#1 Tim ch 3

[bc-maq24]

And today’s sermon totally squashed this. Needs to be reexamined.

But still, ps139:14 (I don’t need to be afraid of who I am because He made me and knows me, “good & bad”).

“Lead me to the cross…” 🎶

God, I do want to be led to the cross, and I do belong to You, but You made me, all my flaws and faults made in Your glory, and I don’t want to be rid of myself. I’m finally finding myself, and starting to genuinely love me, and grow. I do belong to you, but you made my individuality to shine bright in this world and be a beacon to others for your love. So guide me, please, guide my steps and words and works, but let me keep some individuality. Like Chad said last week, there’s no reconciliation for “Thy will be done” and the gift of free will. I still think You wrote every word on every page of my story, including the missteps, which you work with me to get past.

I still believe there’s a cooperation of sorts between God and His son Lucifer and Lucifer may have some influence in our stories but God will always prevail (more so for believers).

[stove-top96]

Wicked Game

Ch. 01

Y Batfam x GN Reader

Featuring: Platonic Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Stephane Brown, Tim Drake, Cassandra Cain, Damian Al-Ghul Wayne.

1.9k words

Prologue <- Ch. 01 -> Ch. 02

Class schedule

1st period - Art

2nd Period - Maths

12:00 - 1:00: Lunch

3rd period - Biology

4th period - English

( 5:00 -> Basketball game)

<Y/N>

Cool, I’ll see you tomorrow then.

Tim stared down at his phone, unable to look away. you were just so cute.

He replayed your conversation in his head—every glance, every word, the way you copied his notes—over and over again. The fact that you were his partner? It was perfect. It practically accelerated their plans 10x.

His grip on the phone tightened. Giddy smile creeping on his face. He wanted to keep texting with you, but knew he couldn’t. He needed to be careful.

”What is so important that it is keeping you from your responsibilities?”

Tim rolled his eyes.

Damian. Snarky as ever, standing by the bat computer with the same judgemental expression he always had. He’s been pressing for updates nonstop, and throwing snide remarks whenever possible.Tim wanted to tell the family about the ‘new development’ right away, but Damian’s constant questioning made him hold off.

It’d be easier just to tell everyone on patrol. Dick would be in the city tonight, anyway. He’ll tell the whole family once everyone’s together.

Sure it’s a little selfish, but he’s not keeping it a secret forever, only a few hours.

It takes all his strength to put his phone away and get prepared for patrol. Excitement coarsening through his veins.

Damian Just scoffed and turned away in disgust.

Patrol is expected to go by without a hitch. Most of Gotham’s rogues are locked up in Arkham. The streets will be relatively quiet. Couple of rookies tonight at best. It'll be a breeze tonight.

But Tim wouldn't be able to focus tonight, not fully. His mind would be too preoccupied.

“Red Robin, Nightwing. There’s a bank robbery 3 blocks north”

Oracles' words snapped Tim back to reality. He was thinking about you again.

“On it” Nightwing spoke into the coms. Leaping off the Roof with an effortless grace making his way over. Tim was quick to follow, pushing down all thoughts of you.

“5 individuals, all armed… Be careful” Oracles voice echoed through the coms.

“Nothing we’ve never handled”

watching from the rooftop opposite of Westwood Bank, it was obvious these men were amateurs.

One was fumbling with the alarm system, cursing under his breath. Another was banging on the register, trying to force it open. The other 3 were likely in the back fumbling through the more valuable vaults.

It was very sloppy and clearly unplanned. Easy.

“Whoever takes down the most wins.” Dick smirked. The only way they’d be able to get any type of entertainment out of this was to make a game of it.

“Sure” Tim didn’t really care to win or lose but he’d figure he might as well humour Dick. It’ll make it go by quicker.

Busting through the window of the building, glass shattering in a hundred pieces. The men were slow to react, before they could even raise their guns. Dick and Tim’s batarang sliced through the air, disarming them with a clank.

The noise sent the other three into a panic. Two of them raced in guns blazing. They were clearly rushed, aim painfully sloppy.

Shots fired throughout the building, ricocheting off the walls. Dick was quick to throw one of his escrima sticks, CRACK. He knocked the smaller one out.

The bigger one hesitated for half a second, more than enough time for Tim. One swing of his Boa-staff and he was out.

Tim took a deep breath. Standing tall over the man, pride swelling in his chest. He took the biggest guy in one swing. His mind flickered back to you. What would you think of that? Would you be impressed? Tell him good job?

“TIM LOOK OU—“

Dick’s warning barely registered. Before he could even turn around.

BANG.

A noxious sting rang through his side. The impact sent him crashing to the floor.

The force left him winded. He knew his suit was bullet proof, but the pain was unbearable, a sharp fiery burn in his ribs. It was excruciating.

Dick was fast, he moved in a blur. Tim could hardly focus on him. His vision was beginning to fade. White spots clouding his vision; the pain was just too much.

He needed to close his eyes, he knew he shouldn’t.

but he did anyway.

+++++

BEEP BEEP BEEP

The grating alarm is quick to piss you off. You smashed the snooze button, groaning. You just wanted 5 more minutes of precious Beauty sleep.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Jesus— has it seriously already been five minutes?

With a groan you turn it off you and roll out of bed. You grab your phone to scroll through your socials as you make your way to the kitchen. You have a game today so you gotta actually eat breakfast for once— even if your options are limited.

Scanning the kitchen— seemed like cereal was your only option. You poured a bowl of ‘fruit rounds’. It tasted like cardboard but you had to eat. As you scrolled through TikTok your mind drifted back to yesterday.

Tim Drake

It was weird thinking about it, some random scholarship kid talking with the biggest nepo baby in Gotham. At least his family taught him some manners, he was nice enough to let you copy his notes. Which was more than you could say for most students. Yikes.

Finishing up with breakfast, you went about the rest of your morning routine. Packing up for the game you triple checked you didn’t forget anything. Coach would literally Kill you.

The ride to school was… odd.

Your stomach twisted and you broke into a cold sweat, it was like your first day of school all over again.

You stared out the window, trying to focus on the buzz and chatter in the subway anything to take your mind off this feeling

What would happen if you had a bad game?

The thought had been in your head since you found out about the game last week. But today it was relentless, it was all you could think of.

Bad games meant losing , Losing meant a bad season. Bad season meant.

No scholarship.

your breath hitched. This scholarship was your ticket out. Without it, you’d end up like her, like your mother. Swallowed by Gotham and everything she has to offer.

That wasn’t going to be your future.

Art and Maths go by in a flash. It’s always been hard for you to focus in class on game days.

Like always you make your way to Brandi’s locker, she’ll ease your mind.

“You look like a wreck” She raises an eyebrow, waiting for any sort of explanation “Game day nerves” you sigh feeling a wave of stress wash over you. You want nothing more than to collapse in bed. Pretend none of it’s happening.

She hums, “Ohhhh, forgot that was today” Brandi is the only one who truly gets it. Her GPA drops below 3.7? She's gone. you lose more than you win? you're gone.

She doesn’t press, instead talking about how her day was. It’s what you love about Brandi, she knows what to do.

You two go back and forth telling stupid jokes and gossip about other students.

Until you’re interrupted by a group of girls heading towards your lunch table. One girl breaks away from the group, she’s beautiful— blue eyes, shiny brown hair and flawless skin. The kind of pretty that can be bought. Expensive skin-care, hair products, the whole nine yards.

“Umm your y/n right?” She asks through giggles, the girls behind her are all whispering and laughing to each other. Something tightens in your chest. “Yeah… why?” You ask, voice quieter than you’d like.

“So like… are you like… friends with Tim now?” She hardly gets through her sentence, giggling and looking back at her friends.

“Uhh no?” You respond, with a little more confidence.

She stops laughing, her eyes narrowed “Oh!? So then why were you talking with him?” her voice is sharper.

What is with her? Is this middle school? “We’re assigned partners” you answer flatly.

“So you like weren’t passing notes with him?”

For a second you just blink at her. Why would you be passing notes with Tim Drake? You were just copying his notes.

”No”

“oh okay” She turns on her heels, heading back to her group. The giggles and side eye’s start up again.

You clench your first. This is why you wanted to avoid him— Dumb rumours, unwanted attention.

“What the hell was that about?” Brandi asks, “Why would I know?” you stab at your lunch, taking another bite of your food.

“Since when were you partners with Tim Drake?” She asked.

You froze.

If she didn’t know… How the hell did Tim get your number?

+++++

Tim woke up in his room. Mind still foggy and body aching, from whatever happened on patrol last night.

Fuck, he missed the chance to tell everyone about yesterday.

He groaned and reached for his phone—8:20. Still breakfast time, everyone but Jason should be downstairs.

It took all his strength to make his way downstairs. It was a bad idea to be moving so soon after an injury. But he had to tell them.

His body was screaming at him by the time he made it to the dining room.

“Quite the show Drake.” Damian sneered, not bothering to turn around and face him.“Who knew you were such an easy target?”

Tim rolled his eyes. No one at the table disagreed with Damian's comment. Deep down they all knew he was right.

“What happened out there?” Stephanie raised a brow. Dick and Duke looked up, expecting an actual, reasonable, explanation.

Tim paused, the pain stinging in his ribs.

“…I was thinking about y/n” he answered honestly.

A fork clanked on a plate.

“Enough to get shot?” Damian scoffed, shaking his head. “It’s not like you even have the guts to—“

“we’re assigned partners for a project… we were supposed to work on it today after school” Tim cut him off, hand clenching at his ribs.

Everyone at the table pauses. then everyone’s staring up at him.

Even Bruce.

”We sat beside each other yesterday, they copied my notes… I even texted them last night, before patrol” He tries to sound casual, but pride swells in his chest. He’s the first person in the family to talk with you.

The family see’s through him right away.

”you texted them?” Asks Dick

Tim nods, Damian scoffs.

“And you didn’t think it was necessary to tell us?” Bruce’s voice is calm, his expression neutral. But Tim knows him—he was analyzing everything.

“I was going to tell everyone on patrol” he exclaims, hand clutching his side as he limps to his seat. “it’d be easier to come up with a plan together”

His reasoning seemed sound, but the family knew better.

“You’re not fit to go to school today” Bruce stated coldly, turning back to his meal.

Tim paused “But-“

”you’ll invite them over tomorrow.” His voice is final, he sets his coffee cup down with a quiet clink “I’m sure they’d love to meet the family.”

+++++++++++

Chapter 1! Although the prologue feels more like Chapter 1 than a prologue. I stayed up way too late to finish this. If you want to be added to the taglist just ask me :).

Taglist: @jjsmeowthie @crazycaoticsimp

[z4rph1m]

Platonic Yan!batfam X dazai!reader X yandere dc

Tw: implication of sex (between reader & Chuuya), past mentions of self harm,

Forgotten child

Pro. Ch.1 Ch.2 (you are here) Ch.3

Nakahara Chuuya

Your former lover of the dark.

