zoloft3

[zoloft3]

Ur event got me thinking you absolutely don't need to use this as part of the job fair but garbage man tomura 🤤🤤

You need to see the vision him in his neon vest sweaty and tired coming home to his work from home office girly girlfriend I can't decide if the dynamic is "let me shower you demon" and feral y/n or "go shower you stink" and "no I want a goddamn kiss"

I'm on such a tomura shigaraki kick lately I'm loving the job fair and the new tomura content and as always you're fucking amazing ruru 🙏🙏🫐

highkey i was so excited for this LMAO i needed something silly sooooo baaddd hi blooby this is damn near a self insert bc i am Pro Shower First or get hosed down in the front lawn

garbage man!tomura // job fair

event m.list

as you hear the door swing open and hit the wall behind it, you suddenly have the thought that you should’ve locked yourself in another room until you heard the shower running.

“tomu?” you call out from the kitchen.

there’s a brief moment of silence. you try to hear for clothes dropping onto the floor- hopeful that he’d listen to you and just leave his work uniform to be dealt with later. he’d get his kiss and everyone would be happy.

then he steps around the corner. uniform on, vest and gloves slung over his shoulder, and hair pulled up into a messy ponytail.

“no,” you warn, moving around the kitchen island for the distance.

“are you fucking serious right now?” he whines, moving around the island in which you proceed to follow around, leaving you two on opposing sides.

he gives you a deadpan expression, unbelieving of this cat and mouse game you’ve set up for yourselves in your kitchen.

“i told you i was,” you groaned, “i don’t want to kiss you right now. go shower and then i will after.”

“I just got off an eight hour shift. physical labor. in the sun. i deserve a kiss.”

you nod your head, “yes i agree, and i’ll give you a really good one when you’re clean.”

tomura is tempted to throw a glove in your direction and see how quickly you’d scurry away, but he could already see your fingertips twitching for the sink’s hose if he made any sudden movements.

you two are stuck in a staring contest for a minute, waiting for the other to make the next move. 

“just a kiss.”

“no.”

“hold your fucking breath if you have to,” he exasperated.

“take off your clothes.”

a beat of silence passes between you two.

tomura presses his lips together in a tight line. normally with a request like that, he doesn’t have to be asked twice, but with the current circumstances and how much you’ve irritated him today before even getting home from work, you’re at a standstill.

“come take them off for me,” he taunts.

you narrow your eyes at him as he shrugs his vest and gloves to the ground. tomura holds his arms out for you, motioning for you to come closer with a shit-eating smirk on his face knowing that he knows exactly how to lure you in.

you pout.

your boyfriend is a hard worker. he has to deal with your antics. he’s tired. he just wants some love.

you slowly move your way around the kitchen island, and let yourself touch his outreached hands. you interlock your fingers with his at arm's length, hoping that this bit of physical touch is enough to satiate him.

“is this good enough?” you mutter.

“yeah.” he smirks, “this is good.”

tomura’s grip tightens. you feel him tense up, but his smile never leaves his face. he suddenly jerks you into him in one movement that almost makes you trip over yourself. in a second, you’re engulfed into his arms, tightly held chest to chest, and locked in an embrace that leaves you screaming.

“looks like you’re getting in the shower with me,” he mutters in between your wails.

[zoloft3]

PLUG KATSUKI WHO IS SOOO CUTE AND NONCHALANT BUT ONLY FOR U!!! rolls up and lights for you so sweetly but hates everyone else, charges people extra while all he charges u is kisses while he rolls

AAAAAAHHHHHH AAAAHHHHHHHHHH AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH thank u ily omfg THANK U

plug!katsuki // job fair

event m.list

you’re rocking back and forth on your heels as you see the bright headlights of katsuki’s car pull up in front of your apartment building. you can’t see through his tinted windows, but you're well familiar with the vehicle and wave as you approach anyways.

“hi,” you whisper once he rolls down the window, letting a gust of the perpetual weed smell in his car hit you in the face.

a whistle leaves his lips as he leans over the center console and eyes the outfit you had worn out to the club an hour prior. “throwing a party and didn’t even invite me?”

“we went out for someone’s birthday,” you correct with an eye roll, “you would’ve hated it.”

“would’ve hated it more than being woken up at 1am to deliver across town?”

“stop that. you said you were already up,” you lean into the open window with a pout, “you really didn’t have to, katsu, i already told you i wasn’t expecting you to say yes.”

“no shit i’m going to say yes to you,” he scoffs, “you know better than to think i won’t. get in.”

you don’t move or say anything until he cocks his eyebrow at you, almost ready to get out of the car and come over on the other side to open the door for you himself.

“i can’t sit and hang. i have guests over and they’re all drunk and feigning for a smoke.”

he presses his lips together in a tight line. maybe he would’ve enjoyed being dragged out for one of your friend’s sloppy birthday celebration after all- as long as it meant time with you if he couldn’t have it right now.

“how are you gonna smoke it, huh?”

“uhhh..” you trail, “through an apple? crush up an empty beer can?”

he gives you the look that only brings a sheepish grin to your face.

“sit with me for a little and i’ll roll a couple for you to take in.”

without missing a beat, katsuki reaches over and unlatches the passenger door, leaving you no choice but to slide right into your spot.

he doesn’t waste any time. from behind your seat, he pulls out a tray that perfectly fits in his lap. you’ve watched him do this countless times, but it never gets less interesting. you think he’s so type-a. he’s meticulous about his rituals, you don’t even bother asking him to let you have a go at it.

“you should teach me how to do this sometime,” you say, leaning over the center console and resting your cheek against his shoulder, watching his hands move seamlessly.

“nope."

“no?”

“no.”

“scared you won’t be useful to me anymore?” you chuckle, shifting your head to gaze up at him.

“can't risk losing business.” he shrugs.

“oh right. business,” you roll your eyes, “how much do i owe you? i’ll wire it over right now.”

katsuki scoffs out a chuckle and shakes his head, still fumbling with the cone in between his fingers. 

“if you want to pay me right now, then you’re definitely gonna be late getting back to your little friends.”

your hand runs up the side of his outer bicep and to the back of his neck, rubbing your thumb back and forth against his nape. he sends you a side glance.

“not that i mind,” he quips.

you lean up against him and press a kiss onto the tender skin of his cheek. and again. and again until the tip of his ear is pink and he’s biting back a smirk.

“thank you again,” you mutter against his cheek.

“it's you. no biggie."

katsuki takes his attention away from the half stuffed joint to turn towards you, pressing his lips against yours for a split moment. you taste the remnants of the mint chewing gum in his mouth just as he pulls away.

"you should've invited me to the birthday thing," he murmurs, "i wouldn't have minded. even if your friends are messy as fuck."

"really?"

"mhm," he hums.

you fiddle with the hem of your dress for a moment, chewing on the bottom of your lip.

"do you want to come up then? people are probably just gonna smoke a little and then go home, but we can still hang out? if you're not sleepy?

he continues humming. he's pensively thinking and it only makes you more nervous, but his hands are still moving as if rolling a joint was muscle memory at this point.

"yeah sure. but when you introduce me, i'm not your plug. i'm just yours."

