#(btw i am away from home for the next little while so if the next few posts look weird/different thats why)

[clown-bug]

Maysozoic Day 10: Dracorex 🐲

[cherrygirlfriend]

Hiii darling, I was thinking about how reader loves to give nerd!rafe a boner in the most inappropriate times just to see how red and nervous he gets

three times when perv!reader got nerd!rafe hard at inappropriate moments. 18+

thank you for the request!! i hope you enjoy love <3 btw, i’m starting a taglist for rafe! feel free to lmk by comment or dm if you want to be added!!

⭑.ᐟ rafe and you were sitting in the school cafeteria, your lips pursed as you watched your crush eat, talking in between swallows about a new game he’d stayed up to play for the entire night. you nodded along, even though you really had no clue what he was talking about. it didn’t really matter; rafe always looked so cute when he started rambling about his interests.

“it’s such a scary and immersive experience, and the ghosts are different types! some of them are actually based on japanese folklore like oni, onryo, obake… you can also play it with your friends, and i think we should really do that. i have a ps5 in my dorm and you could play it on that while i play on my pc.” rafe mumbled excitedly before he turned to look at you, his brows furrowing when he realized that you’d been staring at him, “is… is there something on my face?”

“no. i just think you’re cute.” you said nonchalantly, placing your hand on his upper thigh, the boy’s eyes widening and a pink tint slowly starting to appear on his cheeks. rafe looked away to hide his flushing face, but as you squeezed your thigh, you couldn’t help but look down and notice him hardening. “we should totally play it together.

⭑.ᐟ after five months of being together, you decided to introduce rafe to your parents, the boy now sitting at your dinner table. he looked adorable, wearing a dark blue sweater vest over a button-down, dressed like he was going to church instead of your home.

“i’ve gotta say, rafe, you’re not like most guys my daughter brings home.” your father crossed his hands, his shoulders resting against the dining table. “dad!” you chided in embarrassment, feeling your face turn hot. “what, sweetheart? it’s true. most of the boys you’ve brought home to meet us have been the type of boys no man wants within five feet of their baby girl.”

“well, i’m not a baby anymore.” you mumble, your lips turned down into a pout while rafe lets out a small chuckle next to you. his hand moves to take yours under the table, intertwining your fingers, your pout turning into a small smile, “don’t worry, sir. i intend to take good care of your daughter.”

after dinner, rafe had insisted on doing the dishes, earning a delighted, clearly approving look from your mother. as your boyfriend stood at the sink, you couldn’t help but approach him from behind, your arms wrapping around his torso, turning your head so your cheek was against his back. “you know, my parents really like you.”

“mmhm, you think so?” he hummed, his muscular back warm against your cheek as he continued doing the dishes. “that’s good.”

“no it’s not.” you pouted, “it means we’ll have to break up.”

at your words, your boyfriend turned around in your arms and you looked up at him, “we have to break up because your parents like me?” rafe asked, his hands wet and soapy and a dumbfounded look on his face, “yeah. i can’t have a boyfriend that my parents like.” you grinned mischievously, pressing a small peck on his lips. “you’re impossible.”

“mmhm. how impossible am i?” you asked, pressing yourself into him, rafe letting out a low whine, “angel, we’re at your parents’ place.”

“i’m well aware.” you bit down on your lower lip and pressed yourself into him again, another whine leaving rafe’s lips as he closed his eyes, and you could feel him starting to get hard, his growing erection pressing against your leg. but when you did it for the third time, rafe let out a whimper and you knew you had him hooked, “wanna make my parents like you a little less and sneak into my old room?”

⭑.ᐟ if there was something that could bore you to death, it would be history class. you sat with your friends, simply admiring your boyfriend’s side profile, rafe choosing to sit a few rows ahead of you because he knew if he sat next to you, you’d never let him get anything done; you were never too good at paying attention in class, but it definitely helped to be dating the smartest guy who was meticulous about his notes and more than willing to share them with his girlfriend.

you leaned your head on your hand, a small smile on your face as you watched him, scribbling notes into his notebook, his glasses close to falling off his nose; you’d asked him once why he just didn’t use a laptop, and he’d told you writing via hand helped him remember better. it was so adorable.

you took out your phone, hiding it out of view from the professor, but as you glanced at rafe, you couldn’t help but want to tease him.

going into the hidden folder of your photo gallery, you scrolled through it a bit until you found a picture of yourself taken in the shower; or more like, a picture of your tits, your bare chest soaped up, the picture cropped so you could only see your pouty lips, your arm covering your nipples.

you shared it to the contact ‘my love ♡’ along with the message ‘bored :((’, and when the screen said that it was delivered, you watched the screen of rafe’s phone lit up. discreetly, he put down his pen and grabbed the phone.

delivered turned into read, and within seconds, his phone was face down on the desk, and rafe whipped his head to look at you, his cheeks red and eyes wide; you simply blew him a kiss.

when rafe turned back around to face the professor, though, you couldn’t help the grin that took over your face when you noticed him adjusting his pants at the crotch before going back to taking notes.

please send me requests and check out my masterlist! ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

[mister0ctopus]

Server Room (1)

series - jeon jungkook

Pairings: IT!JK x Reader

Summary:  Your new IT guy is quiet and shy. But when you accidentally caught him doing something in the server room, while moaning your name, you just had to pretend you didn’t see that, right?

Ratings: 18+ ONLY! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Warnings: Explicit language, Mature Contents

Au/Genre: Smut (X), Office au, Mini Series

Word Count: 1.5K

Note: I wanted to write more, seems like this is my hyperfocus rn, but I’m sick, you guys. I skipped our company’s year-end party tn, so here I am typing with snot, lol. Hope you enjoy this, please let me know what you think! More to come. 😊

🐙 Masterlist / AskMeeeeee!!!

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

The office floor buzzes with the noise of chatter and the clicking of keyboards. Four more hours to go, and you’re free from this torture. Work has been exhausting lately, with everyone scrambling to finish everything before year-end.

You’ve been typing furiously, finishing a report you need to present tomorrow, but when you hit the Enter key, nothing happens…

And as if the world is playing tricks on you, your screen turns blue…

Enter. Esc. asoyjebcvbcjkv.

No! No no no!

You stare at it in disbelief. You worked so hard on this report—there’s no way it didn’t save, right???

You suddenly stand up and rush to one of your friends at work, and your go-to guy in IT, Yoongi.

You open the door to the IT department and let out an exaggerated sigh before plopping down next to Yoongi’s desk. He’s wearing huge headphones and tinkering with a motherboard.

“I need your magical powers right now. You can retrieve my report after this thing died on me, right?” you say, shoving your laptop toward him.

Yoongi looks up at you, eyes wide in surprise.

“Oh… you’re not Yoongi.”

“Oh—uhm…” not-Yoongi stammers, quickly pulling off his headphones, clearly startled by your sudden appearance.

Big, round eyes stare at you for a moment, like a deer in headlights.

After a few seconds, you stand up, gently pulling your laptop away from his face.

“I’m sorry. I thought you were Yoongi. Is he—”

“He’s not here. He’s on PTO for a week. The rest of the team went to check the new equipment coming in. Uh— I’m new here,” he says, almost too quickly, before gulping nervously. “I started last week…” His words trail off abruptly, as if realizing he’s said too much.

“Oh! Right. I forgot about his PTO. Vacation. Yeah. Uhm…” You laugh at yourself, realizing you completely forgot about Yoongi’s vacation. He’s going fishing and camping with Jin, his brother, and wow, that actually sounds amazing. You really need a vacation too, but goddamn it, the report, YN! You really need that report!

“Yes. Report. I really really need your help. I’m YN btw, and you’re…?”

“Jungkook,” he says in a breathy voice.

“Right. Hi, Jungkook. I didn’t realize there was a new guy in IT. So, listen... my laptop just died, and I really need your help retrieving a report I’ve been working on for days. I’d be so grateful... please?” you smiled sweetly as you subtly leaned in, because lord, you’re desperate and running out of time.

He nods quietly and places your laptop on his desk. He inspects the device and types a few keys. After a few seconds, still without looking at you, he says, “I need to run some tests. It may take a while…”

“How long exactly?” You nervously bite your lip. There’s no way this report can’t be retrieved. You have no backup, obviously relying on the laptop to save everything.

“Maybe... tomorrow? I—I’ll try to fix it,” Jungkook stammers, his cheeks slightly pink as he types a few commands.

“No!” You cut him off a little too quickly, then softened your tone to control the panic rising in your chest. “I have a presentation first thing tomorrow, and I need it today. Tonight, at the latest.”

He still doesn’t look at you, focusing on the device.

“I’ll try my best. You can come back later before you go home.” That’s all he says before turning his chair away from you.

You were about to further insist on the urgency of this matter, but you don’t want to push him more. You’re at the mercy of this guy, and he’s the only one who can help you right now.

You nod, trying to keep your frustration in check. "Okay, I’ll be back before 5 pm." you say, giving him a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, Jungkook. I appreciate it.”

He simply nods back, still not making eye contact as he focuses on the device.

You leave the IT department, your mind racing as you think about how to explain to your boss if the report can’t be recovered.

4:07pm

You glanced at the clock for the eleventh time since leaving the IT room, your anxiety growing with each passing minute. You couldn’t wait any longer to find out if the laptop was fixed, so you decided to head back to the IT room, only to find it empty.

“Jungkook?” you call softly.

The room is small, with only four desks, so it’s easy to tell that no one is there—no one except for you.

You turn to leave when your eyes catch another door with a sign that reads “Server Room.”

Jungkook must be in there, so you approach the door and push it open. But just as soon as you step inside, you hear angry grunts and heavy breathing, as if someone is straining.

A sense of panic rushes over you, as though you’re not supposed to be here—should you be here?

You freeze, unsure of what to do next, but then you notice movement behind one of the racks directly in front of you. Colorful inked hand moves erratically, tugging at something angrily.

Up, down, forward, backward...

You hear the grunts shift into groans, and the heavy breathing turns into soft whines.

You hear slick, wet sounds and the pounding of your own heart. You know you’re not supposed to be looking, yet you can’t tear your eyes away.

Your eyes shift from his busy hands to his strained face, where you notice Jungkook biting his lip to stifle more sound from eliciting, his lip ring catching the light on his every movement, and you feel wetness soil you in your center, so you press your thighs together to try and soothe it.

You close your eyes because god why is this so wrong, and so fucking hot?

And you clench your cunt around nothing as you hear him call your name in the most strained voice, almost sounding like a plea.

“Fuck… YN, oh god of god oh goddd!” he whined, movements quicker now.

Your face goes numb with shock from the vulgarity, and you struggle to steady your breath as you quietly storm out of the server room, praying he didn’t notice you at all.

You hurriedly walk back to your desk, a wave of shame washing over you for what you saw and what you're feeling, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment and need.

You fix your already neat hair, hoping no one notices the chaos you're feeling, but what you don’t realize is that Jungkook saw you leave the room, and that made him cum harder as he imagined his firm hands being your soft and wet hole instead.  

Still shaken from the incident, you finally gather yourself at exactly 5 PM and make your way back to the IT room. Desperation fuels your steps—there’s no way you can let what you saw, and the way it made you feel, stop you from retrieving your laptop.

As you step inside the room, expecting a dismissive Jungkook to greet you, you instead collide with something solid—a chest.

Jungkook’s chest.

Visuals of him from a few minutes ago flash through your mind, and you let out a small gasp. He is smirking, but his expression remains unreadable—a stark contrast to the shy and aloof Jungkook you had initially met.

"I fixed it. Your data is all there. I also made sure you're logged into the reporting CRM, so your presentation pulls real-time data via API. Basically—you have a backup," he said matter-of-factly, his tone professional—but his eyes are anything but.

He handed you the device, and you hesitantly took it, still processing everything.

With a sigh of relief, you offered him a sweet smile, your voice soft as you thanked him. "Thank you, Jungkook. You saved my life. I owe you," you murmured, though your mind was still racing, unable to shake the earlier scene.

 He nodded and remained quiet, simply watching you with a sly grin on his lips, his expression still unreadable.

The tension was unbearable. Unable to take it any longer, you quickly mumbled another "thanks" and made your exit.

When you finally reached home, exhaustion settled in, but relief quickly followed. You’d been running on adrenaline all day, but now that it was done, you could finally breathe. The changes Jungkook made were a game-changer—it fed you real-time data seamlessly, saving you hours of work.

After adding the final touches to your presentation for tomorrow, you got ready for bed. You couldn’t help but feel a mix of gratitude and awe as you closed your laptop for the night.

But your mind betrayed you—thoughts of Jungkook still lingered in your brain, refusing to let you rest.

His tattooed arm around his hardness…

The way his chest heaves…

The way he was beating his dick for you…

The way he sounded, his groans, his moans…

How the slick and wet noise filled the air…

How he looked so angry biting his lips, brows furrowed in frustration…

His dark hair stuck to his damp forehead…

The lip piercing that you were sure would feel cold against your warm folds…

You touch yourself with desperate need, pumping two fingers inside as your other hand circles your clit.

You yell his name over and over, as you buck your hips, feeling your release drench you further. Then you drift into slumber in soiled underwear and a sweet sweet smile, knowing you’ll see him again tomorrow.

[solelifauna]

Neglectful Batfam & Reader Fic (Commission)

This was a wonderful 23k-word commission for @galaxypillar! Thank you for your patience and your support! I hope you all like this.

BTW, the reader is trans and uses she/he pronouns. I am not trans, and I could never understand the struggles and experiences of trans people. This was my first time writing a trans reader or a reader with any other pronouns other than she/her. i want to do this properly in the future so please, let me know any tips, tricks, things I did wrong, or need to consider!

That's all!

For the first seven years of your life, the world was small but enough. You had your mother, whose warmth seemed to fill every corner of your little apartment, and though money was always tight, she never let you feel like anything was missing. Your life was simple but safe, filled with laughter and bedtime stories. Your mother worked hard, her love more than enough to make up for anything you lacked, and you never thought to question why your father wasn’t in your life. You didn't care, you had your mother, and that was enough. 

But everything changed the day you lost her.

The day itself was blurred in your memory, pieced together only from fragments and what you overheard from police officers and neighbors. Your mother had been at work, like any other day. But this time, a villain struck, an attack so sudden and senseless. The next thing you know she was just–gone, and there was nothing left for you. No goodbye, no explanations, just an emptiness that felt like it swallowed you whole.

Suddenly, you were alone in a world that had once been filled with warmth and safety. And with that came a new fear, one you hadn’t known before: the fear of being put into Gotham’s foster care system. You’d heard stories from other kids at school, stories about children who went in and never came out, about how it was worse than anything else Gotham could throw at you. You lay awake at night, terrified that your life was about to become something even darker than the nightmare you were living.

And then, out of nowhere, a twist of fate arrived. Gotham’s social services had identified a paternal match, and it wasn’t just any match – it was Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s most famous billionaire. The knowledge left you in shock. Bruce Wayne, the man known for adopting so many children, the one with a heart big enough to open his home to anyone in need—was your father? A flicker of hope bloomed inside you. Perhaps, despite the loss, you might find a family again. Perhaps, this new family could fill the emptiness left by your mother’s death.

The day you arrived at Wayne Manor felt surreal. The mansion loomed large and imposing, its vast halls stretching endlessly. Everything about it seemed to emphasize just how small you were, how out of place you felt. Bruce was there to meet you, his face a mask of neutrality. He welcomed you politely, but his eyes never softened, never gave away anything beyond a sense of obligation. You told yourself it was nerves, that maybe he needed time to adjust to this new arrangement, just like you did.

But the days passed, and your attempts to connect with your newfound family were met with cold indifference.

Dick, the oldest, was the most polite of all, but he kept a certain distance, always on his way somewhere, always too busy to spend time with you. Jason barely acknowledged you at all, his expression always guarded, as if you were nothing more than a nuisance. Tim, on the other hand, would give you short, distracted answers when you tried to talk, his eyes flickering back to whatever he was working on, never bothering to really listen. Cass was quiet, and while she wasn’t mean, she simply seemed to act like you weren’t there. And Damian… Damian made it clear that he didn’t think you belonged there. He’d look at you with narrowed eyes, muttering under his breath about you being an “intruder.”

And then there was Bruce. Any hope you had of bonding with him faded as the days went on. He barely looked at you, his interactions brief and distant. If he was in the room, he seemed to glance right past you, treating you like an afterthought, a mere shadow in his world. The warmth you’d seen in his interactions with the others, that spark of fatherly affection, was nowhere to be found when it came to you.

The only person who showed you any real kindness was Alfred, the family butler. He’d sit with you in the evenings, gently coaxing you into conversation, his comforting presence a balm to your aching heart. Sometimes, after a particularly difficult day, you’d curl up in his arms, seeking the solace you could no longer find anywhere else. He’d hold you, whispering kind words, doing his best to fill the void your mother had left.

Still, the loneliness gnawed at you, an ever-present ache you couldn’t shake. You’d watch your father and your siblings from afar, their laughter and camaraderie feeling like a cruel reminder of everything you couldn’t have. You tried to join them, to share in their jokes, their stories, but your attempts were always brushed off or ignored.

You began spending more and more time in solitude, wandering the halls of the manor, searching for something to anchor you, something to make you feel like you belonged. But each room only reminded you of how out of place you were, how you were nothing more than a stranger in a house that should have been your home.

At night, you’d lie awake, tears staining your pillow as memories of your mother washed over you. You longed for her voice, her touch, the gentle words that made you feel safe and loved. In those moments, the weight of grief felt unbearable, a crushing loneliness that made you want to scream, to break the silence that filled every corner of the manor.

But even as you tried to mourn, anger began to simmer beneath the surface. You couldn’t understand why your mother had to die, why a villain had chosen to destroy the one person who mattered most to you. And as your family continued to ignore you, that anger grew. It wasn’t just about the villain who’d taken her life – it was about the family that was supposed to be there for you, that was supposed to care for you, but instead treated you like a ghost.

The desire for justice – or maybe even revenge – took root. You didn’t want anyone else to suffer the way you had, to feel the loss and isolation that had become your daily reality. 

Your resolve hardened each day from the depths of your grief and frustration. Becoming a hero, a vigilante, wasn’t about glory or titles for you. You didn’t care about the flashy costumes or names. This wasn’t some childish fantasy of becoming famous or being lauded as Gotham’s next savior. No, it was something far more personal, something that simmered like a quiet, steady fire in your chest. You wanted every villain locked away, every criminal in Gotham put behind bars so no one else would ever suffer like you did. You were determined to rid Gotham of the cruelty that had stolen your mother from you, to make the streets safer so that no one else would face the emptiness that plagued your nights.

The problem was, you were only eleven. You didn’t have the strength, the skill, or the training. Every attempt to gain it from the family was met with that same dismissive coldness. They saw you as nothing more than a child, someone who didn’t understand the dangers of their world. But they didn’t know how much you understood, how vividly you remembered the night your world shattered.

As you tried to find a way, small clues began to piece themselves together in your mind, painting a picture you hadn’t seen before. Bruce’s frequent late-night “business trips,” often announced at the last minute, struck you as odd. You’d see him leave in his sharp suits, only to catch glimpses of him returning late at night, disheveled and, occasionally, sporting bruises that didn’t match the polished billionaire image he so carefully maintained.

Your siblings were no less mysterious. Dick would often leave for days at a time, returning with injuries he tried to laugh off, though his tired eyes said otherwise. Once, you’d overheard Tim muttering to himself about patrol routes, something you hadn’t thought much of at the time, but now wondered about. Cass and Damian were quieter, yet you’d noticed that Damian had more than a few martial arts books hidden in his room, alongside weaponry you knew a kid his age shouldn’t have access to.

They were always so secretive, shutting conversations down the moment you asked a question that poked too close to the truth. But the final piece came one evening when you couldn’t sleep and found yourself wandering the mansion late at night.

The night you stumbled upon the entrance to the Batcave was like something out of a dream—or a nightmare, depending on how you looked at it. You had been wandering the manor’s halls, sleepless and restless, drawn by some inexplicable pull toward the lower levels of the house. Your fingers trailed along the walls as you walked, taking in every shadowed corner, every faint noise. It was late, the mansion utterly silent, and you half-expected to bump into one of your siblings or even Bruce himself on patrol somewhere in the city. But no one came, and you continued alone, your curiosity getting the better of you.

And that’s when you noticed the clock.

It was an old, broken grandfather clock, set in a dusty alcove and seemingly forgotten. You’d walked by it a hundred times before, but tonight, it felt different. Something about it was… wrong. The hands of the clock were stuck, frozen at a peculiar time—10:48. Strange, you thought, but you shook it off, chalking it up to another quirk of the manor’s decor. Still, something about it wouldn’t let go of your attention, a nagging feeling in the back of your mind that urged you closer.

On a whim, you reached out, pressing your fingers against the clock’s worn, wooden frame. To your surprise, the clock shifted slightly under your touch, revealing a hidden mechanism. Your heart skipped a beat as you gently pushed the clock face inward, and with a faint click, the entire structure swung forward, revealing a dark, narrow passageway leading downward.

A chill ran down your spine as you peered into the darkness. You knew this wasn’t something you were supposed to find, something that was meant to stay hidden from you. But that only made it more tempting. Your heart pounded with a mixture of fear and excitement as you stepped inside, closing the clock behind you as you began to descend.

The air grew colder as you went deeper, the silence almost oppressive, save for the faint hum of machinery somewhere below. Your footsteps echoed softly, and with each step, the realization of where you were headed became clearer. You’d heard rumors, pieced together bits of conversations you weren’t supposed to hear, but nothing had prepared you for the sight that awaited you.

At the bottom of the passage, the narrow staircase opened up into a vast, dimly lit cavern. Monitors and computer screens lined the walls, casting an eerie blue glow across the space. Gadgets, weapons, and vehicles were neatly arranged in various alcoves, a testament to the precision and orderliness that Bruce Wayne demanded. And in the center of it all was the Batmobile, sleek and imposing, a silent reminder of everything your family did in the shadows.

The truth hit you like a tidal wave. This was the Batcave, hidden beneath Wayne Manor, and everything you’d suspected was now laid bare before you. Your father wasn’t just a billionaire philanthropist—he was Batman. And everyone else you’d come to know as family, the ones who’d brushed you off and ignored you, were his protégés, vigilantes who fought the very criminals you despised.

Your father was Batman. And that meant everyone else – Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, and even Damian – were a part of it too.

After discovering that Bruce Wayne—your father—was Batman, the hero and symbol of Gotham’s strength, a world of possibilities opened up before you. The realization that your entire family had alter egos, each of them fighting for justice in their own way, filled you with a sense of urgency and purpose. They didn’t know how serious you were about this, how much you wanted to join their mission, to rid Gotham of the very villains who'd stolen your mother’s life. Maybe, you thought, if you could be a part of this, if you could stand beside them, then Bruce would finally see you as more than just his “unwanted daughter.” Maybe he’d finally acknowledge you, maybe he’d finally see your worth.

For days, you plotted, considering every possible way to bring up the topic, to show him that you were serious. This wasn’t some fleeting desire; this was a calling. If he could just see how determined you were, he might understand. After all, hadn’t he trained your siblings when they were young? Hadn’t he believed in them, trusted them enough to let them fight beside him?

The opportunity finally came one night, when you caught Bruce heading toward the hidden grandfather clock after a long night out. You’d waited in the shadows for hours, holding your breath, every nerve in your body on edge. When he entered the secret passage, you slipped in behind him, taking each step with cautious determination until you reached the cave. The low hum of the Batcomputer filled the space, casting a faint, eerie glow over the room. Bruce hadn’t noticed you yet, his back turned as he began to remove his cowl, the familiar figure of Batman transforming back into your distant, unreadable father.

Summoning every ounce of courage, you stepped forward, your voice trembling but steady as you called out, “Train me.”

Bruce turned slowly, his eyes narrowing as they fixed on you, surprise flickering across his face before it hardened back into that impenetrable mask. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, his tone cold and unwelcoming, but you didn’t flinch.

“I know who you are,” you said, voice steadying. “I know who all of you are. And I want to be part of this. I want to help put these villains away for good.”

Bruce’s expression darkened, a shadow passing over his features as he regarded you in silence. After a long pause, he let out a slow exhale, as if disappointed. “No,” he said, his tone final, his gaze unwavering. “This isn’t a game, and you’re not ready for this.”

Your heart sank, but you didn’t let it show. “I’m not a child, Bruce. I understand the risks,” you argued, stepping closer, desperately trying to convey your resolve. “I need to do this. If you’d just give me a chance, I can��”

“No.” His voice was firm, steely, leaving no room for argument. He turned away, as though dismissing the conversation altogether, as though you were no more than a passing annoyance. The coldness in his eyes, the sheer indifference, made your chest tighten, a sharp pang of rejection piercing through you. He didn’t even give you an explanation, just that single, hard “no” as if that was all you deserved.

But you weren’t ready to give up that easily. This was too important. For the next few days, you tried to approach the others, each sibling one by one. Maybe they’d understand better than Bruce; maybe they’d recognize that this wasn’t some childish whim.

You started with Dick. He was the oldest, after all, and you’d always seen a certain kindness in him, a willingness to give people a chance. He had a way of making everyone feel included, like they belonged. But when you finally caught him in the hall and explained your desire to train, his expression softened with pity, the same way you’d look at a child asking for something impossible.

“(Y/N), you’re… really brave for wanting to do this,” he said, his voice gentle. “But this life… it’s not easy, and you’re still young. You don’t want to rush into something like this.” His tone was warm, almost brotherly, but he was missing the point. You weren’t asking for easy. You were ready for whatever it took.

“Please, Dick,” you pressed. “I know what I’m getting into. Just give me a chance to prove it.”

But he only shook his head, his gaze kind but unyielding. “I’m sorry, (Y/N). But the answer is no.”

Disheartened but undeterred, you moved on to Jason. Maybe he’d understand; he was rough around the edges, not one for formalities. If anyone would appreciate your determination, it would be him. But when you brought it up, he only laughed—a sharp, bitter laugh that made you flinch.

“What, you think this is some kind of club?” he scoffed. “This isn’t for people who want to play hero. Trust me, kid, you don’t want this life.” The dismissiveness in his voice stung, a harsh reminder that he didn’t see you as a peer, or even as family, but as some naïve child poking her nose where it didn’t belong.

You tried Tim next, cornering him in the library while he worked on his laptop. He barely looked up when you spoke, his fingers never pausing on the keyboard. “(Y/N), this isn’t something you can just jump into,” he said in a monotone voice. “It’s dangerous, and it’s… well, complicated. You’re not ready for something like this.” He glanced at you briefly before returning his attention to the screen, and that was it—the conversation was over before it had even begun.

Cass was the least harsh, offering you a quiet, understanding look when you brought it up to her. But even she refused, shaking her head softly, her silence saying more than words ever could. She, too, thought you were too young, too unprepared.

Damian, predictably, was the most dismissive. When you managed to ask him during a rare quiet moment, he simply scoffed, his lips curling into a smirk. “You? A vigilante?” He didn’t even bother hiding his disdain. “You wouldn’t last a night.”

Each rejection was like a punch to the gut, but the worst was the frustration—the sense that they were all talking down to you, looking at you as if you were some clueless child who didn’t understand the world. They couldn’t see the fire inside you, the sheer drive pushing you forward. They didn’t understand the grief, the emptiness that fueled your desire, the need to make a difference, to bring justice to a city that had taken everything from you.

Days turned into weeks, and your persistence began to turn into frustration. Every attempt, every argument, every plea was met with the same dismissive responses, the same “no” repeated like a mantra, as if they were trying to beat the will out of you through sheer denial. But with every rejection, your resolve only grew stronger. You’d do it on your own if you had to, but you’d make them see—one way or another.

They thought they could protect you by keeping you away, that their refusal would dissuade you. But they didn’t know you well enough to understand that their rejection was only making you more determined, that each “no” was pushing you closer to a path they couldn’t control. If they wouldn’t train you, if they wouldn’t see you as someone capable, then you’d prove them wrong, no matter the cost.

The opportunity to make a difference, to protect Gotham, was slipping through your fingers, but you were prepared to seize it by any means necessary.

As the days turned into weeks, frustration gnawed at you, a relentless, unyielding ache. The Batfamily’s constant refusal to let you in, to train you, to even consider your desire for justice was suffocating. Each rejection from them felt like a door slamming shut, and yet your resolve burned brighter with every dismissive glance, every cold “no” they threw your way. They thought they could keep you safe by denying you the skills to fight, by holding you back. But they didn’t realize that every “no” was pushing you further away, closer to a path they couldn’t control.

So, if they wouldn’t train you, you’d find someone who would. You’d learn from someone who didn’t see you as just a child or as an outsider. You didn’t care who it was—you just needed someone willing to show you how to fight, how to protect yourself, and how to finally be a force of justice in Gotham. Gotham was a city teeming with darkness, and somewhere in that darkness, you knew there was someone who’d see your potential.

