#this thing just comes back with a bat sometimes

[thelibrarian1895]

The Bats AKA

So the Bats all have alternate identities, we know this. They have other identities all set in case of undercover operations, stings, and whatever other crime fighting operations might need some sort of name that isn't their assigned at birth legal name.

That being said, I would like to think they also have pseudonyms, names that aren't official anywhere in particular except at some point or another might get listed as their "also known as" somewhere in the depths of some government office. These are the names that they use when they're doing some civilian thing, something that doesn't warrant an ID, something casual, and don't want to be connected to Wayne for whatever reason.

I would like to suggest that Cassandra Wayne, when she doesn't want to introduce herself as Gotham's princess, might introduce herself instead as Cassandra Drake. Sometimes she'll be Cassandra Grayson but Cassandra Drake is the name she likes to use best. She would use Cassandra Kane, and that is Kane specifically, but since it's too easy to hear as Cain, she won't do that.

Tim, of course, can get away with Tim Drake when he doesn't want to deal with the immediate recognition that the Wayne name gets. The Drake may have been rich but they weren't at Wayne levels and most people outside of academic circles forgot about the Drakes after the death of Janet and the fall of Drake Industries and then the death of Jack. In the business world, he always has Wayne tacked onto his name. Tim would go with Tim Cain except neither he nor Cassandra want anything to do with David Cain so even that connection is something he'd avoid. He might, on occasion, introduce himself as Tim Grayson. However, Alvin Drape and Tim Drake remain his go to names.

Jason, in the occasion that he suspects someone might recognize the name of the dead son of Bruce Wayne, would probably go with a literary reference. He has been Jason Dashwood, Todd Austen, Jay Fitzgerald, though his favorite tends to be Jason Bennet. Eventually he might allow Jason Drake or Todd Grayson. On a few occasions, usually in space adventures, if he has to go around without his mask and he's pressed to do something spectacularly stupid, he'll introduce himself as Bruce Wayne.

Damian is very proud of his heritage, even if some of that pride is more than a little brittle, and hates the idea of introducing himself as anyone other than the son of the Bat. However, if necessary, he'll go with some amalgamation of his siblings' names: Timothy Todd, Thomas Grayson, Duke Brown, and Jason Pennyworth are all rotated as needed.

Duke tends to default to Duke Todd for the similarity in his own name for ease of recognition but might go with Duke Grayson on occasion or Thomas Drake. It hasn't come up all that much just yet.

Stephanie is rather smug that she's not famous enough to need to be anyone else but if she's going to do something that she doesn't want directly coming back at her, she tends towards Stephanie Todd, Stephanie Wayne, or Barbara Brown.

Bruce won't use any of the surnames of his children for various emotionally complicated reasons that he doesn't want to address. He tends towards Bruce Kane, until he saw Cassandra froze minutely when she heard the name, and so goes with his other aka name: Bruce Pennyworth.

[brucewaynehater101]

Oh I was absolutely going with them Jason Finds Out During TT route. I think it would be especially funny if he's heard horror stories from Rouges and his own Henchmen that Robin The Third is some kind of demon that Batman summoned on accident. There are some rumors about how the demon feeds off of grief or anger or vengeance because it's illusions of being g a human are stronger when the Bat is there so *clearly* it is taking its power *from* the Bat. Others say that Nightwing summoned it so that it would keep Bruce on a leash without the first Robin having to come back. Some say it was some person in Gothem who did it or that it was the combined form of the many curses on the city.

All Jason knows is that when his replacement turned around, it's head luled to the side just an inch or two, like a puppet on strings that had to much slack on that one string. Jason manages to shoot one of its arms but instead of a spray of blood, it is broken shards of porcelain and sand. His hits feel like he's punching a solid wall but some do leave visible cracks in Tim. This Thing in a Robin Costume could not ever be human. He knows because when he left, he took a handful of sand in a vile to see if he could figure out what it is. Jason still has that vile to this day, the only proof he has that Tim isn't a human. Sometimes he will set it on a flat surface and watch the sand in it make it slowly roll towards whatever direction Tim is in.

As for how he heals, that's to the magic that animates him, all Tim needs to do is hold his pieces together like a jigsaw puzzle and after a few moments the piece he's holding will weld itself back into place. Also his sand will slowly come back to him, attracted like a magnet and he can tell where all his sand in instinctually. He let's Jason keep the vial of it as it's basically an unhacklable Jason Tracker. The sand isn't fast at moving towards him, roughly about the pace of a snail or sloth. It's certainly moving but just getting from downtown to the Batcave could take his sand a week. Also the pull isn't super strong, gaining about as much force as a particularly stubborn ant.

Ras took half a pound of Tim's sand instead of his spleen and Tim would very much like his sand back.

As for Cass knowing, she 100% does. Tim has shown her his true gorm and when she asked why he didn't show the others, Tim replied, "they wouldn't understand. They would worry over things that aren't problems and try to fix things I already fixed and end up breaking those things."

Eventually the Bats must find out though, and when Dick asks if that means they need to do special things to keep Tim from dying to Magic Users, Tim laughs and laughs like Dick has told the funniest joke in the world. When he calms down, he asks a question of his own, "Dick. How could I possibly die if I have never been alive in the first place? I am simply an object enchanted to move and speak. I am no more alive that the AI Babs uses to scan the internet for pictures of us. I am no more alive than a character in a video game. At most, at *most* I can be compared to some of Ivy's plants that she uses to attack us. I can not be killed for I have never been alive. Broken, yes, but that I can fix. I simply have to be put back together like a jigsaw puzzle."

Oof. Poor Dick is going to have to figure out how to feel about that statement. Tim not being alive at all and comparing himself to a video game or AI might fuck with Dick's sense of self, sentience, etc. I would love to see how they all logic, cope, and understand identity after this.

I do love the idea that the sand tries to make its way back to Tim, but he knows where it is at all times. Jason has an estimated location of Tim (N, S, E, W), but Tim has like coordinates.

I wonder if Cass would try dancing with Tim. Since his movements are different, perhaps she would enjoy learning to dance in a way that's similar to how he moves? It could be eerie and fun for her.

I'm curious how Ra's would feel about Tim and his sand in this. Why did he keep the sand? Does it look distinct from other sand? Was it just cause it was part of Tim and Ra's thought he might be able to use it? Also, does he attempt that shit he did with his Nyssa since Tim probably can't reproduce?

[redroomreflections]

Not Easily Broken Chapter 6

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha and Reader go through a tragic divorce

Masterlist | General Masterlist

6/10

Note: Yes,i know the picture has a watermark. it's 2 am.

W/c: 4.2k (less painful to edit!)

Rating: M (Minors DNI; angst, fluff, smut, heartbreak, heart fix? the best ending for them coming soon)

You don’t know how long you’ve stared at the blank paper. Its thin blue lines taunted you. The questions on the tiny notebook assigned to you were intimidating. You’re sitting here, at the kitchen counter, nursing a mug of tea and looking down at the paper. This is the first part of the assignment. Once you’re going to fail. There are several steps Cheryl gave to get things going for both of you. Answer the questions. Find something both of you like to do. Discuss them together. That should be easy, right? Wrong. It’s been four days and counting and you have yet to write anything. Not that there’s nothing to write. No. You have a lot to say. It just can’t be on paper. Neither of you has been good at expressing your thoughts. You’re worse. You come from a family where conflict was solved with abandonment and passive aggressiveness. Two things you do quite well. This venture into vulnerability is foreign. You’re afraid of being the bad guy again. You don’t want to address the unknown. What if even after all of this you and Natasha don’t work out?

You’ve been doing a lot of self-reflecting the past week. There’s always something in the back of your mind that says you’re ruining her life again. You’re ruining your children’s lives. Everything you worked for you ruined. This time would be different. You’re coming into this with a clear head and a fresh perspective. You want your life back. You want your wife back. You want your family. It’s not like you cheated. You didn’t step out of your relationship. You sometimes wish it were so easy. Maybe then your actions can be excused. That’s not the correct way to say it. Cheating is never excusable. You guess it would have been another way to avoid accountability. You blame yourself every day for what happened. Even then guilt is not enough. 

You sigh. Back to the questions. You hold the pencil in your hand—first question. 

“You lead separate lives despite living in the same household.” You read aloud. Wow. Okay. That’s a tough one right off the bat. It’s relevant. It makes sense considering the context. You write yes. You move on to the second question. “You mostly speak about finances or household chores. Question three you have sex less than once weekly.” You stop your reading right there. You’re three for three. If this is how this is going you’re going to be in therapy for a while. 

Were things really that bad? You wonder if Natasha is thinking the same things. 

Across town, Natasha is indeed wondering the same things. She’s just finished up her run for the morning, having gotten the kids out of the door and off to school, and now she has the morning to herself. She’s sitting on the couch, her feet propped up on the coffee table, as the notebook rests in her lap. She pushes her glasses further up her nose. 

“Sex less than once weekly?” She reads. ‘Sex never’. She writes. It’s true. Besides the phone sex last week she doesn’t remember the last time you two were so intimate. Well, she can. Emma’s fifth birthday party. She would hardly count that as something to brag about. While you’re skilled in the bedroom, she felt dirty afterward. She felt used in a way she wasn’t all that willing to share with you. Sex with you has always meant so much more to her. She hopes it’s the same for you. She doesn’t think about it for too long. She can’t dwell on the fact that her body aches for you. Natasha Romanoff knows her worth. She is aware she could go out and find anyone to fuck. She doesn’t have to go far truthfully. She doesn’t want that. It’s kind of pathetic and she would never admit it to anyone. 

Natasha is about to answer another question for the checklist when the doorbell rings. She glances at it, hoping that whoever it is will go away when the ringing becomes more insistent. Natasha rolls her eyes, slamming the book down against the coffee table, to go and answer the door. She swings it open, ready to give whomever it is a piece of her mind when she stops. She crosses her arms and glowers at her visitor suspiciously. 

“Romanoff,” Richard grins at her. “Don’t you look swell?” He admires her messy hair, tank top, and running shorts. He waves a file in his hand. “I have work.” He offers her one of the coffees in his and she takes it. 

“I thought we were meeting at the tower,” Natasha drops her hands from the door. She walks away without offering him a second glance. He would follow. What she doesn’t see is him checking out her ass as he steps inside. He closes the door behind with and walks with her toward the living room. 

“I thought this was much better,” Richard shrugs. “I was in the neighborhood.”

“I’m sure you were,” Natasha rolls her eyes. “Okay, give me a minute to change and I’ll be right back down. I have a couple of notes over there.” She waves her hand somewhere in the room. Though Richard is an asshole she knows he won’t do anything to put her in danger. She leaves him to his own devices to change out of her workout gear. Not that her new outfit would be much better. 

Richard stands, walks over to the couch to sit, and places the file on the coffee table. He spots the notebook she’s been writing in. It’s safe to assume it’s the one she permitted him to read. It’s not. 