[zoloft3]

Hiii rue!!🫶🏻🫶🏻

Can I get a sero x reader smau where sero is a singer and reader is just a normal waiter who saved up enough to go to his concert and somehow he gets her number and they fall in love happily ever after

Thank you 💕 bye bye

fall in love happily ever after okay yes hearrddd HEHE thank u for sending in another submission ilyyyy <3

singer!sero // job fair

event m.list

[zoloft3]

omg omg omg!! love what you did for my ask :))))

you fulfilled the vision PERFECTLY. read my mind.

my soul is completed <3 THANK YOUUUUUU

WAAAAHHHHH YAAAYYYYYY THANK U FOR THE SUBMISSION!! im so happy you enjoyed it as much as i loved making it <3 <3 <3

[zoloft3]

hiiiiihiiiiiihiiiiya

for the job fair (super congrats btw!!!!) i was mayhaps thinking about pro-athlete keigo (what kind you can decide based on what u think is hottest) and physical therapist reader ;) keigo keeps getting injured and flirting/distracting reader while they’re working?

mayhaps a very no nonsense reader who just “did you do your stretches😐” everytime he shows up and he’s delusional and flirting with them anyways

i love this event idea soooo much good luck with all the submissions!!! and congrats again 6k!!!!!

hhiihihaiiiihiiiii cartteerererer!!! HEHEH THANK U FOR THIS athlete keigo is ALWAYS. on my mf mind and i just think pro hockey keigo is just so. So SO. yeah.

athlete!keigo // job fair

event m.list

it’s been a busy morning in the office. this season has given you multiple players dealing with the consequences of neglected injuries from past years, making it your job to put together meticulous warm up and recovery routines for them.

your eyes shift towards the sound of the door clicking open. you expect it to be the head coach checking in on the paperwork, but when you swivel around in your chair, you’re met with the captain- long sandy hair pushed back with a wire headband, sweat drenched gray cut off t-shirt, and a limp to match that pout on his face.

you blink at each other for a moment.

“did you need something, takami?”

“i think i pulled something.” he pressed his lips together in a tight line.

you match his expression, nodding towards the treatment table where he quickly hobbled over and comfortably laid flat on his stomach like he’s done dozens of times before.

you cock an eyebrow as his shy smile, “you sure you’re not just here to skip out on your conditioning?” 

“i just lead us through two sets of stadiums and a million passing drills before coach let me come here,” he rolls his eyes, “but you know, i somehow suddenly always feel like a million bucks when i get to see you.”

“cool it, takami,” you groan, “is it your hamstrings again?”

he nods his head in response.

“what’d you do before practice?”

you move over to him, pressing your thumbs into the back of his thighs and feeling around for the tightness.

there’s some sort of satisfaction in hearing the hiss of air exiting through his clenched teeth as you dig into his muscles. you can’t help yourself from smiling at the image of his cheek pressed against the table, eyes shut tight, and knuckles clenched white from the pain.

“had lunch with the boys,” he squeaks out, “ran through some old matches, saved a kitten from a tree, helped an old lady across the street…”

your eyes flicker up to meet his. you resisted the eye roll once you’re met with a cheeky grin and a slight chuckle escaping his lips.

“and stretched?” you deadpan, “like i told you to?”

his smile falters.

“well-” he begins.

“idiot,” you cut him off, “are you trying to ruin your career?”

his cheeks deepen in color as he tries to stammer out the right words.

“no, but-”

“on the floor, takami. on your back.” you instruct, stepping away from the table.

keigo slides off the table and squats down onto his back. he looks up at you with a wobbly smile as he slides his hands behind his head, enjoying the view from the floor.

you bring his leg up against your body, gripping his shin for support as you slowly lean into it, giving his hamstrings the time to adjust to the stretch.

“jesus fuck,” he winces, hands flying to grab the back of his thigh for support.

“that’s what happens when you don’t stretch. especially on conditioning day.” you press further, stepping up his side for leverage. “you should know better.”

“no complaints here, babe,” he hisses, “but fuck, take a guy to dinner first before you have him in a position like this.”

you feel heat crawl up your neck as he looks up at you with a pained smirk.

“take me to dinner for wasting my time to stretch you.”

his eyes beam and his leg stiffens against you, making you turn your attention towards him.

“it’s a date then. no take backs.” he quips. “tonight or whenever you’re free.”

you blink at him. surely your face had gone red at this point.

“maybe," you mutter, "only to remind you how to properly warm up though. nothing more.”

“a warm up is exactly while i’ll need.”

[zoloft3]

chiropterology — hunt.

drabble synopsis ; someone broke your shrink ray. who could have possibly done such a thing? warnings ; sexually suggestive, sibling-typical bickering, batmom's solution to boredom is stirring up trouble a/n ; this drabble is based on that one parks and rec scene HAHAHA

series masterlist.

The broken orange shards of the shrink ray were strewn across the table. You stared down at the ruined contraption with your hands propped on your hips. “Okay. Who broke it?”

The rest of the kids glanced at each other in suspicion, but nobody spoke up. 

“I’m not mad, I promise,” you said. “I just want to know. I loved this shrink ray—”

“Almost as much as your firstborn child, the cake robot, we know,” Jason lamented, grouchy that he’d been dragged out of bed for this. “Come on. Someone confess so I can leave already.”

Dick, bearing the solemn face of an older brother about to make a noble sacrifice, raised his hand. “I did. I broke—”

“No, you didn’t,” you deadpanned. “You were out on patrol. I saw you leave.”

Deflating, Dick lowered his hand back down. 

“Steph?” you asked, looking at her expectantly.

Immediately, she shook her head, offended. “Nuh-uh. Don’t look at me. Look at Damian.”

The young boy’s face soured, his arms crossing. “I did not break it.”

Steph scoffed. “Huh. Weird. How’d you even know it was broken?”

Damian regarded her as if she’d grown a second head. “Because it is sitting right in front of us, and it’s broken.”

Pursing her lips together, Steph leaned down until she was nearly nose-to-nose with the now-snarling Damian. “Hm. Suspicious.”

“I do not touch Mother’s contraptions without permission, lest I lose an arm or leg from a faulty machine.”

“Okay, ouch,” you said, half-laughing.

Jason, muffling a yawn behind his fist, said, “If it matters—probably not—but Tim was definitely the last one to use it. He shrunk his suit a bit because it was stretching out—”

“Liar!” Tim gasped, staring at the taller boy with his mouth hanging agape. “I haven’t been in the lab in several days!”

“Oh, really?” Jason taunted. “I don’t know, your suit’s been looking extra pinchy lately—”

Reddening, Tim said, “Bruce has me on a new training plan—” 

“Excuses, excuses—”

Dick cut in before Tim could fit in a scathing remark to Jason. “Okay, okay! Let’s not fight. It’s getting late. Come on, I did it, I broke the—”

“No!” you said, raising a finger to shush Dick. “I wanna know. Who broke it?”

Damian gestured towards Cassandra. “She has been awfully quiet.”

Cassandra’s brows raised incredulously. She pointed at herself. “Always quiet.”

“Awfully convenient,” Damian accused. 

“Did not use,” Cass gritted out. “Jason tense. Defensive?”

“Oh, really? You think I broke the stupid ray? Do you have any evidence, smart-ass?” Jason exclaimed, throwing his hands up, suddenly not looking all that tired anymore.

You made a show of pinching the space between your eyes. “Alright. I’m going to go make myself a cup of tea. When I come back—you guys better have sorted this out.”

As you turned to go, your stern countenance melted into an amused little smile. Behind you, the children erupted into a full-blown argument. You set the kettle to a boil, and Bruce just about materialized beside you, regarding you with a curious look.

“I can hear the kids bickering from all the way here. What on earth happened?”

You snickered under your breath. “I broke my shrink ray. It shrunk my files, so I got angry and threw it against the wall. I didn’t think it would explode like that, but hey, that’s what science is all about right?” 

After a few blinks at you, Bruce merely sighed. “I should’ve known. Do I even want to ask why?”

“I’m making things interesting! It was getting far too… docile in the manor.” You started laughing, shoulders quaking with your mirth as you poured the now-boiling water into a mug you readied with a tea bag. “I’d give it ten minutes before they start going for each other’s throats with war paint and severed pig heads on sticks.”

“They’re going to figure it out eventually,” he warned, a hand curling over your waist. “I trained them to be the best detectives in Gotham.”

“Exactly! Think of this as a training exercise. And it’s exactly why,” you said, giving him a small nudge towards the direction of the arguing horde of bats, “my handsome, loving husband will go in there and buy enough time for me to slip out before they come and hunt me down for sport.”

Bruce stared at you in silence for another moment. Then, a mischievous little smile graced the corner of his mouth and he dipped forward so his lips only barely grazed over yours. What a tease. “Maybe I’ll join them on their little hunt. You have a five minute head start. Entirety of the manor and the gardens is fair game—if we don’t find you within an hour, you’d win.”

“And my prize?”