Why did the two of you broke up? He forgot, or maybe he just doesn’t want to remember.

He knew that the moment the two of you were in a relationship, it was unhealthy and toxic.

Maybe it’s the way you would ignore him the whole day but the moment you’re within his arms you’re a touch starve, hopelessly in love mess.

Or maybe the way he would be angry at you and try to guilt trip you into doing whatever he wants or the way you would purposely annoy him so that he would try and hurt you (he tried ask you to stop doing that)

But why exactly did the two of you stay together?

It’s simple, you two completed eachother perfectly.

Especially how fitting your abilities names are to describe the two of you.

You made him act like a human, he gave you a reason to live on.

“Are you the most beautiful human to me or to me, you’re the most beautiful human”

You stare at the empty space of your bed in longing, feeling as if there was something missing in your life.

The love marks surrounding your body, the lipstick mark on your bandages and the soft touches lingers around you.

Oh how you miss him.

You knew well that being with him was a terrible idea, especially with how aware you are to how much of a terrible person you are.

You know well you’re only using him to have the willingness to live yet the more you are with him, the more you crave for his touch.

That’s the reason why you broke up with him.

You hated how it felt, how it didn’t felt real to you. You wanted to save him the tears and pain, breaking off was maybe your only choice.

You remember well on how soft his kisses are on your scars, lips and all over your body.

Or how beautiful yours and his voice sounded together.

Maybe, just maybe under different circumstances the two of you could be together.

As much as you two stayed friends, the benefits can’t really be pass on.

“If you can’t feel love, I will give you the love that you lack your whole life”

The more time Bruce walk through the hallway to your room, the more sense of guilt cover him.

Wilting flowers, spiders in cobwebs, empty vases and dust covering the paintings.

The side of the mansion that’s long been abandoned.

God how long did he let you live like this?

How long did he left you to live within the chilly and ghostly halls of the manor?

On the way to your room, the two passed by Dick and Tim, who seemingly curious on where they’re going.

“Hey Alfred, Bruce, where you’re going?” Dick in all his glory, having his usual smile while Tim with his eye bags and energy drink in his hand.

“We’re on our way to Master [N] room, which is just at the corner of this hallway”

There was a deafening silence, but at the same time it was accompanied by a presence of a lonely child.

The presence of a child that was useless to the family.

The silence kept on going until Tim voice spoke out.

“Are you sure you’re in the right way Alfred? The corner of the hallway looks as if it’s haunted”

“Yes Master Tim, they’ve been assign to that room after all”

Damian stare at the picture that’s laying at your table.

A picture of you and your mother.

Maybe it’s the only picture of you and her but it explains everything about your relationship with her.

You malnourished, eyes hold emptiness yet smiled so awkwardly at the camera, having just an oversized t-shirt and a shorts on, bandages free, happily in your mother arms.

Thats probably the only picture of you smiling.

Out of all the pictures that he sees in the album, the one where you’re under the care of Alfred, not his father.

You’re smiling with your mother, where you live a miserable and pitiful life.

What was it that was different or missing from this family that made you never smiled at least once?

In the past, he use to sneak into your room whenever it’s one of those days where you don’t come home.

Interested on why you look so….. depressing and On deathbed-like.

Yet as time goes by, he was interested in you by you’re nature.

Seeing your photos, art and diary (or at least what’s left of it).

He wanted to know more about you yet his pride and jealousy got in the way.

He wanted your attention yet he rejected the idea of even having a conversation with you.

Everything was fine until one day he sees the room clean and smell of fresheners.

That’s when he realized what he did.

He was too late- no, he can fix it.

He will get his older sibling back, he must.

God whoever this “Q” is will be the top of his list for taking what’s his.

He hold onto your childhood doll before tensing his body when the sound of creaking fills the room.

“Father, Alfred, Tim, Dick, what are you doing here?”

Inspired by @-acid-ixx Again & again series and @-marcyvamp1re-blog silly little bat

[clockwayswrites]

A Hill to Die On, Ch 5, P 1

masterpost (this is a first draft, please no editing or concrit <3 my brain is very fatigued and migraine is looming)

It was only because there was no one else in the apartment that Caroline let herself pace. Well, no one than the other people who shared the body with her. Apparently Dick had managed to invite all the girls. Cassandra, Stephanie, and Barbara were all coming along on the shopping trip with her and Dick.

Dick had said that he’d spoken with them each about, well, her and Alvin existing, but she didn’t find that as reassuring as she hoped that it might be. She trusted Dick about the fact that he did talk to each of them, but she found, shamefully, that she didn’t exactly trust Dick not to be taking the reactions at their very best. There was a big gap between not minding her existence and really accepting it. She wasn’t sure where the girls fell in that spectrum.

Tim was trying to reassure her, which was weird. Because, she could tell that Tim was nervous and uncertain as well. There were a lot of reasons that Tim had never really accepted what she and Alvin were and several of those reasons were the Bats and Birds.

He couldn’t lose any of them.

She couldn’t either.

The ringing of the doorbell scattered her thoughts.

Caroline pulled on the strings of her (Tim’s? Too big. Jason’s?) hoodie and pushed her shoulders back. It was okay. She could do this. If they hated her, she’d just make sure not to be around them again. That should be easy enough with three people in the body.

She glanced at the screen by the door, safety first and all that, before opening it to the gaggle of girls.

Well, girls and Dick who honestly blended in very well.

“Who did your make up?” Caroline asked.

“Team effort,” Dick answered with a grin.

Caroline gave a little snort before she forced herself to actually look at the other. “Hi, I’m Caroline. I’d say nice to meet you, but.”

“Have we all actually met you?” Stephanie asked as she pushed through the group some to lean forward.

Barbara just rolled her eyes and her wheelchair both, causing Stephanie to lose her balance and almost toppled.

“Rude,” Stephanie huffed, but followed the others inside.

“You have, at least in some way,” Caroline answered as she brushed some of her hair behind an ear. She had put in the dangly star earrings that Danny had gotten her. They were a small comfort within all of the uncertainty of the day. “I’m pretty much who fronts at galas, but this is the most… me I’ve been around some of you.”

“And you never wanted to say hello?” Barbara asked.

Of course it had to be Barbara who had to ask. She was one of Caroline’s inspirations as both the original Batgirl but also as Oracle. Caroline sat lightly on the arm of the couch, since it seemed they were settling in to talk first. “Of course I did. But… we didn’t really acknowledge ourselves as different people exactly for the longest, even if the truth was in the back of our mind. I think Tim would have stopped me. And even if he hadn’t, I wouldn’t have risked that for him.”

“Risked… being you?” Cass asked as she took a seat and folded her legs under herself.

Caroline smiled sadly. “Risk point out how not normal we are.”

“Okay, but Tim—Fuck! Caroline,” Stephanie corrected herself with a grimace. Caroline tried not to mind the slip. “But Caroline, we have never thought Tim was normal. I knew that from the moment I thew a brick at his face.”

“You two have the weirdest relationship,” Caroline said.

“Yeah we do! Dude was my lamaze partner,” she said proudly. Then her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Or fuck, wait, was that actually Alvin?! Have I met Alvin?”

“Pretty much.”

“Yes!” Steph threw her arms up and collapsed onto the couch. “I’ve met all three. Suck it, losers!”

Caroline couldn’t help but laugh softly at that. “Well, so has Dick and maybe Babara.”

“Oh,” Cass said. “That laugh. Heard that laugh before. That is your laugh.”

The wounder with which Cass said it made Caroline want to hide away (or at least blush). (She was pretty sure that she was blushing.) “Oh, yes, I suppose it is.”

“Like it,” Cass said.

Caroline found herself relaxing a little at the certainty that Cass was approaching her with. “Thanks. Our psychiatrist thinks that the more I have… permission to be myself, that the more those differences will come. It’s a little hard though, because all of us are used to being chameleons.”

“Which is part of the reason for this shopping trip!” Dick said. He stepped forward and draped an arm over her shoulder. Caroline let herself lean back into the touch. “We’re going to make sure that Caroline gets new clothing that fits and is all her’s and some decor stuff that she likes.”

“Well, Tim might steal some of the clothing,” Caroline said. “I think I’m a good excuse for him to explore that side of himself. But I really do need clothing that fits.”

“Outfits are something that help you a lot? To feel more you, I mean,” Barbara asked.

Caroline nodded. “Make up and hair styling too. I really like that our hair is longer now so that I don’t have to wear a wig to feel like me.”

“I like how you style it,” Stephanie said. “It looks so different from Tim’s.”

“That’s because Tim is lazy and doesn’t put any product in it,” Caroline said. “But thank you, Stephanie.”

“Stephanie?” she asked, nose scrunched up in offense. “Dude, no, Steph. It’s not like we don’t already know each other! I know we still have to get to know each other better but, like, we can start off as friends, right?”

“And family,” Cass said.

“You had better call me Babs.”

Dick squeezed her shoulder. Maybe he had done a good job talking to them after all.

Caroline ducked her head, embarrassed by how fond she was feeling about all of them right then. “Friends and family then. I like that.”

[bittersweetcreep]

Bring You Home Prologue A Yandere! Batfamily x Wayne Daughter! Oc Story

Ch.1 Part 1

Bruce, Tim and Damian needed the DNA of a target for one reason or another so a Wayne Enterprises blood drive where they also donate was the perfect cover-up, but when Bruce was going through the DNA samples via batcomputer he came across a DNA that matches both Damian and himself. Pulling up the profile of the DNA match he felt as if everything has faded into static as he came face to face with the photo of his mother, only it wasn't his mother but a 15 year old girl with porcelain skin, unique but familiar ombré blue eyes and black to white ombré hiar that's braided in low pigtails resting upon her shoulders with blunt bangs and long strands of hair framing her face

This girl is his daughter, who, by reading, was also named Martha. He just sat there stareing at his daughter's photo who in all intents and purposes could be his own mother's little mini me, she even has her unique ombré blue eyes and facial features down to a t, although she doesn't have his mother's blonde hair or at least that's what he thought until he found a older photo of her younger self with the same soft creamy blonde hair as his mother's. Bruce would of bask in the photo of his Mother's look alike for much longer [dear god she looks so much like her] if it wasn't for the fact this younger photo was attached to a criminal report of his own daughter being a victim of a stabbing by what it appears to be her two friends sacrificing her to the online character Slender Man. There were photos of her stabbed wounds and even a short video from a civilian showing her stumbling down the sidewalk covered in her own blood. And that wasn't the only report his daughter was a victim of some sort. There was another report that, when reading, made his stomach turn. "Oh god." The report was a case of infancy rape and the attacker? Her uncle. Reading through both case files and looking at the photos of his daughter's injuries made Bruce realize that he could have lost his daughter twice, and he wouldn't have known! He didn't want to go thought the loss of his loved ones being taken away from him again especially his Martha now that he knows about her, because when he looks at her he sees his mother and he becomes that little boy who lost his parents to the cruelty of that mugger but now in his hands was a piece of his mother he thought was forever gone and this time he'll keep her safe forever in his arms.