“Healthy relationship checklist,” He reads to himself. “No sex?” He whistles. Wow. That’s disappointing. 

“I’m going to have to ban you from my house soon,” Natasha calls down the stairs. He quickly places the notebook back where he found it. Natasha comes into the living room in a simple blue blouse and slacks. She glances at the notebook, noting that it’s moved a few inches, and tsking. “Richard, seriously, you’re my partner. One I didn’t want. At least have the decency of giving me privacy.”

“I’m sorry I was curious,” He raises his hands in surrender. “If it makes you feel any better I haven’t done it in a while either.”

“No, it doesn’t make me feel any better,” Natasha shakes her head. “And I don’t believe you. You’re looking at a sexual harassment complaint and a broken nose if we keep talking about this.”

“Fine,” He shakes his head. “I just think you deserve better.” At Natasha’s warning look he clamps his mouth shut. “I need a consult. Fury wants the entire team on this case but we need your expertise.”

“Why would you need my expertise?” Natasha sits across from him. She takes the file, flipping through the pages before she shakes her head. “What is this?” 

“A recruitment center,” Richard describes. “Someone is recruiting young girls to be assassins. Training them to go out and do their bidding. We want to know the best way to, uh, get in there and get out.” He gestures. 

Natasha frowns. They could have very well asked Melina Yelena or anyone but her. She’s not an expert on brainwashed children. She only knows so much. Even then she provides him with an answer.

“You’re going to need to get someone on the inside obviously,” She says. “Preferably someone young. Wanda Maximoff could pass. She gets in. Find out who knows what. You protect her with your life. Make sure she feels safe at all times. Know that if it’s as bad as this film reads some of them will die.”

“That’s dark,” Richard comments.

“Well, it’s not all sunshine and roses,” Natasha mumbles. She sets the file back down. “Is that all you needed from me?” 

“Well, yeah,” Richard nods. 

“Well, I’d like to be alone in my home now,” Natasha says none too politely. She passes him the large envelope. They both stand. She walks him to the door and to both their surprises you’re on the other side. You’re a bit off-put by Richard being there. 

“I’m sorry,” You shake your head. “I stopped by to..” You trail off. 

“Y/n, so good to see you,” Richard offers you a fake smile that you don’t return. 

“He’s leaving,” Natasha makes a face at him. She wasn’t really in the mood for this nonexistent love triangle thing that goes on every time you’re all in the same space. Not that it matters to her. Richard would never be someone that is on her romantic radar. Not when she only has eyes for you. 

“Right, leaving,” Richard nods. He’s about to make a joke when Natasha punches him before he can even open his mouth. He holds his sore arm, offering her an “ow!” Before he shakes his head. He walks down the stairs and to his car without another word. 

Natasha’s gaze returns to you and the brown paper bag you have in your hands. 

“Is that for me?” She asks and you nod silently. Seeing her with Richard does things to you. You follow her into the house where she closes and locks the door. She takes the bag from your hands to set it on the hallway table. You’re not sure who makes the first move but Natasha is in your arms, kissing you, feeling you, and walking backward toward the couch. Your hands are everywhere on her body. You feel the skin under her shirt, down her sides, and her hips, as you push her gently to lie down on the couch. Your kiss is hungry and rough and full of passion. She moans at the feel of your weight atop her. She kisses you back. When your hand slides up her shirt, pinching her nipple through the sports bra she’s wearing, she rips her lips from yours to moan. Her cries go straight to your core. You’re lying here between her legs, kissing her neck now, and holding her right where you want her. Natasha enjoys your touch. It excites her. It makes her feel wanted. She raises her hand to place it over yours. 

“Y/n,” Natasha begs. She doesn’t know exactly what for. She imagines it would be so easy to allow you to take her right here. Right now. The kids aren’t home. There’s no one here to stop her. Even so, she can’t help the nagging feeling at the back of her mind. “Y/n.” The tone of her voice stops you in your tracks. You lift to look into her concerned eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask. You take in her kiss-swollen lips, her mussed hair, and her flushed skin. She looks so damn sexy. 

“You did this last time,” Natasha points out. Her voice is small and barely there. You can tell she’s trying to keep the conflict at a minimum. You give her a confused look. What was she talking about? “It’s… it’s stupid.” She shakes her head. “I can't help but notice. Every time Richard comes around you feel the need to stake your claim in some way.”

“I don’t do that,” You scoff. She gestures to the spot on her neck that’s formed into a slight purple bruise. When did you do that? You deflate, sitting up, removing yourself from her embrace. You take deep breaths. Were you doing that to her? 

“I didn’t want to bring it up to upset you,” Natasha instantly misses your touch. She fixes her shirt, adjusts her bra, and moves to sit closer to you. “I don’t want you to want me because someone else does.”

“Do you seriously think that?” You question. “Nat, baby,” You breathe. “I want you because I missed you. I want you because I find you attractive. I want you because you’re everything.” You take her hand in yours. “I don’t want you to think I’m doing it to show ownership over you. That’s not something I want.”

“I want to be yours,” Natasha confesses quietly. “Just not like that.”

“I understand,” You nod. Natasha kisses your pouting lips. You smile. The notebook on the coffee table catches your eye. “So you’ve been doing the assignment.”

“I have,” Natasha glances at the paper. 

“It’s pretty eye-opening,” You say and she nods in agreement. “I didn’t think things were that bad for us. I mean, I know, we got a divorce. I just…it puts things into perspective.” 

“It does,” Natasha runs a hand through her hair. 

“I want this to work for us,” You admit. “I’m sorry. I am. I want us to work.”

“Me too,” Natasha kisses your lips again. “Did you bring your book? We could go over some of the questions now.”

“I did,” You say as you reach over her legs to the bags you brought. You pull out the book, cracking it open to the page you’ve written on, while Natasha opens hers. “So, I’ve realized a lot of these are things we’ve done at the beginning of our relationship. We seemed to enjoy each other then. Pre-kids I guess.”

“Hmm,” Natasha hums. 

“Okay, this question,” You go to one you haven’t answered yet. “Please be truthful. Don’t hold back because you think it’s going to hurt my feelings.” Natasha nods. She could do that. “Do you feel comfortable being yourself around your partner?”

Natasha bites her lip. “I have always felt I could be myself with you. There were times I didn’t think I could. That maybe I needed to play a part to, um, make you happy.”

“I felt the same way,” You mumble. “Nat, I’m -”

“You’re sorry that’s understandable,” She shakes her head. “It’s something we have to work on. I love you for you. I’ve always loved you for you.”

“I’ve always been attracted to everything about you,” You begin. “I’ve always loved your personality. Your tenacity. Your humor. Your ability to be vulnerable.” Natasha blushes under your intense gaze. She takes her pen to write a few things before moving on to the next question. 

“You rarely hug, hold hands, or touch each other in a non-sexual way,” She reads aloud. There’s a silence that neither of you breaks. “The butt rubs stopped.” She points out. 

“What?” You look at her in surprise. “I guess they have. Was that the first indicator that something was wrong with you?”

“It was one,” Natasha shrugs. “I just thought you needed space and it’s not always a sexual thing but we stopped touching each other. It wasn’t only you. I stopped too.”

“Damn,” You curse under your breath. “We could try it now? I mean, one of our exercises was extended cuddling time. Now would be the perfect opportunity.” You offer and Natasha likes that idea. She takes both notebooks to sets them down on the table. You lie down first and she crawls on top of you. Her head rests on your chest, your arms wrap around her waist, and you simply hold each other. Your shared breathing and warmth lull you to a place of comfort. Natasha wriggles her butt, silently asking for your hands on her, and you oblige. You reach down, and your right hand travels over the slope of her soft, supple behind, before you rub. It’s tentative touches at first. Just a simple swipe of your hand before your rubs turn into kneading. You massage the covered flesh in your hands and Natasha hums. 

“I missed this,” She mutters into your chest. She peeks her head up at you. Her eyes travel from your eyes to your lips. She follows through with whatever thought she’s having and she kisses you. Her kiss is gentle and reassuring. She lingers, her lips brushing against yours before she opens her eyes again. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” You kiss her again. “So much, Natasha.” She smiles widely. She can’t describe how happy she feels right now. She’s here with you, in your arms, and there’s no other place she’d rather be. Her happiness surges to something else entirely. Suddenly all she wants is you. She kisses you again, deeper, harder, this time it’s all teeth and tongue. She sucks her bottom lips into your mouth, eliciting a moan from deep inside you and your grip on her ass loosens. 

“We shouldn’t,” She breathes between kisses. 

“You’re right,” You nod in agreement. “Though she did say we could.”

“It’s not like we need permission,” Natasha smirks. “We’ve done this before.”

You shrug. She may be right. 

“Which means I know how to get creative,” You flip the both of you over in one swift move. You adjust Natasha against the pillows, her hair fanning out under her, as you lie beside her legs. “Interesting choice of attire today.”

“It was either this or the workout gear,” She laughs. 

“It’s okay, makes it more fun,” You take nimble fingers to the buttons of her blouse. Natasha watches as you unbutton to reveal her smooth skin. “Tell me to stop.” You say but she doesn’t say a word. 

“What if I don’t want you to stop?” She challenges. You slide your fingers under her bra cap, feeling her nipple harden under your palm, and she shivers. 

“I’ve always liked you,” You joke and she nips at your chin. “I love you.” You correct and she hums. Much better. You twist her nipple, bordering on harsh, and Natasha practically jumps out of her skin. God, she’s missed this. You lean your head down, pushing the cup to the side, to suck her rosy nipple into your mouth. You swirl your tongue, alternating between licking and sucking and Natasha drops her head against the pillows again. You make sloppy sucking noises, only proving to turn her on further, as she rests a hand over your head to keep you there. “I want to make you cum.” You release her nipple with a pop. 

Natasha is a grown woman. She likes sex. She enjoys sex. She’s about to throw away all of her reservations and tell you to do whatever. You offer an alternative. You button her slacks, zipping them down far enough for your hands to reach inside and you slide in. Your fingers ghost over the lips of her panties, pushing to feel the wetness seeping through, and Natasha preens. 

“Like this then?” You say and she nods. That makes it more fun. You rake your nails over Natasha's pussy, finding the small nub peeking through the fabric, and you pay the most attention to that. Natasha arches her back and forces you to press against her deeper. “You like that baby?” You ask. “Is this what you wanted?” You ask as you work your magic through the cotton of her panties. Natasha nods her head, mouth open, eyes closed in complete pleasure. 

“Ngh,” She moans her words caught in her throat, as she rocks her hips into your fingers. It feels so damn good. This entire act may seem a bit immature but she doesn’t care. Your fingers are on her, practically inside of her, and even with the thin barrier of her underwear she feels everything. You are firm in your movements. You’re purposeful with every circling of your fingers. Your movements go from small tight circles to wide and rough as Natasha moans louder. “Yes,” She hisses between her teeth. “Yes.”She whines and you know she’s close. 