“Hn.” Bruce glanced back, and then returned his eyes to you. His voice lowered to a husky murmur. “We can do that thing you’ve been wanting to try and the kids all up their training intensity. But if you lose… you get to be at my mercy for three nights.”

“Three whole nights, huh?” You met his gaze with a competitive yet flirtatious narrow of your eyes. “Challenge accepted,” you whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek before backing away from him, leaving your fresh mug of tea abandoned on the kitchen counter, new priorities in order. “I won’t go easy on you, Batsy.”

“Wouldn’t have married you if I thought you would,” Bruce retorted, watching you disappear out of the kitchen with an exaggerated villainous laugh. It was ridiculous how after so many years together, you still managed to make his stomach twist and his heart race. Bruce set his jaw, now determined, and turned to join the bickering children.

[zoloft3]

howdy, rue! congrats on 6k!! 🥳 for your event may i get keigo x reader (he’s been on the brian recently 🤤), office au, he’s the ceo and reader is his secretary. a little bit of taboo, flirty/dorky hawks and reader trying their best to be professional 👀🥰🥰

toke i fawking love you and your brian <3 (HEHEH) you said taboo and i SLAMMEDDD the button lmaaaoo i lowkey do love this naughty ass dynamic tho heh

ceo!keigo // job fair

event m.list

[zoloft3]

CON FUCKING GRATULATIONS FOR THE 6 THOUSAND FOLLOWERS‼️YOU DESERVE A COUPLE MORE ZEROES BEHIND IT ATLEAST

for the event, does surgeon count for the doctor suggestion?? cause low-key...taking Tomura to an on-call room to get 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 (kiss) Grey's anatomy style...

THANK YOU SO MUCCCHHH omfg im gonna kill you your brain is SO BIIGG like YEAH on-call room greys anatomy style for tomura you already know im freakying this shit uuuppp

surgeon!tomura // job fair

event m.list

your eyes peel away from your textbook once you hear the click of the door open. the end of your pen falls from your teeth once his figure comes into view.

“hey,” you mutter, rubbing the crust from your eyes.

while his monster had slowly warmed to room temperature, he had begrudgingly taken a round to check in on his patients, finish off his charts, and take a much needed shower.

“sorry,” he huffs, “can’t get a fucking break.”

“life’s hard when you’re hot shit around here, huh?” you scoff, pointing to a tall can sat on the edge of the desk, “that’s for you.”

tomura’s gaze flickers from the energy drink and then back to you- seated criss-crossed in the desk chair with your thick textbooks and notebooks sprawled out in front of you. before making his way over from the doorway, he toes off his shoes and flips the lights off, not looking twice at the monster.

“wait, i’m not tired, i just chugged a coffee,” you whine, swiveling around in the chair. “if you want to sleep, just pull the covers over your head.”

you wait a moment for tomura to respond, or at least for your eyes to adjust to the darkness. you reach your hand out to feel for him, only to land your palm on the firmness of his abdomen.

“turn the lights on,” you groan, balling the fabric of his fresh scrubs in your fist, “i have to study.”

you feel his hand come up to your neck where his thumb presses against the column of your throat, catching your breath.

“no,” he mutters.

he pushes his thumb up to the underside of your jaw, forcing you to look up into the darkness and to be met with his lips.

the ends of his still damp hair tickle your face as it hangs over you. tomura kisses you slow and softly with a firm grip around your neck, and with his other hand, grabs your wrist and pulls you up out of the desk chair.

you half expect him to take you to the bed, but instead he holds you flushed against him, feeling your body heat radiate into one another through the thin fabric of your scrubs.

“i seriously have to study,” you mutter in between kisses.

“18 hours,” he replies, moving his lips down your neck, "18 hours of fucking brain surgery."

“and what does that have to do with me?” you stifle out a laugh in between moans. 

"means my brain and fingers are fucking numb and i need you. right now."

tomura shifts his body to where he can take a seat on the mattress, and successfully pulls you into a straddle on top of him.

“no medical talk. all i want to hear is you,” he says as he gets his hands under your shirt, fumbling to pull it over your head with the rigid fabric.

before you could pull your top away from your arms, your daze is shattered by the dreadful and familiar beeps coming from the desk behind you, pausing all activity.

“fuck my life,” you groan, falling into him. "and fuck you for taking so long to get here."

tomura helps you tug your shirt back over your head with a low chuckle, pulling you in for another quick kiss before letting you hop off his lap.

“to be continued. back to it, doctor."

[zoloft3]

aizawa smau idea:

telling him that ur projecting ur cramps onto him

well here u go

[zoloft3]

hi lovely :) had a smau for whenever you could. jjk boys x reader with a super cozy/warmly lit room

it’s exam week and your posts are literally keeping me alive :p

an: hellllo! thank you for your requesttttt. it’s exam week for me too. my classes literally end tomorrow, and im just ready to get this last exam over with. college is a paiiiin. also, this is sooo off topic, there was a spider in my room, and it makes me wanna deep clean everything. i dunno if its just me, but if i find a spider i suddenly feel like theyre all over the place. gives me the toootal creeps. but anywhooo! im glad you’re enjoying my posts! that really brightens my day to know you guys enjoy what i write. just feels my heart with joy:). i hope you enjoy this as well, and good luck on your exams! hit ‘em outta the park!!

parings: jjk men x reader

(((((((((((((((enjoy))))))))))))))))

[zoloft3]

chiropterology — bed rest.

drabble synopsis ; bruce is a terrible escape artist. warnings ; mild descriptions of injury, talks of death.

series masterlist.

When Bruce woke up, he was met with four pairs of eyes staring at him with stern, unmoveable expressions. He groaned as he tried to sit up on the bed. The tight bandages wound over his chest felt terribly constricting—he could hardly inhale without his ribs aching. When Bruce started tugging at the gauze, it shouldn’t have surprised him when Alfred smacked his fingers away.

“Don’t touch those,” Alfred scolded. He fussed with the blanket, tugging it up to Bruce’s stomach. “You should have called for backup sooner, Master Bruce. You’re lucky to have made it out in one piece.”

“My attackers?” Bruce asked, wincing at how much it hurt to speak. His lip was split, and one of his eyes was bruised a horrid shade of purple. 

“Of course that’s your first question,” Tim deadpanned. “GCPD took them into custody. Welcome back, by the way.” Beside Tim, Damian was glaring at his father, arms crossed, clearly upset that he hadn’t called for Robin when he so clearly needed the help.

“How long was I out?” He looked at you this time, wondering why you were uncharacteristically quiet.

You pursed your lips, reaching out to brush errant strands of hair away from his eyes. There was a melancholic gleam to your eyes, one that made Bruce feel all the more terrible. “Two days. You had a punctured lung, hon.”

“Oh.” Bruce hadn’t realized it was that serious. It was no wonder he was having difficulty breathing. “I feel fine.”

“Nonsense,” said Alfred, wheeling a cart with hot tea and snacks to his bedside. “You are on strict bed rest until you recover.”

Bruce’s brows knitted together. “For how long?”

“A few weeks,” replied Alfred, a warning edge to his tone. “Possibly more, depending on how cooperative you are.”

This clearly didn’t sit well with Bruce. “I can’t sit in here doing nothing for weeks.” He tried to shift off the bed, but immediately was pinned back down by Tim on one side, and you on the other.

“Stop it,” Tim said, gentle yet firm. “You’ll rip your stitches.”

“Stitches?” Bruce said. He glanced down at his bandaged abdomen. “Oh.” 

“Yeah, oh,” you snapped, incredulous. “You were stabbed multiple times.”

From the foot of the bed, Damian hissed, “You almost bled out, Father. If Oracle had not realized you stopped responding to your comms, you would have died.”

“I would have handled it,” Bruce protested weakly. 

There was a tense, angry silence.

“You would’ve been dead,” you said. Bruce noticed you clutch your hands together in a futile attempt to get them to stop trembling. “I wish I was being dramatic this time. But you would’ve died alone out there. Do you know how terrifying that is for me? For us?”

