streets of Sumeru City.

You got so worried that you decided to pay Nahida a little visit, asking if she knew of the whereabouts of your dear boyfriend. She apologized to you, informing you that he had tasked him with something important, but that he should be back by today.

And true to her words, Kuni did come back home that night. However, once again, he paid no attention to you at all. He only laid down and fell right asleep, claiming that he was exhausted from his trip to the desert.

That was the point where you couldn't take it anymore. You understand that he has a lot to deal with currently, but that doesn't give him the right to treat you like you didn't exist. So, you decided to confront him in the morning, before he would leave again, hoping that a conversation could help clear things up between the two of you.

So, you made sure to wake up before him, making yourself and him some small breakfast like you like to do. When he comes down to eat with you, you greet him a good morning, which he only answers with a grumpy hum.

"Kuni.. we need to talk.", you decide to start, not wanting to take this attitude from him any longer.

A frustrated groan leaves his lips, rolling his eyes into the air. "Really, (Name)? Now? Can't we do this another time?"

"Yeah, sure. Just let me know when you decide to acknowledge me living here with you again. No, Kuni. We talk now. I'm done being treated like I don't exist."

At that, the Wanderer starts to gets defensive of his actions and soon enough, you two are in the middle of a full blown argument, loudly shouting at each other. Every semblance of a normal conversation has long left and you were now basically spewing insults at each other, none of you willing to acknowledge the others point of view.

"Gods, why do you always have to be so annoying? Maybe, if you weren't so god damn clingy all the time, I'd pay more attention to you!"

The words leave his lips and as soon as they do, he can see a flash of hurt shine in your eyes, which you quickly try to hide. But he's already seen it, and regret slips into his body.

Silence ensues, you're just staring at each other for a few seconds. You wait, hoping that he'll take back what he said, but nothing comes from him. His lips stay sealed as he just stares at you.

"So, it's my fault now? I'm the one at fault for you basically ignoring my entire existence? Making me question if I even have a boyfriend at this point? Because that's what it feels like. I don't get to see you anymore, I have to walk on eggshells around you, and then you go and blame me for it? Do I really mean that little to you?"

Your voice is dangerously calm as you say that, tears threatening to fall from the corners of your eyes, but you force them to stay down for now.

You see something shine in his eyes, but you can't put a finger on what it is before it's gone again, and he averts his eyes from you. A few more silent seconds pass and you're about to just get up and leave, when you hear him mumble something under his breath.

"...-ong."

"What was that?"

"..You're wrong.", he says, looking back up at you. Now, you can clearly see the conflict in his eyes, shining bright like he's begging you not to make him say this. But you just cross your arms in front of your chest, urging him to go on.

"I... you're wrong. You.. do mean something to me. More than I like to admit. I shouldn't have put the blame for my actions on you. I... I don't want you to leave. And.. I'll try better from now on."

For a moment, you look at him, contemplating his words. This would probably be the closest to an apology you would ever get from him. But when you don't answer him, you can see him starting to get a bit restless, squirming in his seat.

"I.. I'm... sorry..", he mumbles quietly, but you still heared it. Surprised by this, you can't help but let out a low chuckle, which instantly catches his attention.

"I just want to help you, Kuni. If there's anything I can do to help with the stress, let me know. Just, please don't ever treat me like this again."

Hearing you say that, he closes his eyes and nods his head, relieve washing over his body. And for the first time in a few weeks, he decides that it's not too bad if he shows up a bit later, just to make up for the time he missed spending with you.

Tighnari

As head of all the Forest Rangers in Gandharva Ville, it wasn't an uncommon occurrence for Tighnari to be stressed. It happens quite frequently, actually. And although being stressed regularly isn't a good thing, it helped him come up with ways to handle it and destress again after a long and tiring day. Because the last thing Tighnari ever wants to do is let out his frustrations on his partner.

He's usually very great about communicating when he's particularly stressed, and if his words aren't a dead giveaway, then usually his tail and ears are. When things get too overwhelming for him, his tail hangs a bit looser than it normally would and his ears would also fall a little bit more. It almost makes him look like a soaked puppy. You'd tease him for it if that wouldn't sour his mood even more.