Hearing the faint sound of footsteps, Bruce turned his head to see Tim and Damian heading towards him. Internally composing himself, Bruce greeted his sons as they came close to the batcomputer, looking up at the screen showing the photo of their sister. "Is this the target, Father?" "No she's not. She's my daughter Martha and your sister." Curious and intrigued they investigated along side their father but not before looking at the photos and reading what was done to her no matter how much Bruce tried to prevent them and let's just say they weren't pleased. While Tim could control himself, Damian didn't have that same sense of control. "Father, don't you dare come in between me and the inferior scum who dare to defile Martha! She was an infant, Father! An infant! And who is insane to believe the existence of a fictional character! My god, Father, you saw the stab wounds! They could have killed her!"

While Bruce tried to wrangle his son up and prevent Damian from grabbing his sword to exact revenge for his sister's honor, Tim took a seat at the batcomputer and started to do some investigating himself. He checked if she had any online accounts, and she did. He started with her Instagram, where he found photos of what he assumed was her family, who consisted of a red hair women who's hair is tied up in 3 rose buns with jade green eyes, a conventionally attractive male with dark ashy hair styled in a jellyfish mullet with matching color eyes, a african american women with black knotless box braids with white and hot pink highlights with dark eyes and a lastly a dog who's breed is of a mahogany belgian malinois. With a little searching, he discovered their names. The red-haired woman's name is Roseanne Rodriguez, and from her Instagram, it seems she's a popular wedding planner. Then there's her son Levi Rodriguez, who's a military veteran but is currently working as a tattoo artist and is in a relationship with Aisha Gomez, the african american woman who's an employee of Gotham's Cozy Corner. And how can he forget the precious mahogany belgian malinois who's lovingly named Lady. Even though Tim hadn't met his newly discovered sister's family, he had a feeling they'll be a thorn in their side at some point, but not Lady, she's magnificent.

Tim continued to scroll down, passing by images of Martha and her family doing various things together like a family trip to Gotham's Waterpark and going to a nail salon with the girls. There were also short clips of her sparring in krav maga and muay thai classes. As well as clips of her in fencing lessons and a recent photo of her in Kendo Gear. When Damian saw what was on the screen he put aside his plans for vengeance for now in favor of taking hold of the batcomputer to get a better look at his sister's lessons while ignoring Tim's annoyed protest. Damian watched and re-watched the clips of Martha taking down her opponent with trained skill, and the same goes for the way she trains with a blade that she held with familiarity. He also found photos of her dog being dropped off at a doggy daycare, resting in a luxurious dog house with a rubber fish dog toy in their mouth and when Damian found video clips of Martha playing with her belgian malinois in a agility course he got giddy as he imagined of the fun competitions between the two of them and with their animal companions too.

As the 3 men scrolled down Martha's photos they saw photos from her past and present right in front of them, it was like watching her life play out before their eyes and it both captivated them and created a hollow feeling inside of them because they weren't there for any of it. Damian had enough. He refused to miss out any more of his sister's life, and he knew he wasn't the only one who felt that why. "Father, I demand my sister to come home. She belongs here, it's her birthright!" Tim couldn't have agreed more. "Damian has a point, I mean, stabbed 19 times and infancy rape by a family member? Martha would be much safer and happier with us." Bruce's lips turn upward in a proud smile he was happy and relieved to hear his boys accepting his little girl into the family and that they want her home just as much as he does. "Don't worry my sons, we'll bring her home."

[queenofthearchives]

BAMF Alfred Pennyworth holding a cane. Caption reads: 'Please, Master Bruce. Stand back and let the real professionals do the work!' This is from my fic Tim and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by QueenoftheArchives on ao3. If you're in the mood for some batfam crack fic, give it a read. (Ch.3/3 now up!)

[luvly-writer]

Crimes of a Mother

Ch. 1: She’s our shadow

Batfamily x Reader

-•-

Author’s note: I did NOT think this story was gonna get amount of love it did because i’m so insecure about it but wow!!! Thank you so much!!! I truly am grateful for your love for this! Thank you Thank you!! I think it will become a short series so if you’d like to be added to the taglist, leave a message! Here’s chapter 1, Enjoy!!!

Warning: English is not my first language

Taglist: (i’m starting the taglist with the people who asked for a part two <3) @nxdxsworld @give-jack-a-lightsaber @h0rr0r-10ver-69 @can-i-feel @n4muar

Masterlist:

-•-

Subject name: Yn Wayne Salazar

Age: 18

Mother: Valentina Salazar (alias, the Golden Serpent)

Father: Bruce Wayne (alias, Batman)

Skills: High level of expertise on criminal investigation, Bilingual, Photographic memory...

Weaknesses: [empty folder]

Education: [CURRENTLY UNDERGOING] Bachelor in Criminal Journalism

Motive for investigating: ???

———

-“Nghhhh”

Bruce mutters as he leans back and rubs his eyes. The Batcomputer displayed a series of pictures and the beginning of a subject report on Yn. The last few weeks have been interesting to say the least. After her visit to the manor, everyone aside from Bruce and Alfred had been curious on who this unknown girl and had been trying to get either of them to spill on who she was. Normally, they would have let it go by now, they reason (lies) ; but after seeing Bruce and Alfred pale as a sheet of paper, they knew this wasn’t just another of Bruces small secrets

After much perstering, Bruce finally caved in. (Barbara found Vals note as she was managing the commns. He left it there after having to rush out and stop Tim from strangling Jason and Damian for lacing his coffee with a laxative. In their defense, they are trying different ways to help Tim get more sleep and lay off coffee. In Tim’s defense, he had to miss two days of patrol because his stomach wouldn’t hold anything...alas, the life of a single father)

To say that it caused a raucus withing the family is an understatement. Jason, Stephanie, and Tim couldn’t stop laughing about Bruce having another kid. Barbara and Cass were just glad they had another girl in the family. Dick was contemplating whether he wanted to leave or stay for the drama and risk meeting another version of Damian. Duke was trying to console Damian who stayed in catatonic shock for a few moments seeing as he had an actual blood sibling. Bruce had figured that if he had all of them on the lookout for her, she would be safer plus, they would be able to get the largest amount of information about her together. This had proven to be somewhat difficult seeing as Valentina had made sure to leave no trace of her their daughter’s existence in Gotham.

The following weeks after the debrief were anything but boring. They had been made aware that they had a shadow during patrol. Tim, familiar with the situation, had taken note of it first. Yn was good. She kept hidden, had the stamina to keep up, and most of the time could almost accurately predict their next move. One time, Tim, Dick, and Jason had decided to go on a coffee run in the middle of a stakeout. They hadn’t seen her all night and decided to leave Steph, Damian, and Duke in charge while they went and ordered. Lo and behold, there she was in a booth in the back sipping some coffee and typing on her laptop. They hadn’t thought anything of it seeing as this coffee shop normaly stayed open till late hours of the night due to its proximity to Gotham University and students constantly went to study there as classes had started. It wasn’t until Dick made eye contact with her that he felt chills down his spine. Her eyes were trained on them like a predator to its prey, still, unmoving, and absorving everything. He had called out to Jason and Tim; and once they turned to look ate her, she was unintimidated by the three figures, with her head leaning on one hand and her other holding her cup. She raised a delicate eyebrow at them and just stared. They figured the girl had her mothers looks but good grace, she was Bruce Wayne’s Daughter. To be more specific, she was the Dark Knight’s daughter and her eyes were a key give away of that. Not even Damian, with all his devil spawness, could recreate that piercing gaze.

It wasn’t only as vigilantes. She would be seen with a notebook in the back of Bruce’s conferences and interviews, eyes cold, calculating and focused as she observed and wrote down. It was known she was targeting Bruce and he didn’t know whether to feel some sort of twisted pride or to be concerned.

Back in the present, Bruce had never felt so frustrated. Why was this kid here? Was this a cruel trick of fate where she was destined to cross his path? Was he finally believing in something as simplish as fate and destiny? What was her investigation? What did she wanna know? How much did she know? Was she sleeping and eating? Were her grades slipping? In a moment of fatherly worry he hacked into Gotham's system and found her students bio. Classes had started two months ago...it really had been two months since he had met her? Her grades were perfect. Exams aced, projects and homework all As, she had taken a few college credits in high school so she had advanced in some of her classes and skipped the basics. She truly was brilliant.

-“I finally get a Wayne in university who has the intention of finishing it.”

Exclaimed Alfred as he walked closer and interrupted his thought process. (He would forever be salty that neither his “son” nor his “grandkids´” had gone or finished college.)

-“She's a brilliant kid.”

-“Well she ought to be. If I remember anything about her mother, I'd be worried if she wasn’t”

He corrects and Bruce scoffs a laugh.

-“She’s been tailing us for weeks, yet not a single bad score.”

-“It almost sounds as if you’re proud, master Bruce”

-“I....I barely know her”

-“Let’s fix that then, shall we? Invite her over for dinner with the family. It is a possibility that all the questions that have you perplexed may find their answer if you get to know her and she begins to trust you”

-"Couldn’t this just be an ordinary investigation without any attachment?"

-“That is your daughter, master Wayne. Better her to be here and protected than out there for her other family to find her and make a move first.”

-“Nghh”

-“Such a cooperative answer, I shall notify the rest.”

----

For all of her bravado, Yn was nervous. It had been two months and a half since she had stepped into the manor. Charlie and Taylor had told her encouraging words as she dropped them off at their respective practices and headed for the Wayne house. She had tried to dress nicely and make a better impression that last time. Had Mr. Wayne seen her at the conferences? Did he know of her nightly investigations? Was he gonna tell her mom?

She parked her car and stepped out. Would dressing up and acting nicer make her look guiltier? She walked up the stairs and pressed the doorbell. She was working so hard on understanding her family and it wouldnt go to waste because of some pissy billionare. She heard some footsteps walking towards the door. She was not going to give up today.

-“Hello, miss Salazar, it is great to see you again.”

---

Dinner had been going great so far. You had been introduced to all of them at once and began small chatter. Everyone had been somewhat pleasant with her, trying to make her feel at ease. She had chalked it up to Mr. Wayne fulfilling some sort of favor her mother had asked of him to protect her and this actittud had passed on to his kids.

-“So, Yn, why Gotham?”

Asked Dick, which made everyone turn to her

-“Yeah, why this dumpster fire of a city?”

Laughed Jason

-“Well -she laughed- I have always felt a connection to Gotham. Like as if something was missing and I knew I would find it here. Ever since I was a child, it had always been my mom and I only, no other immediate nor distant family members. Mom would never talk about the city even though she’s from here and it made me wonder why. I mean, feels like there's a huge part of me that I dont know about and I would like to, even if my mom advices against it constantly. What if I find family here, you know? There's something out there for me and I know it is here. Not only that, Gotham U has the best Criminal Forensics and Journalism departments ever. Of course..that can be because of the high profile of criminality and the amount of rougues running around. My mom tried to advise that Star City and even Metropolis would work but they aren’t Gotham, you know. They don’t have the history, the profile, the exentric rougues, the vigilantes. I mean, who is the Dark Knight? Why does he inspire so much fear? Is he a friend or someone who could potentially face a dark turn? What is his history with his sidekicks? Why so many? Are they human? A failed experiment? Cryptics? It is all fascinating, wouldn't you agree?