Your husband swallowed around the painful lump in his throat. “It won’t happen again,” he reassured you, though you didn’t look very reassured. “My vitals are hooked up to the batcomputer, the chances of me actually dying—”

“That is not the point, Master Bruce,” Alfred interrupted. “This is not up for debate. You are benched until further notice.”

Bruce, about to protest again, paused when you put a hand on his knee. You had very convincing pleading eyes. “Fine,” he relented. 

“Excellent,” Alfred said. “Come along now, children. Let your father have some rest.” He ushered Tim and Damian out of the bedroom, the two of them shooting one final daggered look towards Bruce before scurrying off to tell the rest of the siblings that he was awake.

“Next time, you call for help,” you said, prodding his bicep with a finger. “You hear me? You. Call. For. Help.”

Having no heart to argue with you, Bruce nodded. “Got it.”

“Good.” Your expression softened into one that he was more familiar with. “I’m glad you’re awake. I was getting lonely sleeping in the guest room. Duke and Damian brought sleeping bags to camp out with me on the second night after I complained about it, though. They’re sweet boys.”

Bruce frowned. “Why didn’t you just sleep in here?”

You shifted to slip under the blanket beside him, tugging his head down to rest on your chest. “I was worried I’d accidentally kick you while you were, you know… comatose.”

This made him huff out a laugh. “That’s true. I still remember waking up on the ground the first time we slept together.”

“What I do while unconscious is none of my business,” you vehemently defended, cheeks flushing at the embarrassing memory. “Promise me you won’t die at least in the next fifty years. Please.”

“Hn. Fifty years is a long time.”

“Bruce!”

He smiled into your skin, even though it stung like all hell, and pressed his nose into the crevice of your neck. “If I have to stay alive for at least fifty more years, you have to be around for at least sixty. The kids would need you when I’m gone.”

“That’s a morbid thought,” you murmured, lying your cheek on his hair, voice distant as you considered such a scenario. “But you got yourself a deal. Now go to sleep. I’m exhausted from worrying over you all day.”

Bruce listened to the rhythmic thump of your pulse, and your deep draws of breath as you lulled yourself into a dream. “Love you,” he whispered, to which you drowsily mumbled something unintelligible in response.

When he was certain you were asleep, he slipped out of bed.

And was promptly dragged back to the room by Alfred. Rats.

His second escape attempt was the following morning, when you had disappeared down to the lab to tinker on a new project—something about a cloning machine, Bruce wasn’t entirely sure. He slipped out of the window and climbed down using bed sheets tied together—but Tim had been out by the front of the manor and had seen the whole thing.

“I’ll pay you a million dollars to let me into the Batcave,” Bruce said, though he already knew it was a lost cause from Tim’s sheepish expression.

“Sorry, I don’t think a million dollars is worth much if Mom literally murders me,” Tim said, gesturing back to the manor’s entrance. Bruce, glowering, stomped back inside. 

The third, fourth, fifth, up to eleventh attempts all resulted in failures to varying degrees. It was the one time he cursed how crowded the manor could get.

The thirty-third (or was it thirty-fourth? Bruce was having a hard time remembering now) attempt was actually quite successful. He managed to get all the way down to the Batcave, and stood in front of the Batcomputer with his hands on his hips, basking in his success until—

“Yo,” said Jason, waving at Bruce with a cocky smile. There was a wrench in one of his gloved hands. “Alfred and Mom thought you might try something, and asked if I could lend a hand.”

Bruce glanced around at the several Batmobiles and saw that they were all missing tires. There was definitely no way he could escape in time on foot. 

“Damn,” he said, slumping over. His side ached a terrible amount. It didn’t surprise Bruce when you popped out from behind one of the Batmobiles, waving at him with a cheery smile. Of course.

“Thanks for the help, Jason! Now… let’s get you back upstairs, hon,” you said to Bruce, appearing sympathetic for once. You wrapped an arm around his midriff and helped him hobble to the elevator. “The more rest you get, the faster you’ll recover.”

“Hn.”

“I’ll get you some ice for your eye. I miss when your face didn’t look like a checkerboard of scratches and bruises.”

“Mmh.”

“You hungry? I’m thinkin’ lasagna for lunch.”

“Hnm.”

You kissed his cheek with an exaggerated smooching noise and a peal of laughter. “I’m so happy I married a sulky caveman. Very productive conversations.”

To his dismay, he felt himself smiling again. “You drive me insane,” he sighed, allowing himself to lean more of his weight onto you.

Your grin only grew wider. “I love you, too.”

[zoloft3]

chiropterology — mother's day.

drabble synopsis ; mind the pretzel dips! warnings ; swearing, some good ol' sibling rivalry.

series masterlist.

“Ground rules!” Stephanie called out to the hoard of bats gathered together in the living room. It was the early hours of Mother’s Day—so early that the sun had yet to rise. Each year on this day they all had a not-so-friendly competition on who could successfully pamper you the most. It was undoubtedly one of your most favorite holidays of the year. “Only two people attend to Mom at once—we don’t want to overwhelm her. To ensure everyone gets a fair shot today, you can only stick to her for two hours at a time. You’re allowed to spend time with her again later, but you need at least an hour cooling period in between.”

“What if someone goes over the time limit?” Jason grumbled. “Some people apparently have really bad “internal clocks.”” He placed air quotes around the last term with a scoff. 

Everyone simultaneously glared at Tim, who blanched at the sudden attention. “What? I’ll stick to the time limit this year, I swear!” 

“Uh-huh,” Steph said, giving him a stink-eye. Last year, Tim had gone to the movies with you on Mother’s Day, hogging up many hours of your precious time, much to the rest of their fury—it was safe to say that he was disqualified from the competition.

“And what does the winner get this year?” Damian asked, foot tapping against the polished hardwood. 

Steph’s grin widened. “Winner gets first pick for movie nights for the next three months.”

“Oh, the horror!” gasped Jason in an exaggerated fashion. “You all have such terrible taste!”

“God, if I have to rewatch Pride and Prejudice one more time—” Tim moaned. 

Jason kicked at Tim’s shin with a fiery glare. “Shut your mouth. It’s a good movie—!”

“Loser?” Cass asked.

Duke wavered nervously. It was his first year competing, and he was more nervous than a baby bird about to take flight for the first time. “There’s a punishment for the loser?”

Tim shot his hand up. “To give our dear Alfred a break… Loser does everyone’s laundry for the next three months.”

“Ooh, evil,” said Jason, a sharp grin pulling his lips thin, recalling the many condiment-soiled uniforms he had tossed into the hamper. “I like it.”

“Alright. Rules aside, I want a clean competition this year. May the best man, boy, or woman win,” Dick declared. “Though, I’ve known her the longest, so I really do think you guys should be congratulating me on my victory beforehand.”

Damian stared up at him balefully. “Oh, please, Grayson. Do you even know what Mother’s favorite chocolate bar is?”

Dick scratched at the back of his neck. “Uhm… Kit-Kats?”

“Wrong,” Damian said, an edge of pride sharpening his voice. “And even if you were right, you are an idiot to inform the rest of us of such precious intel.”

Dick crossed his arms. His little brother got him there. “Rats.”

“All agree?” Cass asked. “No bribe.”

They all nodded at each other. This was a sacred holiday, and cheating was the last thing on anyone’s minds.

“Great!” Steph exclaimed. “Let Mother’s Day begin!”

The kids were being terribly attentive this year. You could hardly step in one direction without one of them appearing in front of you with wild, eager, almost manic eyes. All of them offered to give you a massage, or read one of your favorite books to you, or run a warm bath for you, or run to the store to grab you a tub of your preferred ice cream, or clean up your lab, or volunteer as a test subject for your newest experiments (which was very much appreciated).

Urgh. You loved Mother’s Day. 

Bruce watched the kids fret over you, sipping lukewarm coffee from a mug that said Okayest Dad of The Year. “Why don’t they ever do this on Father’s Day?” he muttered.

“Please,” you scoffed, kissing your husband’s cheek. “If the kids hovered over you like this, you would go into hiding for the next fortnight.”

Bruce grumbled some more, but didn’t disagree with you.