And that someone came one night, when you were out alone, frustration and anger churning within you. You’d snuck out of Wayne Manor under the cover of darkness, slipping past the staff and making your way into the city’s underbelly. It was reckless, maybe even dangerous, but you didn’t care. The streets were quieter than usual, the night air heavy and thick with the familiar weight of Gotham’s crime-riddled tension. You walked through back alleys and shadowed streets, trying to think, trying to calm the storm inside you, but the darkness only seemed to deepen the ache.

Then, you heard it—the unmistakable sound of fists colliding with flesh, low grunts of pain, and the shuffling of bodies struggling in a fight.

You crept forward, curiosity tugging at you as you moved quietly toward the sound. There, in a dimly lit alley, was a figure you recognized immediately. Azrael. He was a towering presence, draped in his dark, imposing armor, his movements swift and precise as he took down his opponent with brutal efficiency. The man before him—a thug, someone you recognized from the news as a low-level criminal—was nearly unconscious, his face bruised and bloody, barely able to stand. Azrael struck again, his fist slamming into the man’s stomach with a force that made you wince.

You knew Azrael by reputation. Gotham’s citizens called him the Angel of Vengeance, a ruthless, unpredictable anti-hero who walked a fine line between justice and violence. He was both feared and revered, his methods harsh enough to unsettle even the most hardened of Gotham’s criminals. The Batfamily had worked with him before, reluctantly, but there had also been times when they clashed, when he took things too far. You knew he wasn’t someone they trusted fully, but that didn’t matter to you. Azrael was strong, he was relentless, and he knew how to fight. If anyone could teach you, it was him.

Fear coursed through your veins as you took a step closer, your heart pounding. You weren’t sure if he’d help you or simply turn you away like the others, but you were willing to take that risk. You’d come too far to turn back now.

Azrael’s movements stilled as he became aware of your presence, his gaze flickering to where you stood, half-hidden in the shadows. His eyes, fierce and intense, locked onto yours, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. There was something dangerous about his gaze, something that made you want to look away, to shrink back into the darkness. But you forced yourself to stand your ground, holding his stare, even as fear twisted in your stomach.

For a moment, he simply watched you, the alley silent save for the faint, labored breathing of the man at his feet. Then, with a low, almost amused tone, he spoke.

“And what,” he drawled, his voice cold and laced with curiosity, “does a child want with someone like me?”

His words cut, sharper than any blade, but you didn’t falter. You met his gaze with defiance, the frustration and anger boiling within you lending you strength. “I’m not a child,” you replied, your voice steady. “I know who you are, Azrael. I know what you do.” You swallowed, forcing yourself to keep your voice calm. “I want you to teach me. I want you to show me how to fight, how to stop people like… like him.” You pointed to the criminal, crumpled and defeated, his blood staining the ground.

Azrael raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable beneath his mask. “You have no idea what you’re asking,” he replied, his tone dismissive. “This isn’t a game, and you aren’t ready for the path I walk.”

His words echoed Bruce’s rejection, a harsh reminder of how everyone around you seemed to think you were weak, incapable, just a child reaching for something you couldn’t grasp. But you weren’t about to back down. Not now. You lifted your chin, squaring your shoulders as you met his gaze head-on.

“I don’t care,” you said, your voice filled with a conviction you hadn’t known you possessed. “I know what I want, and I know what I’m willing to do to get it. The Batfamily… they won’t help me. They think I’m too young, that I don’t understand the risks. But I do.” Your voice wavered slightly, but you forced yourself to continue. “I’ve already lost someone I loved because of Gotham’s criminals. I won’t stand by and let it happen again.”

For a long, agonizing moment, Azrael said nothing, simply watching you with that same piercing gaze. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, each beat echoing in the silence of the alley. Just when you thought he was going to turn you away, he took a step closer, his presence almost overwhelming.

“So, the Bat has denied you,” he mused, his tone soft but laced with dark amusement. “And now you come to me, desperate for someone willing to break his rules.” He tilted his head, studying you intently. 

You gaped at him, stunned. How the hell did he know who you were? How did he know about your connection to the Bats? You’d been so careful to keep your intentions hidden, sneaking around the manor, watching from the shadows, careful to cover your tracks. But here Azrael was, staring down at you with a knowing, almost amused glint in his eyes.

He continued to regard you with that intense gaze, the smallest smirk pulling at the edges of his mouth. “You’re not as invisible as you think,” he said, his voice dark and almost mocking. “I’ve been watching the Bat and his brood for a long time. I know each of them, their strengths and their weaknesses. And you…” He let his words hang in the air, the weight of them pressing down on you like a lead blanket.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to stand firm despite the fear flickering through you. “So you know who I am,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “Then you know I’m serious. I’m not here to play games, and I’m not here because I want their approval.”

Azrael chuckled softly, a low, dangerous sound that sent a chill down your spine. “I know exactly who you are, child. The daughter of the Bat, denied by her own blood, seeking the power they’ve withheld from her.” His eyes gleamed with a twisted amusement as he continued, “You think you’re ready for this life? For the darkness that comes with it?”

You nodded, refusing to let him see the doubt creeping into your heart. “I don’t care about the darkness,” you said firmly. “I just want to stop them—the villains who prey on this city. The ones who took my mother, the ones who keep hurting people. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Azrael’s smirk faded, his expression turning serious. “Very well,” he said after a long pause. “But understand this: I am not like the Bat. I won’t coddle you, and I won’t save you if you fall. The path I offer is ruthless, unforgiving. If you’re truly ready to abandon everything you know, to fight without mercy, then I’ll train you. But if you’re seeking their love, their approval…” He leaned in close, his voice a low, threatening whisper. “You won’t find it here.”

You took a shaky breath, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. But as the fear stirred within you, so did something else—a spark of defiance, a fierce determination that refused to let you back down. You didn’t care if they loved you, if they approved. You were done seeking acceptance from those who refused to see your worth. This wasn’t about them anymore; it was about you, about fulfilling the purpose you felt burning inside you.

“I don’t need anyone’s approval,” you said, your voice hard and unwavering. “I just need the power to make a difference. If that means learning from you, then so be it.”

For a moment, Azrael said nothing, his gaze boring into you as if trying to measure the truth of your words. Finally, he straightened, giving a single, approving nod.

“Then let us begin.”

Training with Azrael was a grueling, relentless journey that stretched over the years, carrying you through the entirety of your adolescence. The first few months were a brutal awakening. Azrael didn’t go easy on you simply because you were young, or because you’d never fought like this before. He was cold, unmoved by the bruises and cuts that covered your skin by the end of each night, indifferent to the fact that you were only eleven. If you struggled to keep up, he didn’t slow down. If you were injured, he didn’t offer you a hand. Every slip, every failure, was your own to bear, and Azrael’s sharp words reminded you that this was the reality of the path you’d chosen.

But you didn’t care. This was the life you’d decided to live, and no amount of pain or exhaustion was going to change that. Gotham was unforgiving, and if you wanted to make any difference, you had to be just as ruthless, just as relentless. Every bruise, every cut, every aching muscle became a badge of honor, proof that you were getting stronger. And through it all, that burning desire for justice kept you going, the memory of your mother’s face propelling you forward.

What hurt more than the bruises or broken bones, though, was returning to Wayne Manor each night, bruised and battered, only to be met with indifference. No one noticed the way you winced when you sat down or the way you limped through the halls. They didn’t see the black eyes, the swollen knuckles, or the way your arm hung awkwardly from a poorly healed fracture. In a family full of vigilantes, it should have been impossible for these things to go unnoticed. But they didn’t care enough to see it.

You’d sit at the dinner table, exhaustion tugging at your eyelids, every muscle aching from the punishment Azrael had put you through, and they would barely spare you a glance. They’d talk among themselves, laugh, share stories of the night’s patrols, while you sat there, a shadow in your own family, barely noticed. There were nights when you were so worn out, you’d nearly fall asleep at the table, your head nodding forward before you caught yourself, but not a single one of them asked if you were okay.

The only person who seemed to notice was Alfred. His eyes, sharp and observant, had picked up on the bruises and the cuts early on, though he’d kept his silence, watching you carefully. It wasn’t until a particularly rough night—one that left you limping, your left arm in a makeshift sling—that he finally confronted you. You’d just slipped in through the back entrance, hoping to make it to your room before anyone noticed, but Alfred was waiting.

He didn’t say a word at first, just looked at you, his gaze filled with a sadness you couldn’t quite understand. Then, gently, he asked, “Miss (Y/N), what are you doing to yourself?”

You wanted to brush him off, to tell him that it was none of his business, that you were fine. But something in his voice, in the kindness and concern that radiated from him, made you pause. For the first time, someone was looking at you, really looking at you, and it made the walls you’d built around yourself crumble, if only a little.

So you told him the truth. You explained everything—your training with Azrael, your desire to make a difference, to protect Gotham from the very villains who’d taken your mother from you. You expected him to lecture you, to try and talk you out of it, just like Bruce and the others had done. But he didn’t. He only looked at you with a deep, understanding sadness, a quiet resignation that spoke volumes.

Alfred nodded, his expression softening. “I understand,” he said quietly, his voice steady and calm. “I’ve seen this path before. Every one of them—Master Bruce, Master Dick, Master Jason… they all chose this life in their own way. I know better than to try and dissuade you.” He paused, then added, almost hesitantly, “But allow me the privilege of tending to your injuries. If you’re determined to do this, the least I can do is make sure you don’t face it alone.”

You hadn’t expected that. But the relief that washed over you at his offer, the warmth of having someone in your corner, was overwhelming. You agreed, and from that night on, whenever you returned home bruised and battered, you’d find Alfred waiting, his medical supplies ready. He’d patch you up, his hands gentle, his words calm and reassuring. He didn’t ask for details, didn’t pry into your training or push you to stop. He simply cared, in the quiet, steady way only Alfred could.

Years passed, each one filled with Azrael’s brutal training. By the time you reached fifteen, you’d transformed. The once-awkward stances and clumsy punches had become fluid, precise. Your body was stronger, leaner, every movement a testament to the grueling hours you’d put in. Azrael’s methods hadn’t softened; if anything, they’d become more intense, pushing you to your limits and then beyond. But now, you could keep up. You could take the hits, dish them out just as fiercely, and stand your ground.

And soon, it wasn’t just training anymore. At fifteen, Azrael took you out into the streets, into the very world you’d been preparing for. The first time you suited up, adrenaline thrummed through your veins, your heart pounding as you followed him into the city’s underbelly. Gotham’s streets were dark, filled with whispers of danger lurking around every corner, but you weren’t afraid. Not anymore.

Azrael’s presence beside you was both a comfort and a reminder of the hard-won strength you’d gained. You moved through alleys, sticking to the shadows, your senses heightened, every instinct honed to a razor’s edge. When the first thug stumbled into your path, you didn’t hesitate. Every lesson, every bruise, every night of training came flooding back as you fought, your movements precise, controlled. Azrael watched, silent and approving, as you took down your opponent with a ruthless efficiency that surprised even you.

The fight left you breathless, exhilarated, and for the first time, you felt like you were truly making a difference. This was what you’d been waiting for—real justice, real action. You didn’t need the Batfamily’s approval; you didn’t need their validation. You had Azrael’s respect, and more importantly, you had your own.

Night after night, you went out with Azrael, each outing sharpening your skills, solidifying your resolve. You became a fixture in Gotham’s shadows, a presence that went unseen, unnoticed by the family that still sat, oblivious, in their mansion. And in those moments, you realized that you didn’t need them to see you. You didn’t need them to care.

You had found your purpose, and that was enough.

Fighting alongside Azrael changed things—not just for you, but for him as well. From the very first patrol, your presence seemed to stir something in him, though neither of you acknowledged it. Azrael was still as unyielding as ever, your training growing even harsher, more relentless, his standards higher now that he knew you could hold your own. Every mistake was met with a fierce rebuke, every slip punished with more drills, more hours of sparring that left you aching and bruised. But there were new moments, subtle ones, that spoke of something shifting between you.

At first, he barely reacted to the injuries you sustained in battle, the bruises and cuts you wore as badges of pride. He would give a passing glance, a critical look, and sometimes a disapproving shake of his head if he thought you’d taken a hit you could have avoided. But over time, Azrael’s indifference softened. When you returned from a fight with a gash on your arm or blood trickling down your temple, he’d sometimes reach out, his fingers brushing over the wound with a gentleness that surprised you. He never said anything, but his eyes held a flicker of concern, a reminder that there was more to him than the cold, ruthless mask he wore.

After a particularly brutal night, when you returned with a deep cut on your shoulder, he wordlessly guided you to sit on an old crate in a forgotten alleyway, his gloved hands working quickly to bandage the wound. His touch was rough but careful, and he barely spoke as he tended to you, his focus solely on ensuring the wound was clean and secure. When he finished, he simply looked at you, his gaze softer than you’d ever seen, before giving a brief nod and turning away, resuming his stoic stance. Yet, something unspoken lingered in the air between you, a sense of understanding that transcended words.

Azrael even began to secretly watch as you made your way back to Wayne Manor after patrols, his eyes tracking your form as you slipped through the shadows. He’d stand in the distance, silent and unseen, until he was sure you’d reached the manor safely. He knew the mansion was filled with people who should have been looking out for you, people who should have noticed the injuries you returned with each night. But they never did, and so he kept watch instead, never letting himself rest until he saw you slip through the manor’s back entrance.

On patrols, he found himself glancing over his shoulder, a habit he couldn’t shake, his gaze searching for the familiar flash of your shadowed figure keeping pace beside him. When you were close, he’d relax, his shoulders easing slightly, the familiar rhythm of your footsteps a comfort in the silence. He grew accustomed to the sound of your voice, the sharp wit and sarcasm that you’d wield even in the middle of a fight. Your quips became a constant, a reminder that you were still there, that he wasn’t fighting alone in the darkness. He’d never admit it, but in some way, you’d become his partner.

One night, as the two of you worked your way through a group of thugs, he caught himself hesitating, his focus momentarily breaking as he looked over to make sure you were holding your own. It was a split-second distraction, but it was enough to remind him of something he hadn’t felt in a long time—worry. Real, genuine worry that something might happen to you, that he might lose you. And he hated it, hated the vulnerability that your presence stirred within him. But he couldn’t deny that it was there.

As the months passed, his concern for you grew harder to ignore. You’d laugh off your injuries, shrugging them away as if they didn’t matter, but Azrael’s eyes would linger on the bruises that marred your skin, on the cuts you’d acquired in your pursuit of justice. He’d bite back comments, his instincts screaming to tell you to be more careful, but he knew that would be hypocritical, coming from someone who’d taught you to be relentless.

He couldn’t help it—there was something about the way you fought, the way you stood your ground, that reminded him of the fire that had once driven him. He couldn’t deny that he was proud, in his own way, of how far you’d come, of the strength you wielded despite everything you’d faced.

But pride was dangerous. Attachment was dangerous. Azrael reminded himself of this every night, yet the habit of watching your back, of ensuring your safety, had rooted itself too deeply. The idea of you getting hurt, of you disappearing from his side, was something he couldn’t bear to dwell on. You were his partner now, in ways he hadn’t intended, hadn’t planned, but there was no turning back.

And so, in the silent shadows of Gotham, the two of you continued your patrols, bound by a shared purpose, an unspoken understanding. You became a fixture in his life, just as he had in yours, two warriors fighting a relentless war in the darkness. Though Azrael would never say it aloud, the sound of your voice, your sarcastic quips, and the mere presence of you by his side had become something he relied on, something he couldn’t imagine patrolling without.

In the end, it wasn’t just you who had changed. Slowly, unknowingly, Azrael had changed too. And as he watched you move through the shadows, his silent protector’s gaze trailing after you each night, he knew he would do whatever it took to keep you safe, to make sure you kept coming back.

Over the years, your presence as Azrael’s partner had grown harder to conceal. The Bats were a perceptive and deeply paranoid bunch, always attuned to the slightest shift in Gotham’s underworld. Whispers of Azrael’s “new recruit” had started circulating, and although you and Azrael kept a low profile, rumors had a way of reaching them. You knew it was only a matter of time before they began digging, their suspicions honing in on the identity of the young vigilante shadowing Gotham’s Angel of Vengeance.

Azrael had done his part to safeguard your anonymity, constructing layers of secrecy around your identity, and ensuring you wore gear that obscured your features, masking your voice and movements just enough. He’d drilled you in maintaining a calm, controlled demeanor, never allowing your expressions to slip. But even with all his precautions, you knew a confrontation with the Bats was inevitable. The city was only so big, and sooner or later, you’d cross paths with them.

And it happened one night, after you and Azrael had finished taking down the last of Falcone’s goons in a deserted warehouse on the city’s outskirts. The fight had been brutal, but you’d emerged victorious, the thugs left groaning and beaten on the cold cement floor. You were catching your breath, wiping a smear of blood from your cheek, when you heard it—the unmistakable thud of boots hitting the ground a few yards away, the familiar sound of vigilantes landing with precision and purpose.

You rolled your eyes, exchanging a glance with Azrael. Of course. It was only a matter of time before they showed up. You turned to face them, your stance casual but ready, every muscle tensed for the inevitable tension that would fill the air. A faint smirk tugged at your lips as you took in the sight of them: Batman, flanked by Nightwing and Red Hood, their dark figures cast in the shadows.

The silence was thick, each side sizing the other up, assessing, waiting. You felt the weight of their scrutiny, their eyes flicking between you and Azrael, clearly suspicious. They knew he’d been working with someone young, but you wondered if they suspected anything deeper—if they’d looked past the armor and caught some glimpse of you, some trace of familiarity. You kept your expression hidden, face covered by your gear, thankful for every layer of secrecy Azrael had drilled into you. They couldn’t know. They couldn’t.

After a tense silence, Batman stepped forward, his voice low and edged with warning. “This stops now. Gotham has enough vigilantes without adding… whatever this is,” he said, casting a dark look toward Azrael. “Both of you need to leave the city, or you’ll be escorted to Arkham.”

Azrael scoffed, unperturbed. “Your threats are as hollow as ever, Batman. My partner and I don’t need your permission to be here.”

You resisted the urge to laugh, watching as Jason—Red Hood—crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing. “So, what’s your deal, then?” he demanded, voice dripping with suspicion. “Why are you two lurking around our city, doing what we do but not half as clean?”

You knew he was baiting you, trying to get a reaction, trying to piece together the puzzle of who you were. But you only shrugged, meeting his gaze without a flicker of fear. “Our motives aren’t your business. We’re just here to get the job done, the way it needs to be done,” you replied, your voice cool, almost bored.

They didn’t know who you were; that much was clear from the way they spoke, the way they circled you both like hunters stalking prey. All they saw was a masked figure, young and apparently reckless, partnered with Gotham’s most unpredictable anti-hero. They couldn’t see the truth hidden beneath the armor, the person they’d dismissed and overlooked, now standing toe-to-toe with them.

Nightwing stepped forward, his gaze fixed on you, his expression a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. “You know this path only leads one way,” he said, his voice softer, almost as if he were trying to reach out. “You’re young—you don’t have to do this. You could leave this all behind.”

You met his gaze, your jaw set. “I know exactly where this path leads,” you replied evenly. “And I’m here because no one else is willing to do what needs to be done.”

Your words drew a glare from Batman, and you could feel the tension rising, the unspoken judgment heavy in the air. They thought they had the moral high ground, thought they were the only ones who understood what Gotham needed. But they hadn’t been there when your mother was killed, hadn’t felt the weight of that loss, the anger that still simmered in your heart. They didn’t know the lengths you’d go to for justice.

You’d killed before, after all. You remembered the first time clearly, the weight of that choice pressing on you as you looked down at the blood on your hands. It had been a serial rapist, a monster hiding behind a thin veneer of humanity, one who’d escaped justice too many times. You hadn’t wanted to kill, not at first. Azrael had left that choice in your hands, knowing that everyone’s morals were their own, knowing that it was a line you had to decide to cross on your own. He’d taught you the techniques, but the decision was yours.

When the moment had come, when the man lay before you, you’d felt something cold and sure settle over you, a calm unlike anything you’d ever experienced. You didn’t feel guilty as you wiped the blood off your hands afterward. Shaken, yes, but not guilty. This man had preyed on innocent lives, and you’d simply done what needed to be done, an act of final justice that the system would never have delivered. And after that, it had become easier. You didn’t kill indiscriminately, only those who truly deserved it, the monsters who would only keep hurting others if left alive.

But Batman didn’t know that. Nightwing didn’t know that. They saw you as just another vigilante, perhaps a misguided kid in over her head. And if you were lucky, that’s all they’d ever see.

Batman’s voice cut through your thoughts, hard and unyielding. “The people of Gotham don’t need killers,” he said, his gaze piercing. “We’ve had enough of that. If you continue down this path, you’ll end up like every other criminal in this city.”

Azrael stepped forward, his presence a silent but powerful force beside you. “You don’t decide what Gotham needs, Batman. My partner and I are here because you refuse to see the truth. Your methods allow these monsters to keep coming back, to hurt more people. We’re just doing what you’re too blinded by your own morals to do.”

For a moment, the silence was so thick it was almost suffocating, the weight of Azrael’s words hanging in the air like a challenge. You glanced between them, wondering if the Batfamily would push further, if they’d try to unmask you, to pry deeper into who you were. But they didn’t. They only stared, a mixture of frustration and disgust flickering in their eyes.

Batman’s jaw clenched, and he nodded once, a silent gesture to his sons. “Leave Gotham,” he said, his voice low, final. “Or next time, we’ll bring you both in.”

You met his gaze, unflinching. “Try if you can.”

With that, you and Azrael turned, melting back into the shadows, leaving the Bats behind. You felt the tension bleed out of your body as you stepped away from their scrutiny, your heart still pounding from the encounter. But even as the adrenaline faded, you knew this wouldn’t be the last time. The Bats would be watching, their eyes always on Gotham’s shadows, waiting for you to slip, waiting for the opportunity to end what they couldn’t control.

But that didn’t matter. You were no longer bound by their rules, their narrow view of justice. You had a purpose, a strength that they’d refused to see, and with Azrael by your side, you’d do what they never could.

Let them watch. Let them try. You had no intention of stopping.

But of course, everything goes to shit.

It was supposed to be a routine night, a normal autumn evening with the air cool and crisp, leaves falling in lazy spirals around Wayne Manor. You’d prepared to head out on patrol, excitement and anticipation humming under your skin, but Azrael had cut those plans short, his tone sharp and unyielding as he demanded you stay home. He’d called it a “training break,” telling you to catch up on schoolwork, to prioritize rest. You’d huffed in annoyance, itching for a night in the city’s shadows, but Azrael had rarely given commands so firmly. Reluctantly, you agreed, figuring it was only one night. Besides, he wouldn’t be in Gotham either; he had his own business to attend to outside the city, matters you weren’t privy to and knew better than to ask about.

It didn’t concern you. After all, the Bats had everything under control. You knew they’d be out that night, chasing down some mysterious new villain. Rumors had spread across the city about a figure who’d been making people vanish, one by one, disappearing without a trace. A “doomsday device” was the word on everyone’s lips, whispered through the underworld with the kind of fear Gotham’s criminals didn’t often feel. But as dangerous as it sounded, the Batfamily had dealt with these threats before, conquered worse odds. You’d seen it yourself. They’d be fine. They always were.

But then, they weren’t.

One day passed, and the manor’s emptiness began to gnaw at you. The Bats should have returned by now, or at the very least, Bruce would have checked in, his usual commands and admonishments filling the quiet halls of Wayne Manor. But there was nothing—no word, no message, no updates on the villain’s capture. The entire city fell eerily silent about their whereabouts. At first, you brushed it off as paranoia, telling yourself they’d just gone dark to gain the upper hand, that this was some intricate plan of Bruce’s. They’d be back any moment, probably annoyed that you’d even worried.

But then another day passed, and that silence turned into dread.

You scoured every news source, every back alley contact, searching for any sign of them, any whisper of their location. But the villain was nowhere to be found, and neither were they. No bodies, no traces, just an agonizing, suffocating absence. You told yourself you didn’t care, that they’d ignored you for years, that their lives weren’t your responsibility. But the lie cracked, shattered under the weight of the fear pressing down on your chest.

You cared. You cared more than you wanted to admit, and the idea that they might be gone, that they might never return… it was a pain you hadn’t prepared for. You knew the Batfamily was all you had left, even if they didn’t see you that way.

Desperation clawed at you, and you pushed yourself to the limit, combing the city for any sign of them, using every resource at your disposal. When Azrael returned, his own worry palpable despite his usual stoicism, the two of you worked tirelessly, searching every inch of Gotham for clues. Night after night, you combed the streets, delving into places you’d never dared to enter, but it was like chasing shadows, like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. They were gone, swallowed by the darkness, and it felt like the city was mocking you with its silence.

Finally, in a last act of desperation, you did something you’d never thought you’d do—you reached out to Oracle. You found your way to her, revealing your identity, setting aside the secrecy you’d worked so hard to maintain. Barbara Gordon was Gotham’s hidden eyes and ears, the information broker for every hero in the city, and if anyone could help, it would be her.

When you stepped into her darkened hideout, her eyes widened as she saw you, recognition dawning on her face as you removed your mask. There was a flicker of shock, of disbelief, but it quickly melted into a deep, quiet understanding. She didn’t ask questions, didn’t demand answers. She simply listened as you poured out everything—the Batfamily’s disappearance, the villain with the “doomsday device,” the empty mansion that had once felt like a cage but now felt like a grave.

Barbara tried everything, exhausting every contact, every source of information. You watched as she worked, her fingers moving over her keyboard with a determined urgency, her eyes flickering across her screens as she searched every corner of Gotham and beyond. But even Oracle, with all her resources and her brilliance, could find nothing. The Batfamily had vanished as if they’d never existed, and all that remained was a haunting silence.

And now, on top of that crushing failure, you were left with the impossible task of explaining their absence to the world. Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s most infamous billionaire, and all his children had vanished without a trace. You spent countless hours fabricating a story, weaving together excuses and alibis to cover their tracks, to keep the world from asking too many questions. A sudden family vacation? A business trip gone wrong? Every explanation felt thin, feeble against the reality of what had happened. You knew it wouldn’t hold forever, but it was all you could do to keep the curious at bay.

The manor felt like a mausoleum, empty and cold, every echo reminding you of the lives that had once filled its halls. The days turned into weeks, each one stretching out longer than the last, and the hope of seeing them again grew fainter with each passing moment. It was a slow, suffocating realization that they might truly be gone, and you were left to fill the void they’d left behind.

Through it all, Azrael stayed by your side, his presence a steady anchor in the whirlwind of grief and desperation. He didn’t offer empty reassurances, didn’t pretend to know what had happened to them. But he was there, silently supporting you as you navigated the nightmare unfolding around you. He helped you cover their tracks, keeping the questions at bay as best he could, his loyalty to you unwavering even as the weight of the city’s suspicion grew heavier.

When you made the choice to step into the Batfamily’s absence, it was less a decision and more a necessity, a duty that fell to you when they vanished. Gotham needed its protectors, and with Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, and Damian all gone, the city had spiraled into chaos faster than you could have anticipated. You were freshly graduated, barely eighteen, but the weight of Gotham’s safety had landed squarely on your shoulders, and there was no time to hesitate.

The nights were long, grueling. Crime rates surged as the city’s criminals sensed weakness, smelling blood in the absence of their most feared vigilantes. You and Azrael fought tirelessly, your bodies and minds stretched to their limits as you did your best to make up for the void left by the Batfamily. You learned quickly that Gotham was unforgiving in its demands, that the city would take everything from you if you let it. But with Azrael, Barbara as Oracle, and Alfred’s quiet support, you managed to scrape by, each of you covering as many corners of Gotham as you could.

Oracle worked around the clock, feeding you intel and watching over you, her presence a comforting reminder that you weren’t alone. Alfred tended to your wounds night after night, patching you up with a care that never faltered, despite his aging hands and weary heart. Azrael remained your rock, his quiet intensity and relentless determination pushing you forward even on the nights when exhaustion made your vision blur.

But despite the combined efforts of the four of you, it was a losing game. No single person could replace the Batfamily’s six. You moved from one crisis to the next, barely holding the line, and every night left you drained, physically and mentally. The weight of the city’s survival lay heavy on your shoulders, and as the months turned into years, that weight only grew, the toll on your body and mind deepening with every sleepless night.