But this time, it was something different.

He wasn't particularly stressed with work or anything. But one one of his patrols through the forest, he ran into an undiscovered species of flowers. All exited about it, it has been all Tighnari has been focused about for the past two weeks.

It's all he's been talking about as of late, if you even get the chance to talk to him in the first place. Most of the time, he's cooped up in his little work place, often forgetting to take meals and breaks because he's so focused on studying the little plant and learning everything there is to know about it.

You bring him meals on a regular basis, but if you really want him to eat them, you'll have to stay with him and nudge him consistantly to take a break and eat, or he'll forget about it.

You tried talking to him about it, but he keeps shutting you down, claiming that it won't last much longer, only until he knows enough about it to figure out if it can be used in some new medicines and such. Though he did promise you to try and focus back on you and Collei a bit more.

That promise lastet for one whole day before he skipped out on dinner plans with you and Collei again. You decided that enough was enough, so the next day after the dinner, you went to him to confront him about his inexcusable behaviour.

He was exactly where he had always been these past days, you were sure he heard you approach him, since you didn't exactly try to sneek up on him, though he did not acknowledge your arrival at all.

"Tighnari, we need to talk.", you begin, walking over so you were now standing next to him, your arms crossed in front of your chest. He didn't even look up when you adressed him.

"Later, (Name). I think I'm onto something here.."

"No, not later. Now!", you stay firm, not wanting to delay this talk any longer.

Hearing your response, Tighnari answered with an annoyed sigh, but he finally placed his tools down and turned to look at you.

"Fine then. What's so important that you just have to interrupt my work here?" He raises an eyebrow, almost like he's challenging you, like nothing could be important enough for you to justify this interruption.

You however stand your ground, holding his gaze firmly. "Your behaviour is what's wrong. You've been so focused on this stupid thing that you forget about the people in your life. Like yesterday. You promised to have dinner with me and Collei. She didn't show it, but I know how sad and dissapointed she was when you didn't show up. Again."

"I'm sure Collei understands perfectly fine just how important my research is, unlike some other people, it seems." Hearing this from him, you couldn't hold back the pent up anger and frustration anymore. You unleashed it all which in turn made Tighnari even more defensive and soon enough, you were in the middle of an heated argument, your shouting to be heard by almost every single person currently within Gandharva Ville.

And though almost everyone was on your side and agreed that Tighnari had been working too much, they also felt a bit bad for him. No one would want to be at the recieving end of your anger.

The argument kept going and going, emotions continuing to boil up inside both of you, until one particular statement went over Tighnari's lips. "You know what? I don't have time to deal with you right now, (Name). I have far more important things to do. I don't need you constantly lingering around and distracting me. Honestly, you're annoying me."

Suddenly, it became almost deafeningly silent and a second later, his words catched up with Tighnari. His eyes went wide and he was about to say something, but you beat him to it.

"So, what? We don't matter to you? Am I just some form to pass time when you have nothing better to do? Is that all our relationship is to you? And what about Collei? Is she also not important to you?"

Tears were brimming at the corners of your eyes and Tighnari wanted to reach out to wipe them away. He hated to see you cry, even more so now because he was the reason for it in the first place.

His hand moved on instinct, but before he came even close to touching you, you turned on the spot and dashed out of his hut, leaving him standing there.

"Wait, (Name)!", he shouted, taking off and running after you. You were fast and had a head start, but he has always been the faster runner between the both of you.

Outside the Village, he caught up to you and caught you at your wrist. You came to a halt, but refuse to turn around and face him. You don't want him to see you crying, though you're both aware that he already knows that you're crying.

"(Name), please. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I don't know why I even said it to begin with. You're not annoying me, never. Our relationship is important to me, very much so. I realize now that I made a mistake by focusing too much on my research and neglecting you. And Collei, too. I promise to do better from now on."