The hours drew on, and the kids grew increasingly frantic. You caught sight of Tim hurriedly scribbling in his notebook out of the corner of your eye more times than you could count—presumably trying to keep score, even though you weren’t at all keeping track of how many favors each person was doing for you.

However, there were still very notable, thoughtful things the kids did for you today that you would cherish for the rest of your life. Steph had made you a playlist of all your favorite songs, and a few of her own recommendations that she thought you would enjoy, and she was very much right. Cass had one of your favorite books translated to braille so you were able to read in the dark without worsening your eyesight. Damian sketched a large portrait of you and your beloved cake robot together, and signed your name in beautiful Arabic calligraphy. Jason and Tim both assisted you with clearing out the closet full of your old inventions in one of the upstairs rooms, even offering to help you test if any of them still worked. Both of them walked out of your lab two hours later sore, winded, and dizzy. Dick, with the help of Alfred, made you a photo-album with old pictures from his time as Robin. Afterwards, you and Dick went out for a short session of karaoke, and it was the most fun you ever had singing to depressing 90s music. 

But there was one thing that stood out to you the most. One thing that immediately made up your mind on who was going to be the winner.

Duke had come up to you an hour before The Reaping (AKA when you picked a winner and a loser), looking somewhat nauseous. He hadn’t gotten to spend much time with you today, so he was already quite nervous.

“Hey, bud!” you cheerfully greeted, holding a basket of broken car parts. There was grease smeared over your cheek, which Cassandra had stepped forward to wipe away with a warm, damp towel. “What can I do for you?”

“I actually…” Duke fiddled with the clasp of his bag. “I had something made for you. I asked Luke to help me out with all the mechanics, but… I’ve been working on it for the past few days.”

He pulled out a long column of metal, fitted with thick, tinted glass on either ends of the tube. It resembled a telescope of sorts. 

“Ooh, how neat!” you exclaimed, dropping the basket and taking the contraption from him, lifting it up to your eye-level to examine the handiwork. Your eyes sparkled with curiosity. “What is it?”

Duke placed a hand on your shoulder, and gestured up the stairs. “I think it’s best to explain it on the balcony.” As he led you up (with Cass silently trailing behind like a ghost), Duke said, “Remember when you told me how much you loved stargazing? But doing it in Gotham is almost impossible, considering—”

“The light pollution,” you said, tilting your head. “Don’t tell me this is…”

Duke pushed open a door to one of the many balconies of the manor. “Take a look.”

You blinked at the boy, shocked at his thoughtfulness, before hastily pressing the lens up to your eye and angling your face up to the sky. And there it was—a kaleidoscope of scintillating stars like shattered glass freckled all throughout the dark canvas of Gotham’s normally murky horizon. They winked at you knowingly. You made a garbled, shocked noise, stumbling back a few steps from the balcony in your urgency to tilt your head back and see more. Duke steadied you with two hands over your shoulders. 

Duke sounded sheepish as he said, “Luke had it specially designed to filter out certain wavelengths of light. It was really all him, but I was the one who thought of it.”

Finally, painfully, you tore your gaze away from the sky. And when they met Duke’s, he was surprised to find your expression overcome with emotion.

“Oh, Duke. I don’t even know how to begin to thank you. This is so thoughtful.” You enveloped him into a warm hug. “You win, by the way. Competition’s over.”

“I promise I didn’t just do it for the competition—!” Duke protested, but you shook your head anyway.

“I know, hon. But it doesn’t matter. You win anyway, hands down.”

The time had come for The Reaping. All the kids crowded around you in the library, begging to know who would be the winner this year—and movie-picker for the next few months. Cassandra and Duke, of course, already knew, but they stayed relatively silent in comparison to their rowdy brothers and sister.

“Alright,” you said, which immediately halted the argumentative chatter. “This has been an amazing day for me, truly. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. I love you all so much, and I’m so touched that you guys go through all this trouble every year for me.”

“You deserve it,” Dick said, which earned a chorus of agreement. 

“Now, don’t butter me up just yet. I’ll start with announcing the loser,” you said, clearing your throat. You looked towards Jason. 

“Oh, no,” he said.

“I’m sorry, hon,” you told him, taking his hands. 

“No. Mom, no. How could you do this to me?” Jason appeared genuinely betrayed by your decision. The rest of the kids burst into raucous cheers at avoiding three months’ worth of stinky vigilante laundry. Alfred was also going to be very glad. 

Trying your best to stifle your laughter, you clutched his scarred hands closer to you and dramatically uttered the next few sentences as if you were giving a eulogy. “I love you so much. But when you called me from the amusement park asking what kind of pretzel I wanted, I told you I wanted a cinnamon pretzel with chocolate dip. You came back with a cinnamon pretzel… and a caramel dip. I’m so sorry Jason—I hereby declare you this year’s loser.”

“Shit,” Jason groaned, head falling back as he realized his mistake. One goddamned caramel dip cost him his victory!

“Hah!” Damian proclaimed. “So it is clear, then. I am obviously the winner this year, and you will all be watching—”

“Actually,” you interrupted, shooting Damian an apologetic wince, “this year’s winner is Duke!”

“What?” Damian barked. “Impossible! It is his first year. Nobody wins on their first try.”

Bashful, Duke awkwardly waved when everyone’s eyes fell on him. 

“He had a special telescope made for me,” you said, brandishing the gift from its protective case. Everyone clamored closer to get a good look at it. “One that lets me see Gotham’s stars through all the smog. You guys are not allowed to touch it without my explicit permission, by the way. I’m serious! I will suspend you from patrolling, and Bruce would be happy to see it through!”

They all gulped nervously.

“Wow—” Steph said once she got a better look, eyes widening as she whistled a low note. “No, yeah, I didn’t stand a chance against that. Way to go, Duke!”

The rest of the siblings clapped Duke on the back, congratulating him on the win. Tim handed him the sleek back remote to the theater room’s large monitor. “For you, my liege.”

You carefully put the telescope away, then ruffled Damian’s hair. “Better luck next year, kiddo.”

“Tch. It will be war next year, Mother.” He looked up at you, determination burning within his dark green eyes. “And I shall be the last one standing on the battlefield!”

“Okay, you little gargoyle,” Tim said, gently shoving Damian away, who angrily kicked at Tim’s shin (which was already bruised from Jason’s kick earlier that day). He pretended like it didn’t hurt, and gave you a warm, one-armed hug. “Happy Mother’s Day. We love you, Mom.”

[zoloft3]

precise and intentional. you moved in a rhythm that had become second nature. on auto-pilot. the only noise that sought refuge in your ear canal was that of the quick chop chop chop coming from the knife in your hand.

caught so intensely in the routine you had set yourself in, you didn’t even hear abby walk through the double doors of the kitchen.

“you’re here early,” she said after setting her things in her designated locker, now hovering over your shoulder to catch a glimpse at what your hands were busily fussing with.

a slight jump roused your focused mind from the clutches of a habitual prison. “fuck, abby,” you cursed, setting the knife to rest on the cutting board.

your eyes rolled at the way her lips turned up into a grin, before parting to let a small laugh be the first nice sound you’d heard all morning.

“seriously,” abby began once again, her hands running across the small of your back as she walked around your body to get a good look at the dishes sitting on the expo. plated, dressed, and gorgeous. “it’s 4 in the fucking morning. why aren’t you asleep?”

“it’s 4:47, and i could ask you the same thing.”

her eyes flicked up to yours, “thinking too much. couldn’t sleep.”

“same here,” you replied honestly as your hands subconsciously moved to start the knife back up again.

abby chuckled, watching you slip back into a state she had seen time and time again. she knew your tendencies like the back of her hand. “yeah, no shit,” her arms caged the counter in front of her, her eyes never leaving your steady frame.

“put that down and come over here.”

reluctantly, you stopped your movements. you needed this done — you still had other ideas you were itching to execute.