They all digested her answer. They all understood and and could relate to a certain level. Her determination was admirable.

-“That's actually...not a bad reason to move to Gotham”

Damian spoke up, surprising everyone. Yn smiled in approval and thanked him shyly.

-“When did you begin to have a passion for investigating?”

He asked again

-“Well, I guess I was too into crime shows? Plus being good at it certainly helps”

She laughs making the rest chuckle

Dinner finished shortly after. Everyone had decided to exchange social media handles and say their goodbyes. Bruce walks her to the door and speaks up,

-“Listen Yn, I am sorry about the thing about your father. I really ca-“

-“I know. You are a good man, Mr. Wayne. I am sorry for being too upfront that day, I tend to be too pushy sometimes during an investigation. I appretiate your respect and care for my mother a lot but...that still won’t stop me. I will find out who is my family.”

-“Well...seeing as nothing can hold you back, I just wanted to let you that our doors are always open for you. You are always welcomed into our family.”

She smiled at the sentiment and he could feel it pulling his heart strings. This is his kid, literally his. She is his daughter.

-“Thank you, Mr. Wayne”

She said as she started to walk to her car

-“One last thing...about your father”

Yn had never turned around so fast in her life

-“Yes?”

The hopeful look in her eyes made him take a step back and consider his words lightly

-“I think...I think he'd be very proud of you. You really are an extraordinary kid”

Seeing the hope fade a little killed him but it was better this way

-“You think so?”

-“I know so”

Her eyes watered a little but she held back. She gave him a nod and a tight smile

-“Goodnight, Mr. Wayne”

-“Goodnight, kid”

———•———•———

I am always open to feedback so remember to leave a comment or a reblogs if you have any suggestions, comments or just want to be added to the taglist!

[5-puthyyy]

The Apprentice (Agatha x Rio x Reader) - Chapter 6

AO3 LINK

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary:

Life has been about survival for you ever since your coven banished you for the simplest thing: desire. Since then, you've travelled from Inn to Inn, making ends meet, until you sense a powerful Magick presence coming from two mysterious women. They take you in as their apprentice and you end up learning far more than what you came for...

CHAPTER WARNINGS! -- (18+ ONLY) SEXUAL CONTENT IMPLIED?

Ch.1 ~ Ch.2 ~ Ch.3 ~ Ch.4 ~ Ch.5 ~ Ch.6 ~ Ch.7 ~ Ch.8 ~ Ch.9 ~ Ch.10

“Y/N…” Agatha moans sweetly into your ear as she nibbles at your neck teasingly. Squirming from your place between her legs, you let out a whiney moan of your own, desperate for some attention. Your head falls back onto her shoulder and she takes the opportunity to claim your lips in a gentle kiss. It quickly turns rough the second Rio gets involved, growling from between your legs as she kisses at your coated inner thighs.

“Y/N…” Rio groans as she finally gets a taste of you, immediately wanting more, no, needing more. That’s all you see in her eyes; a desperate, primal hunger for you. “Y/N,” she groans again, then whispers, “Y/N?”

Blinking as her face between your legs turns into a frown, you wake up from your daydreams to Rio’s concerned face. The brown-eyed witch is already on her feet with her hand pressed to your forehead, fearful you may have caught a fever of sorts.

“Oh,” you mumble, cheeks instantly flushed as you take in your surroundings. There is absolutely no chance you were just daydreaming about that at the table during breakfast with the very stars of your dreams. No way. You refuse to acknowledge this has just happened.

“Are you feeling unwell, sweetheart?” Rio asks, her tone softer than you’ve ever heard. She gently caresses your jaw with her fingertips, her touch feather-like yet leaving a hot trail on your skin. Though you think that has more to do with you than her.

Agatha clears her throat from the side, forcing your head to turn to her. “This may help if it is a fever. If not, well, it does taste delicious,” she winks as she hands over freshly brewed tea with a half smile, the concern clear in her eyes behind the playfulness.

“I’m well. Sorry, I’m sorry, I did not sleep well last night,” you apologise, keeping your head down to avoid their intense gazes because those eyes are hitting you directly at your core; it’s pulsing, hot, and ready to explode at any given moment.

But Agatha takes your lack of eye contact as sadness instead. “Did I not tell you I wish for you to stop?”

You look up, face twisted in confusion. “Stop what?”

“This,” Agatha gestures to you with her hands, “Do not apologise as if you have done something wrong. You can feel unwell, you can feel tired, you can feel good if you’d like,” she emphasises, her eyes flickering down for a moment, “Be honest, and unapologetic.”

Despite it still being early in the day for a lesson, you take it as such with a nod, your shy gaze shifting into a slightly stronger and more determined one. You begin to wander if you’re even good enough for them, but realise what they want is for you to see you as good enough for yourself.

“Can we train together today?” you ask them without hesitance in your voice, clear and hopeful.

Agatha and Rio smile softly at you before looking at each other for a moment, having a silent conversation. The tea you begin to sip is warm against your tongue and you blame the flush on your cheeks on that as you observe the way their eyes soften, how Rio can’t stop herself from glancing down at Agatha’s lips, how Agatha’s eyes switch to teasing Rio.

“Sure,” Agatha answers simply, “If you want to play, we can play,” her teasing words are joined by a wide smirk as she looks back to you, taking in your clearly flustered state. Maybe this wasn’t your brightest idea…

“If you were to ever fight a witch like Rio, you’ll need to know how to defend yourself first, and understand when will be the right time to attack,” Agatha starts standing in the middle between the two of you, “Rio is powerful,” she carries on, eyes shining as she praises her lover, “She’s unique, has some spell and skillsets that are only available to her, so you cannot counter her with her own spells. All you can do is defend,” Agatha finishes, spinning to face you fast. You spot the purple balling in her fist and immediately throw your arms up in a cross over your chest, forcing the power coming at you to dissipate.

“Well done,” Rio grins widely at your quick reflexes, her arms crossed over her chest. She’s wearing a shirt that is loose around her, but it has no sleeves so the muscles in her arms are far more noticeable and therefore far harder to look away from. It’s almost like she can read the thoughts in your mind as she flexes her arm muscles subtly, smirking right at you with knowing, playful eyes.

You choke on literal air, falling into a mini coughing fit for a moment. Agatha’s warm hands on your back make it even worse and you brush her off quickly, dismissing her concern. “I’m fine,” you rasp out, clearing your throat. It seems your default setting around these two is blush.

“Right,” Agatha says cautiously, not believing you for one second, but she finally moves on to the actual training. She steps back from the makeshift circle in the basement, now a simple onlooker to you and Rio’s fight. She gives you no tips, no help, nothing but a smirk and a nod to indicate the fighting may begin.

With a nervous smile, you turn back to look at Rio who now has her arms to her side, tilting her head as a beautifully vivid shade of green takes over her eyes. Her fingers wiggle around teasingly as if she’s waiting for you to make the first move, but you know that’s just a test. This is a defence class, so you immediately put your hands forward and create a protective shield of Magick.

Not needing it, but definitely wanting it, – okay, maybe needing it a little – you glance at Agatha and get a raised brow of approval that sends a warmth down your spine. Rio doesn't seem to like that the attention has come off her so she immediately blasts a ball of green Magick towards you. The impact has your feet sliding against the ground as you’re pushed back, but your shield remains intact. Intent, you remember. Strong Magick is about intent. And you intend not to disappoint them.

The next few minutes are filled with Rio’s endless attacks and you manage to defend most of them, trying one of Agatha’s tricks by balling up the Magick she throws your way and pushing it back towards her. You’d think the brown-eyed witch would grow increasingly frustrated but she’s still calm as ever, if anything she’s more excited by the second. Thrill and adrenaline glow in her eyes as you play with each other, circling, flying above and around, disappearing and reappearing in a poof. You find yourself actually having fun doing this.

But eventually, Rio decides to test you further. You don’t know what spell she has cast or how she’s broken your defences, but there’s suddenly a blockage in your throat. Your shield drops immediately, hands clawing at the skin of your neck as you struggle to breathe.

“Rio!” Agatha yells out harshly, the spell breaking immediately at her tone. Finally catching your breath, you glance up at them to see Rio with an adorable pout on her lips, “Be gentle with her,” Agatha demands before scrying to you, falling to her knees beside you, “Are you hurt, little dove?”

Rio rolls her eyes. “She’s fine, she’s strong. Stop babying her.”

Agatha rolls her eyes and snaps her head back to her partner with a teasing glare; her hand continues stroking your back tenderly as you watch on. “Jealous?”

You freeze at the implications of her words. Have they caught on? Is it over if Rio says yes? Dread sinks into your stomach as you stare at Rio with wide, terrified eyes. But the brown-eyed witch simply tilts her head with a slow smirk.

“Yes. But not sure of who.”

Oh. Oh, that means something entirely different. But before you can sit on it and really let the words sink in, Agatha’s pulling you to your feet, claiming you’ve had more than enough combat training today and can tend to the garden. As you water the flowers later, you cannot get the echo of Rio’s playful words out of your head. It only confuses you further. Does she want you? Does Agatha, or has she taken offence to Rio’s words? You glance towards the cabin every now and then, looking through the window to the kitchen hoping to catch a glimpse of them, but they remain out of sight. Definitely not out of mind.

You’ve lost track of time with Agatha and Rio; it feels as if you’ve been here forever. They’re all you know and all you wish to remember. It’s a few evenings later when you’re all sat together in the living space, Rio sits on the chair by the fire – typically Agatha’s spot – while the blue-eyed witch takes the long upholstered armchair, almost as flat as a bed. There’s more than enough space for two on there but you’re far too on edge to be sat near either of them, so you take the smaller armchair in the corner by the table.

“What are you reading?” you ask Agatha curiously, sipping on your tea. Your knees are pressed to her chest, comfy and cosy in your little spot.

Agatha looks up from her book after a moment, finishing off her sentence before giving you a soft, tender look. “William Blake,” she says simply, waiting a moment as you hum and take another content sip, “Would you like to hear some?”

Hear? As in, she would read it aloud to you? In her voice? “Sure,” you answer in a whisper. Rio glances up curiously, putting her own book down to listen in. Agatha clears her throat before beginning.

“O rose, thou art sick!  The invisible worm,  That flies in the night,  In the howling storm,  Has found out thy bed  Of crimson joy,  And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy.”

Oh. Oh, God, the pulse in your chest feels as if it’s seconds away from bursting out and reaching for Agatha. Her voice is so sensual and soft, raspy as it always is before bed. It transformed that pulse to between your legs, begging for attention. Rio seems to be similarly transfixed, gazing at Agatha with a dark lust in her warm brown eyes.