"..You've already promised me that once, and didn't keep it. Why should I believe you now?", you question him, which he couldn't blame you for. Your voice was shaking, you were trying so hard to hold back the tears, his words from before obviously still clinging to you.

"You have every reason not to, but I swear to you, that this time will be different. I swear to you that I won't let this happen, ever again. Please, trust me."

You stay silent for a bit, desperately wanting to believe him. In the end, your heart wins and you slowly turn around to face him. A small nod is noticeable before you're being pulled into his arms, his hand coming up to hold the back of your head against him.

You both stay like this for a bit, just enjoying to be in each others presence again. Only then does Tighnari realize just how long he hasn't had the chance to hold you like that, and he silently curses himself out for his own stupidity..

Heizou

Being a renowned detective comes with many benefits, but also a lot of disadvantages at the same time.

The more cases Heizou solves, the better his reputation gets, but he also makes a lot of enemies, especially in the high society fields. Not everyone always agrees with his view on justice and how he wants to achieve it, but Heizou doesn't care. So long as he follows what he thinks is right, he won't falter.

However, he is thankful to the gods above for a partner like you, who's supportive of his beliefs and decisions. He loves that you don't question him and that you understand how important his work is to him.

He knows that you've already had a lot to sacrifice for him. How he sometimes has to cancel date night because of an important case, but he's always made up for it more than enough.

So yeah, you're aware just how important his job is to Heizou. You truly understand..

But it has never gotten to a point like it has now.

For the past week, you haven't seen your boyfriend. At all.

He doesn't come home anymore, he's either cooped up in his office or out and about searching for clues. Kujo Sara told you that they've gotten a pretty serious case, one that Heizou leaped onto and is determined to solve, no matter what it takes.

Apparently, what it takes is for him to sacrifice all of his time and effort, probably forgetting that he has a life and a relationship outside his work, as well.

You tried to be understanding, even came visiting him in his office a few times with some homecooked meals or snacks. But every time you did that, he barely acknowledged you, barely even touched the meal.

You tried having some small conversations with him, but you either got short, one word answers or nothing at all besides a hum. Eventually, you gave up and just let him be, but it's been a week now since he's taken over the case and there's still no end in sight. And for the past three days, since your last visit to his office, you haven't seen or heard anything of your boyfriend.

So, on the eight day, you decided to try again. You cooked a nice meal for Heizou, packed it up and made your way over to the Tenryou Commission headquarters. Entering the building, you got a few nods as greetings from people who knew you, as you made your way straight to your boyfriends little office.

Arriving there, you took a deep breath before you knocked two times. When no answer came, your heart slowly began to sank. What if he's outside searching for clues again? Still, you decided to peek in regardless, just to be safe.

And sure enough, Heizou was sitting on his desk, multiple files and papers spread out in front of him as he was frantically reading through them.

"Hey babe.", you greeted him with a smile, but there was no reaction. Heizou didn't look at you and he didn't say a word in return. Still, you didn't want to give up just yet.

"I brought you something to eat. Figured you might want a break and something homecooked to eat."

You placed the lunchbox on the furthest outside position on his table that was still free, yet again, the action was not acknowledged by him whatsoever.

Twirling your thumbs, you wait for a few seconds, before you make another attempt at conversing with him. "So.. how's the case going?"

Suddenly, the papers fly to the desk, his hands slamming against the wood and finally, he turns to face you, though his expression looks almost furious. "It would go better if I didn't have such an annoying pest interrupting me all the damn time!"

Shocked at his sudden outburst, you stare at him. "Wow.. you don't have to be so mean about it."

"Apparently I have to, because you just can't take the hint when I don't engage with your stupid attempts at conversation making. Like, can't you see I'm too busy to entertain you right now, (Name)?"

His words stung, like he'd just slapped you in the face with them. Tears began to form, but you refused to show him just how deep his words had hurt you. But you knew that he knew. He saw the hurt in your eyes, and you saw realization flash through him as his words catched up with him.