“Chase it, baby,” You encourage. “You’re so pretty like this. At my mercy.” You continue. “The perfect doll. So open and wet for me.” You kiss her bare shoulder, her neck, her chest. Anywhere you can reach. It feels so dirty here. The smell of her sex reaching your nose. The sound of shuffling and moving against the cushions is the only thing heard in the entire house. You want to give Natasha this. You need to give it to her. “My pretty girl. I want to make you my pretty wife again.” You find yourself saying and it’s the right thing. Natasha stiffens, and her left hand comes to grip your right arm as her hips thrust against your fingers. Even through her panties, you can feel the sudden gush of wetness from her. Natasha whimpers pitifully as you talk her through it. “That’s it, baby. I know. Your pussy feels so good.” You whisper closer to her ear. When she finally comes down, Natasha falls limp against the cushions and you catch her. You remove your fingers from her pants, resting them by her side, as you watch the rise and fall of her chest. Natasha opens her eyes a moment later, a bit startled by the fact that you’re watching her, and she shakes her head. You kiss her swollen lips. 

“You did so well for me,” You praise and delight in her skin turning into an even redder shade. “I liked seeing you cum.”

“Stop,” Natasha groans. You chuckle. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me for your orgasm,” You deny her. “I had fun doing it. I’d like to do it again soon. Maybe with that strap, you’ve been asking for.”

“I’d like that.” Natasha nods. 

“This didn’t change things for you right?” You question and she tilts her head. “I mean to say that I meant what I said about making you my wife. It wasn’t just something I was saying to get you off.”

“It worked either way,” She quips. “I want that too. With you. Someday.”

“Good,” You smile. You trade kisses with Natasha, noting her sudden fatigue until you fall asleep in each other’s arms. You weren’t exactly intending to but you know you both need it. 

************

A few hours later you’re awakened by the sound of the front door unlocking. The kids are home. You awaken first, tapping Natasha awake, and she only nuzzles into your body further. She’s not ready to move away. 

“Unbelievable,” Yelena Belova’s voice interrupts your bliss. You both pop up to see the blonde standing over the two of you with a look of disgust on her face. “I can’t believe it.” Yelena shakes her head. 

“Mommy!” Emma and Ryan chorus. Natasha makes quick work of buttoning up her shirt and pants without them seeing. It’s Yelena who notices and shakes her head. 

“Is this why you wanted me to pick them up?” Yelena asks but then she drops Emma’s backpack onto the ground. “You know what, I’m leaving, I don’t even care.” She heads for the front door. You watch in trepidation as Natasha races after her. 

“Yelena,” Natasha calls after her younger sister. “Yelena, you’re acting like a child.”

“And you’re being stupid,” The woman insults. She turns back to Natasha with a disappointed look on her face. “You can’t think one quick fuck is going to make her stay. She left you. She left your kids. I can’t fucking believe this.”

“Yelena, that’s enough,” Natasha speaks firmly. “You don’t know what’s going on.”

“Well I have eyes,” Yelena argues back. “ I think I can see.”

“She’s my wife,” Natasha pleads with her sister to understand. 

“No,” Yelena rants. “She’s your ex-wife that broke your heart.”

“And she’s trying to make things better,”

“And just like that, you believe her? You’re smarter than that, Natasha.” Yelena scolds her sister. Natasha doesn’t speak. “Don’t call me when she decides she doesn’t want to play house anymore.” Yelena walks away after that. 

Natasha watches as her sister gets into her car and drives down the street. How was she supposed to respond to that? She turns back toward the house to see you standing on the steps waiting for her. 

“That was intense,” You comment. Natasha nods. You hold out your arms for her to step into them. She hides her face in your neck. 

“Am I being stupid?” She mumbles into your neck and you almost miss it. 

“No, Natasha,” You assure her. 

“Don’t make me look stupid,” She pleads. “I won’t survive it this time.” 

“Me either,” You hold her. 

You wouldn’t give this up again. You understand that Natasha’s family has a right to be cautious. They have a right to hate you. You could only hope that they see that you’re trying.

---> next part

[lanternlightss]

i am. thinking about should the winds be kinder au again…..

especially how desperate venti is to not let anyone know about the switch. because the world, let alone the universe itself, doesn’t need a venti. they need only ever need cecil.

[outer-edges]

just discovered cockney rhyming slang and i am SO obsessed with this i wish it didn't sound absolutely ridiculous in american english because it is right up my alley i LOVE doings that make my speech borderline incomprehensible

[batking-lich]

"i'm not like those Other People, i only consume Unproblematic Media™ with Good Representation™ and i don't like Irredeemable Media™"

"i'm not like those Other People, i don't like this Sanitized Media™, i only like Real Art™ with Bad Messy Representation™"

you are literally the same people wearing different hats the only things you disagree about are what counts as bad media and what counts as good representation

[arttheclown]

twicord isn’t a bad ship people are just mean ):

[asjjohnson]

Here's the other pumpkin I carved this year (I did it yesterday but I was too busy doing other things, like cooking the pumpkin on the stove, and didn't carve it until late).

Dracula on the front, simple bat design on the back.

[sistertotheknowitall]

“But to the BatFam? That is just Some Guy. A random dude - if you will.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m missing my spleen.”

“Oh cool, yeah, missing organs suck. I’m missing a kidney and part of my liver. Oh! And my gallbladder but that was more of a necessary evil, it was like, poisoning me or something.” Danny was so focused on applying pressure to his wound (and maybe being a bit too light headed) that he didn’t notice how silent his friend had gotten. Like-wise the comms had gone equally quiet as Gotham’s vigilante family realized that they knew very little about this kid.

It was concerning how quickly they all started to see him as a friend considering it was them as vigilantes he interacted with the most. Tim was the only one who saw him frequently when out of the suit because he was a regular at Danny’s day job. (He worked as a barista in the coffee shop Tim favored.) The others saw him occasionally but more often than not it was just in passing. Steph, Duke, and Dick had to stop themselves from approaching him on the street.

It was odd, one day he had just moved to Gotham, seeming to appear out of nowhere, and then the next he was a constant presence in their lives. Usually armed and ready with a concerning or odd quip, it had started with him being another victim of the city’s petty criminals and had snowballed from there.

Now it wasn’t like the bats saw Danny everyday, but it was expected that he would cross paths with at least three of them before the end of the week. They ran into him more often than any other Gothamite, including the criminals and rouges they fought.

At first the constant meetings by “coincidence” was suspicious. If he wasn’t the one being saved from a mugging, kidnapping, or city wide villain assault, then he was near by and trying to help.

(“Trying to help” usually meant drawing attention to himself so the original victim could escape. Once it had meant Danny armed with a baseball bat against four grown men. Bruce and Dick have tried to talk to him about putting himself in harms way but the kid is surprisingly elusive when he wants to be. Yet, even when avoiding Batman and his eldest, Danny could be found on the patrol route of another family member.)

But honestly? The guy seemed just as exhausted as they were of seeing each other. By the twelfth time in a month, Danny had accused them of stalking him.

The background check Bruce and Tim had run came back clean and he never seemed to be involved in the various criminal activities. He was just there, a weirdly unlucky bystander. So as far as Dick and the others could see, Danny was a completely normal dude. He just said strange things and wasn’t intimidated by them, he actually made it a point to be unhelpful sometimes. When trying to learn his name he gave them the run around for two months. (“I know about stranger danger. I don’t care how often you say you’re the ‘good guys.’ I’m not falling for it.”)

On one memorable occasion Danny had disappeared for a week and a half. When they started to assume the worse, he popped back up behind the counter at work. Tim had relaxed significantly when he entered the shop to Danny organizing pastries in the display case. Once he’d placed his order, the young CEO asked Danny if he’d been on vacation. To which Danny had just sighed and told Tim “I wish, but no I was called to court to handle some affairs I couldn’t get out of.” (After a check to see if Danny had gotten charged with something and coming back empty, Tim had concluded that it was an odd way to say he had had jury duty.)

Thinking about it now, outside a stray comment or two, Danny didn’t talk about himself or his life. They knew he didn’t have a good relationship with his parents, “they were much more goal oriented than that joke of a kidnapper, but I think drugs do that to a person.” (It was still unclear if he meant his parents were kidnappers themselves or on drugs.) They knew he had an older sister who would “kill me again if she finds out I was in another bank robbery.” They also knew he was, possibly, depressed after last week’s comment of “is it considered murder if you’re already dead but, like, still alive?” (Damian had saved him from a drug ring but after another “baby ninja” comment the young Robin had threatened to give Danny back to his would-be murderers.)

Dick knew Danny was a weird guy who never wanted to elaborate on the things he said. (Jason was still confused on what he meant by “rotted milk soul.”) That didn’t mean the comments themselves didn’t say a lot about him. And tonight’s comment, accompanied by the prominent and jagged autopsy scars, said more than Danny was probably willing to share.

[dante-mightdie]

requesting blue collar price thoughts, bonus points if it’s thoughts on how he literally can’t say no to his wife bro is whipped isn’t he

ur just so pretty and he loves you so much he can never say no :( and it gets x10 worse whenever you’re pregnant

what is he supposed to say when you waddle up to him, baby catalogues folded under your arm as your curl up next to him, showing him all the things you found for the nursery? no? don’t be ridiculous. he’ll buy you whatever you want and he won’t bat an eyelid until his bank statement comes in

is he supposed to tell you you’re being too needy when you’re in your second trimester and need to be around him constantly? not letting him take a shower when he gets back from a day on the site in the summer, instead just pushing him onto the bed and climbing into his lap to huff at his sweaty, musky scent

when you’re nearing the end of your pregnancy, this man is basically your servant. he’ll handle all of your mood swings and snappy comments bc you’re literally about to push a tiny human out for him. doesn’t understand your logic sometimes but happy wife, happy life

won’t complain when you snatch up the duvet and then proceed to just throw it on the floor completely, leaving you both without a blanket but telling him to leave it there because it’s overstimulating and uncomfortable. completely his fault, he’ll call the company that makes them tomorrow. picture him curled up fetal position with no pillows or blanket because you needed all 4 pillows. two to rest your head on, one for under your belly and one between your knees

he will take the blame for every single thing that upsets you during the day. the shop didn’t have your favourite snack? his fault, he should have accounted for that when he ordered their stock for them. stuck in traffic because of a car accident up ahead? don’t worry, he’ll make sure to drive the car for them next time so this mistake doesn’t happen again! the show you’re watching ended poorly? thanks for your feedback, he’ll remember that next time he writes the scripts

it’s not all bad though because sometimes you just wanna coddle and take care of your man :( your maternal instincts are through the roof and he works such a dangerous and difficult job. he’s not gonna say no to his lady cradling his head to her chest, cooing on his ear about what a good man he is. a good, hard-working honest man. gets his cock hard listening to you praise him for being such a good husband :)

[headkiss]

something more

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader

summary: you and aaron are friends with feelings more obvious than you think. or: 5 times the team suspects you and hotch are dating +1 time they know it.

word count: 6.6k

warnings: friends to lovers, the team being a little nosy, pining idiots!!!, probably inaccurate descriptions of bau jobs (for the plot!), a very small injury, a birthday, a first kiss, and fluff!

a/n: hiii this one has been a long time coming so thank you guys for being so patient with me!!! and special thanks to the anon who requested this one! i hope u guys enjoy it and please please let me know what you think <3 ily

༄

Aaron Hotchner was never someone you thought you could be this close to.