“Another?” Agatha asks simply, teasingly, knowing your answer already. It’s wicked; she’s wicked and she knows it. It’s cruel torture making you feel this way while not doing a thing about it. It’s probably too big of a risk for her, for Rio, for all of you to cross that line you have been sensually playing with for the last few weeks.

“Yes, please,” you whisper back politely, a blush already tainting your cheeks. Agatha grins, chuckling lowly before those slender fingers take their sweet time flipping through the pages.

“A flower was offered to me, 

Such a flower as May never bore; 

But I said ‘‘I’ve a pretty rose tree,’’ 

And I passed the sweet flower o’er. 

Then I went to my pretty rose tree, 

To tend her by day and by night; 

But my rose turned away with jealousy, 

And her thorns were my only delight.”

Rio lets out a snorty laugh at Agatha’s choice, not bothering to cover her delight. All while you sit on your chair, legs almost trembling as your need grows more and more. It’s not just physical, it’s something deeper within you that needs her, actively seeking the comfort she can give you. It’s the way she tends to your wounds, physical and emotional. The way her eyes soften when she looks at you, and how she’s so observant of your needs as if she never looks away from you.

Then there’s Rio, wild and free. She’s playful, and dark, dangerous but can be serious and gentle when needed. She never pushes too hard but does test how hard she can push, and it excites you how she challenges you. It excites you to see how often she challenges Agatha and how many of those times end up with blue eyes darkening, turning black with lust and desire leaving you no room to debate what they’ll be doing that night.

You think of that night you saw them, heard them, knowing they were thinking of another woman. With the way they’ve been acting around you lately, and the way they’re both looking at you now, you can’t help but foolishly wonder…are you the other woman?

Agatha gazes at you with a charged look in her eyes. It’s both enticing and terrifying having her look at you with such intensity. Those eyes trace your neck as you visibly gulp down the ball of nerves that just formed in your throat. You’re unsure what’s to happen next. Will she pounce, like you’re prey to her? Will she take Rio to their room and bid you goodnight? Will she–

“Come here, little dove.”

Not even registering your movements, you end up on your feet slowly walking towards her. She pats the spot by her on the long armchair and you sit obediently, mind flashing to the first morning when Rio demanded you sit at the table. Agatha’s eyes were far more dangerous then, still cautious and purposely clouded. They’ve changed since then, slowly opening up more and more, no longer hiding all her emotions from you. When you finally take your seat, you allow yourself to think that there’s one thing she’s clearly telling you with her eyes.

She wants you.

“Do you remember what you said when I asked you what you truly wanted?” Agatha asks, not moving from her position. She’s sat comfortably with her knees tucked under herself. All it takes is a finger to motion for you to come forward, and you do.

“Freedom,” you whisper croakily, blushing at the sound of your voice so obviously twinged with desire, “Acceptance,” Agatha nods for you to continue, her small smile growing wider by the second, “And to be who I am.”

Agatha leans forward slowly, calculatedly, now lifting a hand to rest on your jaw, her thumb circling your skin. She’s inches away from you, her nose a sliver away from yours, “Unapologetically,” she finishes your sentence for you, a challenge shining in her eyes.

Your breaths are laboured at this point, hitting her lips with a desperate desire. Agatha breathes it all in eagerly, her eyes wide and wild and so blue it’s so hypnotic you think you may be swaying a little.

She says one last thing, the nail in the coffin to steal all the air from your lungs. “I want you to take what you need, unapologetically. No apologies, no fear, no thoughts but those of what you want.”

It’s tense as you physically freeze up. There’s only one thing she could be talking about right now with how she’s holding your face in her hand, how she’s looking at you, looking through you with intensity. It’s playful, it’s powerful, it’s beautiful and you do the one thing that has been on your mind from the very moment you saw her. 

With a ragged breath, you break the distance.

masterlist + guidelines

ITS GETTING SPICYYYYYYYY GRAB YOUR SENOR SCRATCHYS FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

[souliebird]

[[soulie's masterlist]]

small intro: I am Soulie. 30+ NB they/them writer. I like comics , horror, and fashion. Tumblr is my happy place.

Daredevil:

and then I met you [matt murdock x reader]

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s while Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

Season one:

ch: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 |

11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 |16 | 17 | 18 | 19 |

20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25

Season two:

ch: 26 | 27 | 28 | 29

30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35

Current tags:

coffee maker [matt murdrock x reader]

the coffee maker breaks

punish the wicked [matt murdock x reader]

the devil wants out

get low [matt murdock x ofc]

matt gets off early and he's not the only one

addict [matt murdock x reader]

your life revolves around matt. his doesn't revolve around you

Punisher

sugar skulls and altars [frank castle x ofc]

she makes him feel like Frank Castle

Kin (AMC)

last call for sinners [michael kinsella x reader]

The weight of the world feels like it is on Michael's shoulders and you are there to make sure he doesn't crumble under it

Batman

the man and then nothingness [tim drake]

He doesn’t want to be Nothing.

He runs and runs and runs and he doesn’t even know where he is going. Not until there is gravel under his feet and he’s flying past pristine hedges.

Wayne Manor is in front of him and Tim forces his legs to move Faster.

He knows he shouldn’t . He knows he shouldn’t - but between Nothing and Batman, Batman will probably win

---

Or: Tim Drake is 10 years old and really, really, needs an adult.

the multiverse series [tim drake x jason todd]

Jason Todd is traveling through the Multiverse and gets stuck in a world where he never died. He seeks out Tim Drake for help but this Tim is not what he expects at all.

A series of ficlets I wrote on Tumblr starting in 2015.

Random

winterwitch dog [bucky barnes x wanda maximoff]

some houses [ original work]

[aster-draws]

God I've already reread all of Better Halves in it's entirety twice and multiple pieces more than that and just cannot get over it! Also after ch 26/27 I had to go and pull back up the art from ch 2 and ch 24 because 1) wanted to see what Tim/RR was reconciling 2) cannot get over how AMAZING the art is 3) I absolutely ADORE your version/vision of Phantom

omg thank you so much ;-; I love that people love it, like. ofc I'm obsessed with it, I think about it constantly, but that Other people also like it that much is. wild. idk i love you guys thank you

anyways here's a sketch for Danny's 'gotham' design the plot of which will not be explained because spoilers but I'm also obsessed with because. well. you see.

[stove-top96]

Wicked Game

Ch. 02

Y Batfam x Gn Reader

Featuring Platonic: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Tim Drake, Damian Al-Ghul Wayne

3.9k words

Ch. 01 <- Ch. 02 -> Ch. 03

Class schedule

1st period - Art

2nd Period - Maths

12:00 - 1:00: Lunch

3rd Period - Biology

4th Period - English

(5:00 -> Basketball game)

The thought of Biology class and working with Tim is already giving you a headache and there’s still 10 minutes till class starts.

You showed up a little early like you always do, and sat in the same seat as yesterday. Tim will probably sit beside you. Today is the only class you’ll get to work on the poster, and Mrs. Young's expectations for it are kinda insane.

She’s not even offering supplies. No poster paper, hardly any markers. Is this not the ‘best’ school in Gotham? you're not spending any of your hard earned money on a bio project.

Tim can get it.

He has like a gazillion dollars so there’s no reason for him to complain.

You scroll through your socials, but there’s still no sign of Tim. Shouldn’t he be here by now? There’s only a few more minutes to tell class.

<Tim>

So sorry y/n. There was an emergency last night, I can’t make it to class today.

You roll your eyes— great. You want to ask him how he got your number, but what were you supposed to say?

‘I know you didn’t get my number from Brandi. How’d you get it?’

It’s not normal, it’s so creepy. You feel the pit in your stomach grow— Jesus, you can’t be dealing with this on game day.

No one's gonna reprimand Tim Drake. Not the principal, not the teachers, In fact you might be the one to get in trouble. Defamation of character or something.

You sigh. You’ll just block him after Monday, get through this project and never talk to him again.

<y/n>

Ok I’ll do what I can. We can meet up on the weekend or smth.

Can u get the supplies?

<Tim>

Yeah we’ll make something work. It’ll be done for Monday

I should have some stuff laying around somewhere.

You scoff. Quickly shutting your phone off as the bell rings.

Mrs. Young starts talking, reminding everyone how this will be the only class period to work on the project that’s due Monday.

You stare at the empty desk. Your leg starts bouncing and your palms get shaky.

Focus. Just focus on something. Anything.

You can’t. Your mind just drifts to the game, how everything could go wrong.

You shift in your seat. Trying to focus on Mrs. Young’s voice.

Just get through class.

Before you know it you’re in the locker room. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you quickly splash cold water on your face. God— you look like a mess.

“Come on y/n, we gotta warm up in like 10 minutes” your teammate Cameron yells.

“Yeah I’ll be ready in a sec” you yell. Drying your face, you give yourself one last look in the mirror. The pit in your stomach grows bigger.

You’ve worked harder than most people to get here, just trust in your training. You’re the best shooting guard there on the team, there’s a reason this school wants you here.

You pep talk does little to ease your nerves, but there’s not much else you can do now.

You catch up with Cameron in the gym, and watch the other team warmup. “They’re not bad… But we’re better”. Their confidence is nice, but Cameron isn’t playing with the stakes you are.

“Yeah, We’ll be fine” you whisper, you don't know if you’re talking to Cameron or yourself.

You and your warm up. Running laps around doing shooting drills. Your muscle memory takes over.

Your breathing steadies, your mind is clear.

You shoot.

The swish of the net is like music to your ears.

slowly start gaining your confidence back. Warming up your 3 pointers and haven’t missed one yet.

Normally you’re a starter but Coach decided to bench you at the start. He wants you to get a feel for the opposing team.

“These games aren’t like the ones you’re used to playing” he says. His eyes never leave the court.

“They take training camps over the summer, their parents invest good money into them” he continues. It’s not hard to believe, their technique is unreal.

“But you have something they don’t” he pauses and you look up at him “you're strong, and you have raw talent… I can probably guess what was going through your head today. I just want you to know no matter what you're going to stay on my team.”

Everything disappeared at that moment. All your stress, nerves, regret, it was flooded out with a wave of relief and adrenaline.

Nothing mattered now all you had to do was play your favourite game.

The whistle blew and you switched places with E.J. “Show ‘em what you got Y/n” they patted you on the back.

you’ve never played harder. scoring shot after shot. You were in the zone.

You were having fun.

Gotham prep wins, 68 to 25.

The Subway home is short, nothing like the one you took this morning. You ride the high of winning, a small smile never leaving your face as you recall your best plays of the game. Your mind is filled with excitement and anticipation for your next game.

By the time you reach your apartment you’re exhausted, but as you go to unlock the door the key stops short. It’s already unlocked. That’s weird, mom was always triple checking the locks?

a shiver runs down your spine as you slowly push open the door.

The living room light is dim, The curtains are stapled closed. The T.V plays some static filled re-run, and you see her.