Then, almost four years after their disappearance, something changed. Allies began to emerge, people you never would have expected stepping forward to help. The first to join you was a fire manipulator named Farley. He was a gruff, unassuming man with a hardened exterior and a chip on his shoulder, but his fierce loyalty and willingness to throw himself into the flames, quite literally, made him an invaluable addition. He was a street fighter through and through, rough around the edges, but his fire manipulation skills gave you the edge you desperately needed. Farley became the first comrade you allowed into your small circle, and though you were hesitant to trust at first, his commitment to the fight was unwavering.

Not long after, another figure stepped out of the shadows—a woman named Prudence Wood. She was a former League of Assassins member, a defector who had once fought beside Tim and who knew the intricacies of the League’s training and techniques. Prudence’s arrival felt like a gift. Her quiet strength, her knowledge of deadly techniques, and her shared connection with the Batfamily made her feel like a piece of their legacy had returned, albeit in a different form. She became a steady presence in the team, her skills complementing your own, and she brought a calm, almost meditative energy that helped ground you during the toughest nights.

The last to join your team was perhaps the most unusual. He was a half-demon, half-human being from the depths of Hell itself, seeking redemption for sins you could barely fathom. His name was Belial, and his origins were shrouded in mystery and shadow. His powers were as unsettling as they were useful, his connection to dark magic giving you access to abilities that no Batfamily member had ever wielded. At first, you’d been wary of him, his otherworldly nature a stark contrast to the grounded reality of your mission. But as time passed, Belial’s commitment to his redemption and his fierce loyalty to the team won you over. He was a powerful ally, and you knew that with him at your side, Gotham’s worst threats had met their match.

Together, you forged a new team, an unconventional collection of souls united by purpose and resilience. Farley’s fire manipulation, Prudence’s lethal training, and Belial’s dark magic brought a new strength to your nightly battles, a power that made Gotham’s criminals think twice. Each of them brought something unique to the table, skills and perspectives that enriched your own and made the team stronger as a whole. And despite the grim circumstances that had brought you together, you found yourself growing close to each of them, a bond forming that you hadn’t felt since the Batfamily’s disappearance.

Over the next three years, you and your new allies became a force to be reckoned with. You shared countless nights under Gotham’s starless sky, your lives intertwined by shared battles and quiet conversations in hidden corners of the city. Farley’s gruff humor, Prudence’s quiet wisdom, and Belial’s strange, dark insights became a source of comfort in the constant chaos. They were more than comrades—they were family, in a way you hadn’t expected. And though the Batfamily was still missing, their legacy lived on through you and your team.

Over time, as the years passed and the hope of their return grew dimmer with each empty night, you began to make peace with the idea that the Batfamily was gone. There was a hollow ache in accepting that they were likely never coming back, that whatever had claimed them had done so completely, without leaving even a whisper of their presence behind. The search, the desperate late nights combing through every corner of Gotham for any sign of them, had faded into memory, the sharp edges of grief dulled by time.

It was a slow, agonizing process, coming to terms with their deaths. You’d spent years hoping for their return, clinging to the possibility that one day, Bruce would walk back into Wayne Manor, that Dick would flash that easy smile, that Jason would saunter in with his familiar swagger, or that Tim, Cass, and Damian would each look at you with something other than cold dismissal. For so long, you’d carried a sliver of hope that maybe, if they returned, things would be different. Maybe they’d finally see you, finally accept you as one of them, as family.

But that dream was gone, buried under the weight of the years that had passed. You made peace with the knowledge that they would never return, that the family you’d once hoped would love you was gone forever. They had died without ever truly knowing you, without ever sharing the bond you’d yearned for. It was a grief of its own—a quiet mourning not just for their lives, but for the connection you’d never had, the family that could have been but never was.

You didn’t resent them anymore. That, too, had faded, the anger you’d once felt dissolving into a bittersweet acceptance. In the end, they’d all chosen their paths, and you had chosen yours. You couldn’t change the past, couldn’t rewrite the years you’d spent as an outsider looking in. Instead, you carried their memory with you, honoring them not as the family you’d longed for, but as Gotham’s protectors, as the legacy they’d left behind.

And in their absence, you had found a new family. Azrael, Alfred, Barbra, Farley, Prudence, and Belial—each of them had become a part of you, filling the empty spaces that the Batfamily had left behind. You hadn’t expected it, hadn’t thought you’d ever find people who understood you, who stood beside you with the same fierce loyalty you’d once hoped for from Bruce and the others. But somehow, in the darkness of Gotham, you had built a new bond, one forged through battles and shared purpose, one that went deeper than blood.

With each passing year, the memories of the Batfamily became less a source of pain and more a quiet strength. You’d come to terms with their deaths, with the family that never was, and you let that peace settle over you like a quiet, comforting weight. You fought for them, for the city they’d left behind, and for the family you had found in their absence.

And each night, as you and your new allies stepped into the shadows to protect Gotham, you carried the memory of the Batfamily with you—not as ghosts haunting your past, but as part of the legacy you had chosen to uphold, a legacy you honored in your own way, with a new family by your side.

Life had finally found a rhythm. You had a home in Gotham’s shadows, a family forged from loyalty and trust, and a love you hadn’t dared to dream of. At twenty-five, you were a seasoned fighter, a sharp mind, and an equal among your allies. The Batfamily was gone, and in the seven years since their disappearance, you’d built something meaningful in their absence. Gotham had remained under watch, protected by you, Azrael, Farley, Prudence, and, of course, Belial. Belial, with his piercing gaze, blond hair, and that quietly intense smile, had woven himself into your life, your heart. Though his half-demon nature had initially caused Azrael to bristle, his love and loyalty had proven themselves time and again. You and Belial had been inseparable, partners on and off the field, weathering Gotham’s dark nights together. Five years with him had taught you a love you’d never known, one deepened by battle and softened by quiet moments stolen between missions.

And on this particular day, life was as settled as it could be. You and Belial were nestled in the Batcave, sifting through case files with the comfortable ease that came from years of partnership. He sat beside you, close enough that his warmth seeped into your side, his hand occasionally brushing yours as he reached for a file or leaned over to read your notes. The hum of the Batcave’s machinery was a familiar backdrop, a steady reminder of the legacy you carried on with your team.

But that quiet moment was shattered in an instant.

Without warning, a portal tore open in the middle of the Batcave, swirling with shades of blue and purple, casting eerie shadows across the walls. The air rippled with an unnatural energy, a hum that sent every nerve in your body on edge. You and Belial exchanged a glance, both of you immediately rising, instincts kicking in as you moved into a defensive stance. You reached for a weapon, your fingers wrapping around its familiar grip, as your heart pounded with a mixture of fear and readiness.

Belial’s hand brushed yours, his gaze intense as he murmured, “Stay close. We don’t know what’s coming through.”

Nodding, you pressed a button on the console to alert your allies, sending a silent distress signal that would bring everyone to your location. The portal twisted and writhed, growing brighter, until the air itself seemed to crackle with tension. You braced yourself, every muscle taut, ready to face whatever threat was emerging from the other side.

But nothing could have prepared you for what stepped out.

The first figure to appear was unmistakable. Tall, dark, clad in the iconic silhouette of Gotham’s legendary vigilante. Your father. Bruce Wayne. Batman. His face was as you remembered it, hardened and intense, his eyes sharp as they swept over the Batcave. For a brief, breathless moment, his gaze locked onto yours, a flicker of surprise and something unreadable flashing across his face.

Your mind spun, reeling from the impossible reality before you. Bruce Wayne was here, in the flesh, standing in the very cave you’d assumed he’d never return to. And then, one by one, the others stepped through. Dick, with his familiar, confident stance. Jason, tense and wary. Tim, his eyes calculating, scanning every detail of the scene. Cass, silent as a shadow, and Damian, gaze fierce as ever.

They all fell into defensive stances, mirroring Bruce’s position as they took in the sight of you and Belial, their expressions a mixture of suspicion, confusion, and—though they tried to mask it—discomfort.

“What—” Bruce started, his voice a low rumble filled with authority and barely veiled surprise. “Who are you?”

His words struck a nerve, a surge of anger and disbelief surging through you. After all these years, after everything you’d done to protect Gotham in their absence, he didn’t even recognize you.

“Who am I?” you echoed, your voice steady but edged with the weight of seven years’ worth of pain, frustration, and resilience. “I’m the one who’s been keeping this city safe since you disappeared. I’m the one who stepped up when you all left.”

Their expressions shifted, flickers of recognition and confusion mingling as they processed your words. You could see the realization beginning to dawn in their eyes, a faint glimmer of understanding that perhaps they’d missed something important in your life all those years ago.

Bruce’s gaze settled on you, his brow furrowing as he took in your stance, your confidence, the strength that had been hard-won over countless nights spent protecting Gotham. There was a pause, a beat of silence, before he spoke again, his tone low, measured.

“(Y/N)?” he asked, almost as though he couldn’t believe it. The name sounded foreign on his lips, a reminder of the years he’d spent without you, the years he’d spent not knowing the person you’d become.

“Yes, Bruce,” you replied, using his name deliberately, the formality almost a barrier between you. “It’s me.”

His face flickered with something unreadable—guilt, perhaps, or regret—but it was buried beneath his stoic mask. The others looked between you and him, expressions ranging from shock to disbelief. Damian, the youngest, had a look of barely masked surprise, while Tim seemed to be calculating, piecing together the years that had passed in their absence. Jason’s gaze was darker, wary as he glanced at Belial, his hand instinctively shifting closer to his weapon.

Belial, by your side, shifted slightly, his fingers tightening around the handle of his own weapon, his eyes trained on the Batfamily with the same intensity they regarded him. You felt his presence like a steady anchor, his loyalty a silent reassurance that no matter what happened next, you wouldn’t face it alone.

“So,” you said, your tone sharper than you intended, as you looked each of them in the eye. “Seven years gone without a word, without any trace. And now you all just… come back, through a portal, like nothing happened?”

Bruce straightened, his jaw tightening as he replied, “It wasn’t our choice. We didn’t want to leave.” He glanced at the portal behind him, as if the memories of wherever they’d been still haunted him. “We were pulled into another dimension—a place we couldn’t escape from until now.”

His words settled in, a quiet revelation that explained the years of silence, the absence that had left a scar you’d learned to live with. But even so, the years hadn’t erased the bitterness, the feeling of abandonment that had lingered in the shadowed corners of your heart.

“And in your absence, we took care of Gotham,” you replied, gesturing to the Batcave around you, to the files and tech you’d been using to keep the city safe. “We kept the legacy going. We fought for this city every night. You were gone, but Gotham didn’t fall apart, because we didn’t let it.”

Nightwing looked at you, his expression softening as he took in the person you’d become, someone who had clearly filled the role they’d left behind. “You… you really stepped up, didn’t you?”

You gave a tight nod. “We didn’t have a choice.”

As the silence settled between you all, Bruce’s gaze drifted to Belial, his expression guarded. “And who is he?”

Belial held his ground, meeting Bruce’s gaze with calm defiance. “I’m her partner. Belial.” His voice was steady, and there was a subtle edge to it, a challenge in the way he looked at Bruce, at all of them. He shifted slightly closer to you, a protective instinct that hadn’t dulled in all the years you’d been together.

Bruce’s eyes narrowed, and you could see the silent tension brewing between him and Belial, an unspoken judgment lingering in his gaze. Azrael had never fully accepted your relationship with Belial, and you knew Bruce would likely follow suit. But that didn’t matter to you—not anymore. Belial was your partner, your equal, someone who’d stood by you through the darkest of nights when your own family had been nowhere to be found.

After a beat of silence, you spoke up, your voice steady and unyielding. “You might be back, but things have changed. I have a team now. We’ve been holding Gotham together while you were gone, and we’ll continue to protect it with or without you.”

The Batfamily exchanged glances, each of them processing the reality of your words, the truth of the world they’d returned to. You saw the mixture of shock, guilt, and maybe even a glimmer of respect in their eyes as they looked at you, at the life you’d built in their absence.

They might have been your blood, the family you’d once longed to belong to, but now you knew where you stood. You had a family of your own, one you’d built through trust, loyalty, and love. And if the Batfamily wanted to return to Gotham, they would have to understand that they were stepping into your world now.

It struck you as you looked each of them over—they hadn’t aged. Bruce’s face was still as you remembered it, only a few years older than the day he’d disappeared. Dick’s familiar grin was there, though now softened with an edge of experience. Jason looked as he always had, the same fierce determination in his eyes, and Tim’s face was only slightly sharper, not worn by the years you had endured. Even Damian, who had been so young when he left, had only grown by a few inches, looking no older than sixteen. They looked as if only a few years had passed, as if they’d merely been gone on an extended mission.

Meanwhile, you stood before them as an adult, a full-grown woman of twenty-five, your face etched with the hard-won experience of seven relentless years. The weight of Gotham’s burden had left its marks—your gaze was steadier, sharper, and your stance carried the strength and weariness of someone who had spent nearly a decade fighting to keep the city from falling apart. You had grown into yourself, each year stretching the distance between you and the family you’d once longed for.

The contrast was jarring, and as their eyes took in the person you’d become. They hadn’t been there to watch you grow, hadn’t seen the countless battles, the nights spent in Gotham’s brutal streets. They’d vanished when you were barely eighteen, fresh out of high school, and now you stood before them as a seasoned vigilante, a protector of Gotham with years of hard experience under your belt.

Bruce’s gaze lingered on you the longest, a hint of regret buried deep in his expression, though his stoic mask remained in place. Perhaps he was realizing the years he’d missed, the memories he’d forfeited, the child he’d left behind now standing before him as a stranger.

You squared your shoulders, lifting your chin as you met his gaze without a hint of the insecurity that had once plagued you. “You don’t get to come back and expect everything to be the same,” you said, your voice steady. “Seven years have passed for us. We’ve lived through each of those days, we’ve fought through them. While you were gone, the city was in chaos. I fixed that. We fixed that.”

Dick’s eyes softened as he took you in, his expression tinged with something you couldn’t quite place—pride, maybe, mixed with sadness. “I… I didn’t realize,” he murmured, glancing at the others as if only now fully understanding the weight of what they’d missed.

Jason looked you over, a slight frown creasing his brow. “Seven years… and you took over?” he asked, a faint hint of skepticism in his voice, but it wasn’t derisive, merely… unsure, as if he couldn’t fully grasp the idea of the little girl he’d ignored now standing in the role he’d once held.

You nodded, unflinching. “Yes. We took over.” You glanced at Belial, who stood beside you, his protective gaze fixed on the Batfamily, his presence a reminder that the life you’d built was real, solid, no longer tied to their approval or acceptance.

Tim looked at you, his eyes calculating, piecing together the years they’d lost and the family you’d built in their place. “You… really became a vigilante?”

“Not alone,” you admitted, gesturing toward Belial. “I had help. People who chose to stay, who chose to fight for Gotham even when everything seemed lost.” You spoke with pride, with conviction, knowing that every ally who had joined your side had done so not because of blood or obligation but because they believed in the mission you’d carried on in the Batfamily’s absence.

Bruce’s expression darkened, his gaze flickering to Belial. “And he’s part of that?” he asked, his tone laced with a judgment that grated against you, a reminder of the family’s former refusal to see you, to accept your choices.

“Yes,” you replied firmly, your voice hardening as you met his gaze. “Belial is part of this. He’s been by my side, helping me protect Gotham while you were gone,” you added, reaching for Belial’s hand and lacing your fingers with his, a small but defiant gesture. “A demon.” Bruce says skeptically. “He’s my partner. My choice.” You glower.

The reaction was immediate. Bruce’s jaw clenched, his expression stony as he took in the sight of you and Belial standing together, side by side, as equals. Jason’s eyes narrowed, glancing between you and Belial with a wary intensity, while Damian’s brows drew together, the faintest trace of confusion and surprise in his gaze. But you didn’t care what they thought anymore. Belial was yours, your partner in every sense, and if they couldn’t accept that, it was their problem, not yours.

After a long silence, Bruce finally spoke, his voice quieter but no less firm. “We didn’t choose to leave you behind, (Y/N). The years that passed… they weren’t ours to live.”

You felt a pang in your chest, the faintest echo of the pain that had once torn through you, but you buried it, letting the resolve you’d built over the years take hold. “Maybe not,” you said, voice steady. “But those years are gone. I lived them. I grew up without you. And now…” You glanced around the Batcave, the familiar surroundings now a testament to everything you had overcome, everything you had protected. “Now, Gotham is my responsibility. Ours. If you’re back, you’ll have to accept that.”

The Batfamily exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them. You could see the struggle in their eyes, the difficulty of reconciling the image of the child they’d left behind with the adult standing before them now, someone they didn’t know, someone they’d never had the chance to understand.

Dick stepped forward, his gaze filled with something close to admiration, tinged with regret. “You really stepped up,” he said quietly, a faint, bittersweet smile on his lips. “We couldn’t have asked for anyone better.”

You managed a nod, the praise unexpected but appreciated, a sign that at least one of them saw what you had become, what you had done in their place. Bruce held your gaze, the faintest flicker of emotion in his eyes—a silent acknowledgment of the person you’d become, of the strength he hadn’t seen in you all those years ago. “Then we’ll have to find a way to work together,” he said, the words measured but tinged with the unspoken weight of the years you’d both lived separately.

You didn’t respond right away, instead glancing at Belial, his hand still wrapped in yours, his steady presence a reminder of the family you’d built without them. You’d make room for them if they proved themselves, if they understood that Gotham no longer belonged to them alone. But you would do so on your terms, not theirs.

“Maybe,” you said after a long pause, your voice calm, steady. “But things won’t go back to the way they were. Gotham’s changed. I’ve changed. And if you want to be a part of this city again, you’ll have to accept that.”

As they stood before you, silent and contemplative, you knew they felt the shift, understood that the years hadn’t just changed you—they’d transformed Gotham itself, and now, if they wanted to protect it, they’d have to learn to do so in a city you had saved, in a world that was yours to command.

The tension in the Batcave was already thick, a charged silence stretching between you and the newly returned vigilanties. But that silence was shattered as the secret entrance swung open, and your team flooded in, responding to the emergency signal you’d sent out when the portal first appeared.

Azrael entered first, his intense gaze scanning the room, his hand already reaching for his weapon as he took in the unfamiliar figures. Prudence followed, her stance guarded but fluid, her eyes narrowing as they locked onto the intruders, her body ready to strike. Farley was last, his fists igniting with flickers of flame as he took up a position beside Azrael, a fierce, almost feral look in his eyes. Each of them was prepared for a fight, but they paused when they heard you shout.

“Hold!” you called, your voice echoing through the cavern as you raised a hand, stepping between your team and the Batfamily. “It’s… not what it looks like.” You looked at each of them in turn, silently urging them to trust you, to stand down.

Prudence’s eyes shifted to Tim, recognition flickering in her gaze as she took him in, and you saw the surprise reflected in Tim’s face as he looked back at her. Their eyes met for a long, lingering moment, a silent acknowledgment of their shared history, and a faint, bittersweet smile tugged at the corner of Prudence’s mouth. But as Tim’s gaze slid from Prudence to Azrael, you felt the weight of everyone’s attention shift.

The room went quiet again as they all stared at Azrael, suspicion and unease flickering across the Batfamily’s faces. Azrael met their gazes head-on, his expression a defiant mask, his posture unyielding. He hadn’t wavered in his commitment to you, to Gotham, but you could sense the animosity radiating from the Batfamily, a history that hadn’t faded despite the years that had passed.

Bruce’s voice broke the silence, his tone hard, edged with years of mistrust. “What is he doing here?”

You felt the weight of his question settle over you, a reminder of the complex, uneasy relationship between Azrael and the Batfamily. You knew they saw him as a loose cannon, someone who operated outside their carefully crafted code, someone who had once clashed with them over his ruthless approach to justice. But to you, Azrael was something else entirely. He was the one who had trained you, who had stood by you when no one else would, who had become your mentor and your closest ally in a world that had left you to fend for yourself.

Steeling yourself, you met Bruce’s gaze, your voice firm and unwavering. “He’s with me,” you said, leaving no room for argument. “Azrael has been here for me from the beginning. He trained me when you all were gone, he fought by my side when Gotham was falling apart. He’s helped me in more ways than I can even begin to explain.”

The Batfamily exchanged glances, their wariness only growing as they processed your words. Jason’s gaze darkened, his eyes narrowing as he looked Azrael over. “So, while we were gone, you decided to bring him into the family?” he asked, his tone sharp, as if the very idea was an insult.

You held your ground, squaring your shoulders. “Yes, Jason. I did. Because when you all disappeared, I had no one else. Azrael believed in me when no one else did. He trained me, supported me. He’s part of this team—my team.”

Azrael remained silent, but you felt his steady presence beside you, a quiet but powerful reminder of the bond you’d forged over the years. He didn’t need to defend himself to them; he’d proven his loyalty to you a hundred times over, in ways they would never understand. And though his expression remained stoic, you could see a faint flicker of something in his eyes—pride, perhaps, or maybe a quiet satisfaction that you’d chosen to defend him, to stand by him despite the Batfamily’s obvious disapproval.

Tim shifted uncomfortably, glancing between you and Azrael, his brows furrowing as he tried to reconcile the person he remembered with the person you’d become. “You… really went to him for help?” he asked, his tone softer, almost hesitant, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

You nodded, your gaze steady. “I didn’t have a choice, Tim. When you all vanished, Gotham didn’t wait. Crime surged, people were dying, and I had to step up. Azrael was the only one who was there for me. He taught me what I needed to know, helped me become strong enough to protect the city.” You glanced at Azrael, a faint, grateful smile tugging at your lips. “He’s family.”

Bruce’s expression hardened, a mixture of disbelief and frustration flickering in his eyes. “Azrael’s methods have always been… extreme,” he said, his tone laced with the judgment that had kept you at arm’s length for so many years. “He’s not—”

“He’s not you,” you interrupted, meeting his gaze with a defiance you hadn’t shown him before. “And maybe that’s what Gotham needed. Maybe that’s what I needed. I had to grow up fast, Bruce. I didn’t have time to sit around and wait for you all to come back. Azrael gave me the strength to protect this city, to carry on when everything felt like it was falling apart.”

The Batfamily fell silent, their eyes flicking between you and Azrael, the unspoken tension hanging thick in the air. Prudence stepped closer to you, her hand brushing your shoulder in a silent show of support, while Farley stood beside Azrael, a hint of defiance in his stance as he faced the Batfamily.

It was clear that they didn’t understand, that they couldn’t grasp the loyalty, the bond, that had grown between you and Azrael over the years. They saw him as a weapon, a force they couldn’t control, but to you, he was family—a mentor, a partner in every way that mattered. He’d filled the role they’d left empty, and he’d done so without question, without expecting anything in return.

Bruce’s gaze shifted to Azrael, his expression unreadable as he took in the man who had stepped into his place, who had shaped the person you’d become. “So, you trained her,” he said, his voice a low murmur that held both accusation and reluctant acknowledgment.

Azrael met his gaze, his own eyes steady, unyielding. “I did,” he replied simply, his tone calm but resolute. “Because she needed someone who was willing to believe in her potential, someone who didn’t see her as a child.” He glanced at you, his expression softening in a way that was rare for him. “She’s proven herself, time and again. She’s more than capable, and I would trust her with my life.”

The weight of Azrael’s words hung in the air, a testament to the bond you’d forged, to the trust that had carried you through the darkest years. For a moment, the Batfamily seemed to falter, a flicker of uncertainty crossing their faces as they absorbed the reality of the person you’d become, the family you’d built in their absence.

Nightwing broke the silence, his tone softer, filled with a hesitant respect. “It sounds like you did good,” he said quietly, his gaze steady as he looked at you. “Even if we don’t fully understand it… you kept Gotham safe. You stepped up.”

You nodded, your voice steady as you replied, “I did what had to be done. And I’m not the person I was when you left. Azrael is part of my family now, and if you want to be a part of my life, you’ll have to accept that.”

The Batfamily exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them. You could see the struggle in their eyes, the tension of reconciling their memories of you with the person you’d become, the life you’d built without them. But for the first time, they seemed to understand that they weren’t stepping back into the family they’d left behind—they were stepping into a new world, one where you held the reins, one where you defined the rules.

Bruce gave a slow nod, his gaze lingering on you before shifting to Azrael, a silent acknowledgment that carried the weight of years of history and judgment. “Then we’ll have to find a way to work together,” he said, his voice quieter, less certain, but laced with an acceptance he hadn’t shown before.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle over you, the recognition of a new beginning, a tentative bridge between the family you’d once lost and the family you’d found in their absence. It wouldn’t be easy, you knew. The past wouldn’t vanish overnight, and the tension between the Batfamily and Azrael was still palpable. But for the first time, there was a glimmer of hope, a possibility of blending the old with the new.

As the Batfamily stood before you, taking in the person you’d become and the team that surrounded you, something unspoken simmered beneath the surface, a puzzle they were only beginning to piece together. You could see it in their eyes, the glances they exchanged, the faint looks of suspicion they cast your way. Something about you, your stance, the quiet confidence you exuded, was triggering old memories. Memories of nights spent chasing shadows, hunting down an enigmatic young partner who had fought by Azrael’s side years ago—a partner whose identity they had never been able to uncover.

In those days, you had operated under their radar, your true identity carefully concealed as you trained under Azrael’s brutal mentorship. You’d learned to mask your movements, to cover your tracks so meticulously that even the Batfamily, with all their resources, hadn’t managed to pin you down. They’d called you many things over the years—a ghost, an enigma, the young shadow who had stood by Azrael’s side with a fierce loyalty that they couldn’t understand. To them, you had been a mystery, someone they couldn’t fully control or predict, and they’d spent countless nights trying to bring you in, to discover who you were and what drove you.

But now, as they took you in, realization began to dawn in their eyes, piece by agonizing piece. Tim was the first to falter, his eyes narrowing as he looked you over, his sharp mind already piecing together details that others might have missed. The stance, the controlled posture, the barely visible scars tracing your arms—familiar but unplaceable until now. You saw the flash of recognition in his gaze, the widening of his eyes as he finally made the connection.

“Wait… you were…” Tim’s voice trailed off, disbelief flickering across his face as he glanced between you and Azrael. “You were his partner?”

You held his gaze, neither confirming nor denying, letting the weight of your silence speak for itself. The truth hung heavy in the air, the realization settling over them like a slow-building storm. The enigma they’d spent years hunting, the partner who had been a constant thorn in their side, had been you all along. The person they had tried so hard to track down, to bring to justice or at least understand, had been right under their noses, living in the same house, watching them as they went about their missions, unknowing of the life you were leading in secret.

Jason’s expression shifted, a mixture of shock and irritation twisting his features as he looked at you, then at Azrael. “Are you kidding me?” he muttered, his tone sharp, almost incredulous. “All those years, we were chasing you? We were trying to figure out who this ‘mystery vigilante’ was, and it was you?”

You shrugged, allowing a faint, almost amused smile to cross your lips. “You never really gave me much of a choice. I had to work in the shadows, away from you all. Azrael… he was the only one who believed in me enough to let me fight.”

Bruce’s face tightened, a flash of something that looked like betrayal flickering across his features. He had dedicated nights, weeks, perhaps months, to tracking you and Azrael, believing the two of you to be rogue elements disrupting the carefully maintained order he’d established in Gotham. He’d sent teams after you, had pulled strings to uncover your identity, always coming up empty-handed. And now, standing in front of him, was the very enigma he had hunted, the daughter he had left behind.

“You,” he said slowly, his voice tinged with a mix of anger and disbelief. “You were the one working with Azrael. You were the one we were hunting down.”

Your heart clenched at the hint of hurt in his tone, but you pushed it aside, refusing to let his reaction shake you. “Yes, I was,” you replied, meeting his gaze with unwavering resolve. “Because while you were gone, I didn’t have anyone else. I didn’t have the luxury of waiting around, hoping you’d come back. Gotham was falling apart, and someone had to step up. Azrael gave me that chance.”

Nightwing, usually the peacekeeper, ran a hand through his hair, looking at you with a strange blend of admiration and disbelief. “All this time,” he murmured, a faint, rueful smile tugging at his lips. “We thought you were some kind of vigilante ghost… and it was you, hiding right under our noses.”

Damian, who had once viewed you as an outsider in the family, stared at you with a newfound respect mingling with suspicion. “You really fought with Azrael all these years?” he asked, his tone quieter, almost reluctant to admit that he was impressed.

You nodded, a faint smile playing at your lips as you glanced at Azrael, who stood tall and unwavering beside you. “Every night. We kept Gotham safe, fought the battles you weren’t there to fight. And yes, we made decisions you might not agree with. But we did what we had to.”

The Batfamily exchanged glances, their expressions a mixture of confusion, disbelief, and a slow, reluctant respect. The person they’d dismissed as a child, the person they’d ignored and brushed aside, had been the very vigilante they’d spent years hunting. And now, they had no choice but to acknowledge the reality of who you’d become, of the life you’d led without them.