But you didn't give him time to say anything else. He wanted you gone, so that's what you were giving him. Turning on your heels, you left his office, not bothering to close the door behind you. You could hear the yell of your name coming from Heizou, but you ignored it.

On your way out, you passed Kujo Sara, who gave you a pitying look as you walked past her. You didn't want her pity. You just wanted your boyfriend back, but it seemed like that was out of reach for now.

When you were out on the street again, you didn't know what you should do now. Going home wasn't an option, there were too many things that would remind you of Heizou back there, and you didn't want to think about him right now.

The beach... a while ago, you found a beautiful, kinda secluded spot by the beach. You decided to go there for now, maybe it would help freshen up your mind and how to move on from here on out.

The waters were mesmerizing today. The waves were calm and the sun was reflecting off the surface. You sat down in the sand and just stared out to the horizon, your thoughts beginning to wander.

You were so deep in thought that you didn't notice the time passing, the sun soon beginning to set, dipping the scenery into a serene red that you only rarely get to see. A shiver ran down your spine, but you didn't care, you didn't want to go back home just yet..

"Here you are!", a voice suddenly cuts through the silence and you flip around, recognizing Heizou who's jogging over to you. However, you decided to pay him no further mind, turning around again and staring right at the horizon again.

You take notice of his presence now next to you, but you still don't say anything. No words are spoken between you two as he sits down next to you and does the same as you, blankly staring at the ocean.

There's no indication that tells you how much time passes like this, just you two sitting next to each other in silence, until Heizou speaks up again.

"I'm sorry. About what I said earlier. I shouldn't have done that."

"..Then why'd you do it?", you question him, no emotion in your voice. He hated to hear you like that.

"I... You just came at a really bad time. And I know that that's not an excuse. Not at all. I was so close to the breakthrough in the case and I just... snapped. Again, that's no excuse and I'm really sorry about that. When I realized what I had done, Sara was coming over to me, no doubt about to lecture me. I just threw my files at here, told here the updates and then chased after you. I thought you would be going home, but when I didn't find you there, I began searching all over the place for you. And I found you here, in the end."

He ends his little monologue with a shy smile, scratching the back of his head. Then, Heizou's expression turned serious again.

"I mean it. I'm sorry I snapped at you like that. You didn't do anything wrong. You were right, honestly. I kinda forgot about you and invested too much time to that case. I'm sorry and I promise I won't let that happen again, ever."

Hearing those words from him, you can't muster more than a small nod as a response. You didn't want to argue anymore with him, you just wanted to spend time with him and feel close to him again. That's all you wanted and needed right now.

So, you slid closer to him and leaned your body against his, your back against his chest. His arms wrapped around you from behind, his head coming down to rest on your shoulder.

Tomorrow, you could talk about this more with him. Right now, you just wanted to enjoy this moment with him.

[summer-nights19]

Tokyo debunker guys as icks

This pretty much only contains Frostheim and Vagastrom ghouls as I'm only at the beginning of chapter 3

Please don't come for me if I ruin your fav

Part 2 is up

Kaito

This is pretty much canon, but he is such a simp that he completely changes his personality and opinions based off what you think/your preferences. He doesn't even try to hide it sometimes. Also, while you're in the talking stage, he will hit on and ask out other girls, then go back to flirting with you as if nothing happened.

Luca

He's way too uptight sometimes - if you ever need to bend the rules a bit (say you want to sneak out of Darkwick to have a day out) you can forget it, especially if your scheme involves him. Obviously he wouldn't tell anyone, but he'd lecture you and look at you disapprovingly.

Tohma

He's way too committed to his role as vice captain, which sometimes leads him to neglecting you accidentally. He'll cancel date plans at the last minute because Jin needed him to do something, and, while he apologises/tries to make up for it later, he doesn't understand why it bothers you so much

Also, he wears a monocle

Jin

He's pretty moody and hard to read, as well as having 0 communication skills, so if something's wrong, you need to ask him about 50 times before he tells you. After an argument, he expects you to apologise immediately if you were in the wrong, but definitely won't do the same in the early stages of the relationship

Leo

He's a walking ick to me. Where do I even start ???