“you have plenty of time until open,” abby said quietly, as if she was reading your fucking mind. being in the same room as her meant not being allowed to be stressed or angry, because damn was she good with sweet talk. “get your ass over here,” abby nearly whispered.

her large arms crossed in front of her chest, muscles twitching and bulging with the movement. you stood beside her now, her hip bumping into yours. “tell me why this kept you up all night.”

not many times had abby turned down an idea you had for a dish. more times than not, your creations were implemented into the menu almost immediately. some called it favoritism, abby called it losers weepers.

you would hope you were talented by the way abby stared after you in the kitchen. if it weren’t talent that kept her up your ass, then you couldn’t for the life of all things good determine the real answer.

“um, i had a dream about this one last week,” you started, pointing at the dish furthest to the left. “you had mentioned a dessert your dad made and i couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

abby’s lip turned up into a grin, her eyes grinning just as much. “you were dreaming about me?” she replied sarcastically, leaning closer toward you. you shoved her away, tired of her antics already within the 13 minutes of her being in the building.

“stop, i’m messing around,” she said with her hand outstretched to grab the arm you pushed her with. you didn’t fight it. her grasp was warm and safe. “this looks a hell of a lot better than anything my dad ever made, so you get half a point.”

“half? are you fucking kidding?”

“admit you were dreaming about me and i’ll consider a full point.”

“alright, fuck off,” you scoffed, trying to distract yourself from the way abby’s hand now lightly rubbed circles into your back.

the rest of the explanations went by, and the taste tests went even faster; your mind racing as you yearned for her approval. of course, no complaints. not even a critique. just ‘it’s perfect’ this and ‘that’s amazing’ that. maybe there was some favoritism involved…

“let’s go get you a coffee,” abby said from across the kitchen, jacket already adorning her broad shoulders.

you shook your head, “once i finish this.”

abby rolled her eyes as she unlocked your locker to grab your jacket. she was entirely too used to forcing your stubborn ass out of the building. she was dedicated, but it seemed you were always fighting for first place in that department. she hated losing but she couldn’t lose when you were winning beside her. though, sometimes, she couldn’t help herself.

throwing your jacket at your head and pushing you past the double doors, abby made sure she got what she wanted.

“how many times do i have to tell you that your food is fucking perfect before you take a damn break,” she watched as you shifted the jacket onto your body, holding the main door open for you to exit through.

“hmmm, try 17 more and we’ll see where that gets you.”

“can i bargain with you?”

“no.”

“17 more times it is then.”

waiting with the passenger car door open, you made your way to the blonde with a smile on your face. “nothing is open right now,” you said, perching yourself to lean on the side of the car.

you didn’t have to see the eye roll to feel how dramatic it was, “i have coffee at my house. personal barista sound good to you?”

a smile hitched itself to your face, thoroughly enjoying the idea of abby being at your disposal. “anything i want?” you asked incredulously.

abby tilted her head, running her tongue across her bottom teeth as she looked at you with an annoyed smirk. “get in the car and i’ll think about it.”

you giggled quietly, the early morning air freshening your mind as you slipped into the seat she had waiting for you.

“yes, chef.”

[zoloft3]

◦☆zoloft masterlist☆◦

✧ fics are listed in chronological order from top (recent) to bottom (older) ✧

-------༚☆༚-------

bnha

☆彡 bakugou katsuki

-> happy birthday katsuki

☆彡 kirishima eijiro

-> godly summer

☆彡 shinso hitoshi

-> the man i assume to be god

☆彡 aizawa shouta

-> forever and always

-------༚☆༚-------

tlou

☆彡 joel miller

-> never going home

-> the last

my ao3....

[zoloft3]

chiropterology — knight in shining kevlar.

drabble synopsis ; batman forgets to turn off his comms. warnings ; sexually suggestive.

series masterlist.

Gotham was a murky city. Polluted smog crept through the alleys, too thick to be water vapor, but too thin to be dangerous to inhale. Just terrible enough to survive. The streets were fissured, walls graffitied, and lights constantly flickering. 

Your shoes echoed pattering noises as you hurried down the puddle-strewn sidewalks. Being out this late was something you often tried to avoid, as it was practically begging for someone to come and mug, kidnap, or shiv you in the guts. You’d lost track of time while helping Tim “gather intel” on a few criminals, which was really just stalking, but you were nothing if not supportive of your son.

As you turned into a rather dark and dreary, but empty pathway between two run-down buildings, having taken this path a million times through the city to get to the manor, you suddenly heard a familiar whoosh-and-thud noise behind you.

A grin twisted the corners of your lips.

“You shouldn’t be here,” said Batman, his cape and mask casting an intimidating shadow onto the side of the building, voice deep and gravelly. You understood why so many civilians were terrified of him; if you hadn’t known that was your husband under that cowl, you would be, too.

“I’m getting deja vu,” you hummed, drawing closer with a smile and raising a finger to slot beneath his stubbled chin. “Except—last time you landed on top of me instead of behind me. I'm glad you've improved your aim.”

“Don’t kid yourself,” he susurrated, making a pleasant tremor dance along your spine, like a spider skittering up a wall. Bruce began to step forward, crowding you behind a rusty metal fire escape. “You’d like it if I landed on top of you again.”

“Mmh, Batman,” you protested, a laugh edging into your tone. “I’m a married woman.”

The uncovered half of Bruce’s face twitched with amusement. He watched the way your chest rose and fell, your pupils dilating with want, kindling excitement behind his ribs.

“Are you going to hurt me?” you whispered, breathless, tugging on his chest plates with two fingers, pulling him even closer.

“Not if you play nice. Unless you want me to…” growled Bruce, the tip of his nose brushing your cheek, lips only a hair’s breadth from yours—

“DEAR GOD, MAKE IT STOP!” a tinny voice screamed so loud that you could hear it clear as day from Bruce’s mask. Both you and Bruce violently flinched at the interruption. 

“Is that—Spoiler?” you whispered, eyes cartoonishly owlish.

Bruce looked genuinely shaken as another voice awkwardly said, “Hey, Bats. Oracle here. You kinda… left your comm lines open.”

There was a long pause, Bruce quietly asking, “How many of them heard that?”

“Uhm… all of them?” came Oracle’s apologetic response.

“I need bleach!” shrieked Stephanie. “For my ears!”

“Please, someone call Black Canary so she can blow my eardrums,” Tim lamented. 

“Someone kill me again,” Jason groveled. 

“I do not understand,” Damian’s voice added on to the chaos. “Why would she think Batman would hurt her?”

This ensued another round of terrified howling. Bruce drooped at the sound of his kids screaming in his ear. He leaned against you as you started giggling, shoulders shaking with the effort of muffling your snorts. 

“Cutting your comm line,” Barbara said, though not without a laugh in her own voice.

“So—we can never go home now,” you said, looking none too troubled by the thought. “This is a great time to tell you that I’ve been working on one of those miniature boats, you know the useless ones that are always trapped in the glass display bottles, and I was thinking I’d take my shrink ray and reverse-engineer it to make things bigger and—”

Bats sank further into your touch, effectively shutting you up. You ignored his sharp armor poking at your stomach. “The kids are never going to let us live this down.”

“Honey,” you chortled, cupping his face in your hands and forcing him to face you. “Forget the kids—I’m never going to let you live this down.”

This only made Bruce curl into you further with embarrassment. You began to laugh so hard that tears sprung into your eyes. “This isn’t funny. I’m going to have to go into hiding.” Well, it was clear where Dick got his dramatic side from. 

As you recovered from your fit of giggles, you wiped a stray tear away, still chuckling to yourself. “Chin up, Batsy! On the bright side, at least this’ll spook them into giving us more time alone.” 

Bruce merely grunted at that, still looking unhappy, reminding you of a drenched cat that had been forced to have a bath. “Hn. I guess so.”

You leaned forward to press a kiss against his exposed jaw. “Now stop sulking and take me home. My knight in… shining kevlar.”

“Hn.” One of Bruce’s arms wound around your waist as he produced a grappling hook from his utility belt. “Hold on tight.”

[zoloft3]

never going home.