Bruce’s gaze shifted to Azrael, the tension between them palpable, a reminder of the long-standing animosity that had simmered beneath the surface for years. “And you encouraged this?” he asked, his tone hard, accusatory. “You brought my daughter into a life of violence and danger, knowing what it would cost her?”

Azrael met Bruce’s gaze unflinchingly, his voice calm, unyielding. “I didn’t ‘bring’ her into anything,” he replied. “(Y/N) made her own choice, and I respected it. I trained her, yes. I taught her to survive, to protect herself. Because she had the strength, the determination, and the will that none of you ever saw. I simply gave her the tools to become who she already was.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with the truth that the Batfamily hadn’t wanted to see. You had been left alone, a child in need of guidance, and when they hadn’t been there, Azrael had stepped in, offering you the mentorship and support they had denied. He hadn’t forced you into this life; he’d simply recognized the fire within you, the desire to make a difference, and had given you the chance to prove yourself.

Jason’s face softened, a reluctant acknowledgment flickering in his eyes as he looked at you. “Guess you did good, then,” he said, a hint of grudging respect in his tone. “You kept Gotham safe. You kept… us safe, even when you didn’t have to.”

Tim nodded, his gaze shifting between you and Azrael, a mixture of regret and admiration in his eyes. “We underestimated you,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “I… I underestimated you. I thought you were just a kid, someone who didn’t understand what this life takes. But you’ve proven us all wrong.”

You felt a flicker of satisfaction at their words, a sense of closure that had been a long time coming. You had spent years in the shadows, fighting alongside Azrael, working tirelessly to protect the city they had left behind. And now, standing before them, you knew that they finally saw you for who you were—a fighter, a protector, someone who had risen from the ashes of abandonment to become a force in her own right.

Bruce’s gaze softened, the faintest glimmer of remorse in his eyes as he looked at you, truly seeing you for the first time. “You kept Gotham safe,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent. “And you kept… my legacy alive. I should have seen it sooner.”

You met his gaze, a mixture of emotions swirling within you—bitterness, pride, and a quiet acceptance. “Maybe you should have,” you replied, your voice steady, but softened by the years of distance and pain that had settled into something like peace. “But that doesn’t matter now. I did what I had to do, and I don’t regret any of it.”

The Batfamily looked at you, no longer with the wary suspicion they’d once held, but with something deeper—a reluctant admiration, an acknowledgment of the strength you’d earned through blood, sweat, and unrelenting resilience. They finally understood that you were no longer the child they’d left behind but a warrior in your own right, someone who had carved her own path in the shadowed streets of Gotham.

And as you stood there, flanked by Azrael, Belial, and your team, you knew that you had proven yourself, not only to them but to yourself. You were no longer the enigma they had hunted, the partner they’d misunderstood. You were a force of your own, a protector of Gotham, and the family you’d chosen stood beside you, ready to defend the city they’d fought to keep safe.

“So,” Dick broke the silence, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced between the Batcomputer and the war table, his tone uncertain. “What exactly are we supposed to do now?”

You exhaled hard, dragging a hand down your face. It felt like you’d aged another seven years in the last ten minutes. Your brain was already churning with logistics and impossibilities: Gotham’s legal system, Bruce’s estate, the sudden reappearance of not just one billionaire but six high-profile individuals—most of whom had been declared legally dead. Not to mention the return of Batman and his entire team of vigilantes after nearly a decade of silence.

This was a mess.

A mess you were now responsible for.

Your gaze drifted to Dick, who now looked almost exactly your age—maybe younger by a few months. That alone made your head spin. You were once a teenager desperate for his attention, for any sibling-like bond he might throw your way. Now you were his peer, even more seasoned in some areas. Older. Harder. And definitely more tired.

You pinched the bridge of your nose and muttered, “I’ll— I’ll get Alfred down here. He’ll help figure this mess out. He’s better at this.”

Before you could move toward the comms, Bruce raised a hand. “Hold up.”

You turned to face him, but your patience was already razor-thin. “No. I’m going to stop you right here,” you said, voice flat and sharp. “You’ve been gone for seven years, Bruce. Seven. Gotham is not the same place you left. The streets are different. The alliances are different. Hell, even the laws are different.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt, letting you speak.

“You can’t just pop back in and pick up where you left off. None of you can. You’ll need help—and time—integrating back into this world.” You folded your arms, leveling your gaze across the room. “You’ve missed everything.”

“I assume that means we won’t be able to patrol,” Tim said quietly, though it was clearly more statement than question.

You nodded. “No, not yet. Not for a while. We need to get your civilian identities sorted first. Bruce Wayne’s reappearance alone is going to break the internet. The public thinks you're dead. Your assets are frozen, your accounts legally inactive. You’re going to need new paperwork, a proper reentry strategy. And even then, we’ll have to be careful.”

Bruce nodded, stoic as ever, but at least receptive. You could see him already calculating, that old strategist brain whirring behind his eyes.

Damian, however, made a sharp noise of denial, stepping forward with narrowed eyes. “That’s ridiculous. I’m ready. I’ve always been ready. I’m not going to sit on the sidelines like some weak civilian while Gotham bleeds.”

“Damian,” you said, tone calm but firm, “you don’t know this Gotham anymore. None of you do. You were gone long enough for people to move on. For new threats to rise. New dynamics. You can’t just walk back in and expect the city to fall back in line. It’s not going to work like that.”

Jason scoffed under his breath. “She’s not wrong.”

“I know I’m not wrong,” you shot back. “And trust me, I’d love nothing more than to hand the reins back to someone else and get a vacation for once. But we don’t have that luxury. The world kept spinning without you. Gotham changed. I changed.”

You looked at Bruce, gaze softening just a little—not out of pity, but out of truth. “I want you back in the field. I do. But we have to do it right. Or it’ll fall apart faster than it did the first time.”

Bruce studied you, his eyes sharp but no longer combative. “Then we’ll do it your way,” he said finally.

That caught even you off guard. You blinked, feeling the weight of the moment settle in your chest.

“Alfred’s coming down,” you said after a pause, your voice quieter. “He’ll help. He always does.”

And in your heart, you hoped that maybe—just maybe—Alfred could help you make sense of the fact that the past had just walked through a portal into your present… and now you were the one holding the city’s future.

Alfred arrived faster than you’d ever seen him move, a rare urgency in his normally composed steps. The usual quiet dignity he carried was frayed around the edges, replaced by something rawer, deeper. You didn’t need to ask why—Alfred had never truly recovered from losing Bruce and the others. He had held the manor together after their disappearance, held you together in your early days with Azrael, but you’d seen the cracks in his composure over the years. The empty places at the dinner table. The faint pause every time he passed by their old rooms. He hadn’t just lost the family he served—he’d lost the children he raised. His boys. His girl.

And now they stood before him, alive and flesh and real.

The moment Alfred stepped into the Batcave and laid eyes on Bruce, his posture broke. The tray of supplies he carried was lowered carefully to the floor, forgotten entirely as his expression trembled.

“Oh… oh, my boy…” Alfred whispered, voice catching, cracking under the weight of a thousand unsaid things.

“Alfred,” Bruce said softly, and it was the most human you’d heard him sound in… maybe ever.

They crossed the space like the ground itself didn’t matter. The hug was tight, not stoic, not brief. Bruce clung to Alfred like a son who had finally come home, and Alfred’s eyes closed as he held him, silent tears running down his face.

You watched it for only a moment before your throat tightened.

You turned away.

They needed that moment. They belonged in it. You didn’t. You were part of this place, but not that part. That was their story, their bond. The reunion of a family shattered and stitched back together by time and fate. You were just the one who'd kept the lights on while they were gone.

You walked back to where Prudence and Farley stood off to the side. Their expressions were mixed—surprise, discomfort, maybe a little awe.

You gave them a small, tired smile. “You guys can leave if you want. I get it. This… isn’t really your moment.”

Farley didn’t even hesitate. “Thank God,” he muttered, already making his way toward the exit with the hurried gait of someone who desperately wanted to escape the emotional gravity in the room. “You know I don’t do the whole ‘group hug and cry’ thing. This is all you.”

You snorted despite the ache in your chest.

You turned to Prudence, who hadn't moved. She stood still, arms crossed, her gaze trained on the Batfamily with an unreadable expression. When you met her eyes, she only raised an eyebrow.

“You staying?”

Her eyes flicked briefly to Tim, who was quietly speaking with Cass on the other side of the room. “We’ve got history,” she said simply, and you could see it—her curiosity, her caution, and maybe… hope. She wasn't a sentimental person, not really, but you knew Tim had meant something to her once.

“Alright,” you murmured. “Just… don’t stab anyone unless they stab first.”

“No promises,” she said dryly.

You chuckled and turned to Azrael, who stood in his usual silent place behind you like a wall of conviction. He hadn’t moved an inch since the moment the Bats returned, but you felt his gaze on you, watchful as always.

“You could leave too,” you offered gently, though you already knew the answer.

Azrael didn’t speak, just gave you a look—a long, unwavering stare that said more than any words. I’m not leaving you.

You gave him a tired nod, your shoulders relaxing just slightly. “Didn’t think so.”

And then there was Belial. Of course, you and he lived in the manor now. You slept in what was once one of the guest wings, made it your home. The idea of suddenly having to explain that—to a freshly returned Bruce Wayne—was… daunting, to say the least.

“I suppose,” you muttered under your breath, glancing between the tender reunions and the mess they were about to leave in your lap, “we’ll have to tell them about us at some point.”

Belial, who had appeared silently at your side like a devilish shadow, raised a brow. “You mean the part where we live together?” 

You blinked at him.

“…Yes.”

He smirked, leaning closer until only you could hear. “Let’s save the second part for dinner, shall we?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, quiet and bitter-sweet. This was a mess. The storm of emotion had finally started to settle. The reunions were complete—or at least, the most intense parts of them. Alfred was still lingering near Bruce, fussing over him in the way only he could: equal parts doting and chastising, hands on Bruce’s shoulders like he couldn’t quite believe he was real. Cass had tucked herself under Alfred’s arm like a child too afraid to admit she missed home. Dick had hugged everyone twice, Jason had begrudgingly allowed it once, and even Damian had accepted a tight, silent embrace from Alfred that left him looking a little shell-shocked.

You waited at the edge of it all, hands in your pockets, awkward and unsure. This wasn’t your moment, but you were the one who had to take charge again. The emotional wave had crested, and now everyone was looking around, uncertain, raw, and… hungry.

You cleared your throat softly and stepped forward, your voice a bit too loud in the quiet that followed. “Your rooms are, um—they’re still yours. We didn’t touch them.”

Everyone looked at you. You felt their eyes, and suddenly you were a teenager again, small and trying too hard, your words clumsy on your tongue.

You pressed on.

“Right. So, um… dinner. We’re all quite starving, right?”

“Yeah,” Dick said, rubbing his stomach with a sheepish grin. “Yeah, definitely. Jet lag across dimensions, who knew.”

You nodded too fast, grateful for the humor. “Right. It’s a bit late, I know—I can order takeout. If that’s okay?”

Bruce nodded. “That’s fine.”

“Yeah—sure,” Jason added, arms crossed, but not in his usual defensive way. Just tired. Worn.

“Any preferences?” you asked, pulling out your phone, thumb hovering over your delivery apps.

Tim perked up. “Uhhh… is that Mexican place near Fifth Street still open? The one with the hole in the wall?”

You blinked. “Yeah—yeah, it’s still there. We can get that.”

“Cool,” he murmured, relaxing for the first time since stepping through the portal.

“Cool…” You echoed, feeling the silence stretch again as you placed the order.

Then Dick, who had never been good with silence, chuckled softly, looking you over as if seeing you for the first time all over again. “So… you’ve grown.”

You froze.

Oh god. So you were doing this. Small talk about how much older you looked. Fantastic.

“Well, yes,” you said dryly, giving him a deadpan look as your fingers tapped out the order on your phone. “Time does that.”

Jason smirked. “You’ve got his sarcasm now, too,” he muttered, nodding toward Bruce.

“I’ve had a lot of time to practice.”

Belial chuckled under his breath beside you, and you elbowed him lightly in the ribs before glancing back up at them. They were all watching you again—but this time it felt different. Not like they were seeing a stranger. Like they were trying to piece together who you were now, instead of remembering who you were then.

“Food’ll be here in twenty-five,” you said quietly. “We can eat in the dining room, if that’s okay. Or the cave. Whichever.”

Bruce nodded again. “Dining room’s fine.”

Alfred smiled at you warmly, placing a hand on your shoulder as he passed, heading up to set the table like no time had passed at all. And maybe, for a few precious moments, that would be true.

You exhaled slowly, trying to brace yourself for the second wave—the real conversations. The hard ones. The identity talk, the Gotham logistics, the life you’d lived without them.

But for now? Dinner was enough. A quiet meal in a house that was both haunted and alive again.

And maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t such a bad place to start.

One by one, they all began to file out of the Batcave. Quietly, thoughtfully, some casting glances back over their shoulders as if still trying to convince themselves that they were truly home. Bruce lingered a moment longer with Alfred, speaking in hushed tones, while Dick and Cass headed up the stairs together. Jason muttered something about needing a real shower and maybe a bottle of something strong. Tim and Prudence exchanged a brief look before he followed the others, and even Damian trailed off eventually, his steps slower, less confident than you’d ever seen them.

You let them go.

They needed time—time to clean up, to settle in, to wander the rooms of a manor that had become something entirely new while they were gone. You didn’t begrudge them that. They had lost years too, years in another world, in another time. Years they couldn’t get back. You could give them the space to breathe. After all, you’d had seven years of figuring this out on your own. They were only just now waking up.

With a soft exhale, you turned and headed upstairs with Belial, your pace slowing once you reached the living room. It was dimly lit, warm in a way the cave wasn’t, and after the night you’d had, it felt like the only place in the world you could melt into.

You collapsed onto the couch, limbs heavy, your body finally giving in to the emotional exhaustion.

Belial followed, sitting beside you as he watched you closely. His hand found yours, fingers gently threading through yours with practiced ease.

“You okay, darling?” he asked softly, his voice the grounding warmth you’d come to rely on.

You stared ahead for a moment, eyes fixed on nothing, before admitting quietly, “...I—I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” he said, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles. “This… this is a lot.”

You turned your head to look at him, a tired smile barely tugging at your lips. “Well, at least this means we finally get to have that vacation.” You leaned your head against his shoulder with a tired sigh. “Give or take a couple of months.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm as he brushed a kiss against the top of your head. “We should probably focus on patrol tonight first.”

“Yeah… probably,” you murmured, eyes already drooping. “But I am gonna start planning the itinerary. It’s only fair.”

“Oh, absolutely,” he grinned. “Bali or Cancun?”

“Bali, for sure,” you said instantly. “Cancun’s nice, but I want waterfalls. Peace. Quiet.”

He smirked. “So you want the opposite of Gotham.”

“Exactly.”

You both sat there in comfortable silence, the only sound the soft ticking of the manor’s antique grandfather clock. For a fleeting moment, everything felt stable again—chaos held at bay, ghosts tucked into bedrooms, and the future wide open.

Maybe, just maybe… you’d finally get to live in it.

Dinner was… awkward, to say the least.

Everyone sat around the grand dining table, most of them in freshly changed clothes, hair damp from hot showers, the weight of years—missing years—still hanging around their shoulders like lead. You sat at one end of the table with Belial beside you, his hand resting on your thigh under the table in quiet reassurance. Azrael, of course, sat silently a few chairs away, more imposing than ever despite being out of his armor. Prudence lounged with one arm slung over her chair, watching everything with the silent poise of a bored cat.

You’d expected the dinner talk to revolve around them—where they’d been, what they remembered, how the hell they got back. But once the food had been passed around, and the chewing had dulled the immediate tension, the questions… started falling on you.

“So,” Dick said around a bite of rice and grilled chicken, “did you ever go to college?”

You blinked, caught mid-sip of water. “Uh… no, I didn’t.”

He paused. “Oh. Right, I guess… with everything going on, that would’ve been hard.”

You gave a small shrug. “Yeah, Gotham kinda took precedence.”

Jason snorted. “No kidding.”

Tim leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “What about your civilian life? What… what did you do for work? I mean—before everyone knew about you as a vigilante.”

“I didn’t really have a civilian life,” you admitted. “It wasn’t safe at first. Once I started working with Azrael… things got busy.”

You felt the room shift slightly. The moment you said his name, their expressions changed—especially Bruce. You glanced his way, catching the subtle twitch in his jaw. He was grinding his teeth.

Weird.

Dick gave a short laugh, trying to ease the tension. “So wait—you really started training with him? Azrael? When?”

You glanced toward Azrael, who was calmly cutting his food like the questions didn’t involve him at all.

“I was eleven,” you answered.

The silence that followed was palpable.

“Eleven,” Bruce repeated, voice quiet and sharp. His eyes flicked to Azrael for a half-second before looking back to you. “You were eleven when he started training you?”

“He didn’t start me,” you corrected, gently but firmly. “I asked him to. I begged him to.” 

Bruce’s jaw was tight again. You could tell he didn’t like it. That he was angry. At Azrael. At you. At himself. You didn’t know.

“So,” Tim cut in, trying to reroute the tension, “your team. Who’s on it?”

Ah. Right. The team.

Belial arched a brow beside you like he knew exactly where this was about to go. You shifted slightly in your seat.

“Well, there’s Prudence,” you gestured to her, who gave a small salute with her fork, “Farley—he’s a fire manipulator. Azrael, of course. And Belial.”

You could feel Bruce tense before he spoke.

“You have metas. In Gotham?”

Here it comes.

“I do,” you said, voice steady.

Bruce sat up straighter, his fork resting on his plate. “We had a rule—”

“And I repealed it,” you interrupted, not unkindly, but firmly. “That rule was outdated. I get why you made it. But Gotham changed. We changed. I only work with metas who prove themselves trustworthy. Farley’s been with me for years. He’s never crossed a line.”

“Metas complicate things,” Bruce said coolly.

“So do traumatized orphans in capes,” Belial muttered under his breath, earning a sudden cough from Dick and a choked laugh from Jason.

You tried very hard not to smile. “Belial.”

“What?” he said, totally unapologetic.

Damian scowled across the table. “So what is he, then?” He gestured at Belial with his fork. “Some kind of meta?”

Belial grinned, far too pleased with the attention. “Half-demon, technically.”

Cass’s eyes widened slightly. Tim looked like he wanted to say something, but no words formed. Jason just raised a brow.

Bruce? Bruce looked like he was going to fall through the floor. Or combust.

You cleared your throat. “He’s also a better medic than most ER doctors and speaks six languages. I think that earns him some points.”

“Seven,” Belial corrected.

“Right. Seven.”

Bruce leaned back slightly, and while he said nothing, you could see the storm brewing behind his eyes. He was trying to parse it all. You. Azrael. A half-demon.

They were perceptive. You knew that much before they ever came back—hyper-observant, trained to spot patterns, shifts, tells, tension. You had no doubt that by now, after only a few hours, every single one of them had already clocked your relationship with Belial.

You hadn’t exactly been subtle. The quiet conversations, the protective glances, the way his hand had barely left yours since the moment the portal opened. Even now, during dinner, his thigh rested against yours beneath the table, his arm draped comfortably along the back of your chair. Not possessive—present. Familiar. The kind of closeness that only came from years of love and war alike.

Bruce hadn’t said anything, but you didn’t need him to. You could feel it in the way he glanced at Belial when he thought you weren’t looking, the slight bristle to his shoulders every time Belial so much as spoke. He hadn’t figured out why it got under his skin yet—whether it was the demon blood, the sarcasm, or just the simple fact that someone like him had managed to find a place at your side—but whatever it was, it made his jaw clench like clockwork.

Dick… well, Dick’s smile hadn’t reached his eyes since you’d confirmed the relationship. He was trying, you’d give him that. But there was something tight in his expression, something protective and disapproving in the older-brother-you-never-had kind of way. He didn’t like it, not one bit. But he knew he had no say in it.

Jason had already given Belial the once-over three separate times, and would probably make it four before dessert. Tim was even worse—he hadn’t said anything directly, but he was watching everything, every exchange, every word. Calculating. Cataloguing. Making some damn file in that brain of his.

And Damian… Damian just didn’t like people. He hadn’t said a single thing about Belial that wasn’t laced with vague disdain. That was probably the most normal reaction of the bunch, to be honest.

“So… you live here?” Dick finally asked, fork half-suspended in the air as he looked across the table at Belial, trying for casual. Failing.

Ah. They’d either overheard earlier, or Alfred had gotten to them.

You cleared your throat, stiffening just slightly. “Er—yes, he does.”

A beat of silence.

“You two are…?” Jason asked, tone dry, a brow raised.

You exhaled slowly through your nose. “I’m twenty-five, not sixteen. Yes, we’re together.”

“Right, right,” Tim said quickly, offering a smile that was more awkward than reassuring. “That’s… nice.”

You resisted the urge to rest your head on the table.

“So how did you two meet?” Dick asked, too casually again, his grin a little too tight. “Was it on one of those rogue mission arcs? Some dramatic rooftop rescue?”

You opened your mouth, unprepared for how to explain that particular chapter—but thankfully, Belial beat you to it.

“We met on a mission actually,” he said smoothly, setting his glass down. “About six years ago. A smuggling ring that turned out to be running ancient cursed artifacts. She got there first and punched a guy through a wall. I was… impressed.”

Jason blinked. “That tracks.”

Belial smiled, unbothered by the scrutiny. “We ended up working together more after that. One thing led to another.”

You leaned back in your chair, letting his voice take over, letting him answer their questions with the ease only he could manage. His voice was calm, steady, almost charming in the way he navigated their probing without ever giving too much, but always enough.

You needed the break.

The day had been long—too long. Your emotions had whiplashed in every direction, and you were starting to feel it in your bones. The walls of your childhood home didn’t feel like yours tonight. The chairs at the table were full of people you’d mourned and outgrown, now suddenly back and sitting across from you like no time had passed.

So you let Belial take the wheel. You reached for your drink and let his steady voice wrap around you like a buffer, talking about a mission in Prague, a rooftop stakeout in the Narrows, how you made fun of him the first time you saw him trying to disguise his horns under a beanie. You could hear them asking questions, laughing lightly, filling in gaps they hadn’t known existed.

You didn’t answer. You just sat there quietly, Belial’s arm brushing your back every so often, and thought about how strange it was—being surrounded by the people you once begged to see you… while the only one who truly had was the one they didn’t understand.

Dinner ended with the clink of silverware and the quiet scrape of chairs being pushed back. No one said much. Everyone exchanged small, stiff goodnights and retreated into the house, the air heavy with something unspoken—something you could feel gathering behind every look.

You knew that air. It was the kind that came before something—a confession, a conversation, a plea.

Prudence was the first to leave, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze before murmuring, “Call me if you need an excuse to escape.” You gave her a ghost of a smile.

Azrael left not long after, giving you a simple nod, nothing more. You didn’t need words between you and him. There never really had been.

You lingered behind with Belial near the hallway, the soft lighting of the manor casting long shadows across the marble.

“I’ll meet you in our room,” you said, quietly, your voice low enough not to carry. You didn’t look at him because you didn’t want to see the worry in his eyes.

He didn’t argue. He rarely did when it mattered. “Call me if you need me,” he murmured, voice brushing soft and certain against your ear. His hand lingered at the small of your back for a beat too long. And then he was gone.

You stood there alone for a breath. Then two.

And then came the footsteps.

You didn’t have to turn to know it was them.

“(Y/N),” Dick said first, his voice tentative. Almost gentle.

“Dick,” you replied, keeping your tone neutral. You turned slowly, facing him—and the rest. They’d stayed behind, just as you expected. Bruce stood in the corner, silent as ever. Tim shifted awkwardly near the mantle. Jason leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Damian stood further back, face hard to read. Cass was the only one who didn’t look away when you met her eyes.

“You—We—We��re so sorry,” Dick began again, the words spilling out awkwardly, his hands gesturing helplessly like he didn’t know how to hold them.

You blinked, thrown. “Dick… it wasn’t your fault you guys disappeared—”

“No,” he said quickly, cutting you off with a shake of his head. “No, not that. We’re—we’re sorry about everything else.”

You stiffened.

“We didn’t realize,” he continued, his voice cracking just slightly. “Not until we were gone. Not until we came back and—and saw all of it. We missed everything. We didn’t just disappear from Gotham. We disappeared from you.”

You looked down, throat tight.

“Dick—”

“He’s right,” Tim said quietly, stepping forward. “We didn’t treat you well. Before the portal. Before any of this. We didn’t make space for you. We didn’t try. And you… you didn’t deserve that.”

Your chest tightened, the words twisting like something sharp. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t already told yourself. You’d grieved it years ago. Accepted it. Let it harden and then soften again, buried somewhere deep. But hearing them say it—finally—was something else entirely.

“No,” you said softly, meeting their eyes. “No, I didn’t.”

There was a long silence.

Then Jason, voice lower than usual, said, “We want to be part of your life. We know we haven’t earned it. We know we don’t deserve it. But if you’ll let us… we’d like to try.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You weren’t sure what to say.

You’d already made peace with your place in this family. You weren’t angry anymore—not really. The bitter, adolescent version of yourself that had once screamed at locked doors and cold shoulders was long gone. You had outgrown her. You had survived without them. Found people who stayed. Built something real, even if it looked nothing like the blood family you once hoped for.

This was all making your head spin.

“We know it’s not fair to ask,” Tim added quickly.

“It’s not,” you said, a little sharper than you meant to. But no one flinched.

“But we’re asking anyway,” Dick murmured. “Not as penance. Not to ease our guilt. But because… you’re ours. You always were. And we didn’t see it until it was too late. Please—let us be in your life. In whatever way you’re willing to have us.”

You looked at each of them then. Really looked. At the older versions of the people who once walked past you in hallways like you didn’t exist. At the ones who had dismissed you, forgotten you, avoided you. They were standing here now, not asking for forgiveness, but for a chance.

“You all feel this way?” you asked, quietly.

“Yes,” came Bruce’s voice at last. Low. Steady. And unlike anything you’d ever heard from him.

You sighed, long and slow. You felt older than your years. Worn thin by the weight of too many nights spent waiting for words like this. Words that had never come. Words that didn’t change the past—but maybe, just maybe, could rewrite a little of the future.

Maybe a younger you would have said no. Would have lashed out. Thrown every memory back in their faces.

But you were 25 now.

There was no anger left in you.

Just the cautious ember of something new, something healing.

“…Okay,” you said at last, your voice small but firm. “But you don’t get to walk back in and pretend nothing happened.”

“We won’t,” Dick promised.

“Good.” You paused, then gave the smallest of smiles. “I’ll let you know when you’ve earned movie night.”

Jason huffed a breath of a laugh. Tim smiled. Damian muttered something in Arabic that sounded vaguely annoyed, but not unkind. Bruce… Bruce looked like a man who had been holding his breath for seven years and had finally exhaled.

And in that moment, you realized—this wasn’t you giving them your trust again.

This was them earning it.

It was awkward at first. Beyond awkward, honestly.

You were 25 now—older than Tim, older than Damian, just barely older than Dick—and it showed. Not in the way you carried yourself necessarily, but in your eyes, your routine, the way you moved through life with a rhythm they hadn't learned yet. They had disappeared while you were still a teenager, trying to earn a place in a home that never quite made space for you. Now they were back, dropped into a timeline that had long since moved on, into your version of Gotham.

The initial weeks were stiff, tentative. You didn’t know what to do with them. They didn’t know what to do with you. You were the head of the house now, the leader in the field, the one who made the patrol schedules and signed off on tactical decisions. They deferred to you in the cave—and you could tell it made them feel weird. Out of place. Lesser, almost. But there was no way around it.

You had a routine. A life. And adding them to the mix, no matter how well-meaning, disrupted the balance you and your team had built.

At first, most of your conversations were case-based. Tactical. Logistics. You’d speak in mission briefings, work together at the Batcomputer in the cave, assign roles for com duty while you and your team took to the streets. They weren’t allowed to patrol yet, not until Bruce and Alfred were sure they were cleared physically, mentally, legally—and that left most of them with energy they didn’t know where to place. So they helped. Cass took com duty often, seemingly content to listen in on your team’s chatter. Tim and Jason got invested in casework. Dick bounced between trying to be helpful and trying not to step on your toes.

It was tense. Tolerable, but off.

But slowly, painfully slowly, that began to shift.

The first dinners were quiet. Then not as quiet. The silences filled with someone asking for the mashed potatoes, a joke from Jason that made Damian roll his eyes. You trained with Dick and Jason more frequently—Jason in the early mornings, often unspoken but companionable, and Dick in the late afternoons, his laughter easing the awkward air between you.