He's just a dick to everyone for no apparent reason, and he thinks he's better than everyone else despite having no redeeming qualities. This would change slightly after you guys start dating, but his sharp tongue wouldn't just magically disappear. If he ever hurts your feelings by mistake, he'd expect to be forgiven without apologising. He's that entitled.

The type to insult you on insecurities/deal low blows during arguments. He feels bad afterwards but what the fuck dude

He'd also show you off on social media to all his followers. While this may seem cute at first, you do get trolls and delusional fans commenting under your posts now, which is something he's entirely dismissive of

Will sometimes use you to make the other ghouls, particularly Kaito, jealous

Sho

Like Jin, I feel like he'd struggle to communicate openly and this would end up with him coming across as mean or cocky/pushing you away at times. However, that is something he tries to work on after the early stages of the relationship

Alan

He's overprotective to a fault. The kind of partner who always accompanies you everywhere to make sure you don't get into trouble and who's willing to throw hands if someone so much as looks at you the wrong way. It's endearing, but it gets you into a lot of unnecessarily uncomfortable situations

Due to how bad he is with technology, he sometimes forgets ro answer messages or leaves you on read by mistake. It's a bit annoying, especially if you want an answer quickly. Early on in the relationship, you learned that you saved more time by going to the Vagastorm dorm and talking in person than by waiting for him to reply

Masterlist

[theobservatory]

｡⁠☆ Who Is This Diva✦

｡⁠☆Content: Izuku Midoriya BF headcanons

｡⁠☆Cw: a few uses of she/her, one singular pregnancy mention, no use of y/n, light cursing

✦ Always writing in that damn notebook, there is nothing you can say or do that won't end up there

✦ If you're creeped out by it, he will commit what you said to memory and write it down later

✦ The best gift giver. He notices everything about you. From your face to your body to your brain. All of his gifts are thoughtful

✦ Didn't know how to do his own hair until Mina showed him, however if you know how to do it he'll play dumb

"My hair... ? Y-Yeah, Mina normally helps me with it, b-but I seen you take care of your own so... Do you mind helping me instead ? Not that Mina isn't great, b-but she isn't you... Sorry, is that a weird thing to say ?"

✦ Sometimes YOU are the third wheel when Katsuki's around. Good luck with that.

✦ Nervous forever. Constantly apologizing. Trips over everything when you're around. His face is always bright red. Nervous talker for sure. Heaven forbid you compliment him, he might pass out on the spot

✦ He stays on Uraraka's phone. He needs advice before he does anything, especially if you're a girl. He used to take advice from Kaminari, and then he learned his lesson (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)

"I-It's not sexist to assume she likes flowers just cause she's a girl right ?.... What ?! Of course I know that not all girls like flowers !! .... N-No way I can't just ask her. What if she thinks I'm weird" (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

✦ Doodles you everywhere. Aizawa is fed up with the scribbled pictures of you in all the corners of his homework. He's debating whether or not he should take point off his papers just to get him to stop. Mic and All Might think it's cute

✦ All this to say he is the sweetest ever. He makes sure to know every single thing about you, it borders on obsession. He follows you around like a lost puppy. His receiving love language is physical touch/quality time, and his giving love language is gift giving and acts of service

✦ Izuku is selfless to a fault, but when it comes to you he can't help but be selfish. No matter how much he gives to you, he feels justified because your love, affection, time, and attention, is the ultimate prize.

☆ PROHERO ☆

✦ Interviewers are tired of hearing about you. Any questions lead right back to what you're doing, something you've said, what you think, what you look like. It doesn't matter as long as it's about you

✦ Puts your needs first which can be really nice, but definitely neglects himself in the process. Like this man has chronic pain in his hands, but will stay up until ungodly hours giving himself carpal tunnel making something that you didn't even ask for just bc he knew you'd like it

✦ If you're not a prohero (hell, even if you are), Izuku is overprotective. His worst fear is you being taken from him in any sense of the word. Losing you isn't something he would ever get over

✦ Rarely ever yells, but when he does he sounds just like Katsuki. It's annoying how much like Katsuki he sounds. Otherwise though, he prefers to concede to whatever you want, the only time serious arguments occur is if it's about something like your safety

"Shouto, I'm gonna throw myself off a cliff... No she's not hurt she's perfectly fine don't even joke about that !!! .... The problem ? Shou she's so mad at me.... Don't look at me like that, I'm serious !"