Coming to the BAU, you’d been intimidated more than anything. As Unit Chief, he’s got a reputation that’s hard to ignore. Professional, brave, cold when he has to be. His success and talent were undeniable, and all you wanted to do was prove that you belonged there, too.

Then, you really met him, and he surprised you in a way you hadn’t expected. Hotch was kind right off the bat, welcoming you to the team with a smile that felt like some sort of prize.

He was an excellent boss. Understanding and protective, quick to defend anyone on the team like they were his own family. Except, he was so much more than just your boss.

Now, you’d call him your closest friend, someone who’s number you’d call if you were in trouble. He’s your closest friend and yet you feel so much more for him.

It started slow, a friendship blooming the way a plant does with just enough sunlight. It was a shared smile here, a nudge of the shoulder there. It grew to be a seat next to him reserved for you on every plane ride.

Today, it’s eating lunch with him in his office.

Aaron usually works through lunch, more eager to get things done than he is to worry about skipping a meal. Somehow, with two tupperware containers in your hand and a sweet smile, you’d managed to get him to take a break.

“Whatcha doing?” You’d asked.

Hotch looked up from his paperwork then, dropping his pen because you were in his doorway. “You know, Unit Chief business. Reports.”

“Sounds like you have time for lunch, then.” You set the containers down on his desk, making sure to avoid the papers he’d just been working on.

“I should really get this done-”

“Hotch,” you stopped him, “you and I both know that you’re always ahead on this stuff because you stay here so late. Lunch won’t set you back.”

With a shake of his head and the biting back of a smile, a simple twitch at the corners of his mouth, Aaron agreed and stacked his paperwork off to the side.

That’s how you’ve ended up in the chair that’s usually on the opposite side of his desk, only now it’s tugged to be next to his. Your knees touch every so often when one of you shifts, and the warmth stays with you even when the contact is gone.

“Sorry it’s nothing fancy,” you say as he opens the container you brought for him.

“Don’t apologize. It’s great.” Hotch has a way of saying things that make them sound true, no matter how few words he uses, so you accept it.

“Okay, good!” There’s a small silence, a lull as you both take your first bites. “Can I help with anything?”

Aaron looks from the paperwork to your face, your eyes already on his. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” you reassure him. “I think sometimes you forget that you aren’t the only one who can do this stuff.”

He knocks his knee against yours. Purposeful this time. A silent ‘thank you.’

“Like you said, I’m ahead anyways. I’ve got it.”

“Come on, Hotch. I’m already done with my report from our last case. I’ve got time. Let me help.”

He’s always been reluctant to accept help, to ask for it, but when you’re asking so sweetly, when it’ll give him an excuse to spend more time with you, it’s hard for Aaron to say no.

“Alright. You help for an hour, that’s it.”

You grin at him, like his acceptance of your offer was some kind of gift he’d given you. Your nose crinkles a little with it, and his hand flexes in his lap, like he’s fighting not to reach out to you.

“Okay, put me to work, boss.”

“We just started lunch,” he says, a little chuckle puffing out.

“Have you ever heard of multitasking, Agent Hotchner?”

Aaron laughs, shaking his head as he reaches for one of the files in the stack he’d made and hands it to you. He’d call everyone at the BAU a friend, but there’s something different, something more about how he’d describe you.

He’s grown closer to you than he usually lets himself get to people, like you’re the only one with the right tools to break through walls he’s put up. You see each other outside of work (on the rare days you aren’t working), and still, he feels like it’s never long enough.

Hotch briefly wonders if he could just move your desk into his office. He shakes off the thought and what it might mean.

Head bent, you’re now focused on the work he gave you, and Aaron takes the chance to admire you. His eyes flick over your profile, the light hitting your cheeks, the flutter of your eyelashes every time you blink.

As if you could feel his gaze on you, you turn towards him and smile—a small, closed-mouth smile, but a smile all the same—before turning your attention back to the page.

When you take a pause and take another bite of your lunch, a small drop of sauce lands on your thigh. “Oh, shit.”

Aaron grabs a tissue from the box on his desk, wrapping it over his fingertip before wiping the small spot from your leg, his finger a spark against you even through your pants.

“Good thing you wore black,” he says, tossing the tissue in the garbage. His hand, however, stays on your leg, and though the touch is light the weight of it feels the opposite. Heavy, huge.

“Good thing you’re here to clean up after me, more like.”

Your eyes meet, and you share a smile with Hotch the way you often do. Mid-conversation, across a room, it’s a smile you sort of reserve for each other.

In the main office below, Derek, Spencer, and JJ stand together, watching the interaction through the window into Hotch’s office. You and Aaron seem to be in your own bubble, completely unaware of your small audience.

“They’ve gotta be together,” Derek is the first to speak, waving a hand towards the office where you and Hotch are talking. “I mean, come on.”

“I don’t know,” JJ shrugs, “they both seem kinda clueless.”

“We probably shouldn’t speculate about them,” Spencer, always the sweetheart, says. “But, statistically, Hotch never eats lunch. Just saying.”

JJ pats Reid on the shoulder, huffing out a laugh before she heads back to her desk.

You stay in Aaron’s office much longer than an hour that day.

-

Punctuality is important in the BAU. Really, if you’re not early, you’re late. You’ve always got to be ready, wheels up in ten, or five.

You suppose that doesn’t really apply to outside-of-the-office parties at Garcia’s.

It’s rare that you’re all available at the same time, from late nights at the bureau to families, it’s tough to make your schedules line up when you aren’t working, which is why whenever she can, Penelope likes to host drinks for the team.

You’re on your way there now, or, you should be. Instead, you’re getting ready in your bedroom while Aaron waits in your living room.

Hotch has offered to drive you to these things every time, and with every offer, comes your easy answer of ‘yes.’ He’d been outside in his car for five minutes before he decided to call, because you’re usually in his passenger seat within seconds of him pulling over by your building.

The ringing of your phone had your eyes blinking open, squinted against the sudden brightness of your TV. You’d accidentally fallen asleep, and, still disoriented, picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, everything okay?” It’s Aaron’s voice on the other line, and you pull your phone away for a second to check the time before sitting up quickly.

“Shit, Hotch, I must’ve fallen asleep. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, I can wait for you.” He’d wait as long as you need, he thinks. The thought passes through like a leaf blown in the wind, freely, randomly.

“Have you been waiting long?” You ask, fingers tugging at a loose thread in your pants.

“No, don’t worry. Barely five minutes.”

And he still wanted to check on you.

“Why don’t you come in? My couch is probably more comfortable than your car, right?”

“You sure?” He checks, like he hasn’t been to your place before, like you’d ever not want him there.

“Get in here, Hotchner.”

You hung up before he could reply, and he laughed to himself in his car before shutting it off and doing exactly what you’d told him.

So, now, you’re rushing to find an outfit while Aaron sits on your couch by himself.

Even though he’s in the next room, you can feel his presence around you, the steady security he gives you, the warmth that seeps out of him even when he tries to hide it.

You settle on a knitted sweater, a skirt, and some tights, which you realize as you tug them on aren't the speediest of options, but it’s too late to change your mind now. With your hair figured out and the mascara that had smudged during your nap fixed, you step back out into the living room.

Aaron made himself at home while you were gone (he often feels that way with you, at home), sitting on your couch with his arms spread across the back. He looks better than he should there, suit stretched across his shoulders, and you have to clear your throat to snap yourself out of it.

“Okay, sorry again for the delay. I’m ready to go.”

He looks up as soon as you walk in, eyes skimming over your legs and the tights wrapped around them, your waist, up your neck. His gaze lands on your eyes the way it often does, like magnets.

He shakes his head, “don’t be sorry. We’ll be what they call ‘fashionably late.’”

You laugh, because who would’ve thought that the words ‘fashionably late’ would ever come out of Aaron Hotchner’s mouth.

“Who taught you that one, huh?”

“I like to keep my sources anonymous.”

“Well okay, then. Let’s go be fashionably late, Hotch.”

He lets you lead the way to the car, only jogging up ahead to open your door before you can reach it yourself.

During the drive to Penelope’s, you take control of the music with little objection from Aaron, and when it gets to a song you know he likes, you sing along, encouraging him to do the same.

“Let’s hear it, Agent Hotchner.” You hold your fist out like there’s a microphone in it, looking at him with a grin on your face.

“I can't sing.” Aaron’s fighting off a smile, because you’re sitting beside him, not too shy to sing along, being all cute and, briefly, he thinks about reaching out and grabbing your hand and holding on.

“Sure you can! Everyone can sing, come on.” You unfurl your faux microphone-holding fist and tug on the knot of his tie, “loosen up a little.”

And, because you have some way of convincing him of things—first lunch, now this—he humors you by joining in for one chorus of the song. When your eyes light up a little, and your grin only widens, he can’t bring himself to be too concerned of how bad he probably sounds.

By the time you’re at Garcia’s door you’re a solid hour late, yet you and Aaron walk up to the door with matching smiles all the same.

“I’m getting you to do that every time I hear that song now, I hope you know.”

“That was a one time special,” he says. He reaches over your shoulder to knock on the door. His hand brushes against you, featherlight and quick, a crackle over your skin.

On the other side, Morgan says, “must be the lovebirds” when he hears the sound.

You and Aaron don’t hear him, only broken out of your little shared bubble when Penelope opens the door. “There you guys are! I made your drinks but the ice might be melted by now. You know, ‘cause you’re late.”

You know this is directed towards you more than it is Hotch, because Garcia’s a little intimidated by him still. You also know she’s only joking, and greet her with a hug before stepping in.

Aaron isn’t far behind you, though at these things, he never is.

You’re met with warm greetings from the team when you walk in, and you chat for a bit, but it isn’t long before things split off into smaller conversations. They all know that Aaron drives you to these things, and, as profilers, they’re also all able to see the way you look at each other, the way the knot of his tie sits lower than usual.

In the corner, Emily leans over to Derek, saying, “usually it takes at least two drinks for Hotch’s tie to look like that.”

“I told you, they’re together,” Derek shrugs.

“I don’t think they know that,” Emily replies.