You still flinched, sometimes, when he called you “kid,” and he always looked guilty afterward. But he stopped saying it. You both adjusted.

Then came Damian. He'd barely spoken to you the first few days—grunts, narrowed eyes, suspicion. That was his love language, you supposed. But when Alfred mentioned Titus in passing, you caught the way Damian’s posture shifted. How his hands stilled. You didn’t say anything at first. You waited until later, pulling him aside.

“I thought you might want to visit him,” you’d said quietly, offering him a ride to the small grave on the edge of the property. You didn’t expect him to say yes. But he had.

It was a quiet visit. Damian didn’t cry. He stood still, hands in fists at his sides, jaw clenched until it trembled. You didn’t speak—just knelt beside the headstone and let him exist. It was oddly civil. Oddly peaceful.

After that, he didn't avoid you anymore.

Then came the hard part—reintroducing them to the public.

You and Alfred worked tirelessly to sort out the legal mess that came with the sudden return of Bruce Wayne and his entire family from the dead. Media outlets swarmed. Conspiracies cropped up overnight. You held a press conference, coordinated cover stories, danced around timelines. It was exhausting. But somehow, you and Alfred pulled it off.

And after the smoke cleared, something finally started to settle.

You started doing coffee dates with Cass and Tim. Cass was quiet, as always, but being with her was easy. She didn’t expect you to fill silence, just shared it with you like it was sacred. Tim came too, even though he hated coffee. He drank hot chocolate and stared at your black espresso like it personally offended him.

You helped him apply to Gotham U. Something he’d wanted to do before the portal took him away. You sat next to him through forms, essays, mock interviews—helped him find something normal to hold onto. He never said thank you, not directly. But he’d started texting you cat memes, so… that was something.

Bruce remained the strangest presence in your life.

Not cold. Not harsh. Just… odd. He hovered, like a satellite—on the edge of rooms, the edge of moments. There were soft gestures: a cup of tea left by your notes in the cave. A hand briefly on your shoulder after a long patrol. A glance that lingered just a second too long before he looked away.

It was like he wanted to say something. Reach for something.

But didn’t know how.

And maybe you didn’t either.

But you were trying. You all were.

The walls hadn’t fully come down. There were still boundaries. Wounds that hadn’t yet scabbed. But the awkwardness was softening. The edges were dulling. And for the first time since the portal opened, it didn’t feel like they were ghosts in your house.

It felt like family.

A new version of it.

One slowly finding its rhythm again.

It started slowly—too slowly, like everything else since their return.

At first, no one said anything. But you saw the looks exchanged between them when Prudence casually called you “he” during a debrief, or when Belial switched between “she” and “he” depending on how you carried yourself that day. It wasn’t said with confusion or disdain—just quiet observation. Question without words. Uneasy curiosity. They were a perceptive group, and you’d known this conversation was coming. You’d just hoped it could come later. Maybe not at all.

But the thing about avoiding things in the Batfamily was… they always caught up to you.

The longer it went unspoken, the heavier it felt. You could feel it in the space between moments—when Tim’s brows knit together during a mission recap, when Damian’s eyes narrowed, thoughtful and unreadable, or when Jason paused like he was about to say something, then didn’t. Even Bruce had taken to glancing at you sideways, like he wanted to ask but didn’t know how.

You knew that look. You used to wear it on your face every morning in the mirror.

So, finally, one night after patrol—after everyone was tired and a little too full from dinner, lingering in the living room like people who didn’t quite want to say goodnight—you cleared your throat and stood in front of the fireplace.

“I, uh…” You swallowed. Your hands flexed uselessly at your sides. Belial, who had been reading on the couch nearby, gently set his book down and looked up. That was all the cue you needed.

“I need to talk to you guys about something. Something… that I guess you’ve been wondering about.”

The room shifted. Subtle. Quiet. But attentive.

Tim tilted his head. Dick straightened slightly. Bruce didn’t move, but you felt his focus lock in like a spotlight. Even Cass turned to face you fully, her eyes soft.

You took a slow breath.

“Over the past seven years, I’ve… grown a lot. Learned a lot about myself. And—one of the things I had to confront was my identity. My gender.”

The room didn’t react, but you could feel the tension build behind every quiet breath.

You pushed forward. “It was something I struggled with since I was a kid. Something I didn’t have the words for, not really. After you all disappeared, it got worse. I didn’t feel right in myself. I didn’t feel like ‘girl’ or ‘woman’ fit me all the time. But I didn’t feel like a guy either. It was confusing. Exhausting. Like I was walking around in skin that didn’t always belong to me.”

Your hands were trembling. You clenched them to stop it.

“It wasn’t until Belial sat me down one night—just made me talk through it—that I realized… I’m trans. Not just one thing or the other. Some days I feel more feminine. Other days I feel more masculine. Sometimes neither. It took me so long to even say that out loud, but when I did…”

You smiled faintly. “My team—Belial, Prudence, Farley, Azrael—they accepted me. They just… accepted me.”

That part still warmed something deep in your chest. You’d been so afraid of Azrael’s reaction the most, knowing his faith, his rigid sense of right and wrong. But he hadn’t flinched. Had simply placed a hand on your shoulder and said, "Your soul is the same. That’s all that matters."

So when your family started hearing your team refer to you with both “he” and “she,” sometimes fluidly within the same sentence, you knew it had made them look at each other. Wondering. Confused. Cautious.

Now they had their answer.

You cleared your throat, arms folding across your chest—not defensive, just bracing. “I’m telling you now not because I need anything from you. I’ve lived this way for years. I’m okay. But… I know you’re noticing. I figured you deserved the truth.”

Silence.

Then:

“So… do you prefer ‘he’ or ‘she’?” Tim asked gently, his voice hesitant but not unkind.

“Depends,” you said with a small smile. “Some days one. Some days the other. I’m okay with both.”

Dick blinked. “How do we know which one to use?”

“I’ll let you know. Or you’ll probably just… pick it up. It’s not that hard.”

Jason grunted. “Right. Makes sense.” He looked at you for a beat longer, then added, “You’re still you. So whatever.”

Cass offered you a quiet nod, eyes kind. “Still proud of you.”

And then Damian—who had been quiet the whole time, arms crossed, expression unreadable—spoke.

“I assumed.”

You raised a brow. “You did?”

He shrugged. “Tt. The way you move shifts depending on the day. Clothing choices. The team uses different pronouns around you, yet you never correct them. Only meant one thing.” He paused. “It changes nothing.”

You blinked. “Thanks, Damian.”

He scowled. “I didn’t say I like you. I said it changes nothing.”

You smiled.

Then finally, Bruce looked up. He hadn’t spoken once through the whole thing. His gaze met yours, quiet, steady, unreadable as always.

But then he nodded—just once—and said, “Thank you for trusting us with that.”

It wasn’t emotional. It wasn’t flowery.

But it was enough.

And maybe—just maybe—that was all you needed.

And after that conversation—after you’d finally spoken your truth aloud and they'd listened—things only got better.

It didn’t happen all at once. The change was gradual, like the slow thaw of winter into spring. But it did happen. And that was more than you’d dared to hope for when they first returned through that swirling portal.

The tension that once hovered in the manor halls like fog began to lift. It wasn’t just them treating you differently anymore—they were trying with your people too. And that meant more than you could say.

They tried with Belial. Really tried.

It started slow—little conversations in the cave, shared mission planning, tech banter. But surprisingly, it was Tim who connected with him first. Maybe it was their shared love of overly complex magical theory and obscure historical tomes. Maybe it was the way Belial once beat him at chess and then insisted on a rematch every other week. Or maybe it was that Tim, of all of them, saw how Belial looked at you, like you hung stars in his sky.

Whatever it was, Tim came around fast. And once he did, the others started to ease up too.

Jason would never admit it, but he appreciated how Belial knew when to shut up and when to throw down. Dick started including him in team recaps and even let him pick the music once or twice on movie nights. And Bruce… well. Bruce was still Bruce. But there were fewer stares and more quiet nods. More acceptance in the silence.

And Damian?

You expected that to take the longest. But then Belial showed up one day with a gift.

A puppy.

Well. A hellhound puppy.

Tiny, slightly see-through, glowing faintly red around the paws, with smoke curling off its nose when it sneezed. Belial placed it calmly in Damian’s arms and said, “He’s yours. I made him bite-proof.”

You had never seen Damian look that soft. Or that confused.

Bruce and Alfred were not thrilled at first—Bruce stared down the hound like it might set the curtains ablaze, and Alfred spent the first week side-eying it like it might try to eat the furniture. But the little beast was… undeniably cute. It followed Damian everywhere, napped beside him during study breaks, and barked at people who stood too close to his tea.

And—most importantly—it made Damian smile.

So that was that. The dog stayed.

You didn’t say anything when you found Alfred sneaking it treats. Or when Bruce started calling it “the creature” instead of “the abomination.”

Progress.

And life?

Life started to look up for you.

The manor no longer felt like a house full of ghosts. It felt like home. There were movie nights every Friday, where Belial always brought the best snacks, and Dick refused to let anyone pick horror because “we already live in Gotham, thanks.”

There were patrol nights again too—at first with your team, with the Batfamily on coms, guiding, learning the new rhythm of the city. But soon, they were back in the field with you. Bruce at your side once more. Jason covering your flank. Cass gliding silently above. It felt like the city was whole again.

You even had family outings now. Picnics in the garden. Trips to the local fair. A disastrous attempt at an escape room where Damian nearly broke the door, and Prudence solved the puzzle in ten minutes just to end the suffering. Belial got banned from two amusement parks in one weekend for “unintentionally summoning low-tier demons.”

It became normal. Your normal.

Two families, one patchwork tapestry. Yours. Entirely yours.

And as the year carried on, through laughter, late nights, and soft, strange moments of peace—you started to believe something you hadn’t in a long, long time.

That you were allowed to be happy.

That this—chaotic, complicated, healing—this was family.

And you belonged here.

Exactly as you are.

[clarkeyhill]

☁️sweet dreams | George Clarke

Fluff

Summary: you were invited for a movie night at the boys flat, you start a horror film saga, but your tiredness overrides your body as George looks after you

You arrive at the flat for around 8pm, you fetched some snacks of your choosing and a few beverages, you'd not seen the boys in a while so Chris asked if you wanted to come round and have a little movie night in with him, Arthur hill and George; obvious you jumped at the idea as you loved spending time with them.

You knock on the flat door, it opens to reveal a smiley Chris "it's so good to see you!" He says embracing you in a hug "I know it's been so long" you say with a soft smile "where are my boys?" You shout shuffling in the door "troubles here!" George shouts as he emerges from the sofa "glad you could come round" he says engulfing you in a hug "movie night wouldn't be the same without me" you send him a cheeky wink as Arthur saunters out his bedroom "ahh y/ns here!" His face lights up as scooches over to you giving you a hug "I sure am feeling all the love guys thanks" you chuckle.

As much as Chris wanted to watch lord of the rings for the thousandth time, you suggest a horror although you enjoy them, the jump scares still manage to get you. You were sat next to George in the sofa as Arthur and Chris perch on the other side, you pick at the popcorn as you flick through the films on Netflix, you opt for the conjuring series as you cross your legs on the sofa "you know I hate horrors" Arthur says as you stick your tongue out playfully "lord of the rings or this" you say with your brows raised "this 100%" George chimes in as Chris rolls his eyes.

The movie gets a quarter way in and the tension builds, you knew there was a jump-scare coming and you braced yourself with a blanket, George snickering as you did this, low and behold the jump-scare came and your spirit shot out of you body, you jumped as your hand smacked out gripping George's leg accidentally, you try not to bring attention to it so you slip your hand away as you mouth "sorry" to George as he shakes his head and smiles. The first conjuring finishes and you begin the other one, your eyes starting to become slightly tired though; you get up to go the bathroom, you wash your hands as your phone pings.

"There wasn't a need to apologise earlier btw" George had text you, you smile at his message. Glad that he didn't find it weird or anything. You walk back out to join them "had to take a minute to recollect yourself after that one" Chris says laughing "definitely not loser" you say nudging him as you sit down, tucking yourself back into the blanket as George sends a warm smile to you. You sit back as your eyes become your worst enemy, fluttering to keep them awake you were tired and you weren't gonna last much longer.

Instead of ruining the night you decide to just nod off peacefully, your eyes close as your head falls heavy, landing on George's shoulder, he lets out a small giggle "she's gone guys" he says looking at them both pointing down at you as you let out soft snores, he pulls the blanket over you as they wait for the film to finish "are you gonna wake her to get her home?" Chris asks looking at George "no mate, I'll just try and scoop her into my bedroom, I'll take the sofa, it's getting late" he say looking down at you with a soft smile, your peaceful face made George's heart burst. The boys nod as they leave George to get you to bed, he slips from underneath you gently as you stir a little, not waking up though as George stands still.

He places his arm under your neck and the other under your legs as he carries you to his room, luckily you had lounge attire on so you weren't sleeping in jeans, he pulls the covers over as he slots you inside, covering you with the duvet as he turns to leave your eyes flutter open "stay" you say with a soft voice "what?" He replies, seeing if you were sleep talking "stay with me George" you say back as you smile softly, he nods as he slips into bed beside you, you slept back to back as he turned the bedroom lamp off "night y/n" he says softly "night Georgie" you say back as you drift back off to sleep.

-

🫶🏻

[charlessainzz]

(loved loved ‘jealous jealous boy’ btw💅🏼) so can I request another lando one shot but this time like dad!lando showing his baby around the paddock (like feat Uncle Carlos and Oscar and whoever else) maybe it’s too specific so you don’t have to do it but like I can see it so perfectly😩

Twin Oranges

thanks for the love and the request! I hope this is along the lines of what you were looking for.

Lando was a new husband. He was a new dad. He was also a new dad to twins! A boy and a girl, what a perfect pair. When you told him you were pregnant he almost fainted. But when you both found out it was with twins, he actually did faint. Now fast forward almost a year later, you felt comfortable bringing the babies to the paddock after weeks of Lando asking. You decided to bring them to Silverstone. Close to home, and full of family and friends. 

Walking in you felt all eyes on you. Each one of you; mom, dad, and babies decked head to toe in McLaren gear. Baby boy Oliver Norris held by his mom, and baby girl Noelle Norris held by her dad. As you walked by each garage, drivers, mechanics and all poked their heads out to catch a glimpse at the young family. You finally made it into the safety of the McLaren hospitality ready to get the weekend started when the marketing team encircled you and Lando. You both look at each other and groan. 

McLaren’s marketing team wanted to do a video of the drivers showing the new McLaren twins around the paddock. After hearing the case from a newly graduated PR intern, you caved. You hand Oliver to Oscar teaching him how to hold the baby right. Lando laughing as he can tell you are very stressed handing off your babies. He gives you a kiss, and the camera starts rolling. 

First stop, Red Bull. Lando had no worries bringing the twins to this team. Max and Checo were dads through and through. “Max, come meet my kids!” Lando shouts into the garage. Max jogs up to the twins and gives them both a pinch on the cheek. “Here hold Oliver, my arm is falling asleep”, Oscar complains. “Oi! If my wife heard you complaining about the babies, she’d revoke your uncles status.” Lando scolds. Oscar instantly turns beat red, retaking the baby from Max. Max frowns. “Mate, maybe you need a mini Verstappen. You’re a natural father!” exclaims Checo. “In due time.. In due time”, Max smiles. The orange team says their goodbyes and heads to their next stop on the tour. 

The team visited Mercedes, Aston Martin, Haas, almost all the teams. All while collecting baby sized merch. 

Final stop, Ferrari. Lando and Oscar showed the twins their greatest competition. Up came Charles and Carlos. “Look Oliver and Noelle, this is your uncle Carlos and Charles!” Lando says as he’s holding the babies’ hands to get them to wave. “Which one am I the Godfather of?” Carlos asks half jokingly. Lando rolls his eyes as he lets the Ferrari drivers hold the kids. Charles and Carlos begin arguing over who was going to be the better uncle when stewards announce it’s almost time for FP1. “How’s y/n holding up? I’m sure she isn’t loving being away from her babies”, inquires Charles as he gives back one of the twins. “Oh yeah, she almost raged on the team when they suggested a little paddock tour” explained Oscar. Lando swats him on the side of the head. “Of course she was nervous, she hasn’t left their side in almost a year!” Lando shouts. “Come on guys, say your goodbyes to your fun uncles”. 

You anxiously awaited the return of your babies. Eyes darting around watching as they went from garage to garage with their dad and Uncle Oscar. Hearing the oohs and awws as each driver attempted to make the twins laugh. After what felt like 17 hours, they arrived. Jumping out of your seat you run to grab them from your husband. “Lando give them to me”, you grunt attempting to juggle them both. He laughs at your strong mother instincts. 

“Y/n, relax I brought them back in one piece!” he says as he helps you situate both in your arms. Each baby leaning into you, seeking your warmth. 

“They also return with tons of merch!” exclaimed Oscar. He begins showing you the baby onsies from Mercedes, Red Bull, and Ferrari. You eye them knowing Lando would never let Oliver or Noelle wear anything but McLaren. 

“Oooo is that a Leclerc onesie? Keep that one and toss the rest”, you state to Oscar. He laughs as he sees Lando make a sour face. 

“You always had a soft spot for him!” Lando shouts as you walk away into his driver’s room. “Chunk it Osc. Norris kids only wear papaya orange.”

[immortalityforthegoddess]

Hello! I really love your fics, especially the smut ones so i would like to request a fluff smut with Gitae where the reader wants to have a baby so bad and you know, she needs him to do the work lol (I hope you can understand it, english is not my first language and this is my very first request here on tumblr, so sorry if it seemed confusing :') And btw, thanks in advance and hope you're doing good! ♡

𝐀 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢 𝐦𝐞? 𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐞.

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞! ❤

𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞! 😊

𝐄𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲!

𝟏𝟖+

WARNINGS; agaist?, feeling sad, boobs, breading kink and more!

You had wanted a baby for the longest time. You always loved the thought of being a mother and having a real purpose in life, the only thing you wanted in life was a baby but there was a problem,

Your husband, Gitae.

Awhile had never out right said he didn't want any, he also never seemed interested in having any which upset you. You also never knew how to approach him about this sorta thang. For all you knew, this could be very sudden for him.

And so in silence you hope that maybe gitae would approach you but again, that was just hope. Lately this had nagged at you more than it should have, gitae had taken noticed but you brush him off, kinda harchly.

Tonight as you made spaghetti, you well...just let it all out thinking gitae wasn't back from work yet. You started sobbing as you cut up the tomatoes and had to stop to calm yourself down. After sum moments you went straight back to choping and tried to forget what just happened.

Later that same night you ate in silence which was strange for you as you normally talk non stop about your day. What was even more strange was gitae breaking the silence.

"What's wrong?"

He asked. You froze up. "Nothing.", "lair. I saw earlier. What's wrong." Your heart stopped for a moment, you just stared at his cold, unfazed expression. He wasn't supposed to be home. "..You weren't suppose to be home..."

Gitae raised an eyebrow at you "I came home earlier to spend time with you, stop trying to change the subject." His words came out harsh but you know this was more than likely from a place of care. "I... Just have been really tired lately an-", you were cut off immediately by gitae's voice.

"Your really gonna ly to me darling? Please, I prefer the truth out of your lips", you gulp and qiutely look down at your plate. Maybe now was the best time to ask, but what if he says no or doesn't want any children? What than? You couldn't keep this to yourself forever, there would eventually be a breaking point.

You take a quite deep breath and look at gitae who raises an eyebrow at you.

"I want a baby."

Though it sounded confident, you weren't, you were terrified. Your feel a not in your stomach the second the words come out. There was silent for a few seconds before gitae responds.

"𝐀 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢 𝐦𝐞? 𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐞."

The not in your stomach diapers and you look at him with a shocked Expission. What he says next leave you dumb founded. "Your are gonna have to do most of the child care because I work, I'll be around when I can."

You stare in displeaf, was he serious? "G-gitae...am serious...", he looks at you "I know. Believe it or not I can read a room.", that little remark makes you giggle.

After a few moments of silence, gitae speaks again. "I suppose you want to start trying right away, don't you?", you freeze before slowly noding yes, still in shock that this is really happening.

"Alright than."

Gitae carries you to the bedroom, all the while kissing your lips, attempting to slip his tongue in. You kiss his neck, leaving a trail of red and purple marks in your wake. Finally making it to the bedroom, Gitae throws you onto the bed. You lie on your back, legs slightly spread, as he stands between them, slowly undoing his belt.

Finally tossing the belt to the side, he grabs your thighs, yanking you down as he smashes his lips onto yours. You wrap your hands around his neck as he undoes the buttons of your shirt. As your shirt slowly unbuttons, revealing your breasts, Gitae grows more impatient. He stops bothering with the buttons and rips the shirt off your body, your bra coming off with it.

Your breaths escape in quick bursts as his attention shifts to your exposed chest. He bends down to suck on your right breast while his hand gently teases the left. Your sensitive nipples hardened and began to ache as the pleasure overwhelmed you.

Moaning, your legs began to shake, the wetness you felt a silent plea for attention. "G-gitae~," you moaned. He stopped teasing your breath, glancing down at your open legs, which were trembling, desperate for his touch. He chuckles, "want to be breeded this badly?" He says taking his fingers up your skirt, past your panties and straight into your wet pussy.

He begins thrusting them in and out of your pussy, your body reacts by jolting in surprise to his large fingers inside your wet folds. Your velvet wells tightening around them.

Screaming in pleasure, you cry his name and beg for a baby from him. Gitae smirks as his fingers find themselves inside your folds, making you whimper. "G-gitae, please-", "please what?" He asks wanting to hear you beg for him.

"P-please breed me..I want a your baby so so bad..", with that, his finger suddenly leave your wet folds, making you whimper. Going to his pants, gitae undoes them and takes out his cock, your other juices seeping out of your pussy, it ready itself to take gitae's girth.

Putting your legs on his shoulders and around his neck, he lines himself up with your wet entrance. Your feel the burn in your pussy, so ready to take gitae. "Ready?-", " Yes! Yes- please g-gitse, hurry!" Gitae smirks seeing how eager you are.

Grabbing your thighs, he slams himself into your sex, making you scream in pleasure. His cock sliding through your velvet walls, he waits for you to adjust to his size.

"...am r-ready..",

"Alright than."

As gitae began to slowly thrust in and out of your pussy, the realization of everything dawns on you. Gitae is actually going to give you a baby, his baby. After tonight for all you know, you could be pregnant tomorrow, or even the next day. A feeling of happiness peaks through, the pleasure you are currently feeling.

As gitae thrusts in and out of your walls, he bends down and in your ear says "should probably start thinking of baby name now." He thrusts harder, and your cry, in happiness, pleasure, releaf.

You loved this man and he loves you just as bad.

[tiredandkindaoverworked]

I saw Chinese Vincent Xiaomeng by @yetdevout and now I have headcanons.

(Disclaimer: I am Chinese-American, so all of the traditions I know were from my childhood and possibly americanized/skewed, I do not claim to be a fountain of knowledge on Chinese culture.)

• Little Vincent in a cheongsam and going with his mother to temple during Lunar New Year! What a dapper little man!

• Lovely asking Vincent what his favorite earliest memories were and him talking about how him and his mom used to go to the supermarket on weekends and at the end of their shopping trip, his mom would get a fried fish and they’d share it when they got home.

• Vincent also painfully recounts how all the aunties used to coo over him and pinch his cheeks.

• Sometimes when he’s cleaning around the house, he hums a song his mom used to sing when she cleaned up. He doesn’t know the name of the song, but thanks to modern technology (and Lovely’s desire to find the song), they eventually played it during a date night and Vincent immediately perked up when he heard it.

(Song’s The Moon Represents My Heart - Teresa Teng btw)

• When Sam opened up about his Grandma, Vincent explained the practice of lighting incense and offering fruit to loved ones who were gone as well as the Qingming Festival.

•He helped Sam set up a little space in his cabin to honor Adeline and every once in a while, Sam lights incense and sits by her portrait and just talks to her when he’s conflicted about something.

• After leaving House Solaire and getting a job, Vincent fights for the bill every time that him and Lovely go out with the Shaw Pack Trio and their mates. Every. Time. He makes the excuse that he has to use the bathroom and then goes to settle the bill. He got away with it the first few times, but David and Milo slowly started catching on and stopping him. It’s become a fun game to them.

• Vincent gifted Lovely a jade bracelet.

• The Pack experienced their first Chinese New Year with V&L and had a great time. Asher and Darlin took special interest in the lion dancers and Babe, Angel, and Milo gained a new love in trying zongzi.

• Vincent and Lovely shared a mooncake together for the first time during their first Lunar New Year together. Lovely’s a yolk enjoyer and Vincent’s a yolk hater.

• During the next solstice party, David arranged to have jiaozi served after learning about the rumors of the Winter Solstice. It’s a fun gesture and Vincent feels welcomed by this.

[ratcatcher0325]

A Fraction of Justice (Chapter #36)

Chapter #36. Oh hey! It's been a HOT minute. I'm so so happy to finally get this next chapter out there! Natalie makes good on a promise to Alexander. Will he like it as much as she hopes?

Previous: Chapter #35

Next: Chapter #37

Word Count: 8,484 Read Time: Approx. 65 mins

CW: None

Btw, DM me if you wanna be added to the tag list!

___________________________________

A Fraction of Justice

Chapter #36: Alassëa

[Natalie’s POV]

With the dazed little man returned safely to my breast pocket, his new suits and their accessories packed neatly into a beautiful little white box with a crimson ribbon, I smiled one last time at Marianne, that wonderful woman, before braving the nail biting cold. 

It was only a handful of paces from the threshold of the door to the interior of my car, but it didn’t matter. The icy wind cut across my exposed skin and seeped into my bones. I shut the car door as quickly as I could, turning the ignition to heat the stagnant interior of my crappy little sedan. I peered down at the tiny man, perched upright in the bottom of my coat pocket. 

He leaned on the outside wall of fabric, his head and shoulder making the tiniest bump on the surface of the garment. Very gently, I ran a fingertip across it, caressing his shoulder and making his little head snap up in my direction. “Hey,” I smiled, “You’re not already falling asleep on me, again, are ya?” His brow furrowed as he crossed his arms, his little face sporting that signature pout I was sure I’d seen ten times as often as any smile. 

“No! I’m not– I’m fine! I won’t fall asleep. I feel perfectly energized and alert.”

“Uh huh.” 

“I won’t! I am more than capable of enduring a car ride without slipping into unconsciousness! Besides, the hand warmer isn’t even giving off heat anymore. You can take it out now.” He shoved at the plastic packaging, as if there wasn’t plenty of room in the pocket for both. 

I rolled my eyes, “Yes, my liege. Your wish is my command!” I pinched the offending object between my fingers and deposited it far away into the cup holder to my right. I cleared my throat, still keeping with the joke,  “Are you adequately situated for your conveyance homeward?”

He clapped his little hands like a command, “Make haste! Ride with speed, or this icy blast might be the death of us all!” He gestured with a dramatic flair, “I’ll stand sentinel, while you press on.” Little nerd. “You needn’t fear. My eye is keen and sharp. I will not fail you in my watch tonight.”

Within ten minutes he was out like a light. 

As I made the drive back to Cambridge, alone, I took every stoplight and yield sign as a chance to peer down and check on him. 

Still fast asleep every time I looked. 

I gripped the wheel, doing my absolute best not to come to any sudden stops or dips in the now slush covered roads. I wondered how close to home I could get without waking him. 

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

I awoke to no hum of the road, no heat of a human body engulfing one wall of this fabric room, no steady, soothing heartbeat thrumming through me. All was eerily silent and still. 

I shot up, panicked. 

Where was I?? 

It was dark. Much darker than it had been in the car, but by the dim light and through feel, I could tell I was still in the pocket. By batting against both sides, I confirmed the pocket that held me was no longer draped over the body of the human woman who’d driven me home. 

Why was it so dark? Where had she put me? 

Had she hung up the coat in her closet and shut the door? Had she forgotten about me? 

Fear freezing my limbs and tightening my chest, I wondered if my voice could even carry past the closed door, or if it would be loud enough for her to hear. 

“Natalie?!” 

Silence. 

“Hey!! Natalie!!” 

Silence. 

Oh no. No no no. 

Where was she?!?

“NATA–!!!” I clung to the fabric, struggling to lift myself up to stand and peer out. 

I could hear the creak of a door, the rushed padding of hurried human feet on carpet, something being set down on the desk and a voice thick with soothing reassurance, “Hey, hey, hey… You’re okay. I’m right–” as she spoke, I finally pushed myself up and over the lip of the pocket, only to bump into the tip of her nose with my head, “Oh– Right here!” She chuckled, my face burned, “Hey there!” She pulled her own countenance away so she wasn’t quite so close. I could see now that the coat was hanging from her open closet door, facing towards her desk. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was trying to let you sleep, but thought you might be hungry. I was only in the kitchen for a bit.” 