✦ A sass monster. Rarely ever to your face, most of the time it's just a mutter under his breath that you barely catch but you just know he said something smart.

✦ If your first language isn't Japanese then trust and believe he's learning whatever your native tongue is. He has the cutest accent too. If he's feeling bold he'll use your lessons as an excuse to flirt with you, and after that there's a high chance you won't get anything done

✦ NOT a morning person. Clings to you and the bed like his life depends on it. Moaning and groaning in your ears about how mean you are to him, how could you make him get up for early morning patrol ? Death for 10 thousand years have been cursed upon him.

"Hmm ? I don' care 'bour the alarm. Turn it off... Where you goin' ? Noooo don' go shh i's okay, mhmm it snoozes itself. Jus' lay back down, yeah 'xactly baby.... Hmm ? Late ? Patrol ? OHMYGOD PATROL !!"

✦ Pet name extraordinaire. It takes a while until he finds his favorite, so he spends his time cycling through all types of sweet names. Anything from baby to darling to pookiebear to beautiful. He probably doesn't stray too far into weird names, but he dips his toes in if it feels right.

✦ Won't admit it, but he loves it when you flaunt him to your friends. Makes him feel like a big strong man, especially when you feel up his arms. His face flushes bright red and he tries to wave it off but he stutters so much that his sentence is barely distinguishable, but of course that only makes you want to do it more

✦ When you get married it's honestly been inevitable, especially if you met while in highschool. If it was only up to Izuku you would've been married within the month, but lucky for you he has self restraint. If you both want kids they truly won't be far behind marriage, and if you thought he was obsessive before just imagine if you get pregnant.

First post,, how exciting !! Not sure if I'm sticking with this format, but I think I like it. My blog is almost completely set up and I have a few reblogs so... My askbox is open if you so please (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

Who f/w black Izuku like I do ?? 🗣️🗣️

｡⁠☆Requests open

[minminbunny]

Enemies to Lovers AU - Vampire Hunter! Bang Chan/Vampire Fem! Reader

"Stay," Chan said, holding up the holster. You held your win glass, "As you wish, hunter," you said, setting the glass down. Chan released the trigger, "You lured me on purpose. Why?" he asked, clutching the handle. You gave him a side, "I made a promise you see," you said, luring him close. Chan gulped, unknowingly inching himself forward, "What promise?" he asked, furrowing his eyes brows. A subtle smile etched your lips, "To my first love," you said, looking at him. You chuckled, "When you lived as long as me, hunter. You crave for things other than blood," you said, eyeing his wary expression. Chan clenched his jaw, "What's the fucking promise?" he grit, his voice wobbling at the end.

You held the holster away from your head, "Christopher, no matter what form you're in. You soul never changes," you said, hurt evident on your expression. Chan's breath hitched when you gripped the holster enough to bend the metal. You stood up, forcing him into a defensive stance. "I don't want to hurt you, my darling. I never did. But every single timeline we meet, you're always driven to kill me," you said, cornering him against the wall. Chan hesitated to pull out his daggers, "Stay back! Vampires falling for a human is unheard off," he exclaimed, his eyes filled with unknown hurt and fear. You held his cheek, "You felt it haven't you? When we met in that forest. I know you felt it, because I did," you said, hoping he wasn't in denial.