☆彡 joel miller x gn! reader

tags -> pre-relationship, hurt/comfort, homesickness, trauma, found family, living together, healing

a/n : a little different from my usual fluff antics but i can't write for tlou without being upset anymore. hope you like it :)

-------༚☆༚-------

The sound of his boots scuffing against the mat by door has you jumping. You don't even have time to wipe your tears before he turns the corner and spots you.

There's a moment of silence. Him, taking in your current state. You, frozen in shame and embarrassed to be caught so vulnerable on his living room floor. Your fingers tremble around the record sleeve you were clutching. The record itself, maddeningly spinning and letting out the tune that unlocked those deep memories within you.

"I'm sorry-" Your voice breaks from the sobbing you had been doing just a minute before. "I just,"

The tears well again as you look down at the record sleeve, "I heard the record playing and I-"

Joel suddenly remembered how to move again and knelt next to you on the floor, "Don't worry it's fine, you don't gotta be afraid, darlin’."

His hand gently rubbed your shoulder and your heart melted. The tears just poured down your cheeks now.

Fuck.

Since when did you let a man get to you like this. Joel was never meant to be anything more than a patrol partner. A friend maybe. But these last few weeks, god.

The winter storm had taken several chunks out of you and your roommates’ house, so you were staying with Joel until it could get patched. And in Jackson, that meant it was going to take a few weeks. Joel offered since he had an extra bedroom ever since Ellie moved out to the garage, and you couldn’t say no. Unfortunately, it turned out to be much better than you expected. Shared meals, cooking together, late nights on the porch drinking the shit they called coffee in this town. It all resulted in you being genuinely content for the first time in decades, and maybe, possibly, falling in love.

It was fine, it was going great even. Until now.

You'd been cooking, Joel had just run out to grab you something from the garden that you'd forgotten. You didn't notice him put the record on before he left. It wasn't until you finished chopping the onions that you heard it. So softly at first, you thought you'd misheard. You paused, frozen and waiting. And there it was.

The song your dad used to play. The music your mom would drive and dance to in the car. The album you hadn't heard since you'd lost them forever.

The knife fell from your fingers like it had never even existed. You walked into the living room like a ghost, numb and mindless, only stopping once you saw the album cover on the coffee table.

And it all came rushing back to you. Every single memory of home, childhood, growing and laughing. Suddenly you were sobbing like you hadn't in years. You fell to your knees, crawling towards the coffee table like you were a child again. Your fingers trembled as you reached for the record sleeve. The thick paper dug into your skin as you clutched it to your chest.

The world didn't matter anymore, you just wanted to go home.

Go back to the place where you were you. Before monsters and bloodshed, before men and bodies. The childhood that so many children will never get to have.

What you wouldn't give to sleep in your childhood bed, one last time. To have your mother say goodnight the way she used to. To brush your teeth next to your sibling. To sit in your spot at the dinner table.

You were wishing you could've said goodbye to your family, wishing that it wasn’t true that you could never go home. You know you can never go home but you prayed that for a second, one fucking second, you could be back there, right where you were, when he walked in the door.

And now he's holding you, pressing you into him as you grieve the child you were, the person you’ll never get to be, the home you'll never go back to, the people who will always know you.

"Homesick, huh?" Joel spoke with no humor or pity, only understanding.

You only sob harder, nodding into his shoulder. He waits, silently and patiently, rubbing your back and petting your head. He doesn’t say anything, didn't do any of the things people usually do when they see someone crying. He just waits until you have cried yourself out, hiccuping and attempting to breathe normally again.

"Want me to help finish dinner?" He asks softly, "Or do you need time?"

You let out a final shaky sigh, "No, we should finish, I don't want the food to go bad out on the counter."

Dinner goes fine, not your best, but it’s edible. And everything stays calm, until you move out to the porch for your nightly "coffee".

"You wanna talk about it?" Joel interrupts your dissociative stare.

The sudden reminder has your chest tightening. You bite your lip, glancing over at him. The fact that you were even considering telling him anything means you are well and truly fucked.

"Yeah, I guess I should," You sigh, fidgeting in your seat, eyes fixed on the boards of the porch.

"You don't have to," He reminds you.

The tears threaten once again, and you try to blink them away, "I want to."

It takes a minute, but you find the words. Claw them up out of your chest were you had hurried them so many years before. Deep and tucked away somewhere between your mother's grief and your father's anger.

You looked back at him, "The record you had on just reminded me of everything I lost that day. It was kinda... a family favorite. I guess, I forgot how much I lost. I'll never get any of it back."

You give a small smile, letting a few more tears fall.

"I feel like a solider who's come home from war, but home can never be the same, after everything. I'll always be there, in the blood and the screaming and the nightmare. I'll never get to leave like I want to. How I want to."

You look up from your fidgeting fingers to see his eyes staring softly back at you. You never find anything but solace in them. And that’s still true now.

You doubt there's a soul on earth who could know you like Joel Miller knows you. Your pain echos the same as his. Haunting and everlasting.

He reaches for your hand, interlocking your fingers, "Well, I'll ask next time before I put it on."

You both smile, and you wipe your tears with your free hand.

"Thank you, Joel. These past few weeks, right now, it all... means a whole lot."

"Anytime, sweetheart." He gives your hand a squeeze.

Home is still a long ways away. You know you can never go back there. But maybe you could build a new one.

-------༚☆༚-------

a/n : this one's for you @groggygrogu <3 you and tlou have been on my mind. hope it wasn't as devastating to read as it was to write :)

thanks again to @saemeret for being my beta and sorry for not asking you to beta the last two times :( i needed to word vomit on the internet before i exploded.

don't be afraid to leave a note or reblog! I love reading y'alls comments <3

[zoloft3]

chiropterology — family report.

drabble synopsis ; damian tells his class he has two mothers. warnings ; mentions of damian's violent past, use of a derogatory lesbian term.

series masterlist.

Damian Wayne was a weapon. A killer. A machine built for inflicting pain. Perhaps that was one of the many reasons you seemed to like him so much—you always had an affinity for machines. Deep down, Damian often wondered when you would realize he was not as interesting as you thought, and discard him like one of your failed inventions.

Despite this, it was not hard to write up his school report on you. It was supposed to be a minimum of one page, front and back, on his family. It ended up being nearly three entire pages. He started with his father, of course—the owner of Wayne Enterprises, determined, a problem-solver, and… considerate. Bruce Wayne was a considerate father.

Then he wrote about his birth mother. He found that his pencil wouldn’t move much when it came to her. What was appropriate to say in a school setting without getting in trouble and landing in detention? Damian never knew where these people drew the line. Nevertheless, he eventually wrote that Talia al Ghul was skilled. A fighter. He added, in a smaller scrawl, that he no longer lived with her. 

And then he wrote about you. It was only after he moved on from Talia’s section did he realize that his muscles were involuntarily tensed. Thinking about you and your chemical-stained lab coat, your chunky goggles that were almost always dangling over your forehead or hanging on your neckline, and your eyes. Damian always thought you had a certain light in your eyes—flickering with curiosity, brimming with a need to know more. That’s why he thought—no, he knew—that that was why you were so interested in him. He was like one of your little machines to solve and fix. It angered him at first. Who were you to regard him in such a way? You were nothing. Nothing in comparison to him, who had the blood of the Bat and the Demon. But something changed within the many months of getting to know you. You and your wide smiles, your open nature, your eagerness to help him at every turn. 

It was infuriating, but Damian… he had to admit that he liked you very much. His weak spot. 

The first time he called you “Mother”, it came out as an accident, but in very casual passing—like asking to pass the salt during dinner. Every part of him seized up as he stared at you, wondering if you caught onto the slip of his tongue. You were under the batmobile at the time, fixing up some damage acquired from the last mission. Slowly, you pulled out from beneath the car and sat up. Then you smiled at him, and Damian felt like he wanted to vomit; because it wasn’t in a teasing nature, but a soft, gentle, motherly one. 

“I like that,” you had told him. Then you went back to work as if it had never happened. From then on, Damian took to calling you that just because… because…

Hm.