I sunk down onto the pocket’s ledge, awash with relief. The room was much darker than I’d expected at this time of day, but as I turned over my shoulder, the view through the blinds confirmed the winter weather was doing the sun no favors. No wonder it had seemed I’d been trapped in a closet, alone and forgotten. 

But no. Not with her. 

She’d been nothing but thoughtful. 

I admit, I felt my stomach twist with embarrassment. I’d cried out after her like some frightened, needy, little boy. I hadn’t become that reliant on her, had I? 

I caught a whiff of whatever she’d set down on the desk, and I perked up again. It smelled delightful. 

She noticed this instantly, “You hungry?” As if on cue to her question, my abdomen groaned for sustenance. I wondered if it was loud enough for her to hear. I nodded in the affirmative. 

She plucked me up and set me down on her desk with gentle ease, as she arranged my personal table and chair, turning on the desk lamp for better ambiance. She handed me the little plastic case that held my eating utensils, including chopsticks. I gingerly fished out what I needed, while she set the plate down in front of me, “Oh wait–” She paused, her fingers just letting go of the dish, “You sure you don’t want to change into something more casual to eat? Teriyaki will stain pretty bad…”

“I’m not a slob, Ms. Marquez. I know proper dining etiquette, I’ll be fine.”  

“You’re too fancy for me, you know that?” As if her current choice of a ratty graphic t-shirt and sweatpants weren’t already a clear indication of this fact. I bit my tongue, deciding to spare her any insult on the matter. After a pause, she gestured, “Et voila! Bon appetit!” 

Staying in the linguistic theme from earlier today, I see. As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I remembered what Marianne had said to me: How I should confess my feelings to the woman beside me who clearly cared for me so much. 

My heart was in my throat and my face flushed. None of that could actually be true. Could it? 

I stuffed my face to avoid considering it any further. 

We ate together for a few moments, while I tried desperately to appear nonchalant. 

“So…” I jumped at the sound of her voice (so much for nonchalance), “What’s the verdict? Does this dish get the Xandy seal of approval?” 

“I’m not letting you slip that horrendous nickname past me with the bait of a delicious meal!” I pointed my chopsticks at her. 

“Eh, the reviews are positive, I’ll take it! Oh! By the way, want some more good news?” After the giddy rush of everything today, there was more? Baffled, I nodded my head, “I texted Charles while you were asleep–” 

Oh. So you meant good in the loosest possible sense. 

She clocked my disapproval immediately, “-Don’t you start. He said once I get through this last exam for the semester and break for the winter, he’d be down for that movie marathon he promised… Does that sound good to you?” 

Hm. Be anywhere in the near vicinity of Charles…. Watch cinematic adaptations of the greatest works of literature of all time? The scales shifted back and forth in my mind’s eye. 

I cleared my throat, “I suppose the human oaf could be tolerated.” 

“Jesus, Alexander.” She shook her head, laughing, “Just… Don’t call him that to his face, okay?” 

“I will make no promises. The scale of my insults will depend entirely on his behavior.” 

“There’s no stopping you, is there?” 

“Many have tried, yet none have succeeded.”  

She rolled her eyes as she shook her head in mock disapproval, before seeming to remember something else, “Oh, he had one stipulation, though…” 

Why ruin a perfectly good moment with a mention of that sweater-swaddled cretin? I couldn’t help but groan. 

She continued unperturbed, “Oh, hush. It’s fun! He just wants us to dress up in theme, that’s all!” She seemed to cue off my arched brow, “And don’t worry, I’m not getting any harebrained ideas. You decide what you want to wear. I’m not enduring the wrath of Alexander the Terrible by forcing him into any more unwanted outfits. Even though—“ 

“Don’t say it!” 

“I’m just saying—” 

“Natalie Elena Marquez—“ 

“You’d make an absolutely perfect—”  

“I will not have you compare me to—“ 

“Like, it would just fit so well if you were a—“

“-A hobbit!” I sputtered. “-An elf!” She exclaimed. 

We both balked hearing each other’s answers. 

I felt a warmth spread across my chest. Her first instinct was to characterize me as the balletic, poised, immortal and ethereal creatures of Tolkien’s creation? 

“Nah, no way you’d cut it as a hobbit, they’re way too sloppy, food-motivated and chill for the likes of you. Huh, come to think of it, maybe I’d make a pretty good hobbit… Well, anyway, Orlando Bloom should be jealous of what those pretty, blue elf eyes see!” She winked at me. I stared back, dumbly.  

“Who? See what?” 

“Ugh, nevermind! You’ll find out soon enough!” 

Oh, how I hated not getting an immediate answer to my questions. I sighed, realizing it was pointless to press her any further. 

I didn’t dwell on it long, however, because, after the meal, we finally returned to studies and research. It was a blissful, quiet camaraderie as we worked away by each other’s side. I took breaks to pace and stretch my legs, quizzing her for her upcoming exam, until I was practically swimming in scrapped post-its, discarded index cards and old notes that were crumpled and torn. 

Needless to say, we certainly had our work cut out for us. 

Eventually, her fingers and thumbs dug into dry, weary eyes as she stifled a yawn. It was clear she was about to drop. 

I, on the other hand, had energy to burn. 

She left me to my own devices, placing my bed on the desk beside me, before collapsing into her own with a groggy “Night, Alexander. I had a wonderful day with you…” 

“Bonne nuit tout le monde…” I replied in kind. 

I had a wonderful day… with you, too… 

I sat back in my desk chair. If I straightened my spine, and tipped my head back, I could just spy that mess of dark curls cascading over the pillowcases far, far at the opposite end of the room. As I turned, my pants leg brushed against a mess of crumpled and discarded paper. Humans and their messes. 

My work had just begun. 

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

I must’ve slept soundly that night because when I was suddenly torn from sleep I was lying at an odd angle, almost perfectly diagonal in the bed, my pillow halfway falling off the mattress.

I woke up from something crashing directly into my face, tickling my nose and piercing my eyes. It wasn’t heavy but it was definitely enough to startle me. I tossed my hands wildly, trying to get whatever it was off of me. 

“That wasn’t supposed to happen… go back to sleep!” A little voice hissed, somehow directly from above. 

I was half asleep, barely listening and my nose itched and stung like crazy, making my eyes water. I couldn’t stand it. I shot up in bed, rubbing the tip of my nose with wild abandon. 

“Wait, wait, wait…. D-don’t! W-woah!!” a little voice cried.

I snapped open my eyes to see Alexander, at about eye level, careening wildly, one shaky arm pressed into the wall, as he straddled the headboard, trying desperately to keep himself from falling down in the space between the furniture and the wall.  As he balanced, he did his best to hold onto the plastic tape dispenser slung over his shoulder. 

I gasped and sprung into action, hooking a few fingers under his outstretched arm and cradling his side and back. I must’ve bumped the headboard and knocked him off balance as I sat up. 

The words flew from my lips, unchecked, “What the hell do you think you’re doing up here?!?” 

“Oh calm down!” He spat, even while clutching more tightly to my hand for balance, as he struggled to swing his left leg to meet his right. 

“You could’ve seriously gotten hurt! 

“I’m not stupid, I know that! But–” 

“I had no clue you were there! You were lucky not to fall and break your neck!”

“Yes, but I clearly didn’t and if you’ll just shut up for one–”

“Shut up? Not until I get to the bottom of this! What were you thinking?!” 

“JUST LOOK!!” He’d finally gotten into a balanced sitting position, pushing himself up and away from my hand while emphatically gesturing with his right arm to the rest of the headboard that stretched out beside him. 

Oh. My. 

I blinked, finally taking in the full picture of what surrounded him. 

Every inch on the top rail of the headboard was garnished with countless paper flowers, all different types, each made with intricate, precise little creases in the bright neon colors of my sticky notes, paper tabs and the black and blue ink scribbles on white and blue lined paper. 

My jaw dropped. Looking down, I found the culprit that had jarred me awake: a little blue buttercup, no bigger than my thumb. 

I scanned the headboard from right to left, taking in each tiny work of art, before landing back on the little man who’d made them. 

“... Alexander…”

“I wasn’t done yet. I told you to go back to sleep. I was so close—” He sulked. Clearly disappointed not to get to reveal his surprise the way he’d planned. 

“I… Um,” I struggled for words, overwhelmed by the kindness of his gesture. 

“It’s fine, you can spare me the polite insult of pretending to like it. I’ll take them down.” Clearly my lack of response rubbed him the wrong way.

With his furrowed brow and crossed arms, he was a comical juxtaposition to the bright and beautiful decorations surrounding him. He batted at one with the toe of his shoe, coaxing it away from the loop of tape that held it in place. 

“Wait, hold on.” I pinched his little foot between finger and thumb, he froze, meeting my eyes, “I love them. They’re beautiful.”

Did his face turn pink? “R-really? Er, uh, I mean… it was nothing.” I gingerly offered to take the tape dispenser from him, and placed it on the far side of the bed. He continued as he sat up and toyed with his starched collar, unbuttoned without the tie, “W-well, I couldn’t stand to go to bed in such an egregiously messy environment which you not-so-kindly left behind for me to endure. I had to do something with all of it. Besides, let’s be honest, you’re woefully unprepared for your exam, and despite all my best efforts, you might have to rely on the power of osmosis to absorb all the facts you’ve somehow failed to learn up to this point.” 

It wouldn’t be Alexander if he didn’t find a way to toss in an insult or two. 

“How the hell did you even get up here? And, dear god, please don’t do it again, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” 

“I’ll go where I please, thank you.” He snapped. There was clearly no room for negotiation there, and I had no plans of fighting him on it, “But it was quite simple, really. I used your charger cable at your desk to lower myself down, got enough momentum to tip over the trash can along the way, and removed its plastic lining, luckily it was more or less empty. I climbed back up, gathered the flowers in the bag, took the tape with me, descended again, and crossed the room. I used your clock cable to climb up to the nightstand, unplugged it, tied a loop, tossed that over your bedpost, climbed up even higher, and my work was nearly complete before you so rudely tried to kill me for my act of kindness.” 

“Oh my god, you did all that just to decorate my headboard??” 

“Well, I suppose… in a manner of speaking… Y-yes…”

“And I just slept through all of it??”

“I’ve never accused you of being a light sleeper.” 

“Ugh, guilty as charged!” 

He sighed, annoyed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “N-no. I said you weren’t accused. See the joke was—“ 

I couldn’t help holding up a finger to the little man’s lips, “I get it, smarty pants. It was just an expression. Hey, come here, I wanna see something…” 

******** 

In one smooth motion she held me about the waist and gently lowered me down to the surface of her pillow, her head soon joining me just a few inches away. 

She lay there staring directly up above, admiring the view from below. Her eyes lit up with a kind of earnest wonder and innocent joy that I’d seldom seen in the eyes of humans. 

I couldn’t believe as I lay there, peering up at my stupid little gesture, that I was actually giddy at the thought of making this human smile. My chest swelled. 

That is, until those golden green eyes were locked back on to me, and I suddenly felt as though there was no room to breathe at all. Her face was only a few inches from my body, and I swear I could see myself reflected in her irises as she spoke. 

“I wanted to see what it’d look like when I lay down at night. This was wonderful and thoughtful and beautiful and kind and I’m really grateful. Even if it’s just a passive aggressive reminder to study harder.” She winked at me, “Hey wanna do the honors?” She sat up suddenly, towering over me as I propped myself up on an elbow. Her hair cascaded all around her, enveloping her face so high above me. Her teasing smile brightened her face and shimmered in her eyes, all while I laid prostrate down below, so small compared to even just this portion of her. 

Those same feelings that had crashed through my every nerve at the tailor’s shop, cascaded over me now and threatened to drown me. But before my idiotic state had a chance to be registered, she’d already lifted me up and held out that last paper flower to me. 

“You okay?” Her voice bounced in my skull. 

I tossed my head in a feeble attempt to clear my mind, before addressing her, “You place it whenever you like. It’s yours.” 

She softened, “Thank you.” She twirled it in her fingers. It was no longer perfect after she’d batted at it like a feral cat, sporting a few dents and wrinkles, but it was still beautiful. “See? Mister ‘Oh, I’m not sweet’, this is total proof that underneath that grumpy facade, you’re a real softie!” She pretended to smell the flower’s fragrance. 

“I am not! Like I said, if I want your help, I need you to pass your classes. I’m getting desperate here.” 

“Yeah, uh huh, whatever. You’re a total softie.” She plopped the paper bloom,upside down, over me. The flower easily fit over my head and shoulders, engulfing me in darkness. I flailed my arms to free myself without ripping the delicate petals. 

She giggled as she watched me struggle, until, suddenly that peal of laughter cut off abruptly, “Oh shit!” I peered out from under the flower, ice in my veins. What was it? What had her so worried all of a sudden? “Shit! What time is it? My alarm…” she carefully set me down on the pillow before leaping from bed, almost tripping over the tipped trash can, clamoring for her phone, charging on the opposite side of the room, “Awww, fuck! I’m gonna be late for class! Goddammit! First day I plan to show back up in person and I’m already late!” 

Oh no. I’d done this, when I unplugged her alarm clock. This was my fault. I’d planned to return her room back to normal (as much as I could, anyway, that trash can was going nowhere without human help) after finishing my surprise, but that had all been thrown wildly off track by my stupid mistake of dropping the last flower. 

Poor Natalie. She was rushing around, throwing herself and her bag together in a hurried mess. She left me the tablet (less ideal for my size, unfortunately) and took her phone with her, leaving me with a few light snacks (luckily none of them being those godforsaken prepackaged cakes) and a harried, “Thank you, you’re wonderful, sorry I have to leave you like this. See you soon!!” Before flying out the door and on her way. 

It was only after I’d sat back in my chair, hearing the distant click of the back door locking in place, that I noticed she’d haphazardly stuck the final flower onto the headboard of my bed, still sitting on the desk, to my right. 

I couldn’t help the smile that blossomed onto my face and brightened the color of my cheek. 

The following days unfurled uneventfully, a blur of work and exam prep and delicious meals and nice-ish conversation, at least when she wasn’t making media references I couldn’t follow, or talking far too loudly and extensively about things I cared nothing about, or making a mess everywhere she went, or clicking that godforsaken pen. 

On the day of her exam, I quizzed her as I shaved in my vanity mirror and she fished for a pair of matching socks (a challenge, given she never sorted them in the first place). Before heading out the door, she’d crouched at the bedside table, her eyes level with mine, “Wish I could take you with me. You could whisper all the answers in my ear.” 

“How unethical, Ms. Marquez! I wouldn’t dream of it!” It’s not as though I fantasized constantly about being welcomed in those lecture halls like any human, “Now go. You’ve got this.” And with that, I shooed her off. 

When she returned, a few hours later, she told me she felt confident and well prepared, thanks to me. I shuddered to think how it would’ve gone without my help. 

The following morning, I awoke with a flutter in my chest. 

Today was finally, blessedly, wonderfully, the day! 

Yes, I had Charles to deal with, but I wouldn’t let even that unfortunate reality sullen my mood. I practically leapt from my bed just ahead of my usual scheduled time of 5:30. To my disappointment, Natalie was still in the depths of a sleep I was certain she wouldn’t wake from any time soon. Ugh. 

I wanted so very badly to leap across the gap between the bedside table where I stood and the edge of her bed and bat at her face or hands until she awoke. The faster the day began, the sooner I’d get what I wanted. 

But no. I should at least try to practice patience. I was a gentleman after all. 

I busied myself by making my bed with military precision, readying myself for the day ahead. With my teeth brushed, face washed and shaved, and hair combed, I dressed in something casual: brown wool slacks, with a white button up, maroon tie and a matching brown, single-breasted waistcoat. With my morning routine complete, I sat on the bed, twiddling my thumbs, checking the massive alarm clock beside me (thankfully restored to its full functionality after the last incident). The crimson LED lights read “5:51”. 

Alright, no more sleeping the day away. I’d waited long enough. 

Slapping my thighs as I stood up, I tested the integrity of my bad knee. It’d be fine… probably. Leaning back, I lunged for the jump, taking a few running (more like plodding, with my poor, damaged leg) steps before plunging myself off the ledge. I was keenly aware of how deeply comical this would look to any human watching, as the gap was three to four inches at most, but I admit, I still breathed a sigh of relief when my hands held fast to the fabric and I pulled myself to safety over the ledge. At least the journey wasn’t much further now. Luckily for me, she was sleeping on her side, facing me, sparing me the arduous journey of climbing all around the undulating hills and valleys of the bed to have an audience with her. 

On unsteady legs, I managed to rise to standing, not at all certain how well I’d manage to walk on the pillowy landscape of her bedsheets. My steps were toddering at best, but I managed to collapse against the pillow where her hair cascaded down like some strange and silent waterfall. 

God, I am so small. 

Her face, which cast a shadow over all of me, was mere inches away now, resting just above on the pillow’s uneven surface. Her brow was perfectly relaxed, her thick lashes twitching slightly as her eyes moved in her sleep. Was she dreaming? And if so, what was she dreaming about? Her lips, soft and coral red, were so close I could touch them. 

No time to think about any of that. I had a human to drag into the land of the living. 

Gripping fistfuls of her hair, I hoisted myself up. Immediately, she groaned awake, “Ow! Jesus! Alexander!” Her dark brows furrowed deeply as she hissed, but she never opened her eyes, “Why? Just… literally why? Are you okay? What do you need?” Her voice was hoarse, sleepy. 

I was on my belly, precariously balanced on her pillow. “Today’s the day! Wake up!” 

Perhaps one more good hoist would get me where I wanted to go. 

I pulled, she growled. 

“Stop that!” Eyes still closed, her hand raised from the surface of the bed and hurtled toward me. I twisted around, my heart in my throat,, to have a better chance at batting at her fingers. Unperturbed by any of my efforts, she easily hooked me under my arms between her finger and thumb and pulled me up the rest of the way, pressing me further into the wild nest of her hair, and now level with her shut eyes. I noticed she kept her palm flattened atop me, “What time is it?” 

“It’s likely just shy of 6 am–”

“Oh hell no. Absolutely the fuck not.” 

“But–” 

“Nope. Charles isn’t even coming over until like 11 am. I know you’re excited, Little Nightmare, but please…” 

“Fine. Fifteen more minutes!”

“Alexander,” Golden green irises, rimmed with red, snapped open, as she gently shook me, and pressed me into the pillow, “Let me have this.”

I huffed, crossing my arms, but I uttered no more protests. Satisfied, she closed her eyes again, before settling in for a second round of sleep. As she did so, she pulled me in even closer, where it was calm and dark beneath the canopy of her hair, the warmth from her skin crashing into me in waves, “Thank you,” she breathed, her voice groggy with exhaustion. 

Dammit all! Now I was trapped, perfectly wide awake with absolutely nothing to do but wait. Why didn’t I just take the chance to shimmy down the table and cross the room to work while I waited? That would've been far more preferable to this hell that was her soft skin serving as a heated blanket with a heartbeat, and her remarkably pleasant aroma permeating my very pores. It was just torture to watch her slumber peacefully as she returned to a state of calm. When would this horror show end? 

Rather abruptly, it seemed.

I found myself being gently woken up by a fingertip caressing my hair and cheek, “Hey, sleepyhead. Come on, mister, rise and shine. You’ve got less than an hour to get ready.” Had I slept that long?! I snapped open my eyes, finding I’d been transported from her bed to the kitchen, lying on that same cot made from a tea towel that I’d used before when sick with infection. It was the same spot where we’d recited poetry together and she’d discovered our shared love of those books. 

Now, she leaned over me, and I propped myself up on my elbow, leaning to catch a glimpse of what she was making. I could hear the rumble of something boiling and the sickly sweet scent of something baking in the oven,  “Uh uh, no peeking. It’s a surprise. Come here.” She reached for me, her entire cupped hand engulfing my field of vision as she plucked me off the counter. 

“Natalie!” I spat. 

“What? I don’t trust you not to try and look!” Eventually, she released me from my ‘blindfold’ of sorts, as she set me back down in front of my wardrobe on the bedside table. “Now, relax, and get yourself ready. I’ll come get you when it’s time.” 

**********

 I left him to his own devices, curious about just what he was planning to wear. I’d offered to buy him whatever he wanted to complete his look, but he insisted he had everything he needed at his disposal. I didn’t have too much time to ponder, though, as I had dessert in the oven and a boiling pot on the stove. I worked hard to finish everything to perfection, excited to see Alexander’s little face when I showed it to him. 

I bit my lip just thinking about it. Little nerd. No matter how hard he pretended to be aloof, he was like a giddy kid when it came to these stories. I couldn't wait to see him experience them for the very first time. 

I sweated over the stove for another half an hour, and was just placing the final dish, still curling with steam, on my coffee table, when I heard the tinny buzz of my doorbell, “Hey Charles! Come on in, door’s unlocked! I’ll be right there, one sec!”

I padded down the hall, ducking into the outer door of my bathroom to slip into my own themed apparel, before approaching the little man on my bedside table. I greeted him with a smile, and as he turned over his shoulder to greet me in kind, before knitting his brows together and scowling, “That’s what you’re wearing?” 

Wow, judgy! 

Clearly we had different ideas of what ‘in theme’ meant. Oh well, no time to bother with it now. Charles was waiting on us after all. I offered the little man my palm and whisked him away with me to the living room. 

The second we rounded the corner, I couldn’t help but burst into laughter. 

Apparently, we all had different ideas of what ‘in theme’ meant. 

Standing in my living room was Charles, yes, but he might as well have been going for gold at the Ren Faire costume competition. He wore the signature green cape with the leaf clasp, silicone ears, a cotton shirt with suspenders and mid-thigh trousers, a plastic replica sword at his hip and to top it all off, big, ugly prosthetic feet, complete with tufts of hair on the top. They looked disgustingly real. He stood there with his hands on his hips, “I thought we agreed to dress in theme! What is this?!” He pointed directly at my outfit. 

 I tried to defend myself, “What?? This is themed!” He rolled his eyes at my answer, as I doubled down, “Oh, come on! ‘That’s what I’m Tolkien About’ is hilarious!” My offending black t-shirt sported the pun in a white fantasy font, complete with an image of the famous golden ring on the top. 

“It’s barbaric!” he countered. 

“It’s lazy!” added Alexander. 

Hey! Since when were these two teaming up against me?

“And what’re you wearing exactly? It looks like just a regular suit to me! What’s so special about that?” Uh oh, Charles didn’t know what he was asking for was he? Although, to be fair, I’d also thought the same thing. When I’d picked Alexander up he’d just been wearing another three piece suit. I didn’t see how that fit at all. Unlike my friend, though, I knew better than to point that out. 

Alexander sucked the air from the room, “Excuse me? Unlike your cheap, plastic, Halloween costume, I went for something sophisticated, subtle and wholly unique. If you’d have bothered to actually look at the detail of my ensemble, you’d appreciate the layers of metaphor throughout my wardrobe. Or, I’m sorry, is your vision still impaired from when you earned yourself a blade in the eye?”

Charles’ face twisted with frustration, before he noticed my death glare, and stopped himself. 

Emboldened, Alexander raised a cupped hand to his ear, “Oh, sorry, what was that?”

Charles looked at me, and sighed, his arms crossed, speaking through clenched teeth “... Nothing. Continue…” God, these boys were such nerds. 

Alexander, a smug smile painting his lips, cleared his throat and began again, “As I was saying, this wool three-piece suit is a flattering shade of sage green, representing the Silvan elves of Lothlórien, my two-fold pocket square made of red and black silk represents Mount Doom, my slate grey shirt is a nod to the famous Mithril armor, and my golden tie, of course, a nod to the Ring of Power, itself. Unlike the both of you, I can manage to pay homage to this beloved franchise without dipping my toes in the cheap commercialization of your capitalist society. I am far more creative than that!” 

“... This replica sword wasn’t cheap…” Charles grumbled, still obviously trying to keep it contained, “And I made the feet from silicone casts, myself. It took, like, 20 hours.” 

“Well you should’ve spent significantly more time, or got someone who knew what they were doing!” The little man was drunk with superiority. Little bastard.  

“Alexander” I hissed. This was not getting off to the right start. 

Charles cut back, “You’re one to talk about creativity when you literally didn’t make a single thing you have on. You just slapped something together and then threw in a bunch of novice-level references to match!” 

“Charles!” Was I hanging with friends or chastising two feral raccoons??

“NOVICE-LEVEL?!” The little man was clawing against my fingers now, as if he could somehow attack the larger man, even if he could reach him. 

“Alright! Enough, you two! Calm the fuck down!” I pulled Alexander back to the center of my hand with a thumb and forefinger, before pointing at Charles, “This is supposed to be fun. We are having fun, and you get no say about it. Both of you, stop getting your nerd panties in a twist and grow up.” They both blubbered their protestations. I cut them off, “No, shut it. Today is special. We’re getting along, and eating all this food I fucking worked so hard on and watching movies and making memories. Got it?” I was about to pop a blood vessel by the end of that sentence. 

Charles’ shoulders slumped as he acquiesced, sighing, “Fine. I’m sorry. Alexander? I’m sorry I got upset. Truce?” He crossed the room towards us, his false feet making a distinct squeaking sound with each stride. I bit my lip and blew air out my nose to keep from laughing. Those feet were awful.  

My bespectacled friend stared daggers at me, I mimed zipping my mouth shut and tossing away the key, all at an angle that the little man in my hand couldn’t see. Alexander sat there leaning away from the bigger man’s offered finger. He twisted over his shoulder to stare up at me, as if to ask “Do I have to?” I raised an eyebrow. He deflated. 

Finally, regrettably, he took the offered finger, refusing to make eye contact with its owner, “I’m sorry… you got so upset…” 

“That’s not a real apology and you know that.” I pressed, prodding him a bit with my thumb. Was that a tiny snarl curling his lips in response?

“UGH! I’m sorry you got upset by the painfully honest truths I espoused. There. Can we watch the movies now?“ He let go of the finger and thrust his hand into his pocket, as if to remove any physical trace of the interaction. 

“Whatever, man.” Charles sat on the couch, his mouth pressed into a stiff line. He fished in his bag for the box set containing the films, printed to look like a stack of books. I sat down beside him, propping Alexander up on his usual spot on the back of the couch, where he could be more or less eye level. “Good to know you’re so much better than us. I was actually really pumped about this, ya know? But I guess I’ll spare you any more of my embarrassing, poorly crafted props...”

The little man snapped to attention, “What does that mean? What’re you talking about?”  

“Oh, it’s not that big of a deal for someone who’s so far above cheap, crappy merchandise. It’s fine. You’ve made yourself pretty clear.” 

Alexander paused, pursing his lips, “W-well, what is it? Just so I can be sure?” 

“Oh… Just replica rings with chains that I got for us. Just more dumb shit.” As he spoke, he revealed a silver chain sporting a golden loop which had been hidden beneath his shirt collar, as he fished for another, identical to the first, and held it out to me. Alexander locked on the prop replica with hungry eyes, going so far as to reach out and touch it, as it passed by him, tracing the inscriptions on its surface as it was exchanged from one hand to the next. 

“I–I never said that…” 

“No. No, it's cool. I wouldn’t want to drag you down to my unworthy level of nerdiness. It’s fine. I’ll just keep the scaled down one I made for you.” He patted his front shirt pocket, to indicate where it was. 

Alexander’s jaw dropped for just a second, before he hastily covered it up with a facade of disinterest. The little man was caught in an impossible situation: he either had to admit he was wrong, something he was wholly allergic to, or go without this stupid little trinket he was so obviously enamored with. He huffed, brow furrowed as his mouth opened and shut, unable to make himself speak. 

Finally, after a pause that lasted a lifetime, “OKAY, YOU WIN!!” I could see this was physically painful for him, “I got defensive. I lashed out. I was… I w-was…. I was w-wrong.” That last part was a barely audible whisper. His face was bright red. 

“Apology accepted.” Charles turned on a dime, practically beaming, before reaching into his shirt pocket, and presenting the little man with the tiniest loop of gold on an even tinier chain. 

The chain hung on the very end of his littlest finger, swinging two and fro, as Alexander gathered it in his open palms, his pretty blue eyes wide with amazement. Charles carried on, letting the chain fall into the smaller man’s hands, “I uh… I hope it fits. No offense but managing to close a filament that small was… uh… a challenge.” 

************** 

It was… less than perfect. The two ends of the wire that he’d attempted to weld together were uneven, with miniscule gaps between them. When I slipped it over a finger, it didn’t come close to staying. I pressed my lips together, holding myself back from saying something insulting. 

“Yeah, I know, it’s… not great, but… I wanted you to feel included, ya know?” 