This time, Aaron hears them, and he can’t help but look towards you in the room the rest of the night, thinking and thinking and thinking.

He ends up deciding that they might have a point. That maybe, that shift in his heartbeat when you’re around isn’t nothing, isn’t just friends.

-

The flight home from a case always feels the longest.

On the way there, you’re packing every hour with information about what’s going on, talking to Garcia, reading police reports. You’re all on edge, eager to get out there and help and do your jobs,

Then, on the way home, with another case solved, all you’re thinking about is going home, sleeping in your own bed, and time seems to go slower.

If your name happens to be Aaron Hotchner, you’d spend the plane ride home doing paperwork that actually can wait.

You and Aaron sit next to each other on pretty much every flight, though the seats have never been assigned. It’s an unspoken thing, like your names are written on the fabric of the same two seats on the jet and that’s just the way it is.

The first time was early on in your time on the team. It was a tough case for you, and Hotch seemed to know it without you having to say anything, so, when you got on the jet to come home, he smiled that small, twitch of his lips smile at you and nodded at the seat next to him. You’ve been sitting there ever since.

Today, your flight is on the shorter side, but feels long the way it always does. Trying to keep yourself occupied, you pull out your earbuds and shuffle your playlist, hoping that the songs will speed things up.

“Sick of me already?” Hotch speaks up when he notices your headphones.

You tilt your head to look at him. He looks tired, the way you’re sure you do, too, but never any less handsome. His eyes are soft where they meet yours, paired with a hint of a smile that you’re always able to catch.

“Sick of you, Hotch? Never.” You nod at the file he has open on the small table, “just didn’t want to distract you.”

“I thought you enjoyed distracting me. Always telling me I work too much.”

“‘Cause it’s true,” you say. “That doesn’t mean you listen.”

“I listen to you more than I listen to most people.” Aaron’s voice is gentle when he says it, the words sinking in and melting you just a little, sugary sweet. It could mean absolutely nothing, but with the way he keeps his eyes steady on yours, you don’t think it does.

“Listen to this, then,” you hand him one of your earbuds, and his fingers brush yours when he takes it from you. “But you can’t make fun of me if a musical soundtrack comes on, okay?”

“Okay,” he huffs a small laugh, and you feel a little brighter. “I promise.”

You’re aware of the team having their own conversations in the rows in front of you and Hotch, but you can’t bring yourself to join in, because you and Aaron are sharing your earbuds and his head is bent just a little closer to yours. It’s delicate, and you’ll do your best not to break it.

You talk a little longer, until it naturally fizzles out and Hotch is back to working on his files and you’re bobbing your head along to your songs. Only now, Aaron sits closer to you, his arm against yours.

He’s not sure what to do with his newfound realization that his feelings for you run far deeper than friendship. All Aaron knows is that he likes the feeling of you beside him, and that he’s planning on keeping you there as long as you’ll let him.

It’s quiet between the two of you aside from your occasional ‘this is a good one,’ and his hum of acknowledgement.

Eventually, you’re relaxed enough that your eyes grow heavy, the sleep you’ve been lacking suddenly catching up to you, and when you hit a patch of slower songs you’re fighting to stay awake.

When your head lulls onto Hotch’s shoulder, you jerk your head up, “sorry, Aaron.”

His chest does something funny. A jump. It’s not often you call him Aaron, and he’d listen to the sound of his name on your lips on a loop if he could. Because he can’t help himself, he scooches himself even closer to you.

He decides to call you something different, too, saying, “it’s alright, honey.”

You’re too sleepy to really read into that one, all you feel is the flutter in your stomach and Aaron’s hand on your head, gently guiding it to his shoulder.

When he’s sure you’re asleep, Hotch looks away from his files and over to you. Your cheek is squished against his shoulder, your lashes fanned shut. He thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.

Aaron doesn’t even feel the smile that spreads over his face as he reaches up and pushes your hair away from your face. He’s completely unaware of the eyes that catch him, far too focused on you.

Emily turned around when she realized she hadn’t heard your voice in a bit, and she did it just in time to catch Hotch’s movement. Instead of saying something, she turns back around and shakes her head to herself.

Hopeless, she thinks.

Sleep doesn’t come so easily with this job, with the things you see, so Aaron can’t help but try and stay steady for you, and if that leads to him letting his eyes close and resting his head on yours, then so be it.

It’s not until the end of the flight that the team checks on the two of you. As everyone stands and grabs their go bags, they notice the two of you, asleep next to each other, earbud wires hanging between you.

“Should we wake them up?” JJ asks.

“Hotch doesn’t get enough sleep as it is,” Spencer chimes in. “Neither does she, actually.”

Of course, Derek finishes with, “let’s leave the lovebirds to it,” before the team gets off the plane.

It’s only about twenty minutes later that Aaron does wake up, but he feels more well-rested than he has in a while, even with the kink in his neck.

Blinking his eyes open, he’s met with an empty jet and the comforting weight of your head on his shoulder. “Shit,” he sighs.

He debates waking you, ultimately deciding that you’d probably rather sleep in your bed rather than the seat of the BAU’s jet. Reaching up, he pulls your earbuds away, setting them on the table. With a brush of his fingertips to your cheek, he coaxed you awake.

“Hey, honey,” Aaron’s nearly whispering, like he’s afraid to scare you. Or, maybe, he’s convinced that if he moves too quickly, too loudly, this whole thing will fade away as if he’d been dreaming. “Wake up, we’re home.”

“Hm?” You grumble, scrunching your nose when he brushes your cheek again.

“We fell asleep, but we landed.”

“Oh, god.” You sit up properly, lifting your head. “I’m sorry, Aaron. Hotch.”

“Aaron is good,” he eases you. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”

Sleep-hazed, or maybe just happy that he can be Aaron to you, you agree easily and take his hand when he offers it, letting him lead you to his car.

-

You’ve been spending more time at Aaron’s ever since that flight. In the car, he’d convinced you to stay over at his place in the guest room, since it was closer. With your go bag already in his car and heavy, sleepy eyes, it was hard for you to do anything but agree.

It’s another slice of his life that he’s let you see, and you can’t help but feel like it means something, like you’re stepping further and further away from being coworkers who are friends and towards something different. Something more.

That flight feels like the catalyst, the thing that caused things to shift into what they are now.

Aaron’s couch is much more comfortable than yours, and though you’ve yet to spend the night again, you’re sitting there with him at almost every chance. The time off you get is rare, and Aaron wanting to spend it with you sends flutters to your stomach whenever you think about it.

You feel like you know him better, getting to see his space, how he chose to decorate, what colors he likes, which ones he doesn’t. You also know what temperature he likes to set his thermostat.

“Do you enjoy living in a refrigerator?” You ask, hands tucked into your sleeves. “Just wondering.”

Aaron laughs, a small huff, “I think you just run cold, honey.”

He’s been calling you that a lot, too. Honey.

“No way, Hotchner. Your house is what runs cold. Or maybe you’re cold-blooded.”

Not with you, he thinks. Years and years of doing what he does, Hotch might even call himself cold when he’s thinking a little too hard. But never cold with you. He thinks that might be impossible for him.

“Shhh, don’t tell anyone my secret,” he says, his arm brushing against yours from where he sits next to you on his couch. “Where are you cold?”

“Can’t feel my toes, Aaron. I might be out of commission for the next case.”

“Well we can’t lose our best girl, can we?” Best girl, he says. Like he means it, like it’s simple. “I’ve got some thick socks you can grab. Bottom drawer.”

Just like that, he’s cracked another wall of his down even further, giving you permission to go into his bedroom as if you’ve been in there a thousand times.

“Really?”

“Unless you’d rather not feel your toes-“

“Okay, okay,” you stop him, unable to fight your smile. “Thanks, Aaron.”

When you stand and head towards his room, Aaron can’t stop himself from thinking that you belong there, in his home, his room, his life. You fit in so seamlessly he wishes you’d never leave.

He stands up too, because the couch suddenly feels sort of empty without you beside him, without your warmth. He walks over to his thermostat on the wall and turns it up for you.

You’ve always thought that you can tell a lot about a person from where they live, and seeing Aaron’s bedroom now solidifies it. His place does too, but there’s something about his bedroom that feels much more personal.

Here, there’s more of him, little bits of his life scattered around. A picture of him as a kid with his parents on the dresser, the newspaper’s crossword sitting completely finished on his nightstand, his bed neatly made.

You smile at the framed photo before slipping the top drawer open and finding the pair of socks he’d been talking about. As much as you’d love to snoop, you don’t want to invade his privacy in any way. Besides, from Aaron, even a glimpse of his space feels special.

You slip on the socks before you leave his room, letting them bunch at your ankles.

As soon as you walk back into the living room, Aaron’s phone rings. Glancing at you softly, almost apologetically though he’s got nothing to be sorry about—you work with him, you know how important a call can be—he picks it up.

“Hotchner,” he says, holding it to his ear. His voice is different this way, more professional, controlled. Never any less pleasing to hear.

He’d wanted to say something about how good you look in his clothes when his phone rang, Garcia’s name flashing on the screen. Aaron wishes it was someone else, only to spend more time with you this way.

“Sorry to call late, sir,” Penelope says. “We’ve got a case. Missing kid; it’s urgent.”

“Don’t be sorry, Garcia. We’re on our way.”

“Wait, we?” She asks, curious as always.

“What’s going on?” You ask Aaron.

“Got a case. I’ll drive, honey.” He lets the pet name slip, like it’s a habit.

On the other line, Garcia’s grinning to herself in her office. She’d had a suspicion of who on the team Hotch would be with outside of work, and hearing your voice, and his use of the word ‘honey’ all sticky sweet, she knows she’s onto something.

“Oh, that’s ‘we,’” Penelope’s voice teases. “Tell her I’ll see you guys soon!”

Aaron shakes his head, fighting his smile. “Bye, Garcia.”

He hangs up and looks from his phone to you, your eyes already on him, corners of your mouth tugged up just a little like you’d heard what Garcia said, heard the lilt in her voice. Like you liked the idea of you and Aaron being a unit. We.

He likes that idea, too.

Back at the BAU, Garcia calls Derek next, who picks up with his classic, “hey, babygirl.”

First, she tells him that he needs to come into the office, that they’ve got a case, then, “you’re never going to believe this.”

Penelope loves to talk, and Derek’s happy to listen, so she tells him about how you’d been with Aaron when she called, and that you were on your way together.

“I give them another week, max, before they’re holding hands when they come in.” Derek laughs, because he can see yours and Hotch’s feelings so easily, plain as day, and he loves to be right about things.

“How mad will Hotch be when he finds out that we talk about his relationship?” Penelope’s mostly joking, only a fraction concerned.

“If the boss didn’t want us talking about it, he shouldn’t be so obvious, sweetheart.”