Chan's gaze wavered, "That twinge was from you?" he asked, his vulnerability apparent in his behavior. You shook your head, "I have no role in fate, Christopher. Please don't deny me this time. I can't live another decade hurting," you said, your eyes boreing into his. Chan exhaled a shaky sigh, "If I give in. What then?" he asked, gripping his thighs to ground himself. You gave him a solemn smile, "Then I get to love you as much as I possibly can. I get to pour every feeling I have harbored. Christopher, I craved you for decades. This obessession wouldn't fade out that easily," you said, your pressing your forehead with his. Chan felt himself get hypnotized by your words, "I'll give in. But if y-," he said, before you pulled him for a bruising kiss. Chan's lips synced with yours, he groaned into the kiss not liking the submission you placed him in. He pulled away and pinned you against the wall, "Relax, you've been waiting long enough," Chan whispered, kissing you long and deep. Tears streamed down your cheeks at the relief blooming in your chest. Chan deepened the kiss, his tongue mingling with yours.

NSFW BELOW CUT

'Dear Lord, when I get to heaven, please let me bring my man,' you thought, spreading apart your legs just for his satisfaction. Chan grabbed your ankle, and he pampered kisses down your calves, "Poor thing, you've waited so so long to be touched, haven't you? You've been neglected, and it's all my fault," he murmured, sucking hickeys towards your upper thigh. You arched your back, sensitive to every single graze and nip he made, "Please, Chris. I need you. Been needing you," you sniffled, eyeing him with your half lidded eyes. Chan's breath grew heavier, "I know, darling. I can feel myself throbbing for you," he chuckled, his hand pumping his girthy hot shaft. You gulped at the sight, your cunt clenching around the warm air surround the both of you. Chan tapped his cock head against your clit, "You're practically a virgin aren't you? So fucking drippy," he cursed, easing his finger in. Your walls fluttered, "Hah, hah," you gasped, remembering how good it was being pleasured by another. Chan grit his teeth, the veins on his jaw protrubed at the sight of your pliant body. You whined when he eased another finger up your pulsing cunt, "Chris, hah," you whimpered, clentching hard around his fingers. Chan curled them against your sensitive gland, "I'm here, darling. I'm never leaving you. Never again," he said, pumping his fingers in tandem with his thumb rubbing circles against your puffy clit until you came.

[valley-of-headcanons]

I love Penny and I don't like making her worried, but imagine her just staying up late waiting for the farmer. The farmer doesn't come home till like one am, giving her anxiety from Pam not coming home till late.

Could I request a one-shot or something with this idea?

1:43 AM || penny x farmer oneshot

“what if it was all my fault? what if i drove you to it?” -- drunk, running by lizzy mcalpine

warnings: rough depictions of drinking and neglectful parenting. penny has a panic attack and yells at you a little.

requested by: anon! hi, thank you so much for the request!! this made me so upset to write oh my god, but in a good way! i love requests that let me release some emotions. i feel bad for adding more penny trauma though. anyway! hope you enjoy :)

Mining was a rough job. Yes, it earned the farm a good bit of money. It was physically strenuous, mentally draining, and all around not the best way to spend your day. Penny knew the dangers all too well, and it worried her. She hated when you spent a day in the mines. She was always worried about your health, fighting the monsters that crawled within. She was especially worried on nights like these; nights when you don't come in until one in the morning.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, Penny nervously picked at her nails. This habit had been finally beat after getting out of her old house, but it seemed to reappear on nights like this. Nights where it was just past 1:30 in the morning, and there was no sign of her beloved. Who knows what you were out there doing? She tried to trust you as much as she could, but ... with everything from her mom, it was hard.

“Mom ...?” Penny would say, her seven year old frame only covered by a thin blanket on the couch. She had fended for herself that night, stealing chips from the cabinet since Pam didn't make it home until just after 1:30. She was worried sick, shaking as she sat curled up with a stuffed animal.

Pam stumbled into the trailer, sitting beside Penny silently. She didn't say anything, just sat beside her daughter as she finished the bottle she held in her hand. It seems like Gus had to kick her out mid-drink. She always went strangely silent when she was upset.

“I-I'll uh ... I'll go to bed now, I-I was just worried ... I'm glad you're home and safe though, Mom!” Penny said with a big, gap-toothed smile. She tried her hardest to brighten Pam's day, but it always met with disappointment.