Your mom sits on the couch, hands clenched in her lap muttering something to herself.

You swallow “Hey mom I’m back from my game.” She doesn’t move.

You shut the door, making sure to lock it. “We won, I even got MVP”

Still nothing.

A pit forms in your stomach. You sigh as you drop your bag and slide off your sneakers. You slowly make your way to sit beside her. Your shoulders are touching. She doesn’t move, she doesn’t even acknowledge you.

you hate it.

“I was pretty nervous about playing” you continue, softer now. You know talking to her is futile, but maybe just maybe you could bring her back even for a second. “But coach said no matter what I’ll always be on his team” you say, your head drops onto her shoulder leaning closer into her.

She goes quiet and stares into the wall. Your eyes follow her gaze, nothing’s there. You look at the outdated wallpaper, peeling at the edges.

A lump forms in your throat, and the pit in your stomach grows bigger.

She loves Basketball. She taught you everything you know.

She’d always tell you stories about her games, how she was the best Center at Gotham public. You remember seeing her at every middle school game you had, and would always cheer the loudest. She’d ruffle your hair after every game and say “good job baby I’m so proud of you” You used to get so embarrassed about it.

Now she’s barely here.

The doctors said she would get better with the proper help and time, how she was ‘Luckier than most’.

But she’s not.

and there’s nothing you can do about it.

You know she needs more help than what the government is offering. Group meetings for fear toxin victims aren’t enough. She needs professional help, but insurance won't cover it and you can’t afford it with only a minimum wage job and her disability checks.

you clench your fists nails digging into your palms. It’s not fair. But nothing is ever fair in Gotham.

“I’m gonna make dinner mom” you get up slowly. Looking back at her, still nothing.

You’ll help her. You go to Gotham prep, almost any college will accept you just for that. You’ll build a good life for you and her.

But for now, all you can do is make sure she eats.

+++++

<Tim>

How’d the game go?

Tim exhaled sharply, glaring at Dick “You just gonna stare at my phone until they respond?”

”why else would I be here?” Dick lounged on the couch, a cocky grin plastered on his face. He tried to play it off but he was excited.

The living room was quiet with everyone doing their ‘own thing’— Bruce reading the paper, Cass pretending to read a book, Steph scrolling on her phone, Jason and Damian cleaning weapons— But no one was focused.

They were waiting.

The family knew how you did. All of them watched the live stream. They saw every shot you scored, every pass you made, everything.

They were proud.

“I still believe it’s insulting that the coach decided to bench them for the 1st period” Damian scoffed. “Their talent is wasted due to incompetence”.

”they won.” Jason said without locking up

”That’s not the point Todd”. Damian rolled his eyes, “they would’ve won either way.” Damian muttered. Truthfully he was disappointed he didn’t get to see you more.

Tims phone buzzed.

The sound made everyone’s attention snap to him.

<Y/N>

It was good we won and I got MVP

Dick read the text out loud. Tim snatched the phone back before anything else could happen.

“They're starting to share more, that’s good.” Bruce stated, Cass nodded her lips twitch into a small smile.

“Invite her over for tomorrow, I wanna be here when they come” Dick said smugly, a smirk still present on his face.

Tim stayed quiet typing a response.

”I doubt Grayson would go back to Blüdhaven if they chose to come over Sunday” Damian Huffed.

Tim ignored them and hit send.

<Tim>

That’s good!

When are you free on the weekend?

<Y/n>

I work during the day I’m free after 6 tho

the library doesn’t close tell 9

Dick leaned over reading the text aloud. “You're not going to the library,” Jason scoffed. “Yeah, no” Dick said playfully. Tim rolled his eyes “yeah I know” he scoffed, they were too quick to jealousy.

he quickly typed a response.

<Tim>

I’m not really able to go anywhere, that’s why I wasn’t at school today

<Y/n>

wdym

<Tim>

I got my family to keep it out of the news, but I was attacked last night.

They wanted to take me for ransom.

Dick read the messages aloud. There was a moment of silence before he started laughing at Tims lame excuse. Jason and Steph couldn’t help but snicker to themselves, even Damian had a small grin.

Bruce just nodded in approval. You couldn’t know some thug shot him.

<Y/n>

Are you okay?

Tim’s face had a ghost of a smirk. You were worried about him.

<Tim>

yeah I’m fine

I can’t really leave my house until they catch the guys so would you be able to come over tomorrow at 6:30?

Silence filled the room. No one moved.

Everyone was waiting for your response. Growing more and more impatient. But it didn’t come.

Everyone held their breath. It felt like they were staring at the messages for an eternity.

Dick inhaled sharply. “they’re typing”

<Y/N>

yeah sure

<Tim>

great I’ll send you the address

The atmosphere of the room shifted. Everyone had a dark and calculated look as thoughts of tomorrow's plan raced through their mind.

“Everything prepared for tomorrow?” Asked Bruce his expression unreadable.

Damian Nodded “of course”

”Oh, this is gonna be fun,” Dick said playfully, but his eyes gleamed darker.

+++++

Work was more draining than usual.

The Batburger joint you worked at left much to be desired. Two of your coworkers came in high, and some lady yelled at you for forgetting to ‘jokerize’ her fry’s. you want nothing more than to be bedrotting at home.

instead you're here.

You made your way to Wayne Manor. Tim gave you the address, but it was just a formality. Everyone knows where they live.

There was a pit in your stomach as you walked. Your mind couldn’t help but drift— how did he get your number?

you thought of casual ways you might be able to ask him. Maybe bringing up the fact that Brandi didn’t know you were partners might prompt an explanation? Maybe a joke? The thought made you shiver.

As you ponder different ways to approach the situation, and possible escape plans in case things go south. You stopped.

you're here.

the front gate of Wayne Manor loomed over you. The gothic mansion looked even more scary as the sun was setting.

You shouldn’t be here.

But you were.

You pulled out your phone to check Tim’s message.

<Tim>

when you get there just hit the buzzer and someone will open the gate.

You look to the left to see a pin pad, and the buzzer. You reach to press it, but your finger hesitates.

You pause.

A cold sweat envelops you. You feel heavy. The weight of your uniform clings to your skin. The smell of oil and grease fills your nose.

Should you really do this?

You pull your hand back, it’s shaking.

Spinning on your heels to head home. You’ll text Tim, saying you had to go over time or something.

As you're walking back you think.

Bruce Wayne is a ‘billionaire playboy’, he’s kinda a ditzy guy, a philanthropist with too much money. He builds hospitals, funds schools and other good things.

There’s no way anything bad would happen with him there.

you huff turning around.

Back at the gate, your finger hovers over the buzzer again.

”you can do this” you mumble.

Just do it.

You press the button.

“Hello, How may I help you”

a posh voice asks through the speakers.

“Hi, uh. I’m here to see Tim we’re supposed to work on a project together. I don't know if he told you?” You answer meekly. You want to curl into a ball and hide.

“Ah, yes please come in y/n”

the intercom cut off.

your stomach tightened.

The metal clinked and rattled as the gates opened. He knows your name, guess Tim did tell everyone you were coming.

Once the gate is fully open it hits you. You’re at Wayne Manor. There’s a weight in your chest, your legs feel like lead.

Even so you carry on. One foot in front of the other, at least until you reach the front door.

You debate if you should knock again. The posh man did invite you in, but would it be rude if you just walked in?

Raising your fist about to knock. you hear something inside, as if someone is rushing to the door.

The door swings open, startling you just a little. You stare at the man in front of you. It’s Dick Grayson. He’s handsome Mid to late 20’s, messy hair, bright blue eyes and a boyish grin. you’ve seen him everywhere, T.V, magazines, and newspapers.

“You’re Y/n right?” He smiles— practiced, You’ve seen that smile hundreds of times.

“Uh, yeah” you answer. Once again, your voice is quieter than you’d like.

He didn’t seem to mind, he opened the door wider, welcoming you in. The faintest smirk plastered on his face.

”I’m Dick Grayson by the way” his introduction is like Tim’s, only for formality. He knows you know who he is. You slide your shoes off and look up at him.

“Nice to meet you” you smile, your voice more confident this time.

He pauses, then smiles back. It’s a different smile— it reaches his eyes.

“You as well… follow me I’ll show you Tim’s room” he starts walking, you’re quick to follow.

“So Tim said you’re on the basketball team” he asks. He leads you through the manor. It’s warmer than you’d imagine, family portraits and pictures hanging on the wall.

It takes you a second to realize he’s asking you a question. Looks like he wants to make small talk “uh.. yeah it’s pretty nice”

”That's good” he glances over his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure Tim told you but suppers at 7:15 tonight” Dick said casually.

You stumble.

Tim definitely did not mention that.

“I think he forgot to tell me…” you awkwardly laugh.

“He did!? I’ll yell at him later for it, don't worry” Dick laughs. That’s not what you were worried about.

A shiver ran up your spine. This changed everything, you were going to meet everyone.

You want to leave, to turn around and go home. Pretend everything is fine and this never happened.

He pauses in front of a door. “Anyways this is Tim’s room, I’ll see you for supper” and with that he continues walking down the hall.

It’s quiet. You could leave. Just walk away.

Your hand hovers over the door.

You got this, if anything goes wrong you’ll just run home. But nothings going to go wrong.

You knock. It’s silent for a moment.

“Come in”

The door creaked as you opened it, you cringe at the noise. You quickly scan the room before stepping in.

His room was neat almost too neat. Books stacked on a shelf with surgical precision. His desk was arranged like it was never used. There’s a few movie posters on the wall, generic ones, like they were placed to make the room look lived in.

Tim shutoff his laptop as soon as you stepped in.

the bandages wrapped around his waist are visible under his t-shirt. You try not to stare.

“Make yourself at home y/n, sorry I forgot to tell you about dinner” he chuckles sheepishly, but there’s a dark glint in his eyes.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it” you mumbled, you were quick to set up your stuff. You wanted to finish this before dinner.

Tim watched as you fumbled through your bag before handing him a rough draft of the poster. “I got a little bit done in class, we just have to write some of the stages and make the poster”

“Okay, this won't take long, maybe an hour or two” he said, reading through a rough draft of your plan.

“Cool.” you sit at his desk and start writing. “I’ll finish up the stages if you start drawing a diagram”.

Tim smirks, but his eyes don’t leave your notes “sounds good to me”

The next 45 minutes go by fast, it’s silent except the odd sound of papers shuffling. Neither of you make conversation,

you’d catch Tim staring at you every now and then, but you chose not to say anything, it’s easier.

“Dinner will be ready soon” Tim closed his notebook, you froze.

“We should start heading down now” His voice was light, his smile seemed playful— too playful, like he was a kid about to get some candy.

“Okay..” you mumble, getting up from your seat. You follow him downstairs.

you can't turn back now.

The dining room is beautiful. The warm lighting, pretty paintings, decorated table that could fit a dozen people. it looked perfect, but it only made you feel small.

You don't belong here.