My stomach dropped and I felt a swelling in my chest. This human cared about me feeling a sense of belonging? I slipped the chain over my head as I choked out a thank you, extremely desirous that we move past this moment, lest my emotions be exposed. 

Finally, Charles cleared his throat, “Naw, but seriously, next time we’ve gotta coordinate better, because we all look like we’re going to three completely different events. Actually, scratch that, Nat you look like you just rolled out of bed!”  

“Hey!” she scoffed, rolling her eyes, “Whatever, you guys insult me all you want, I’ll just keep all this food to myself!”  

Oh, that’s right! The food! 

I turned over my shoulder to take in the seemingly endless plates and platters of cheeses, breads, fruits, cakes, roasted meats, stews and soups curling with steam. My mouth watered. I peered up and addressed her, “This looks amazing! You made all of this?” 

“Yeah, grew the grapes myself and everything!” 

I furrowed my brow. I had no knowledge of her having a garden, let alone grapevines. 

“I’m joking, Mr. Literal,” She prodded me with a thumb and smiled, “I bought all the produce and stuff, but the recipes are all my own. Hey, Charles of the Shire, cue up the movie while I serve us something to eat!” There went those awful squeaking feet as Charles padded across the room to her television. Natalie held me closer to her eyes as she stifled laughter with the back of her free hand. I broke into a smile myself, and shook my head. 

When I raised my eyes to hers again, I felt a warmth spreading over my sternum, and realized she’d plucked my tie out from behind my waistcoat, as she massaged it with the tip of her thumb, “And, hey, don’t listen to him. I think you look very handsome in your nerd suit.” 

Why was she doing this to me?!

Against my will, my face burst with color, and I squirmed with embarrassment inside her palm. She drew me even closer and I practically shivered. 

She spoke in a hushed whisper, her mouth brushing the side of my head, “Still would’ve made an excellent elf prince, though… Just sayin’” With that, her lips pursed and she kissed the crown of my head. My whole body froze and I couldn’t mutter a sound even if I’d wanted to. 

Just then, Charles finished setting up the movie, and broke our moment of flustered solitude. Luckily for me, he failed to notice my utter discombobulation and simply helped himself to the food before him. 

Soon, she placed me on what had become my spot on the back of the couch, before serving me my own helping of everything I wanted to try. When everyone was settled, Nat regarded me with a raised brow and mischievous smile, “Alright, Alexander, you ready?” 

I felt a rush of some indescribable energy course through me, as I couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear. I felt giddy, thrilled, happy. I nodded, settling into the soft curvature of the couch cushion, perched at shoulder height to the humans beside me. 

And… The film began. 

My heart thundered in my chest at the very first line of voice over. I couldn't believe I was about to see the stories I’d cherished for so much of my life displayed on screen. 

Had I ever sat and watched an entire full-length film before? Not without peering over a shoulder or craning my neck to see only a portion of the screen. Certainly not sat comfortably between one shaky ally and another close… friend? Colleague? I hazarded a glance to my right, taking in that wild-haired woman, who could somehow make me tremble with just a soft word and meaningless peck on the head. Why had I let her affect me so greatly? 

Just then, the screen filled with a sienna and black ink depiction of that old familiar map I’d poured over time and time again in the copies I’d read from as a child, “Wait! Pause! Pause the film!” The humans’ brows furrowed as Charles scrambled for the remote. 

“What’s wrong? You okay?” Nat’s fingertip descended to my leg. 

I nodded, dismissing their concern, “I want to check… for inaccuracies!” 

“What? On the map? Alexander, it’s the same as the book, they didn't change it.” She reassured me. 

“Have you ever known me to just take your word on anything? I want to look for myself.” I crossed my arms and stared expectantly. 

Eventually she sighed, pulling the blanket from her lap and offering a hand. She walked with me up to the screen, where I could take in every detail. The truth was, I just wanted to marvel at it, but I wasn’t about to tell her that. At my command, she guided me along the length of the screen, as I took it all in. Eventually, I asked her to step back so I could see the entire image, as I ran my finger over my bottom lip. 

“What is it?” She was impatient with me, I could tell, but it didn’t motivate me to rush in the slightest. 

“The scale is off.” 

“Well, duh, yeah of course it’s a different size, it’s blown up for the screen.” 

“No, no, I mean the cartography. The relationship between things. They messed with the scale. I think of all people, I’m qualified to comment on size differences.” 

A voice from behind us chimed in, “Oh my god, is he going to do this the whole time?” 

Without missing a beat, as Natalie turned over her shoulder to address the man on the couch, we both responded with a resounding, “Yes!”

Charles groaned as Natalie held me up to her eyes, “Alright, Little Nightmare. You’ve made your point. You’re very smart and very nerdy. Can we continue now, please?” She batted her eyelashes. I sighed. I couldn’t say no. 

We settled back in and resumed the movie. I admit, I gasped and stared slack-jawed as each beloved character appeared on screen, unable to contain my joy at seeing hobbits and wizards interact with one another. I clung to the edge of my seat as the action picked up and peril arrived for our protagonists. The humans beside me seemingly failed to appreciate my astute observations about differences between the books and film as equally as I was annoyed by their constant, loud shouting of lines from practically every scene, terrible accents and all, but we did our best to tolerate each other. 

I found myself (completely by accident, of course) slowly getting closer to Natalie, until we were shoulder to shoulder, the fragrance of her hair surrounding me, as she absentmindedly, curled her fingers around my spine, rubbing along my vertebrae. I supposed I’d allow this unsolicited contact. It felt quite nice, if I was being honest. And, being curled up against her was much warmer than out there on the couch cushion all alone. 

I admit, this position also gave me great cover to hide my blush when the character of Arwen first appeared. I held my breath the entire time she was on screen, hoping Natalie didn’t feel the need to share my embarrassing fiasco while high to her friend sitting beside us. I was luckily spared from more humiliation. 

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

The little spot of warmth he made against my shoulder made my heart sing. I loved that he felt comfortable enough to be this close. Just like with a fickle cat, I was terrified of moving in case he squirmed away again. 

Even at this angle, I could still steal a glance or two at the little man as he watched. Don’t get me wrong, I loved these films, but the real joy was getting to see him experience it for the first time. His eyes were wide, his whole body fully engaged as he jumped, gasped, and laughed along. I felt honored to get to share this with him. 

Then, one of my favorite lines came up, and as it was spoken, I realized what it might mean for him to hear it: 

Even the smallest person can change the course of the future. 

I stole a glance down, only to recognize a tight knit brow, shimmering eyes and a trembling mouth. He was crying. My throat tightened too, just looking at him. 

Gently, I wrapped a thumb around his hip and across his chest, lowering my face so that I could whisper only to him, “... She’s fucking right, you know. Don’t you forget it.” 

Instead of a snappy comeback, I felt a tiny squeeze around my thumb, and the thunderous beat of a miniscule heart pressed against my skin. He held tightly for a few seconds, and I swear I could feel little tears wetting the pad of my thumb, but just as quickly, he cleared his throat and wiped his eyes, adjusting his little tie and running fingers through his hair as if nothing at all had happened. 

I let go and gave him his space, but every now and again, as I glanced back at him, I swear I saw him turning away, as if I’d almost caught him staring at me just a moment before. 

We watched late into the night, snacking, laughing, joking with each other. Alexander wouldn’t shut up about his every little opinion about everything. Charles wouldn’t shut up about every movie production fun fact he could think of, just to compete with the little man. I annoyed both of them by interrupting with meme references that neither of them had even seen. Alexander spent time watching while perched on my bent knee, reclining in my cupped hands and even down amongst the food as he helped himself to fistfuls of honey cake while cheering on the good guys in the battle sequences. 

But as we all got sleepier, he finally settled, curled up against my clavicle, his head resting against the curve of my neck as he nestled in my hair like it was a makeshift blanket. We fell asleep like that, while Charles stretched out on the remaining part of the couch, his head on the arm rest, those stupid fake feet practically in my lap. Right before we’d all fallen asleep, as the final credits rolled, Alexander sat up and, groggily cupping a hand to my ear, whispered, “Thank you for this, Natalie. I loved it.” That simple little thanks warmed my heart more than anything. 

I knew in the morning, while recovering over coffee, we’d get down to business and talk to Charles about the case, but for now, it was time to conk out on this lumpy old couch for a few hours before offering my guest a pillow and blanket and shuffling off to bed. 

I wondered if, as Alexander slept, he dreamt of monsters and mages and magic rings, or if those things paled in comparison to the dreams he held so dear that we were working hard to make come true. I supposed I’d have to wait till morning to find out. 

___________________________________________

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[doki-doki-imagines]

hello! I am the person who requested that reader with a cat who likes the boys a lot if u remember that request.

may I request (if ur not uncomfortable with it) some period comfort with an afab!reader (they/them pls) just taking care and helping reader with their period? if it's not too much can u also include reader sleeping a lot and craving lots of food (typical ik) and how reader just gets mad rlly easily.

characters: bi-han, syzoth, shang tsung, kenshi, raiden and liu kang

thank u and have a good day :) (smiling through the pain)

author note: I'm super late, but I suppose it's better than never. Hope you'll like these! Link to the cat post

Kenshi Takahashi: -He…He can smell when you are on your period. -Actually Kenshi can even tell when it is coming so he is always ready with food when it finally comes. -He tries to keep your pelvis warm and treat you softly since your body gets sore way more easily. -Kenshi goes a bit insane when you're ovulating, so now he is more calm and soft. -He'll try to make your mean comments slide, but it is hard for him, so it's better not to exaggerate, or Kenshi will snap back.

Raiden: -Really sweet and understand your needs. -But Raiden won't be a sticky boyfriend. He has work to do and won't take a day off. -When he finally understands how this period works for you, he will be prepared for the next one. -Your fave food? Check. Warm beverages? Check. Cover and 3 different kinds of movies to match your current mood? Check. -When Raiden gets home tho he is all for you. He likes to put you in his arms and draw circles on your hand, waiting for you to fall asleep on his chest. -Mean words are nothing to him. A king of taking the hit and making it slide off him.

Liu Kang: -"You bastard! Couldn't you erase menstruation while creating this world?" You whine into his arms, cramps making you curl in his body.

"Would you rather lay eggs, dear one?" Liu Kang replies, with a smile on his face, forefinger lifting your chin up to make you look into his brilliant eyes.

"You are just a meanie." You snap back, pushing his face away from yours, making a laughter blossom in his throat. -He tries not to make you eat too much junk food, but he'll back off when you look at him with fury in your eyes. -His body is better than any cover.

Bi-Han: -I'm sorry, but he would be pretty cold. -He was raised in a way that even if you were dying, you should take care of yourself without the help of anybody, so at max, he'll send your way a doctor. -Bi-Han has to work A LOT on being a normal human. He really doesn't know how to work around normal feelings that are outside his field of work. -And the future grandmaster lessons he has been given as a kid never focused on helping his partner out. It is already much that he decided who to be with. -Bi-Han probably knows very little about how menstruation works, mostly because they taught him not to care about other people and just think about how to be the perfect Lin Kuei's leader. -First work on making him act as a decent human, then Bi-Han will even make you a special tea to make your cramps less painful. -And if you look particularly pitiful he may snuck junk food too…

Syzoth: -The first time he saw you losing blood, he panicked because "Why are you losing blood?!?!" -After you explain how things work, Syzoth will let out a breath of relief. -Surprisingly, he understands pretty well that losing blood is a pain, so he doesn't mind following your order like a butler. -Syzoth is gonna snuggle under the covers with you, btw. -Not used to you being mean tho, even if he understands you aren't fine, he still takes those words personally.

Shang Tsung: -Actually, he'd make a potion to make your cramps fade. -But he doesn't do anything for nothing…are you ready to try his next experiments? Maybe the potion isn't as safe as he says. -Shang Tsung satisfies your cravings, but don't nag too much, or he'll get annoyed. -Also, don't be mean, or he will snap back, then you'll start to cry, and actually Shang Tsung has a weakness: your tears. Then he'll have to try to make you stop, but sadly, another mean word slips…it's an endless cycle that makes him think just "Hope this will end soon."

[lesmiix]

HELLO POOOKIE

Can i ask for hyun-ju with a partner who loves to buy her things? Like dresses, makeup, perfumes, you name it ;3

thank you 🙏🙏

Hiiii!! thank you so much for such a sweet request! 😭🫶

Summary: Your gf is broken so you buy her everything she wants (and more).

Warnings: Just fluff, no use of y/n, g/n reader.

author's note: English is not my first language so, sorry if there's any mistake😞 Hope you enjoy it!!

Hyun-ju x g/n reader!

Hyun-ju was never the kind of person who would spend a lot of money on herself, as she already spends a lot of her money on her transition, so she wouldn't give herself the gifts she would like.

You knew about that since you met, when you both went shopping you noticed how she admired the cute dresses placed on the mannequins.

Anytime you asked her if she liked it, she would always answer with a simple "it's cute" and look away, too ashamed with herself for not being able to buy it.

"Are you sure you don't want it? It'd look amazing on you" You said while looking at the tight black dress in front of her.

"I don't know my lov-" She started, but you cut her off. "Try it on at least? I'll pay for it" You said excitedly, at first she denied it, but you, being so insistent, finally gave in.

You knew about her economical situation so you offered to buy her the stuff she wanted so much, but she always denied. She didn't like the thought of you spending too much money on her.

One time you both were shopping at Sephora, because you really needed to buy some products. As you were looking around the shop trying to find them, out of the corner of your eye you saw Hyun-ju in the perfume section, spraying her wrist with a perfume bottle to smell them one by one.

"Any that you like?" You asked her, while hugging her by from behind, wrapping your arms around her waist.

"This one actually smells amazing, but it's way too expensive, maybe I'll come next month when I get paid". She said, putting the perfume back in it's place.

Some minutes later, when Hyun-ju was distracted, you picked it up and put it in your bag to pay for it later and give it to her when you got home.

...

"I have a little gift for you" You said while handing her the little box with a golden print. Her eyes widened as she opened the present.

"Honey, you didn't have to" She started

"Shhh it's okay, a little gift (40$😞) won't hurt"

I have the feeling that she would LOVE makeup, but like she would be obsessed with it, loving how she looks when she wears this thin black eyeliner (she'd be SO good at it btw) but of course, almost all of the good quality makeup brands cost like an eyeball, so she would have the most basic stuff. But you love her and want to see her happy, so ofc you would buy her anything she laid her eyes on.

"Darling, don't you think you already bought me enough stuff?" She asked while you picked a Rare Beauty lipgloss and two different blushes.

"You'll pay me when we get back home" You teased while letting a soft peak on her lips.

At the end of those little dates, you would be carrying thousands of bags filled with just gifts for your dear girlfriend.

When the two of you get back to your shared apartment, you would make her try all the cute dresses, skirts and crop tops you bought her.

"You look gorgeous my love" You said while admiring your girlfriend, who was looking at herself in the mirror with a little cute smirk on her face.

Of course she would thank you with a little make out session.

"Thank you for everything baby, I loved it" She muttered as she gently pressed her lips against yours.

a/n: It's 1 am and I'm so so so tired but I can't sleep 😭

Anyway, I hope you guys liked it!!!

Requests for Hyun-ju are always open🫶

[joi-me-hoi-me-noi]

DBH!AU!JJK x Reader

This about our robot peeps having their first kiss with the reader... and I finally decided to take the poll winner's au seriously. This features Gojo, Nanami, Geto + Sukuna. BTW, Gojo and Nanami are not deviants but Geto and Sukuna are...just saying.

GOJO Satoru -

◌•·················•·················•◌

Taking a bite from your sandwich, you look over at your robotic companion. Curious, you swallow quickly and point a sticky finger toward him.

"Can you guys eat and drink or...?"

You look at him expectantly as he blinks at you then speaks.

"My creator tried to make us as human-like as possible. We can't eat or drink, but we can taste. We have your senses but not all human abilities."

You hum and lick your fingers clean of the sauce from your burger. Then an idea popped into your head as you looked over at Gojo.

"Gojo, come here. I want to see something."

He walks over to your side and peers down at you.

"Bend down."

He complies and bends down enough that he's right at your own height.

You gently push your lips against his, eyes closing in the process. You can feel him open his mouth slightly and you can't help but smile into the kiss. You pull away and smile at him while licking your lips.

"Could you taste that?"

"Yes."

◌•·················•·················•◌

NANAMI Kento -

You had a little too much fun at a party. He declared it was time to go home since before the party got lit, you told him to set an alarm to take you home.

"Miss Y/n, are you feeling okay?"

"Justtt peachyyyy..."

You curl into his shoulder more as he carries you up to your front door. He presses a finger to the door knob and walks inside before locking the door again. He adjusts you in his arms and strides quickly up the stairs.

"Where - Where am I?"

"Home Miss Y/n. You're home."

"Oh, okay."

The door to your bedroom swings open as he places you gently on your bed. You grip his wrist tight before he can walk out of your room.

"Don't leave just yet, I want to thank you."

"You don't have to."

"Well, I want to. Is that too much for a woman to want?"

"I guess not Miss Y/n."

You shakily stand up, still gripping him for support and sway closer to his person. You press a kiss to his lips as his eyes slightly widen but accept his fate.

"Thank you."

"Good night Y/n."

◌•·················•·················•◌

GETO Suguru -

You had come inside with blood on your clothes and face. He was unfazed until he saw you swaying left and right.

"Y/n? Hey."

You fall forward and thankfully, he catches you before your face can harshly hit the hardwood floors of your apartment. When you wake up, he's looking at you. His dark eyes pierce your soul and his lips frown.

He pushes his chair closer to your bed and sits back patiently.

"What happened?"

"I got into a small fight with somebody. That's all."

"This," He points to the now wrapped wound on your side.

"This isn't a 'small fight' Y/n. Now what happened?"

"One of the cops tried to question me about deviants and I panicked. That's how I got shot."

The exhale he let out told you everything you needed to know. He was scared to lose you completely. It was nice that he cared so much but you didn't want him to worry like that.

"I'm sorry... for making you worry."

"You don't get it. I literally searched up videos, websites and articles trying to save your ass. I was fucking scared Y/n."

You meet his eyes finally and open your arms to him.

"Come here Suguru."

He listens and climbs next to you on your bed. You turn your head to face him. His face was so close to yours, it was almost impossible not to do what you wanted. Your eyes fluttered closed as you lean into his lips and let your tongues devour each other.

It started to get a little heated but then you winced in pain from trying to twist your body. He pulls away immediately and goes back to looking at you.

"Don't hurt yourself. We can talk about this when you're fully healed."

You couldn't help but sigh in disappointment but complied with his wishes. You couldn't stop the soft laugh from coming out as your lips curled upward.

"By the way..."

"Yeah?"

"I hope you put a bullet in his skull."

"You already know I did."

◌•·················•·················•◌

SUKUNA -

"Let's go!"

Sukuna pulled you down the street, running as fast as possible. You currently had the cops chasing you because they noticed he was a deviant. Thankfully it was dark, so it should be easy to lose them rather quickly.

"In here."

You tug him into an alleyway next to a club and quickly take off the hoodie you had over your outfit. You pull on his shirt.

"Take this off. Quickly before they come."

He listens to you and does exactly what you say which is unlike him.

"Okay, just pretend to make out with me. We have to act...busy."

"...I'm not doing that."

"Don't be difficult! Do you want to get caught?"

"Rather not."

You look to the side and see the flashlights approaching quickly. You look at his face, grab his face and kiss him rough. Both of your eyes fluttered closed as you continued the 'fake' make out session. His hands roaming your entire body and yours wrapping around him tightly.

You hear the footsteps disappear and pull away from him. Heavy and deep breaths were shared amongst the two of you as a spit trail still connects your lips.

"They're gone. Let's go Sukuna."

You smack his arm and walk out of the alleyway, fixing your clothes. He puts his shirt back on and follows next to you, not saying anything smart.

"Wow, I made THE Sukuna speechless...I must be real good."

"Shut up!"

◌•·················•·················•◌

A/n: thanks for reading! reblogs are welcomed and requests are open!

[incogrio]

christmas, don't be late

SYNOPSIS: in which keeping christmas presents a secret is especially hard for yeonjun

pairing: yeonjun x gn!reader word count: 1.1k+ warnings: none, maybe slightly annoying reader, probably ooc yeonjun

AUTHORS NOTE: this fic was actually really fun and easy to write! lately i've been getting kinda annoyed w yeonjun fics because everyone writes him as a cool, macho guy, but he is also super silly!! he's a silly guy!!! so i wanted to show the silly guy some love. when i am writing this, my jack frost fic just went up, so i hope you guys like that fic :)) does anyone actually read these authors notes btw? LMAO, i might do a fic w an enha member bc i'm more into enha than txt, soooo maybe??? idk!! okay thats it, im yapping, love u!

as millions of people knew all around the world, yeonjun was great at many things. he was great at dancing, singing, being kind, hardworking, and empathetic. 

one thing he was never good it, however, was lying. while he didn’t necessarily find himself wishing he could deceive others well on a day to day basis; the closer it got to christmas, he wished he could. 

the first hurdle of the holidays was figuring what exactly you wanted. new clothes? a new watch? jewelry? they all seemed mediocre at best, and yeonjun knew he deserved significantly better than mediocre. 

then, as though sent from the gods above, you suddenly gained an interest in painting. at first, you simply mentioned liking painting videos on youtube, then, he’d catch you drawing little sketches of your environment. the final straw was when you bought yourself a set of 50 tiny paint tubes for less than five dollars. yeonjun was supportive, of course, and your paintings were beautiful, but he knew you deserved the most expensive paint in the world, with the highest quality canvas money could buy. more more than your printer paper, and dollar tree supplies. that’s when he finally jumped over the first hurdle of the holidays. 

now, the second hurdle, was keeping it a secret. at first, it was sort of easy for him. he would simply close his tabs when you came near, and made sure to avoid the topic of getting you art supplies whenever it arose. 

“junnie, what are you up to?” you asked, walking up behind him and his computer. the speed in which you watched him close all of his tabs was akin to superhuman.

“ahh, nothing…” he muttered, before turning around in his office chair and throwing you a charming, lopsided grin. he’d decided the best way to get your mind off his secretiveness, was to be seductive. so, he grinned, he looked you up and down, he bit his lip. 

safe to say, you weren’t too focused on his tabs that night. 

but, there’s only so much sex a man can have before his man gets suspicious. and, with the packages beginning to come in, hiding them from you was becoming harder and harder. 

the first package to arrive was your easel. he’d asked countless people and read countless reviews to make sure he got you the sturdiest, most functional, aesthetically pleasing easel. 

he was lucky when the package arrived and you were at work, but unlucky when he realized it came completely in pieces, and he would rather die than have you waiting over his shoulder as he struggled to build it on christmas day.

“i’ll just…. build it now! it shouldn’t be too hard.” oh yeonjun. what a fool you are.

you came home to him with his head in his hands, an instruction manual on the floor and seemingly random wooden parts strewn throughout the living room. 

“jun, what…” he cut you off, immediately jumping up and covering your eyes.

“yah!” he shouted, “don’t look! don’t!”

“i didn’t! i didn’t see!”

“be honest now.”

“i am!”

“promise?”

“pinky promise.”

“then go away!”

the next time he allowed you into the living room, a large blanket was hanging over the easel, blocking you from seeing the shape of it. you walked out, eyeing the gift suspiciously.

“keep moving mister! nothing to see here!” he exclaimed, gesturing you through the house like an airplane marshal.

when the second package arrived, a large pack of multiple canvases, it was significantly easier to hide. he simply wrapped the box in wrapping paper, and shoved it under the tree.

“baby, what’s in the box?” you asked during dinner, feigning innocence.

“hm? what… box?” yeonjun responded, picking at his food nervously. 

“you know what box.”

“haha! i don’t!! let’s have dessert!”

slowly, you knew you were breaking him down, softening him up. you were in bed together, after secretly putting some of his gifts under the tree.

“junnie…” you mutter, putting on a bit of a soft tone. “tell me what’s under the tree… and i’ll tell you what i got you!”

his only response was turning away from you and your charms, shoving a pillow over his head and loudly singing ‘lalalalalala!!’ for five minutes straight. 

finally, when the paint arrived, he felt relieved. the other gifts would be easier to hide, being small jewelry and clothes, so this would be the last of the big gifts he’d have to wrap. 

he felt so relieved, that a few days later, he was casually speaking to you about your gifts without even realizing it. 

“i ran out of paint today right in the middle of a new landscape!” you whined, grabbing a cold water from the fridge.

“ah, well, it’s good that i-,” he paused. his stomach flipped. he stared at the wrapped gift and almost felt it stare back at him. wrapped. gift. it was wrapped for a reason! he can’t go around revealing gifts just a few days before christmas!

“that i… um… saw… a bird…” 

“what?”

“bird.” he blurted out, before covering his mouth and dashing to the bedroom to hide.

so when christmas finally arrived, yeonjun was as happy as a five year old would be. he woke you up at five am, practically bouncing off the bed as he dragged you to the living room. within the next two seconds, all three of your main gifts were shoved into your lap. 

“open!” he said, the balls of his cheeks high as he beamed at you. 

you slowly and carefully peeled the wrapping paper off, partially to make him impatient, and just as you were about to reveal up your gift, “it’s paint! the best paint in the world!” he blurted out, practically shaking at the excitement of no more secrecy. 

“i see! thank you, junnie! i love it. here, you open one of mine ne-“

“no! you go, go go go!”

you chuckled, grabbing the giant, blanket covered one and shoving it off. 

a second before you could process what it was, yeonjun shouted again.

“it’s an easel!” 

you began laughing at his absurdness. “wow yeonjun! thank you so much! this is so thoughtful. should i open this now?”

he beamed, momentarily trying to contain his excitement by biting his lip, and nodded.

you peeled the wrapping off extra slow, watching him get more squirmish and impatient. 

finally, before taking the last bit of wrapping paper off, you paused. you leaned back, looking at your excited boyfriend.

“go on,” you softly commanded.

“it’s a pack of canvases! i did a lot of research, made sure i got the very best…” he rambled, going on about reviews and critics whilst you gazed at him. once you had finished exchanging gifts, yeonjun quite literally collapsed on the couch, letting out a relieved sigh.

“i hate secrets.”

you chuckled. “at least i know you could never cheat.”

there is a taglist! if u want to be on it, put in an ask :3

don’t forget your daily click!!

requests are open!!!! (im begging u for a request fr)

[kitten4sannie]

*slams door open for the seance* I am going to throw my two favorite sans together - demon cat boy. Imagine San as a nekomata, a demon cat with two tails, who’s been sneaking around humanity for a good century or two. He’s had his tricks and pranks with humans, always wandering, never staying in one place too long.

Until he meets you.

There’s just something about you draws him to you, and before he knows it he’s made your home his home. If you’re suspicious of the fact he has two tails, it doesn’t show much, just that you make sure to pet each tail with equal amount of love.

San loves the fact you praise him and spoil him, and he takes full advantage of your affection. He’s a cuddle whore, always in your lap kneading away in happiness with loud purrs.

But then he hears you one night, in your room, door closed to keep him out. He knows you’re getting off in your room, writhing on your bed, trying to imitate the satisfaction that only a lover could give you. And oh the sounds you make. So beautiful. And he can’t help but imagine what kind of sounds you’d make beneath him as he’d ruin you over and over again through the entire night.

San was always good at having patience, but now? With him palming his cock, tail twitching, as he listens to you through the door? His patience has worn thin, especially since it’s been quite a while since he’s slept with another being. And besides, it was only considerate of him to return the love you gave to him, right?

(Anyway just a thought I thought you’d might enjoy. Congrats on your 3K milestone! 🤭)

roo !!!! OH MY GODDDDD. i’ve told you before and i tell you again: you are a geniusss for this idea like you’re out here playing 4D chess while everyone’s still trying to figure out checkers sksk like holy shit nekomata san ….. demon !! cat boy !! sannie !!! me and the spirits are all staring at each other in disbelief rn hdjshd anyways i hope you enjoy :3 <333

⛧ seance smutfest ⛧

w.c: 2.7k

warnings: dom! san (he’s a little meanie in this), sub! fem reader (has a few tricks up her sleeve <3), san has cat hybrid/demon characteristics, he also has two cocks btw *cough*, pet names, praise, teasing, some outright disgusting romantic behavior (and a few L bombs??? *gasp* lesbians <3 no i’m jk sksjh i wish 😔), like one cat pun okayyy, kissing, possessiveness, olfactophilia, brief almost mutual masturbation, oral (receiving), squirting, double penetration in one hole (i mean…i had to yk?), creampie, cum kink idk

Masterlist

Just like every other night, you sat in your living room watching a new series on some overpriced streaming service with your dear companion curled up with his head resting on your lap, enjoying each other’s company in comfortable silence. You found yourself moving your hands through his obscenely soft jet black hair for what seemed like hours, giving the purring demon’s shifting ears and dual tails the occasional loving stroke.