Once you arrive at the office, you don’t catch Penelope and Derek’s shared looks behind yours and Aaron’s—who happens to be carrying both his and your go bag—backs.

And if anyone notices the loose socks around your ankles, they don’t say anything about it.

-

You’re not supposed to go off on your own unless it’s absolutely necessary. You know that, the team knows that. Aaron, who is always trying to keep you as safe as possible, enforces it.

You guess that this time might be up for debate.

When it comes to what you do, you have to trust your instincts most of the time. And today, your gut told you to make a decision that might not have been safe, but to you, it felt like what you had to do.

Aaron had been on the phone with you, trying to figure out a way to make the car drive any faster to get to you. He’d heard it in your voice, in the tone of it, that he couldn’t convince you to wait for someone else to show up.

“I have to do this, Aaron,” you’d said. While the team would normally probably tease him about you calling him Aaron, as if it isn’t his name, they’d known not to interrupt this time. “You know I do.”

“You don’t have to.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he spoke. “We’ll be there soon, alright? Just-”

“I’m sorry.” And then, you hung up.

In the end, going in when you did had been the right move. A life had been saved, and you’d slowed the guy down enough that the police were able to arrest him when they arrived. All it cost you was a cut and a bruise on your cheek.

So, your instincts weren’t so bad.

Aaron, however, disagrees. Logically, he knows that he would’ve done the exact same thing you did, knows the rest of the team would’ve, too. But when it comes to you, he has a hard time thinking logically.

After you hung up on him, all he could do was breathe and breathe and breathe over the heavy thumping of his heartbeat and the worry spinning in his head. He drove the quickest he could manage, the car silent inside. A static.

It’s not that he doubts your abilities—he���s always thought you were incredible, even before the friendship, even before now—only that the idea of you being alone with such a bad man makes him feel sick.

He’d take your place in a heartbeat, if he could, just to make sure you’d be safe.

By the time he and the rest of the team get to the scene, you’re walking out of the building with a hand pressed to your cheek and a paramedic leading you to a nearby ambulance.

Aaron spots you right away, his eyes scanning the small crowd through red and blue lights and conversations surrounding him. When he spots you, everything goes quiet.

His first thought is, thank god she’s alive, then, it’s fuck, she’s hurt.

Without a word to anyone, he heads over in your direction right away. He meets you at the ambulance, where you sit on the small bench inside while the paramedic presses your cheek with gauze.

“Honey.” It comes out in a breath. Relief and pain all at once.

You look over to him, his hair a little messy, his eyes wide and roaming all over you like he’s checking for any other injuries. He cares about you, and it’s written all over him.

“Aaron. I’m okay.” You hold a hand out, and he grabs it, sitting beside you on the bench in the ambulance. “Promise.”

For now, he nods, letting the paramedic do their job bandaging up your cheek. When they’re finished, they hand you a spare bandage saying, “it’s gonna bruise, and it might feel sore for a bit, but you’re all patched up.”

The paramedic leaves after that, probably going to check on other people. The lights inside the ambulance seem to cocoon you, a bright difference to the darkness outside.

The first thing Aaron says is, “let me see.”

His hands reach for your face, rough fingertips gently holding your jaw, tilting you so that he can look at your cheek. It’s a little swollen, discolored where you must’ve been hit. There’s a furrow in his brow, something that looks like a pout on none other than Aaron Hotchner.

“Hey,” you grab his wrists, but his hands stay on your face. “I’m fine.”

Aaron’s always worried, he’s always cared about you and about everyone on the team, but this is different. He was usually able to hide things much better than this. Much better than with you.

Now, all he sees is the tiny bloodstain on your shirt and the bandage on your cheek. All he feels is your hands squeezing his wrists and your eyes locked on his.

“You should have waited,” he says. “I could have been there.”

“Hotchner,” your deadpan tone is intact, which he’ll take as a win, even if it’s directed towards him. “You and I both know you would have done the same. I had to.”

One of his hands shifts to cup your non-injured cheek. Normally, he’d be much more composed while working, but he can’t bring himself to care about how he must look right now.

“I know you did,” he tells you, because he does. “I just wish that you didn’t. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Your stomach is tumbling, rolling, your heart doing silly things in your chest. You can hardly feel the pain of your cheek anymore when his hand is on the other, his palm warm against your skin, his gaze even warmer.

“I’m hardly hurt, Aaron. Just a scratch.”

“Right. One that required medical attention. That’s more than just a scratch, honey.”

“If you say so, Hotchner.”

He shifts his hands so that they fall into your lap, palms up and fingers instantly finding yours, tangling together perfectly. Like puzzle pieces.

“Good job, by the way.” Hotch rubs his thumb over your skin once, back and forth. “You did the right thing.”

“Learned from the best,” you say.

You’re both oblivious to the fact that the team is watching from a distance, and that the two of you look so lovesick it’s ridiculous that you haven’t spilled your feelings yet. You’re both absolutely fucked.

Where she stands with the team, Emily shakes her head, “I haven’t seen Hotch like this since… ever.”

Beside her, JJ merely shrugs, like it’s obvious, “yeah, they’re in love.”

Spencer looks at you and Aaron in that ambulance with a smile. “The odds of you guys being right are very, very high.”

-

+1

Aaron Hotchner was never the biggest fan of birthdays. Was never big into the cakes and making wishes, the song and the presents and the fuss of it all.

When he started at the bureau, it stayed that way. Days off were rare enough as it was, so he’d always work on his birthday. And while he kept the signed cards from the team, he treated it as any other day. Nothing special.

This year, you’re on a mission to change that.

While it isn’t the first of Aaron’s birthdays you’ve spent with him, it’s the first one since the two of you have grown as close as you have, since you’ve felt the way you do. You’re just hoping to make it a good birthday for him.

You’ve roped the whole team into it. Decorating the conference room with streamers and balloons and a sign that hangs crooked on the wall, bringing in a cake that reads ‘Happy Birthday Hotch’ in frosting, and keeping it all a secret.

Of course, you’ve all already said happy birthday to him, and you’ve got a present stashed under your desk for later, but you’ve been doing your best to act natural even when the anticipation of your surprise for him eats at your stomach a little.

Surprises are a tricky thing, and there’s no way of knowing whether he’ll like it or not. You’ll just have to wait and see.

While in his office, the team had made it seem like they’d all left for the day, saying their goodbyes to Hotch. Instead of leaving, though, they’ve been hidden in the conference room waiting for you to bring him in.

“Aaron,” you say, knocking on his office door. “I think I lost an earring. Do you think you could help me look for it?”

Because you’re the one asking, Aaron says, “‘course, honey. Where do you think it is?”

You smile, because he’s fallen into your trap easily, because you know that he probably would search for an earring with you if you’d actually lost one.

“I remember having it on in the conference room, so maybe there.”

He stands from his desk, gesturing for you to lead the way with his hand held out. You grab onto it before he can drop it, tangling your fingers and leading him behind you.

Aaron lets you guide him, and when you open the door to the conference room and flick on the lights, he’s met with the team’s grinning faces and a chorus of, “surprise!”

For a moment, he’s speechless, frozen in his spot in the doorway with your hand in his.

No, Aaron’s never been the biggest fan of birthdays, but maybe that’s because nobody’s ever done something like this for him. You came into his life all sweet smiles and now you’re throwing him a surprise party? He’s never ever liked someone the way he likes you.

So much that like is spilling into a four letter word and he’s happy to let it.

You know him well enough to know that he doesn’t like being the center of attention too much, so the only people in the room are those of the BAU. His closest friends. And you, his favorite person.

Before he can say anything he’s being spoken to by the team, getting a ‘happy birthday, boss,’ from Derek, a spill about how hard it was to keep this a secret from Penelope, a grin from Spencer, a tip about how you’d organized all of this from Emily, a squeeze to the shoulder from JJ.

When he finally gets the chance, the others split into their own conversations, Aaron tugs you aside to the corner of the room.

“You did all of this for me?” He asks, head bent to catch your eye.

Although you’d caught the signature Hotchner smile—closed-mouthed and quick—when he saw the surprise, you’re nervous about what he might say. You worry that you’ve done too much, that he’d been pretending to like it for your sake.

“I’m sorry if it’s a bit much,” you start, anxiously tugging at your sleeves. “I wasn’t sure if you liked surprises, I know not everyone does, but I wanted to do something for you because I care about you. A lot. And birthdays are meant to be celebrated, you know?”

Aaron can’t help but let a smile spread over his face as you speak; a real smile. His heart is light, his feelings for you melting through him like the soft pink of cotton candy. He doesn’t think you could ever do anything that he wouldn’t like.

“I’ll clean it all up, too, I prom-”

Your rambling is cut off with his lips on yours. He’s kissing you.

It’s soft, the press of his mouth against yours, and it takes you a second to push back. It stays delicate, a dance between the two of you like you’d practiced a million times before.

His hands skate down your arms to hold your hands, weaving his fingers with yours, squeezing like he’s making sure you know this is real.

You feel it all over, your stomach tumbling, your heart beating in a rhythm that thumps his name. Aaron, Aaron, Aaron, over and over.

It’s a kiss worth a thousand words that you haven’t said yet, a kiss full of feelings and meaning and you know it, just by the way he does it, because you know him and he knows you. It’s you and Aaron, and it feels like the beginning of something huge. Of the rest of your life, maybe.

When he pulls back, Hotch rests his forehead against yours, giving your head a gentle nudge, locking his brown eyes on yours.

“It’s perfect,” he says.

The next thing you hear is Derek Morgan cheering, “I knew it!”

Similar words come from the rest of the team.

“Finally,” from Emily.

“About time,” from JJ.

“This isn’t surprising,” from Spencer, who smiles while saying it.

A sweet, “yay,” from Penelope.

Distracted by Aaron kissing you, you’d sort of forgotten they were there. Bashful, you tuck your head beneath Aaron’s chin, forehead against his collar. He simply tightens his hands around yours.

And when it’s time for cake, this year, Aaron Hotchner makes a wish on his birthday candles. He wishes to spend every other birthday just like this. With you.

༄

thank you so so much for reading!!! if you liked it, please please please consider reblogging/commenting and letting me know what you thought! love you <3

[soarrenbluejay]

Since I’ve been encouraged to actually share my funny little blorbo ideas here’s another one gang;

Danny moves to Gotham on scholarship for engineering, because the Fentons may be infamous but they’re also insanely brilliant and besides both he and Jazz are showing every sign of embarrassed child of a super genius syndrome, so while the bats are keeping a close eye on him Just In Case, duke is also thinking of introducing him to the Our Parents Are Maniacs But Anyway club maybe after the first month or so.

Gotham does not go for standard dorm living bc of his ‘condition’ and lack of wanting to constantly spook/gaslight a roommate. Besides, living with two small children is a dorm sounds like a disaster in action.