You look down at your batburger uniform, suddenly feeling a little self conscious.

Tim guides you to the seat beside him.

It’s just you two at the table right now, you wonder if he can see how nervous you are right now? If he does he doesn’t say anything about it.

“You’re in for a treat, Alfred's cooking is the best” Tim exclaims as he sets his napkin on his lap.

You’re quick to copy him ”I’m sure”.

you’re lost in your thoughts—Did your mom eat? Did she leave the door unlocked again?

A presence snaps you back to reality. A younger boy is sitting across from you.

You didn’t even hear him coming. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you then glares at Tim.

“I’m Damian” his voice is almost professional. “it’s nice to meet you y/n”

“You as well Damian.” You stutter.

Dick walks in, he’s talking with a girl. You’re pretty sure it’s Cassandra Cain, she stays out of the media so you’re not sure.

They keep talking as they find their seats to the left of Damian, but they keep glancing at you.

You swallowed.

“Y/n this is Cass” Dick introduces you.

You look up and force a smile “Hi Cass it’s nice to meet you”

”you too” she responds, before resuming her conversation with Dick, but her eyes never seem to fully leave you.

Great.

Sitting in silence you stare down at the empty plate and polished silverware.

Then Bruce Wayne walks in,

You stiffen, and fix your posture.

He sits at the head of the table. Whispering something to Damian, before looking towards you.

“It’s nice to finally meet you Y/n” he says flashing his famous smile.

“It’s nice to meet you as well Mr. Wayne” faux confidence in your voice.

“Please Call me Bruce” he chuckles

”Alright” you answer, voice wavering slightly.

Before either of you can say anything else, an old man dressed in a butler's uniform walks in.

he begins to set plates in front of everyone. Once he sets yours down, it smells heavenly.

“Thank you Mr…”

”Alfred” he answers, the same posh accent you heard at the gate.

You feel eyes on you as you take your first few bites. Some tried hiding it. Others didn’t bother.

“So Y/n, I heard you had a Basketball game yesterday. How did that go?” Bruce asked, his voice was light.

“It went well, we won 68 to 25” you answered, taking another bite.

Dick Smirked. “What about you? Did you get any playtime?” He asked playfully.

“Yeah I got to play for most of it, I got MVP” you answered. Grabbing your glass of water.

there was a beat of silence.

“Impressive” Damian stated, watching closely as you took another bite.

“Your parents must be proud” Bruce stated, there was that same glint in his eyes. The one Dick and Tim had earlier.

“Yeah… My mom’s really happy, since she taught me to play and all that” you lied.

Dick scraped his fork on the plate. It was grating deliberate.

The noise made you cringe.

“Is that so?” Bruce mumbled, taking another bite of his meal.

Dinner went by without any other questions. Dick carried most of the conversation, with Tim and Damian chiming in when necessary and Bruce and Cass nodding along.

You should be thankful.

But you just felt watched.

It’s been about 30 minutes since you finished eating with everyone, you were back in Tim’s room working on writing the information for the poster.

At least you were trying to.

Tim seemed to be taking his sweet time with just a simple diagram.

You were almost finished with the notes. Glancing down at your writing the words seemed to blur together, Before snapping into focus again.

all you had left was to glue it onto the poster.

“How much longer for the diagram?” You asked, your voice sounded more tired than you expected.

He smirked “Not much, you tired?”

You yawn. Why were you tired? You’ve worked long days before, you should be used to this. You just want to go home.

“A little but I’ll be fine”

Tim stops writing, you can feel him look over at you. It’s like he’s analyzing everything you do, every minuscule expression you make.

Like he’s waiting for something.

“If you say so” he says as he gets back to work, smiling softly to himself.

A heaviness took over your body. Your movements slowed, it was getting harder and harder to keep your eyes open.

your vision swayed, eyes getting heavier.

You blinked slowly.

just a little longer than you can leave.

Maybe if you rest your eyes, just for a moment.

Tim wouldn’t mind?

++++++++++

Can you tell I wrote this in 1 sitting? I feel like it downgraded in quality the longer I wrote lol. I’ll edit any mistakes tomorrow but I really wanna post it so Imma just do that. Comment if you wanna be added to the tag-lists. I also said id explain why batfam is obsessed this chapter but I decided to slowly reveal it (I couldn’t figure out how to fit the flashback scene in the chapter) also I lowkey forgot reader was GN and made the basketball team all girls, than had to go back and change it. I googled gender neutral names and chose the ones I liked please dont come at me!! Also its super late so I hope I kept reader Gn if not Ill change it right away!!

Also if you have any request for some random YBatfam oneshot or somth send in an ask I wanna write more oneshots but I have no ideas lol.

Taglist: @jjsmeowthie @crazycaoticsimp @lilyalone @shycreatorreview @caged-birdies-blog @shirp-collector-of-fixations @wizzerreblogs @c4xcocoa @cxcilla

[torscrawls]

A Ghost by Any Other Name ch.3

You can read the whole story on AO3!

If you prefer tumblr: Chapter 1 can be found here. Chapter 2 can be found here.

---

Danny was big. Like seriously big, with a tall frame and wide shoulders, but Tim didn’t think he had been for very long. He still moved his body as if he wasn’t quite used to the size of it yet. Maybe Tim should have been intimidated, but he was too used to big enemies and siblings to really take notice. 

No, what he had taken notice of was the prosthesis making up the other's left arm. A prosthesis that Tim would bet his whole hidden stash of coffee in the Batcave was homemade, a fact that had spurred him to start talking with the guy when he had spotted him sitting alone at lunch.

A prosthesis that currently lay on the table between Tim and Danny where they sat in an otherwise empty room usually used for construction and prototype testing.

Tim hovered with his hands over the arm as he looked up at Danny and asked for the third time, “Are you sure?”

Danny nodded, straightening the liner covering his now exposed upper arm. “Yeah, man. I’ve been doing this solo ever since— well, since I got it. If you could help me work out some kinks that would be great!”

Tim let his hands fall to the prosthesis, tilting it this way and that to get a better look at it as he took in the patchwork of metal. He didn't have any trouble believing that no one else had worked on it as it was clearly cobbled together from whatever Danny had been able to find. The soldering was stable, but looked patchy from where it had been stretched thin to cover what it needed to.

It was an impressive piece of machinery to have been made by one person, even more so from what were clearly scrap-pieces, but if Tim was being honest the most impressive thing was that it moved at all.

Considering its weight, its many functions, and the length at which Danny could use it without charge, there was no known source that could possibly power it. 

Danny had given him some vague explanation of batteries, sustainable energy, self-sufficiency, and a whole lot of nonsensical buzzwords. Tim might not be an expert in prosthetics, but even he knew that it wasn't possible to have batteries big enough to sustain it for a whole day, and small enough to keep the arm as lightweight as it was.

“So,” Tim said as he placed the arm back on the table. “What do you need help with?”

Danny looked up from where he was fiddling with the fingers of the prosthesis. “I can’t get the thumb to move but I'm thinking of adding something to make the articulation of the fingers better, so if you have any ideas about that I would love to hear it.” He perked up, “Oh! I also need to make it lighter, I think, so that I can keep it on for the whole day. It’s starting to become too heavy for me.” Danny gave a strained laugh. “Not getting any younger, you know?”

Tim didn't buy the excuse of age, Danny wasn't old by any means and he certainly was big enough to be able to support the weight, but he had noted that Danny didn't use the arm every day. Which meant that there was another reason for it. 

“Is this related to your… Illness?” Tim asked carefully.

Danny didn’t answer. Which in itself was answer enough.

“Can I ask… What it is?”

He really didn’t want to pry, but maybe Danny didn’t seek out treatment because he lacked the money for it. If so, Tim found that he wanted to help. “If it’s a question of money, then I can—”

“It’s not,” Danny cut him off. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

“Alright.” Tim dropped the subject as he reached for a small, closed hatch at the underside of the arm. “What’s this part? The power source, right?”

He had just managed to get it open an inch, peeking inside to see something glowing green when Danny snapped the lid shut with a harsh, “Don't touch that.”

Tim held up his hand in a gesture of surrender. “Sorry.”

Danny kept his eyes narrowed and fixed on Tim a second longer, but then relaxed. “No, I'm sorry. I just—It feels personal, okay?”

“Hey, no worries. I get it,” Tim assured him, trying to curb his own curiosity by reminding himself to feel grateful that Danny had trusted him enough to let him work on the arm to begin with. “Thanks for letting me take a look at it.”

“I know it’s not much,” Danny said self-consciously.

It was, but Tim understood what he meant; understood the frustration of being restricted by material things. Tim would love to see what Danny could do with better materials, and there were some benefits to being the son of the richest guy in town. 

“I might have some materials lying around, if you're interested. And I might have an idea about that thumb.”

Danny's whole face lit up.

Tim realized that they were actually starting to become friends. Wish meant that there was only one thing he could do in this situation.

——

Tim scanned the results of the background check he had just completed on Danny.

He had come up clean. Almost too clean. But he also came from a small city in the middle of nowhere; maybe there hadn’t been that many opportunities to get into trouble in Amity Park.

Tim had found no signs that Danny was in any way out to get them, which was great since Tim really didn’t have the time and energy to fight some new villain pretending to be his work-friend and coffee-buddy. His heart wouldn’t be able to take it.

He did trust in Wayne Enterprise’s HR-department (and security department’s) ability to screen new employees but since he had started to run into Danny more often he wanted to investigate himself. But to his surprise, those accidental meetings seemed to just be actually accidental. So even if Tim had been burned one too many times, Danny was starting to look like an actually nice guy. No matter his big size, slightly uncanny looks, and cobbled together technology. The villains can’t get all the cool people, Tim thought smugly and found that he was more relieved than he wanted to admit that Danny had come up clean.

“A new friend?” Dick asked with a raised eyebrow and an infuriating smirk as he leaned over the back of Tim’s chair to get a better look at the screen.

“A colleague,” Tim corrected distractedly as he scanned the documents.

Danny almost seemed too perfect; a friend factory-made to suit Tim.

He liked coffee, he was witty, not afraid to tease him even though Tim was his boss, quick-witted, and had a big interest in technology and inventions. A fact that was proven in his work as well as his prosthetic arm.

In truth, Tim had already started to sneak Danny some projects under the table. Not bat-classed project, but… Maybe some personal things he had under development and would like a second pair of eyes on. And Danny’s insights had proven to be invaluable. Tim looked over his shoulder at the still-smirking Dick. Danny was also non-judgmental and non-infuriating, in contrast to certain other people that should not be named.

As if hearing his thoughts, Dick laughed and nudged his shoulder. “This is a thorough check for a colleague.”

Tim averted his eyes. Maybe it had been longer than he thought since he made a normal friend.

Dick smiled. “I’m glad it came up clean. You could really need some more friends.” 

Dick ignored Tim’s outraged “Hey!” as he scanned over the document before pausing with a frown. “Amity Park? Where's that?”