You enjoyed physical touch as much as the next person, but San was a different breed. He enjoyed it so much, he couldn’t keep himself from reciprocating in order to show his immeasurable appreciation and desire for you. That explained the deep, reverberating purrs that were coming from his chest, the coy little look he was giving you past his long eyelashes from below, his pink lips parted like he was waiting for you to say or do something. What, you didn’t know. Kiss him, maybe. Or tease him, perhaps. San wasn’t even quite sure what he wanted himself, but what he was sure of, was that he wanted to keep massaging your soft, bare thighs, especially since he finally managed to wiggle his way up underneath your sleep shorts.

Once the show lost its grip on your mind, you were suddenly distinctly aware of the way San was kneading into your upper thighs, his fingers getting dangerously close to your bare cunt. Was he just an adorable demon kitty getting lost in the moment or was he being naughty? Regardless, you began to get worked up over it. 

When San slowly closed his eyes again from how warm and relaxed his body felt, you subtly squeezed around the base of one of his tails for only a moment, encouraging a light, throaty moan to leave San’s mouth. You smiled innocently down at him, despite the prolonged throb you felt in your core. “Are you feeling good, San?” you asked sweetly, about to do it again when the demon’s tail curled around your wrist, the other one gently grazing your chest. 

 “T-too good, mortal,” San mumbled, his cheeks flushing with color, his dual-colored eyes finding solace in your equally flustered disposition. “Y’know how sensitive my tails are.” 

“How does it make your body feel?” You bit your bottom lip, running your fingers over the tail that began to drift down your chest, familiar with the pheromones he could release at any moment, wanting them to envelop you.

“Warm,” he replied simply, staring you down quite intensely, a small, pleased smile on his face, his fangs just barely visible past his curled lips. He knew what you were doing and what you clearly wanted, but he would wait to confront you for now, instead releasing pheromones that made the both of you develop an instant body and head high, like you were experiencing the effects of a body-altering fever. 

“I…think I’m going to lay down for a bit, Sannie. I’m feeling a little overheated all of a sudden,” you sighed, gently pushing San off of you and standing up, unconsciously adjusting the crotch of your shorts, knowing internally how wet you were already. 

San knew too, of course. He didn’t even have to see it for his own eyes. He could smell it. Your dripping arousal, just asking to be lapped up.

Shifting from one foot to the other, you pressed your thighs together, giving him a weak smile, the throbbing you felt almost becoming almost impossible to ignore any longer. “Why don’t you watch that one baking show with all the kitties that you like…to, um, keep yourself busy?”

San sat up from his relaxed position on the couch, letting out an inconvenienced meow. He was already so hard, mostly due to laying his head on your thighs. Your soft, soft thighs. He pressed his hands into the cushion below him, instinctively kneading it. “Kat’s Kitchen?” he asked, his head tilting to the side.

“Yes, watch that, okay?” You swallowed, clearing your throat. Even though it was perfectly normal to get aroused over such a thing, this time around, you were absolutely drenched, so you couldn’t help but feel like a pervert, unsure if San was just being his unsuspecting, cute hybrid self or if he was purposely trying to initiate something with you.

San watched you walk away with interest, momentarily deciding to turn on the show he loved so much. He sat there for a while, satisfied with the cute cats zooming around and playing together on screen while their owner put a cake in the oven and instructed the viewers on how long it should bake. A sudden overwhelmingly sweet aroma drifted into his nose, causing it to twitch and his pupils to grow to the size of marbles. 

“Y/N…” He climbed off of the couch and headed towards the source of the scent, which just so happened to be your bedroom. Hearing soft sounds of pleasure slipping out past the cracked door, San pushed his face into it, causing it to open a bit more and allowing him to see you in all your glory — fully naked and covered in a light sheen of sweat, your legs fully spread open with a vibrator pressed directly into your swollen clit, while earnestly finger-fucking your squelching cunt. 

“T-typical lust-driven mortal…” he stuttered to himself, unaware of how red his cheeks were, or how hard he was breathing, hardly noticing that he was already grinding himself against the doorframe, more and more beads of pre-cum staining the front of his sweatpants the longer he watched you pleasure yourself. 

“Wanna cum…” Huffing and blowing a bit of hair out of the way, you slid the vibrator into your aching cunt, working your clit with two digits. 

“Fuck, Y/N…” San groaned and gripped the doorframe tightly, routinely dropping his hips and desperately thrusting upwards into the sleek wood, wishing he was inside you instead. 

“San…fuck, don’t stop,” you moaned out, hastily dropping one of your legs down against the bed, pushing the toy further in, your fingers starting to cramp. “Fuck me, please, fuck me harder…” 

The demon’s fluffy ears rotated individually like satellite dishes that were on two opposite frequencies, his hips slowly ceasing their movement. That was basically an invite, right? And if you wanted him so bad, then he might as well give you a reason to moan his name again. 

You didn’t even notice San’s presence until he was on the bed and in between your legs, his warm hands massaging into your thighs and his mouth near your pussy, turning red at the sight of his clear desire. His friendly, always curious look was replaced with an intense, unwavering gaze, his mismatched eyes sharp and focused solely on yours. 

“Y/N, I heard you calling for me…” He squeezed your thighs, pressing his cheek to the inside of one of them, nuzzling it lovingly. “Will you let me show you how good it feels to be loved by me?” 

Blushing, you gave him a sheepish smile, eventually reaching down to slip your fingers into his sleek black hair. “Show me, San.” 

-

“Show me, Y/N,” San said in a soft, muffled voice, his glistening lips and tongue on your clit, his fingers locked in an aggressive ‘come hither’ motion inside your pulsing hole. “Let me see the way you fall apart for me.”

“Sannie, it’s coming out, oh my god, I’m, fuck–” you cried out, tossing your head back, your body twitching and shuddering as you catapulted head-first into your orgasm, coating San’s tongue and fingers with your squirt. 

“Mmm, that’s my good girl.” San took a deep inhale of your wet heat, his nose grazing over your extremely sensitive clit, rubbing your wetness around with his fingers, finding your small whimpers satisfying enough for him to begin purring. “Fuck, you smell and taste so good, baby, I can’t get enough.” He began to lap at your clit with his rough tongue, his reverberating purrs sending wave after wave of pleasure throughout your body. 

“S-sannie, no more tongue,” you whined, lightly tugging on his hair, only encouraging him to lick at your cunt even faster than before, his nose routinely grinding into your clit. This sent you over the edge, your cunt clenching around nothing now that his fingers were rubbing circles in your thighs. “Pleaseee, I need you, I need you so bad.” 

“What do you need from me, baby?” he questioned with a brow raised, licking up the cum that had leaked out of you and swallowing it down, making you jolt. “Say it.”

“Your cock, I need it,” you sighed out, your mind clouded with immeasurable desire for the feline-like demon. 

“Both of them?” he teased, his head quirking to the side, his eyes upturned with clear satisfaction. Still in between your legs, he slowly sat up, lowering his boxers just enough to let his thin, but long dual cocks slip out and slap against one another. He smiled at you, flashing his tiny cat fangs at you, about to grow a third cock just from the way you were looking at them. “You’ve been so wet and needy for me all night, baby. I bet you can take them, can’t you?” 

“Yeah, I can, so please fuck me, Sannie,” you desperately agreed, your mouth watering at the sight of his throbbing, veiny pink cocks just asking to be shoved deep inside you.

“Good girl. Now, open up for me, sweetheart.” San guided his cocks to your entrance, smiling at the sight of you obediently holding your thighs open for him. He pursed his lips together to let some spit drip down onto his lengths, lubing them up with his hands, before he began to slowly push into you. “That’s it…How’s that, baby?” 

“K-keep going,” you breathed out, your eyes zoned in on where your bodies met, San’s cocks slipping further and further into your heat, ready to cum just from the pleasurable stretch you began to feel. 

“Look at you, taking all of me like this,” San chimed breathlessly as he bottomed out, his cocks twitching inside you, his hands rubbing your hips affectionately. 

San was definitely in your guts. You wanted him to mix them all up like he had already done with your emotions. “I’m so full, Sannie. It’s so good.” 

San smiled sweetly, beaming with pride. He began to knead your lower abdomen, feeling the outline of himself inside you underneath his fingertips. “Good girls like you deserve to be spoiled. I’m going to move now, okay, sweetheart?” 

“Okay, Sannie,” you answered softly, reaching up to caress his cheeks, slowly guiding his lips down onto yours. You looked into each other’s wide eyes for a second before your irises disappeared under your equally heavy eyelids, breathing yourselves out and taking one another in instead, melting together in a mess of carnal adoration and idyllic purity.  

And, just like that, he was fucking into you like a well-oiled machine, quick and consistent, making sure to go balls deep so you wouldn’t have to go one single second without both of his cocks rubbing deliciously against your inner walls, effectively lighting your insides ablaze. Groaning into your open mouth, he broke the kiss to express, almost drunkenly, “Fuck, your pussy’s so tight, baby, fits me like a glove. Like you were made for me, huh?” 

“Made just for you,” you replied against his lips, pressing a chaste kiss to them, only for him to press his mouth firmly back onto yours. You moaned onto his gliding sandpaper tongue when he grabbed the underside of your thighs and folded you in half, sinking deeper into your cunt, reaching places you never thought existed. 

Besides the repetitive gasps and whines San was forcing out of you with every snap of his hips, the distinct sound of your wetness could be heard squelching in between your joined sweaty bodies. San inevitably broke the messy kiss to whisper, “Hear that?” 

“Yeah, I can hear it,” you squeaked out, barely able to focus on the sound of your arousal over the sensation of being stuffed with two throbbing cocks at once, your core already strung so tightly it could snap at any second and propel you into an abyss of pleasure. 

“You’re so wet for me, Y/N, so fucking wet.” San gripped your thighs, pulling out in preparation for a deep thrust, one of his cocks accidentally slipping out all the way, allowing the other to grind along your cunt and across your clit. “Oh, fuck, I can barely stay inside, baby. It feels so hot, oh god, I might cum.” 

“Cum for me, Sannie.” You reached down and stroked his pulsing cock, causing San to toss his head back in ecstasy, your fingers slipping against his reddened, slick cockhead when ropes of hot cum shot out of it, coating your pelvis and dripping down onto your cunt. “Silly kitty, that was supposed to go in me.” 

Without hesitation, San pulled out completely and ran his fingers through the puddles of cum he left behind on your skin, eagerly slipping them into your hole and fucking the still warm liquid inside you, landing a critical hit on you with one sudden, filthy move. “There we go,” he beamed snarkily, holding his cocks and slowly pushing his cockheads back into your stretched cunt, but stopping halfway. “Are my cocks supposed to go back in you too, pretty girl? Or are you tuckered out?”  

“No, I want it, feels so good, Sannie. I love the way you make me feel.” You ran your hands down San’s back, feeling his muscles tense up against your fingertips as he pushed himself all the way back inside and got back to work, pushing his cum deeper into you, his tails occasionally brushing against your skin like a paintbrush. “Don’t stop, okay?” 

“Oh, baby,” he cooed into your ear, looking you in the eye. “I’m not going to stop until you fall apart for me. Remember that? Or is my princess feeling a bit forgetful right now?” He sighed against your fragrant, warm skin, slowly lowering himself to your neck to lick, suck, and lightly bite it, marking what was his. 

“Don’t be such a tease, Sannie,” you pouted, taking ahold of his tails near the base, stroking them in an outwards direction, hearing what were going to be words come out as groans instead — ones that grew softer and more drawn out, turning into pleasured moans the more you played with with his wavering tails. “Were you going to say something, Sannie? Who’s–nngh–the forgetful one now, huh?” 

San continued to moan and gasp for air, his once intentional thrusts growing sloppier and more desperate by the second, drool starting to drip down past his glistening lips. Feeling your fingers tighten around the base of his tails, San clutched your thighs tightly, his eyebrows screwing together. “W-wait, if you do that, I’m–”

“Aww, what’s wrong, Sannie? Cat got your tongue?” you giggled, squeezing his tails and rubbing them together like you would do with his cocks, about to tease him further when something hot and thick began to pour deep inside you and coat your inner walls with white, your breath getting caught in your throat. “Oh, San, oh my god, it’s so–”

“Cumming, I’m cumming for you, Y/N,” he choked out in between grunts, lowering himself down further to press kiss after kiss onto your swollen lips, groaning into your mouth form the way you hooked your legs around his slim waist, milking him of all his love with your clenching, throbbing cunt. “Fuck, I love you…love this…love you…” 

“Love you too,” you whispered against his moving lips, your overheated body shuddering against his as you both rode out your highs, finding yourself unable to swallow the lump that had formed inside your dry throat, not choosing to swallow your following words. “Please, don't stop, Sannie. Love me again.” 

San pulled back just enough to look down at your flushed, pretty face through his wet strands of hair, his fingers resting against your jaw. “I wasn’t planning on it, Y/N.” With his ears twitching slightly, San’s pink lips curled up just enough to let his fangs slip out, his cheeks dusted with pink. “I’ll love you until it’s pouring out of you. Until you’re so full of me, of my love, that you won’t need anyone else except for me. Does that sound good?”

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© kitten4sannie, 2023.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Hey there! I really enjoy your posts about our resistant big boy König. I was wondering if you could create some hcs for the reader pampering him and taking care of him. Like maybe he has a stomach ache, so the reader gives him an abdominal massage or something if you’re comfortable with writing something like that. <3

Okay so first, I'm so sorry for being late. I got super busy this week. I've gone on three 6 hour long drives in the past four days. Three!!! I've been travelling north and my lord I'm bouncing all over the place. But, you're not here for me whinging about driving, we're here for the 'RESIDENT BIG BOY'.

I'm taking notes on that one, btw. That one's too good not to use. Resident Big Boy is now the best way to describe him. But yes, I am more than glad to go over some headcannons! König is a very silly man when he gets a bit under the weather, so let's go over why below the cut.

To put it bluntly, König is a big suck. He really is. He's emotionally mature enough to know that he's overreacting, but he's trained to deal with the worst, not mild inconveniences. For him, having a full fever is easier than dealing with a small problem. The worst part of it all is that it's usually self inflicted.

König doesn't really get colds. He also doesn't really get hurt badly (unless he's come back from a mission, but that's another post entirely). He's careful, neat and considerate with his actions. That said, he has these moments where you really have to question how he's still alive.

You see, König has this little saying that he learned from his family. It's his catchphrase, at this point. Horangi groans whenever he hears it. Stilleto puts her head in her hands. Hutch's eyes glaze over as he looks far off into the distance and shakes his head, quietly muttering, "It's not right, man. It's not right." With all these reactions, you might be wondering what exactly is König's favourite catchphrase?

"It's not an expiry date, it's a best by date."

König has had food poisoning many times.

So when König goes on a whole rant about how 'it's not that moldy, just eat around it', the whole company knows to just wait. Almost like clockwork, the only thing König will be eating for the next 24 hours are his words.

When he's sick, he'll go home and he'll make it your problem. His stomach will be cramping, he'll be spewing vomit like a sprinkler, and he'll be stuck in the bathroom for hours at a time. When he crawls out, you'll be there for him.

You'll have to change his bedding religiously for him. He's sweating up a storm over here. Each time you do, he'll thank you profusely and then collapse into bed.

You'll have to change his bucket. He has a designated vomit bucket (he's gotten food poisoning enough to have one marked and ready for the occasion). He'll always thank you and hold your hand. Thankfully, the military forces him to keep short hair so you don't have to hold that back, but he does really appreciate you rubbing his back. Honestly, who doesn't? It's the least you can do for someone turning their stomach inside out.

With his cramps, he'll pretend he's fine but at this point, you probably know better than to believe him when he says it doesn't hurt that much. Instead, get him a nice supply of heat packs for the worst cramps. However, he much prefers you holding him or rubbing his stomach. It's much more comfortable. He's so happy to have someone care for him like this. He might not be able to give back while he's sick, but he won't forget your kindness to him. He'll pay it back three-fold soon enough.

Every time you make him a light soup, every time you carefully feed him a plain salad or some cut fruit, he's delighted. He knows it might be coming back up in less than an hour, but he's grateful for anything you provide him. As long as it's edible, he'll eat it. (Just please remember to stay away from foods that are hard to digest, like protein, dairy and carbs. Maybe some plain toast with his soup is alright, but it's a good idea to give sick people simple food. Just a pro tip.)

He will curl up to you and use you as a blanket when he gets cold. He will soak up your heat like he's in the ice age. He can't get enough of your gentle touches or soft words. He clings to them as he clings to you, a suffocating embrace.

When you are too hot, he'll begrudgingly roll away and kick off all his blankets and sheets. That's a good sign that maybe you can step away and do some household chores for him. The house doesn't clean itself, after all. When he can appreciate your hard work properly, he'll gladly kiss you and hold you close. However for now, he'll just curl up and lay perpendicular to you and lay his head on your abdomen when you get back. He may not be able to kiss you right now, but he'll gladly curl up on the mattress with you.

Sometimes, he might need help walking to and from the bathroom, and that's always an ordeal. Unless you're strong enough, he'll just have you both toppling over in a heap of sickness and sweat. It'll be miserable. Instead, he'll have to force himself to stand a bit so he won't have you losing your balance. When he collapses back in the bed, he'll huff and puff and grumble about the bathroom being too far, but he'll live. Maybe take the time to run your hands through his hair and scratch his scalp. He'd like that quite a bit.

Anyways, I hope these are some decent headcannons! I am most certainly comfortable writing things like this, and you've inspired a post about König getting fully sick, and how to deal with that! I also might make one about him dealing with minor injuries, like stubbing a toe or spraining a muscle while training. I imagine this guy is an amazing survivalist, but his civilian survival skills are akin to that of a lemming.

[tkaulitzlvr]

2008 tom forcing reader to answer a call from her bf while they're secretly fucking, going faster and whispering dirty things in her ear as shes on call to tease her, making it harder for her to not to make any noise🤭🤭

btw I love ur writings sm, one of my fav writers fr😩

thankyouu😽🙏🏻

ANSWER IT - T. KAULITZ

synopsis: your boyfriend calls you at a pretty inconvenient time, but tom forces you to answer, and you have to disguise what is really happening, tom not making it easy for you.

content: smut

a/n: thank u so much anon! and oh my god this req is such a good idea, literally as soon as i saw it i knew it was gonna be the next one i write, and i had so much fun making this so thank u so much for requesting i hope u like it!!💞

come over, no one else is home. 10:47pm

i stared at the text message as it came through, the words looking back at me, contemplating on whether i should give in or not. my mind, the more rational, morally correct side of me, tells me that i should say no, reminding me that i have a boyfriend, who would be home from his business trip in just a couple of hours. but, the fact that my heart should have belonged to someone else had never stopped me before. my heart was more reckless, making rash decisions that spoke only for my impulses, not the part of me that felt guilty for what i had been doing for the past few months, completely unbeknownst to my boyfriend.

it was never meant to turn out like this, no. what was firstly settled as a ‘drunk mistake’ that my boyfriend wouldn’t have to know about became a sober fuck, one that happens at least once a week. i am hooked, unable to stay away from tom despite the constant nagging that reminds me how much of an evil person i am. but my guilty conscience is not strong enough to win me over, so i keep going back, completely addicted to the way tom feels, my boyfriend unable to give me the same satisfaction.

he is kind, loyal, loving. i don’t deserve him, really. he would come home from work every evening, completely oblivious of the fact that another man had been inside of me just hours before, intimate with me in the bed that we would sleep in every night - he knows nothing about any of it.

and it is this that reminds me that i should decline tom’s offer, my eyes still blazing into the phone screen as the message stares at me. i have a boyfriend, this is wrong. the voice inside of my head says, chanting it over and over, convincing me to make the right decision for once, instead of acting purely on desire. he would be heartbroken if he ever found out, he doesn’t deserve this. my conscience continues, on the brink of winning me over, the shame of what i have become sinking into me, nothing about this entire thing justifiable on my part. i can put a stop to this, do the right thing, all i need to do is say the word.

k, i’ll be over soon. 10:51pm

i sigh, a little embarrassed at my lack of self-control, knowing that tom has me wrapped around his finger, unable to decline his invitation. the blood is on my hands, staining my innocence, and i am far too into this to ever go back to the way things once were. i jump out of bed, rushing over to the mirror and inspecting my appearance. my makeup is a little messed up, so i take time fixing it, making sure i look perfect for tom, adjusting my hair after, removing any knots in at as it falls to my shoulders. finally satisfied, i grab my keys, leaving the apartment and locking the door behind me, making my way to the parking lot.

i unlock my car, climbing in cautiously, checking that my boyfriend hadn’t unexpectedly arrived home early before turning off my location on my phone, getting used to doing these things to avoid getting caught as much as i could. the car engine starts with a low hum, radio quietly sounding out in the background as i drive to tom’s house, the guilt soon fading away as excitement buzzes around me.

the familiar house comes into view, but i park a little further down the street, not wanting to make it obvious that i was there in case my boyfriend did find out where i was. the street is dark as i climb out of my car, locking it before quickly walking towards his house, checking behind me and knocking on the door.

tom opens it within a few seconds, smirking whilst looking me up and down, moving to the side and giving me room to walk in. he shuts the door behind him, not wasting any time as he pushes me forcefully against the wall, attaching his lips to mine.

“missed you.” he mutters into the kiss as i whine a little in response, already too into it to give him a proper answer, but judging by the way his hands travel down my back, squeezing my ass firmly, it doesn’t seem like he wants to do much talking anyways.

but i didn’t mind, our hookups strictly sexual, no romance behind them. sure, he would whisper things into my ear in the heat of the moment, but i knew that it didn’t mean anything, and i didn’t want it to either. despite betraying my boyfriend in the most evil way possible, i didn’t want to end things with him, somehow still feeling something towards him though he could never pleasure me the way tom does.

without breaking the kiss, tom’s hands hook around my thighs, lifting me upwards as i instinctively wrap my legs around his waist, our lips moving against each other’s as he carries me to his bedroom, my hands locked around his neck, arms resting on his shoulders.

my back collides with the bed as he places me onto it, his hand flush against my back for support as he falls onto it with me, our lips never breaking, his body now on top of mine. he clearly doesn’t want to tease me, his hands finding the bottom of my hoodie, pulling it off and leaving it somewhere on his carpet, leaving me in only my shorts and small pink bra. he smirks at my lack of clothing, drinking it all in whilst his fingers play with the waistband of my shorts. he takes them off too, seeing that my panties match the bra, his tongue moving to the corner of his mouth.

“all this for me, hm?” he smirks, moving my thighs apart and leaning downwards, cupping my breasts in his hands, squeezing them slightly as i let out a small moan, blushing at his words and nodding my head. “i bet he doesn’t touch you like i do, get you to put in all this effort for him.”

tom continues to taunt me, the mention of my boyfriend causing my heart to wrench, guilt settling in my stomach as it is enough to remind me how much of a bad person i am. but, the second tom pulls his t-shirt off, revealing his toned frame, adorned with muscle in all the right places, his abs on full display, any thought of my boyfriend is long gone, my eyes and mind only focused on what is in front of me - the view admittedly far better than anything he could ever give.

tom reconnects our lips, his tongue entering my mouth, hips beginning to grind against mine at a torturously slow pace, hands moving to swiftly unclip my bra. i start to become impatient, fingers toying with the waistband of his jeans as i scramble for the button, undoing them as his zipper follows. he sees that i am struggling, tugging them down himself and letting his boxers come off with them.

he moves my panties to the side, not even bothering to pull them down, before sliding into me, a long moan escaping from my lips as i feel him stretch my walls, already feeling so full.

“so fucking tight, always so good.” he mutters, his forehead against mine, his breath tickling my nose as he speaks, a choked moan sounding from his lips as he is fully inside. he waits a second, studying my expression, gauging that i am okay as he almost pulls out fully, before slamming into me unexpectedly.

my breathing is heavy, body glistening with sweat as i hold onto him, my hands raking down his back as his pace speeds up, becoming more fast and relentless. i am so far gone, in too much pleasure to even process anything that is happening around me - including the sound of my phone beginning to ring.

tom, however, notices immediately, picking it up from the bedside table whilst still thrusting into me, my eyes following his movements as i am too lost in ecstasy to ask what he is doing. he turns the phone, showing me who is calling. my eyes widen as i shake my head, signalling for him to put it down, not wanting him to stop.

“answer it.” is all he says, passing the phone to me, one hand on my hips, helping him to move in and out of me easier, whilst the other holds the phone to my ear. he accepts the call, smirking as my boyfriend’s voice can faintly be heard.

“baby? hey, uh, i just got home from work. where are you?” he asks, tom nodding his head, gesturing for me to speak. a knowing smirk spreads across his face as he speeds up his thrusts, my teeth sinking into my lips to prevent a moan that is dangerously close to spilling from them.

“h-hey love.” i pant, trying to sound nonchalant, failing miserably as i feel tom hit my g-spot, a muffled whine sounding from the back of my throat.

“what are you doing? you okay?” my boyfriend asks, his tone laced with confusion.

“sorry uh- my back is sore, the usual.” i manage to get out, quickly closing my mouth as tom stares into my eyes, enjoying the way i struggle, showing no sympathy as he only drills into me faster. “i’m- i’m at my mom’s house.”

the excuse is terrible, tom furrowing his brows once i utter the words, making me realise how unbelievable it is. but, he finds my lack of thought amusing, smiling a little before resting his head in the crook of my neck, planting rough, open-mouthed kisses there. i sigh out in response, quickly covering my mouth as i mentally curse my self.

“your mom’s place? what are you doing there? it’s like nearly midnight.” my boyfriend responds, clearly hesitant to buy my excuse.

“yeah, family emergency. i-i’ll…be home in the morning-” i have to stop my speech, pursing my lips shut as a moan is dangerously close to sounding from them.

tom smirks against my neck, goosebumps forming on the skin whilst his lips curve into a slight smile.

“look at you. getting fucked whilst your boyfriend is on the phone.” tom mutters, his voice low as he makes sure that his words can’t be made out through the phone. “so wrong. but you love it, don’t you, hm? fucking slut.”

tom continues to taunt me, paying attention to the way i bite my lip, or place my tongue on the roof of my mouth, even squeeze his upper arms, anything to stop any noise from coming out of my mouth, desperate to stay undetected.

“what? is everything okay?” my boyfriend asks, showing concern as he tries to extend the situation, much to my annoyance, unable to keep this up for much longer, wanting nothing more than to cry out in pleasure. “should i come-”

“no!” i quickly say, a little harsher than i initially intended to, the utterance a mix of desperation and an attempt to hold back a moan, the combination coming out as an abrupt plea. “i mean- she, she’s just…a little overwhelmed.”

tom begins to kiss the skin below my ear, biting at it gently, knowing this spot drives me crazy, and once i shiver a little, he knows that he has me right where he wants me, changing his thrusts a little as the new angle causes a familiar knot to build in my stomach.

“could he make you feel like this, hm? only i can, right baby?” he whispers, knowing the effect that he has on me, no need for me to verbalise it, the way my eyes screw shut at his movements enough to confirm it. “so needy, letting me do this to you whilst he can hear. if only he knew…”

his words against my neck combined with the new angle makes the urge to moan almost unbearable as i bite down onto tom’s shoulder, a low grunt escaping his mouth at my unexpected action. yet it only fuels his stamina as he chuckles under his breath, enjoying the effect he has on me, the thrill of the entire situation turning him on even more.

“oh, just, let me know if you need anything okay? i love you.” my boyfriend says, finally wrapping up the conversation as i sigh in relief, feeling at ease as i have somehow managed to pull this off.

but tom clearly isn’t satisfied with how i have managed to stay quiet, desperate to get some sort of noise out of me, and, he knows exactly how to do that. one hand still holding the phone to my ear, he moves his other downwards, using it to rub circles on my clit whilst thrusting in and out of me. and that is all it takes for a restricted moan to leave my lips, unable to be mistaken for anything else. i know that i am in deep shit.

“what the fuck was that? what’s going on? are you fucking someone?” my boyfriend asks, his voice raising as he has finally picked up on what is going on.

“w-what? are you crazy? of course not!” i quickly say, panting through my words, no longer able to hide it, knowing that i am completely fucked.

“don’t fucking bullshit me! where the fuck are you? i can’t believe this, you’re fucking cheating on me? i swear to fucking god once i find-”

his furious rambling is cut off as tom ends the call, turning my phone off and throwing it somewhere on the bed, his hand now running up and down my waist.

“i did you a favour. he was fucking annoying anyways.” tom breathes out, a satisfied grin tugging on his lips, only faltering once he reconnects them with mine, the hurt of what had just happened never sinking in, tom’s movements more than enough to make me forget.

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