So Danny signs up as a mechanic in Crime Alley, buys himself a teeny weensy lil apartment and Makes It Work. He has been all year after showing up with a de aged Dani and Dan in Amnity after all, and that had gone,,, fine? (The entire town, observing how Danny had been getting increasingly more uncomfortable around his godfather prior to the cloning incident, then just dropped off the face of the earth for several months, the first two weeks stuck in Vlad’s basement enduring horrors and the next Too Many desperately fapping around in the Ghost Zone to get everything handled. All the clones live, all 13 of them. Bunch of them are stuck in the Ghost Zone due to constant need for ectoplasm, but eh, plenty of Zone born never leave, so. One, in the future, apprentices under a green warrior lady on Pandora’s suggestion, another is working in the Eternal Library with Ghost Writer, etc etc. so Danny eventually came back to Amnity with one small child under each arm very obviously traumatized by Somethingn with vlad and doesn’t like being alone with him,,, or touched without warning,, and immediately and passionately proclaims the kids his but struggles to explain how or why,, look some very reasonable assumptions are drawn okay. So the town does the very reasonable thing and does the midwestern equivilant of excommunicating Vlad, except it’s a lot more run him out with pitchforks vibes since he’s the Mayor. Anyway)

He is immediately loved, because while non Gothamites are usually more of a pain than they’re worth, everyone in a while someone even from out of town will just fit in so nicely it’s uncanny for everyone involved. Addams family vibes, it’s referred to as ‘making it home’, just personal hc. He is protective of all the kids playing in the parks and street girls that can totally take care of themselves on their corners but find it HILARIOUS when he just tackles a dick like a wild animal full force no warning. He can fix anything it seems, but refuses to work with weapons. Reasonable enough, people get twitchy about gangs sometimes. Danny mentions being not against Hood or anything, but he’s not going to work for him, littles to take care of and all, but had past experience with ‘Dora and that inheritance mess with her brother he was being a real prick about’ so everyone assumes it’s the equivilant of him having Done His Time and being plenty good for a life time and respects it as long as none of that petty midwestern small town hotshots bring any of that shit over here. And they don’t, because said individuals are on the other side of the mortal veil, so happy day.

See I really love deaged!Dan because he’s just a grumpy lil guy. But he’s also killed millions. He’s so protective of his loved ones, but held back by blending in and also being Smol that it comes off more bitey kitten than anything else. Dani, of course, is a terror, so she fits right in with the crowd.

And sorry gang, but a bunch of kids on their own in Gotham in a poor side of the city just isn’t going to get any attention: that’s just business as usual really. What first gets attention on Danny is not his ‘condition’ or being mistaken for a meta (which he legally probs has an argument for even without the gene bc like these bitches don’t know how metaism works anyway so) or alien (I’m 90% sure he’d be covered by the alien protection act by virtue of being half ‘not from earth’), but because Danny despite best efforts is a Weird Guy.

He grew up in what could only be described as a low level villain level and spent most of high school dealing with smack downs and spiritual invasion. He’s never really processed that any of that is not in fact Normal. Also, he’s capable of making Anything if given the insides of a toaster, blender and alarm clock, and could probably rewrite the circuits of the apartment blindfolded and improve them 1000% even if it ABSOLUTELY would not be up to code.

And sure, things slip every once in a while, bits of spectral ice here, small floating incident there, but everyone just Minds Their Buisness ya know? You really gunna mess with the guy that personally ensured that when your car got flattened by a fight with Killer Croc, you were still able to get in to work the next day by some wizardry? Really?

But Gotham is a city so cursed it’s probably in the exponents countwise, so of course there is a) a flourishing community of magic users and assorted supernatural weirdos and b) a whole lot of shit for Mega Overpowered Ghost King Danny to idly pick at day to day in order to help with his protecting other Obsession. Gotham has plenty of heroes, but by god do they need the spiritual equivilant of an electrician/priest.

Still, Danny, as a baby ancient under a facet of Kronos and KING OF THE DEAD is like, way, way out of their scope to be able to grok, so it mostly just comes off as you know, a family of banshees or something. When asked, Danny very haltingly says he was briefly dead but then revived, which neatly explains his Weird Ass aura and makes it SPECTACULARLY AWKWARD to ask further about. So everyone nods politely, and goes back to their lives after double checking no nefarious bullshit was being pulled.

Then, of course, Vlad finally tracks them down. The whole neighborhood is altered in short order because he doesn’t bother trying to hide being a Rich Bitch or how he’s sneering down his nose at people on the sidewalk. Every connects the dots when Danny paniks. Dani and Dan’s daycare are staffed with some extra, very buff set of hands within the hour. Jerry, Hood’s third in command, personally shows up to the garage Danny is working at to talk things out with him bc he knows he does t like the deal with this stuff due to past unspecified circumstances but well, they guys had already started fucking with him, you see. Stole his tires, spray painted the windows, pickpocketed him blind, and when he retreated tipped off the police to the drugs they’d planted in the glove box.

Danny might not have been born in Gotham, but he was one of them. And the Alley takes care of it own.

[deadsetobsessions]

Sea Cryptic! Danny AU- Pt. 7

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.6]

“I’m having a child.”

Danny stared at Batman.

“…Uh, congrats?”

Batman whips out a stack of paper and a pen. “It’s you. Sign here and initial the highlighted spots.”

Danny instinctively, from years of dealing with Vlad, whacked the stack right out of Batman’s hands and into the bay. He doesn’t even feel bad about littering this time because, “Begone, fruitloop!”

Wait, no, that’s not what he meant.

“I mean- I have parents!”

“Not for long.” Batman muttered and then did a double take. “You have parents? How?”

Danny gasped, placing a hand on his chest to clutch his metaphorical pearls. He ignored Batman’s mutters. Everyone knows the vigilante has an adoption problem. At least, everyone who lived in Gotham did, as everyone who didn’t was somehow convinced that he “worked alone” or some bullshit like that. “Are you naturally this insensitive or were you dropped on your head as a baby? Obviously I had to come from somewhere.”

“They’re still… alive?”

“And kicking,” Danny said, inching away from yet another rich weird guy trying to adopt him. “Mostly the kicking part, though.” He said, remembering the sparring sessions. His mom could kick his as six ways to Sunday with nothing but jiu-jitsu and still have time to work in the lab.

“I see.”

“I’m charging you extra for the emotional upheaval. I have trauma regarding rich people trying to adopt me.”

Batman sullenly handed over a thousand.

“Sweet. There’s a group of shades down here asking if you could find their murderer. Apparently the serial killer is still at large.” Danny pointed.

“Of course. Tell me everything.”

The adoption papers disappeared as Batman went into detective mode.

Danny shoved the cash into his glowing chest and breathed a sigh of relief. He needed to make rent this month so it was a windfall running into Batman.

——

“Hey, Tim?”

Tim woke up from his Power Nap. “Huh?”

“Phantom’s complaining that Batman kept trying to adopt him.”

Tim blinked. “Uh.. what does that have to do with me?”

Danny stared at him, a patiently amused smile on his face. “Just in case the rumor about the Wayne’s sugar-daddy-into the Bats was a thing. Other than that, we might have to confront Batman to get him off of Phantom’s back. ”

“You… want to confront Batman.”

“Hey, man, Phantom’s a friend and it’s ride or die.” Danny snickered. It was literally die, with his Phantom side of things. He held two fists up, and wound them, like Popeye right after eating spinach or something. “And if Batman bothers Phantom, we ride at dawn.”

“Batman doesn’t come out unless it’s dark, though? Or for the Justice League.” Tim grinned. He mentally classified Danny under his “to go to” list. That’s where Bart, Bernard, Cassie, Kon, and Garfield were. If he starts shit, he could count on them to have his back and cause even more shit. Danny, wanting to fistfight Bruce over the man making Phantom uncomfortable? He absolutely is making that list.

“Then we ride at, like, dusk. Or uh, like 10PM. I gotta get my beauty sleep.”

“You’ll definitely need it,” Tim inconspicuously texted the group chat, which quickly blew up.

“Shut up,” Danny playfully shoved Tim. “Wait, can Batman even legally adopt? Isn’t being a vigilante illegal? And how can he adopt someone dead?”

Tim dramatically flailed and splayed over Danny’s carpeted living room. “Dunno about his identity,” he lied to Danny, like a liar. “But Gotham has a bunch of laws for the undead/restored to life people so there’s probably enough gray space there.”

Danny spluttered. “You guys have undead friendly laws?”

“Yeah, geht do you think Grundy just chills out? Plus, we have like a minor resurrection event every few years. It usually doesn’t stick but sometimes it does. Bruce pushed for those laws when Jason came back to life, except he doesn’t actually want people to know he’s like, alive.”

“Jason died?” Danny blinked. Well, that would explain the vibes. “Huh. So what’s up with his rank vibes then?”

“Rank vibes?” Tim pressed record on his phone.

Danny nodded. “Yeah, you know how Phantom’s got like a really chill green vibe?” Inwardly, Danny snickered at his pun. Chill. Yeah, he meant that very literally. “Jason’s got kind of a rank green vibe. He’s kind of stinky? Definitely never introduce him to Phantom.” Danny’s senses got worse in his ghost form.

“Jason regularly showers, though?!”

“Not smell! Like, a spiritual smell?”

“You can smell souls?!” Tim sat up. “Bro, you’re a meta?!”

“Uh.” Danny hesitated. “Yeah. I can smell souls. It’s a thing. Everyone from my town can do it.”

“What?!” Tim paused. “Wait, can Phantom smell souls?”

“Yeah. We’re, uh, from the same town.”

“Danny, what the fuck?”

“Hey, don’t look at me like that, you’re the one with a soul-sick brother! Not to mention, you’re kinda stinky too!”

“Hey!”

“Soul-stinky nerd man!”

——

“I stink?!” Jason spluttered out, extremely offended.

“The Lazarus pits. He’s most likely smelling traces of Lazarus pit on you, you imbecile.”

“We need to speak to Phantom. This instant.”

“I dunno, B. Danny sounded like he was gonna break your face if you bothered Phantom anymore.” Dick snickered.

“Yeah,” Tim chimed in, from his seat in front of the Bat-computer. “He was pretty serious.”

“Are we just gonna glaze over the fact that they’re from the same town?!” Stephanie exclaimed, practicing her moves on a training dummy.

“How does that even work? What does that mean? I thought Phantom was an immortal?” Duke asked.

“We also can’t rule out time-travel.” Barbara slammed her baton into a training dummy, twisting her wheelchair in an agile maneuver that left the dummy on the floor.

“No bothering Phantom.” Cass proclaimed.

“That’s quite right. You all have a warm dinner sitting above your cave and should it remain uneaten, I assure you that sherbet Sunday and crêpe Tuesday shall be canceled.” Alfred stepped in. The Bats, threatened, scrambled to ditch their gear and go upstairs.