And here he was. Writing about you. Rather easily, too. He liked your intelligence—your seemingly never-ending bounty of scientific facts. He respected your patience with not only him, but his siblings, which he knew better than anyone that they were hard to be patient with. He liked how you would ask for his help on sketching new designs. He liked how you hung up every single one of his drawings he made for you. He liked how openly affectionate you were, and despised himself for folding so easily every time. 

And… he liked how you pretended that he was your favorite child. And Damian knew that. It was all pretend. He was waiting with baited breath until you would drop the act, lose your interest in trying to solve an unsolveable puzzle of a boy, and move on. He kept that part out of his report.

His siblings’ sections had him scoffing with laughter under his breath. Grayson was the trustworthy oldest brother, but had an irritating habit of ruffling his hair when it had just been combed. Todd was the tough brother with a dark history that Damian could relate to—and he enjoyed reading books for girls that Damian most certainly was also not currently enjoying. Drake was the genius, able to piece clues together like it was nothing, always finding solutions for every problem. He was also Damian’s greatest rival once. And now? Damian wasn’t sure.

Brown was the light of the family. Obnoxiously cheerful, argumentative, and kind. Brown praised his art the most in the family. He still used the colored pencils Brown had bought for him on his ninth birthday. 

Cain was sturdy. Cain was not only a shoulder to lean on, but also always willing to lend an ear. She was likely the most skilled of them all in combat. 

The newest addition to the family was Duke Thomas, of course. Damian thought him naive and still wet behind the ears, despite being younger than him. However, Thomas was strong, and admirable in his ability to get up no matter how many times he fell down. And he was also a formidable chess opponent.

This report was so ridiculous. The teacher was practically asking him to list out all his weaknesses in front of the class. How embarrassing.

The school day started out as ordinary as ever. Halfway through second period, however, Damian could sense it. A prickle along the back of his neck. Someone was watching him. And not any of his unremarkable civilian classmates. 

Damian had promised his father that he would maintain his own civilian identity by trying not to draw too much attention to himself. So—it wouldn’t do to abandon his times-tables lessons and dash out with no excuse. Both his teacher and his classmates would find it strange, and perhaps even go looking for him. It would be best if he left to meet with her during the recess break. Which was… after he presented his report. Great. Just great.

After math class, the teacher started calling on his peers’ names to come up to the board and tell everyone about their family. It was mostly a bore. Mom, dad, dog named Spot, fish named Goldie—they all sounded the same.

When it was his turn to present, Damian went up to the front of the class and puffed out his chest, rising to his full height. He, of course, started with his father, and then talked about his birth mother. There it was again—the prickle on the back of his neck. She was watching and, he could feel it, she was growing impatient.

Then, he moved on to you. Out of the corner of his eye, Damian could see his classmates exchange glances, giggling to themselves and whispering things. What? What was it? Did he mispronounce something? 

“Two moms?”

“Damian’s got lesbo moms!” one of the brutes snickered. Damian didn’t know what that meant, but it didn’t sound any good. His lips curled into a snarl, ready to jump to your defense. To his relief, the teacher barked at them to be quiet, and gestured for him to go on. Reluctant, Damian moved on to talk about his siblings, and the gossipping noise eventually died away.

Humiliated, Damian slunk back to his seat once he was done. And when the bell rang, he hurried out without a second glance back, ignoring the teacher’s call for him to stay back.

After checking nobody was following him, Damian made his way to the school’s mossy rooftop, where he knew his mother would be waiting. She stood with her back to him, wind blowing her hair to the side. He could feel his heart hiccup within his chest, despite all his years of training to keep it steady, keep it still.

“Mother,” he said.

“You’ve kept me waiting for hours,” she said, voice quiet and dangerous, but not at all angry. “I expect better from you, Damian.”

“I knew you were here. I had prior engagements.”

She made a clicking noise with her tongue, a habit that he inherited from her. “Your priorities need some rearranging.”

“What is it?” he asked, arms crossed. 

Talia regarded her son with a sharp, scrutinizing gaze. “I’m testing your abilities.”

“I remember our tests,” Damian said. He could feel the phantom pains of the practice swords beating upon him whilst training at the League. “This is not one of them.”

Finally, Talia’s features softened. Only slightly, but still enough for Damian to notice. His brows rose. 

“You have your father’s deductive skills, at the very least,” she commented. “That’s good.”

She was stalling. Damian frowned at her. “Ask what you came here to ask. I do not have time for anything else.”

His mother mirrored his expression. After more seconds of silence, she finally said, “Are you… happy?”

It took a moment for Damian to register the question. “What?”

“This life you have… this life you’ve chosen with your father and the rest… does it make you happy?” Talia had her hands behind her back now, hidden from Damian’s view, but from the slight rotation of her forearms, Damian could tell she was fidgeting with her fingers.

“It is far from perfect,” Damian said. “We all fight, and we all make mistakes. I… I make mistakes. And sometimes Father forgets he doesn’t have to work alone.” Damian found himself smiling faintly at the thought of his imbecile siblings. “But, yes. I am happy here.”

Talia bowed her head. “Good. That is good to hear. I have made many difficult decisions in my life.” She paused to look off towards the city, away from her son. Later, Damian would try to commit this sight to memory by sketching her in this position, sun in her skin, wind in her hair. “Letting you go was the hardest decision I have ever made. But if you are happier in this life than your previous one with me… I am glad I gave you up.”

She turned to make her escape from his school. Before she could go, she asked one last question. “Your father’s wife… is she—does she treat you well? Like a—” The word caught in her throat. “A son?”

Damian hesitated. “She does.”

This seemed to satisfy Talia. She nodded again. 

“Will I see you again?” Damian asked. He knew it was a weak question. Never grow attached, he remembered her snapping at him. Never.

“Keep your guard up and your senses sharp, and I’m sure you will,” she said. With that, she leapt off the school’s roof. Damian rushed forward to look over the edge, but there was no trace of her. His chest felt strangely… fuzzy.

The rest of the school day went by uneventfully, though with the occasional snigger directed his way. But no prickling of his neck. Talia was no longer watching.

When you came to pick him up, you rolled down the car window and waved over at him, greeting him with a cheery exclamation of how excited you were to take him to the theater later that evening.

“Mother,” he said, once he climbed into the passenger seat, ever so seriously. Your talk of the theater died on your tongue, waiting for him to say something. “What is a lesbo?”

You blinked down at the boy in shock. “Ooh, hon—let’s not say that word. That’s just a term for lesbian, but it’s not very nice for non-lesbians to say. Lesbians are women who feel attraction to just other women, broadly construed. But it’s a pretty flexible label.”

“Oh.” Damian tapped a finger against the dashboard. “Are you—?”

“Hah! I had a phase in college when I thought I was, for sure. But no, sadly. I like ‘em in all shapes and sizes.”

“I see.” He supposed that made sense, considering you were married to his father, and he was often a very large bat-like man. 

With a warm smile directed at him, you reached over to pat his knee. “I’m glad you feel safe asking me these questions. I’m always here to help you out.”

Damian didn’t say anything to that, but he let out a small breath, feeling a soft smile creep at the corner of his mouth. When he got home, he handed you his family report. During the drive, he considered not showing you, but… he wanted to. He wanted you to be proud of him.

As you read, your eyes began to cloud with tears. Damian feared he had written something unintentionally offensive and now you would be disappointed with him. He tried to tug it back from you, expression twisted with panic. 

“It’s not done yet—” he tried to defend, but you shook your head. 

“Oh, Dami, honey, it’s perfect. It really is. Oh, god. Do you really think this?” You swiped at the tears that had so quickly began to slip down from your eyes. Immediately, you enveloped him into an embrace. One that Damian did not resist nor return. He just let you hold him. “You made me sound so cool,” you murmured, choking up on your tears again.

“I was being truthful,” Damian admitted. And he was, he really was.

“This is the sweetest thing you’ve ever done, you know that? I’m going to photocopy this and have it framed next to all your drawings.”

“If you wish.” Damian could feel his face burn with embarrassment, but it was not an entirely unpleasant sensation. And even if you were pretending to love him, and if you only saw him as the killing machine he was, and if you were going to discard him later… Damian thought it was worth it. He tightened his arms around you, returning your hug with equal warmth.