Pam didn't respond, waving her off as she laid down on the couch. She crashed, the bottle falling from her hand onto the ground. Thankfully, it didn't break. Penny walked closer, taking the bottle off of the floor. Her hands were shaking, trying not to wake her mom up. She glanced at the clock. 1:43 AM. Was every night going to be like this from now on?

Thunder cracked, snapping Penny out of her thoughts as she gazed at the clock on your bedside table. 1:43 AM. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she bounced her leg. Her eyes stared holes through the door, pulling the blanket onto her lap. She couldn't tell if the shaking was due to her anxiety or the cold.

Thoughts raced throughout Penny's mind. What if you were hurt? What if you were still stuck down in the mines, and you wouldn't make it home? What if you were just out on the town instead, ignoring her? Why would you ever want to come home to her, she's just a pathetic housewife. That's all she'll ever be, right? What if you picked up a bottle that Penny would have to take from you, just like she had done so many times before?

Her thoughts were silenced as she heard the click of the doorknob. Seeing you in the doorway, a little scratched up but mainly unscathed, she didn't know how to feel. She was relieved to see you safe and back again, but she was still upset. It was written all over her. Her pale face, her shaking body, her trembling lip. You saw it almost immediately.

“Hey, Pen ... everything okay? Sorry I was out late, I got a little carried away. There's not enough time in a day ... I didn't expect to see you still awake. You're always pretty early to bed when I'm around,” you said, putting your backpack down on the ground and kneeling in front of her. “... why are you upset, Pen?”

Penny didn't respond for a moment. She calculated her next statement. It came out in a squeak, getting extremely choked up. She just sniffed and stood, trying to walk off. Penny made her way down the basement stairs wiping tears, and you were on your way right behind her.

“Hey,” you said, taking her hand in yours. “Please, talk to me. I'll listen, I promise. Anything that's on your mind, I'm all ears, 'kay?”

Penny couldn't look you in the eye. Her stomach was tied in knots and her voice was trembling. “S-Sorry, I just got all worried- I didn't know where you were and if you were safe and what you were doing- and- and- I was having a lot of bad thoughts and ... I'm sorry! I- ... I don't know why I freak out like this! ... m-my mom, she- ... y'know ... you know her.”

You nodded, listening to her stammer over her words. You gently placed the palms of your hands on her cheeks, holding her face and wiping her tears. “What can I do to stop those bad thoughts? I'll do anything you ask and then some, my love. What do you need me to do from now on?”

She looked into your eyes for the first time that night. They held so much love and care for her. But they held something much more important. They held the motivation that her mother lacked. Penny's eyes started dripping even faster, wrapping her arms around your neck and pulling you close. She sobbed into your shoulder for a moment, finally feeling like she was taken care of.

“J-Just ... let me know if you're gonna be out late, or somethin' ... and why, I guess? I- ... I'm sorry for being all needy, I just ... I-” Penny stammered on once more, before being silenced by your thumb pressing to her lips.

“You don't have to explain if you don't want to. I'm here to take care of you, regardless of why. I'll try my best to let you know, and I won't let you worry like that again. You don't have to worry about me, but I know you will anyway. Because you love me. And that's perfectly okay. Is there anything that we can do right now to make it better?” you asked, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

She sniffed, trying to calm herself down. “Can we just ... rest? I wanna lay in your arms and uh- ... forget everything, if that's okay. I don't wanna think about all this stuff anymore,” she said in a gentle tone. She was weak, remembering all of the things she went through made her weak. She needed to rest.

You picked her up and carefully laid her down on the bed. Laying down beside her, you pulled her close to your chest and ran your fingers through her hair. You turned on the TV for some background noise, but neither of you were paying attention to it. She was fast asleep, her head resting carefully on your chest. She was lulled to sleep by the sound of your gentle heartbeat. You stayed awake for a little while, holding her and making sure she felt safe. The love you two shared could push through anything, even something like this.