[ew-selfish-art]

DpxDc AU: Tim as a child was never given a lot of information regarding the scribbling messy handwriting that appeared over night all over his arms- naturally he came to his own conclusions.

Tim Drake was home entirely alone at 9 years old and was about to go out for the night to test his brand new long exposure camera lens when he sees the writing on his arm. It’s not English, like he assumed it was at first, but it was using the alphabet to represent… Tim isn’t bad at math but this formula is complex for his little genius brain.

Looking at his camera, he decides he can spare a moment to look it up, solve it, and get back out into old town Gotham in time for Batman and Robin’s final patrol lap. He does just that, finding the problem to relate to some aerospace engineering and then quickly deduces what laws and theorems need to be applied. He finds a pen, writes down his findings in much neater handwriting onto his arm, and goes out. It’s barely a remarkable night at all. He gets a much more memorable photo of Robin roundhouse kicking a hench person.

Things just continued on that way. Tim would find some complex math, physics or chemistry prompt on his arm (surrounded by various question marks or notes or sad faces)- he’d answer it as best he could and move on with his life. Perhaps his parents were manifesting these pop quizzes? Perhaps his subconscious felt guilty about abandoning his studies for more Bat related pursuits? Tim really didn’t care to think much about it once he became Robin- there was too much on his plate and too many peoples problems for him to fix.

Notably, however, after the attack at the Tower, the pop quiz appeared and Tim wrote back that he wouldn’t be able to find an answer to this one. It was the only time Tim questioned the markings appearance and it was because the next thing that appeared was “Hope you feel better soon.”

… his parents wouldn’t include that on a pop quiz. Cursed then. Tim decided it must be a curse, whatever, he’d deal with the implications later in life.

Tim then has the worst year of his life, hes 15, no longer Robin and the questions from his curse are getting less math oriented and more… philosophical. A lot of mentions of death that, in hindsight helped him actually grieve, and a lot of theories about dark matter and souls. Tim answers back as best he can but he’s drained and his answers aren’t very good in his opinion. He gets minimal feedback.

It all comes to a point that he’s at a family dinner, Bruce is at the head of the table, Jason has promised just to stay for dessert, Damian hasn’t thrown a single insult his way and Steph was laughing at him- when a new theoretical model appears on his arm.

“You’re just as bad as Bruce, Timberly. Hiding a soulmate from all of us, how fucking typical.” Jason points out, while watching Tim scribble back some math with a question mark onto his arm.

“A what? No, this is just a curse. I get pop quizzes every now and then.” Tim bats away Steph who rapidly approaches and began to analyze his arm (the rest of the family isn’t far behind).

“Drake. Explain how you came to this conclusion.” Damian seems more curious than anything, if his lack of insults was anything to go off of.

“Since I was young I’ve had at least weekly math check ins, I never had a parent or anyone else around so I assumed my parents had me cursed to ensure I stayed on top of my studies. Sometimes it’s physics or chemistry, for a while there it was a ton of philosophy and behavioral psychology.” He shrugs his shoulders.

“Master Tim, I believe the lack of adults in your life has led you towards a false conclusion. That is most certainly a soulmate mark. The individual to whom you are responding is undoubtedly your other half.” Alfred attempts to calm the room before explaining to Tim. Tim isnt sure if he believes the butler, though Alfred only very rarely lied, so he grabs the pen once more. He writes his first question back: “Who am I to you?”

The room waits in anticipation and within moments a brand new line appears on Tim’s arm and he is vindicated: “We do math together???”

——

The reason Danny is failing English is because his built in homework helper sucks ass at metaphors and has apparently never read any classic literature. The tutor on his arm is great at puzzles and math tho.

Danny gets a reply back one night that he wasn’t expecting (Who am I to you?) and he mentions it to Jazz. Who goes insane that Danny didn’t even question it and just went with “meh, probably haunted” as his explanation for the phenomenon for all these years.

Apparently, if Jazz was right, he had a soulmate who was uh, super fucking smart. That was an overwhelming thought.

The next day Danny is in crisis mode and writes back “Wait, WHAT AM I TO YOU??? Can I help on your homework??”

Danny gets vindicated when the writing on his arm presents a shit ton of dates and information for an unsolved Gotham cold case. See, Haunted.

———

Eventually between Danny becoming the top candidate for astrophysics at Wayne Enterprises and Tim Drake being outed as having contributed tips to the GCPD that solved cold cases- they meet and realize just how dumb they’ve been.

[artemismoorea03]

DP x DC Prompt Idea: Dangerous

Cassandra's main thing is being able to read and understand body language. Yeah, to a degree all of the Bats possess this skill but Cassandra takes it to a whole new level. Nobody is better at it than she is.

In a way she sometimes reminded herself of a machine the way the information filtered into her brain. The way it categorized each and every person she came across. On the street, in her house, even in the mirror. Everybody had something.

So to come across a person who outwardly looked normal on the outside that she couldn't read she didn't understand. Yes, he has data but the data isn't making any sense!

He's just sitting there texting on his phone, chuckling harmlessly.

Yet every instinct in her body and everything 'harmless' that he was doing was a red flag. It was strange and wrong. But the biggest problem is that she couldn't even identify what about him was so dangerous.

Texting Somebody: Dangerous.

Laughing: Dangerous.

Relaxed Posture: Dangerous.

He wasn't even looking around! He was completely drawn in by whatever was on his phone, having absolutely no care in the world as the bus continued and this kid - who was probably no older than 14 - was just texting away.

It wasn't until the bus suddenly screeched to a halt and the doors were smashed open by some low legal thugs that those signals made sense. They made sense because while everybody else complied with the commands of the men - even Cassandra who might have alerted Oracle before she got to her knees on the floor.

Yet this kid stayed in one place.

"Didn't you hear what I said, kid!? Get on the damn floor!"

The kid didn't even look up before he reacted.

The once non-existent tension in his body changed with no outward sign as he shoved himself forward, shoving the barrel of the gun upwards before punching the man in the jaw so hard that Cass heard it snap out of place as he was thrown backwards against a bar in the bus aisle and dented it. The other two men who were in on the attack were caught off guard as this kid flipped the safety on the gun locking it and in the same fluid motion threw the gun at one of the men, smacking him square in the forehead.

Cassandra was still wrapping her mind around this reckless action before the kid pulled another, rushing towards the final man, grabbing another one of the aisle bars and swinging himself, kicking him in the chest and knocking him right back out the door they'd entered through. The gun went off as it was dropped, but all three men were disarmed and the kid picked up the guns. Dropped the clips into his hand, emptied the chamber then discarded them on one side of the bus before he simply tossed the clips out the nearest window, the clips slipping directly into a drain without any bit of aim.

"What the hell are you, kid?" Groaned the first man, "A bat?"

"Bat? No way, man. Anyways, thanks for the lift Mr. Bus Driver." The kid then promptly walked out of the door, jumped over the man on the ground and made his way down the street.

Cass couldn't wrap her mind what just happened but she understood the warnings.

That kid was dangerous.

She had to get him on the team.

[pomefioredove]

So idk if I'm requesting in the right place. But I would love a twst scenario with a yuu that just says all their intrusive thoughts. Like just out of NOWHERE, as they reach for a water bottle hanging out with the first years they go.

“I robbed a house back home”

Or when Azul tries cornering them with the twins for something they just blankly turn to Floyd going.

“duck off you look like you can't steer a shopping cart”

But feel free to do it with whoever you want and if you don't want to do mine that's perfectly fine and I hope you have a great day :)

certainly!!

summary: reader who speaks all their impulsive thoughts type of post: headcanons characters: heartslabyul, octavinelle, scarabia, diasomnia additional info: platonic or romantic, reader isn't specified to be yuu, reader is gender neutral author's note: for some reason I had the hardest time thinking up new nonsense, so many of these dialogue lines are from lewis carroll poems, which I have a wonderful nostalgia for. check those out as well!

Ace and Deuce are pretty much used to you saying whatever's at the top of your mind... with no filter

so used to it that it barely even registers with them anymore

whenever it's quiet, they can expect you to come out with some incomprehensible nonsense.

if you didn't, they'd probably ask what's wrong

"I robbed a house back home,"

"Yeah, okay,"

Riddle, on the other hand, gets frustrated alarmingly fast

despite running an entire dorm based on nonsensical rules, he has a low tolerance for outside nonsense

and... well, despite his name, he's not really a fan of riddles

Trey matches your energy immediately

no joke. he doesn't even bat an eye

"I eat plastic,"

"hm. sometimes I eat muffin wrappers,"

honestly, sometimes his tangents get even weirder than yours

Cater probably wasn't listening very closely when you first started going off, or maybe he's just become accustomed to riddles, though the next time you say something he just thinks it's cute

might use your "thoughtful anecdotes" as a caption for his next post

would it be surprising if I were to say Azul is used to randomness?

Floyd has a tendency to say the strangest things out of nowhere, after all, and the sea itself can be a surprising place

he does not, however, appreciate how you keep speaking in tongues when he's trying to have serious business conversations with you

(seriously, how hard can it be to swindle one person?!)

"Please, just talk normally,"

"But the mome raths outgrabe!"

he doesn't know what that means, but it sounds like an insult

...and then will refuse to converse with you again until you're in a "better mood" (in his own words)

Jade, on the other hand, finds you quite fascinating

he keeps a little notepad on him just to jot down the things you say. why? you can't imagine. he just finds it interesting, you suppose

"'Twas brilling..."

"Really? How interesting. Go on,"

Floyd isn't really paying much attention

your funny words amuse him at best and annoy him at worse

if you ever find yourself in a bad place with the octotrio, you can just say something like:

"You look like you can't steer a shopping cart,"

and Floyd will take actual offense to that, and just straight up leave

(much to Azul's dismay)

Kalim adds on right away

and keeps going

and keeps going... and keeps going...

"How doth the little crocodile improve his shining tail..."

"Oh, I know! He pours waters on every shining scale,"

at one point Jamil has to pull you aside and beg you not to encourage him

"No promises!" is your answer

Kalim even buys a parrot to add onto the fun

it becomes a three-person (or two-person-and-a-bird?) act

...even if you're not really doing it on purpose

Jamil is who ends up taking care of the parrot while it squawks your old nonsense thoughts, though

he likes the parrot much better than either of you

Malleus will entertain you based on his own curiosity

none of his other human classmates speak in such odd and puzzling words, so he knows it's a "you" thing

might try to solve them if they sound like riddles

but he mostly just thinks they're cute

"O, oysters, come and walk with us,"

"How interesting... I do wonder where you come up with all this,"

Sebek will listen to you because Malleus does, and Silver has enough nonsense to deal with as it is. will definitely fall asleep while you're talking to him

Lilia responds in like terms

meow at him? he'll meow back

in fact, he'll meow at you every time he sees you until you say something else to capture his curiosity

might go ahead and start speaking to you in tongues before you even say anything

he just thinks you're neat!