“No idea.” Tim clicked away on the computer. “Apparently a small town that mostly makes its living as a tourist trap. And their draw is…” Tim trailed off as he digested the last word before exclaiming, “Seriously?!”

Dick leaned in. “What?”

“Ghosts. The whole town claims to be haunted by ghosts.”

“Alright? That's eccentric, but it's not that strange.”

“No, it's just…” Tim dragged a hand through his hair. “It's the second time lately that ghosts have come up.”

And he really didn't want to associate Danny with the two lunatics from a couple of months ago.

“Well, maybe it’s a sign that you should change careers and become a ghost hunter! Can you imagine? A superhero ghosthunter!” Dick laughed and punched him in his shoulder.

Tim snorted and swatted at him. They were really lucky that ghosts weren't real.

——

Of course, after foolishly tempting fate, ghosts stayed not real for far shorter than Tim would have preferred. It wasn’t even a month later when his entire worldview reoriented itself (and really, he should be used to that by now) as that belief died and didn’t come back to life. Which seemed to be a rarity all of a sudden.

At first, they hadn't realized what they were; seemingly harmless and, most unsettlingly, impossible to catch. The blobby apparition had fazed through any and all containment devices they had tried to capture them in, and more often than not they hadn't even been able to touch them. None of their sensors worked, just spouting nonsense readings that fluctuated wildly.

The blobs were hard to handle but thankfully they weren't very destructive since they mostly caused confusion and some accidents brought on by gawking bystanders.They weren’t really attacking anyone—yet, the cynical part of Tim’s mind added—but they were causing enough of a panic to be a problem.

Thankfully, Gothamites generally knew to keep well away from new and unknown possible threats.

The real problem was that they had no idea what they were dealing with and no idea on how to make it go away, but overall Gotham’s green and glowing new decor didn’t really take president over all the daily attacks from both villains and normal criminals.

Tim had foolishly (once again, damn it Tim) believed that was it.

And then he got a message on his communicator masquerading as a cellphone summoning him to the cave for a new type of threat. Tim straightened up from where he had been sprawled over Danny's sagging armchair. “I'm sorry, I have to go. Something came up.”

“Oh?” Danny looked up, eyes immediately jumping from the video game on the TV to Tim. “You okay?”

Tim waved him off, feeling a bit guilty at the clear worry on his friend's face. “Yeah, yeah, nothing bad. Just… A family thing.”

Danny grimaced and Tim guessed he'd had his fair share of family things. He let go of the controller in his right hand, instead grabbing at his prosthetic left, rubbing at it as if in pain.

Tim got to his feet. “It was nice hanging out though. Same time next week?”

Danny's grimace immediately turned into a smile and even though it looked genuine, there was something strained at the corners. “Sure! Good luck with the family.”

There was real fear there, barely visible under the happiness. Tim reluctantly discarded the observation, reminding himself that his friend wasn't a mystery for him to solve. “Thanks. Good luck with the boss without me.”

Danny laughed and shucked a pillow at him. “As if your so-called skills make any difference.”

Tim ducked the soft projectile with a smile before leaving, mind already focusing on what new threat could have come up for him to be called in on one of his few nights off.

Said threat turned out to be an intangible, periodically invisible, glowing, and floating villain. All of those characteristics wouldn’t necessarily lead Tim to the conclusion that he was facing off against a ghost—Gotham was filled with a lot of weird people with even weirder powers—but what sealed the deal was the fact that this new villain just wouldn’t shut up about being one. The ghost of boxes, to be more specific.

Tim would say that he had higher hopes for his own afterlife, but who was he to judge?

And, sure, if that had been the end of it then maybe the easiest answer would have been that they were facing off against a man with very specific interests and an unfortunate chemical accident in his recent past (it had happened before, more than once) but now they were staring down a new villain every other week. All of them proudly proclaiming themselves to be ghosts, and all of them freaking every sensor and scan the Bats threw at them the fuck out.

So ghosts. Were apparently a thing.

Tim wished he was more surprised than he was.

So far, most ghost attacks would stop seemingly by themselves. The ghost in question would be mid-rant and mid-destruction, only for them to suddenly pause, eyes wide. Every time this happened, the ghost’s focus was directed at the group of innocent civilians unwisely trying to catch a glimpse of the action that always accumulated during attacks that weren't too destructive. Their leading theory was that the ghosts were simply scared of the living.

Which was lucky, because the ghosts were both frighteningly strong as well as too many for comfort. Tim was desperately looking for more dependable ways of combating them, but so far he had come up with nothing.

It was hard to fight an enemy you couldn't touch and they weren't used to feeling so powerless.

Which also meant that the small and round creatures that shared all the characteristics of the bigger ghosts, except for the fact that they were shaped more like jelly than people, were also—more than likely—ghosts. It had taken them a frankly embarrassing amount of time to reach that conclusion. Yes, Tim was well aware that Bruce was a world-known detective and that he himself was a genius. No, neither of them had mentioned this slow deduction to anyone.

All of this led up to Tim stumbling into work on a Wednesday, definitely late and definitely operating on way too little sleep. They had all stayed up late yesterday (or maybe it was today? It was hard to even think) facing off against a ghost that claimed to be able to control technology. Okay, facing off might have been an exaggeration. The truth of the matter was that they had ran. The risk of an unknown villain, someone with largely unknown powers and unknown motivations, getting into their tech had been enough of a threat to warrant a tactical retreat.

Which had proven to be a good choice since not even half an hour later there was an attack on their servers. And then another. And another. All of them seemingly from the same source. They had taken readings and scanned everything five times over, but the source of the attack seemed to adapt and change and move in a way that was almost… conscious.

Tim would swear off coffee forever if it turned out not to be the ghost that claimed to be able to control technology. They had been able to stay on top of the attacks but only barely, which was very worrying considering their top-of the line and frankly absurdly paranoid firewalls and assorted protections, as well as the fact that they had, well, Tim on their side.

He promised to never mock Bruce and his paranoid precautions again. At least for a week.

Thankfully they managed to contain the possible (probable) ghost in one of the computers stored in the basement by continuously upgrading and changing their fire walls. But this thing was learning and adapting faster than they could keep up with. It was only a matter of time before it broke out.

Too bad they had no idea who to reach out to. Or even where to start looking for a person who specialized in supernatural possession of computers. The science of ghost hunting didn’t exactly amass reputable scientists and inventors, or if it did, they were probably laying low so as to not get lumped in together with their more… eccentric colleagues. Understandably.

Which meant that trying to find a reputable expert on ghosts was as impossible as grabbing a hold of the ghosts themselves. But Tim knew that he would never be lucky enough for an expert to just stumble into his life, so they kept on searching.

So. No sleep. A whole work-day in front of him. If only he didn't have to keep up appearances. 

Tim tried to keep a brave face and go about his normal duties in his day job and nightly activities, but the threat hung heavy over his head. As well as the lack of sleep, but that didn’t feel as heroic.

Thankfully, his tiredness seemed to act as a homing beacon for his new friend and before he even sat down at his lunch table, Danny was there with two extra-large coffees.

Tim accepted one of them with teary eyes. “You’re a life-saver.”

Danny laughed. “At least I can keep you from joining me.”

And Danny did look tired. He always did.

He was holding his own coffee in his shaking right hand. Apparently the little tweaks and upgrades they had made on the arm hadn’t been enough to make it as reliable as he had wanted, if Danny chose not to use it. Instead it was hanging at his side, looking a little less cobbled together with a new top-plate and Tim felt happy knowing that Danny had taken him up on using the materials.

Tim had started to be able to anticipate what kind of day it was going to be just from how Danny held himself and today didn’t seem like a good one. He was still unsure of what exactly was wrong with his friend, but he was scared to ask again and risk offending him. Their relationship was still too new.

So Tim sipped his coffee and simply said, “I appreciate you keeping me alive.”

“We don’t need any more ghosts,” Danny muttered under his breath and took a sip from his own coffee.

The comment made Tim’s exhausted brain suddenly remember that Danny came from a town known for being haunted. It was a slim chance—since it probably was a cheap way of luring in tourists—but maybe Danny had some insights that could help them with the newly appeared ghosts. And especially the one trapped in the computer in the basement.

The only problem being that Danny had never revealed where he was from and Tim couldn't very well admit to doing a background check on him. That would probably ruin the mood since he was fairly certain that wasn't normal behavior between friends. Admittedly his perspective on what was normal or not was pretty skewed; something his siblings never hesitated to point out to him. Which was true, but they really didn't have a leg to stand on when it came to being normal. 

Tim made sure he sounded casual as he tapped the logo on his coffee cup and asked, “Hey, do they have Crabby Coffee where you’re from?”

Danny paused, something suspicious in his eyes. Then he smiled and asked in an almost casual tone of voice, “What, you don't believe I'm a local?”

Tim snorted. “You asked me if Arkham was an arcade just last week. Besides, you don’t have the right accent.”

“Fair,” Danny allowed with a shrug and a grin that was only slightly strained at the edges.

“So...?”

“I’m from Amity Park,” Danny said in a way that indicated that he didn’t like the fact, mumbling the last words as he looked away from Tim

Tim pretended to be surprised. “Amity? Never heard of it. Is it known for anything special?” And then he almost winced at his own clumsy and obvious fishing for information. Bruce would be so disappointed if he saw this. Okay, maybe he was more sleep-deprived than he thought.

It was lucky that Danny seemed distracted by some sort of inner conflict as he shuffled from foot to foot, not meeting Tim's gaze. “Well… It's a tourist thing…”

“Oh? Like what?” And now Tim was interested why Danny seemed so hesitant to share. Not a mystery, Tim reminded himself.

Danny deflated, looking defeated. “It's ghosts.” Then he switched to the overly-enthusiastic way of speaking inherent to all slogans, clearly mimicking some commercial, “Come on down to America's most haunted town! Guaranteed to scare the ghost right out of you!” and then in a fast paced mutter, “The city of Amity Park is not liable to retrieve any ghosts that decide to leave their bodies during your visit.”

Score.

“That's so cool!” Tim didn't even have to fake his interest as he asked, “Was it really? Haunted?”

“Depends on who you ask,” Danny hedged.

Tim gestured at Danny with his coffee cup. “I'm asking you.”

Danny paused with a worried frown on his face that he quickly tried to hide, looking at Tim intently as if he tried to work something out. Then he shook his head and simply said, “No.”

And it was the first time Tim had detected a lie from his new friend. Which meant that he did know something. Tim felt himself get excited at the prospect of a challenge, a mystery, and this time it was connected to their current problems which meant that it was fair game. He finally had a lead and he refused to let it go.

Why would Danny lie about his town being haunted? Was he scared of being made fun of? Didn’t he think that Tim would believe him? Ghosts was a rather eccentric thing for your town to be known for, maybe he had been ridiculed before.

Or maybe, a more jaded part of his brain supplied, he had been threatened to not say anything. Maybe he was hiding something.

Maybe Tim would have to show him some things related to ghosts and see how he reacted sooner rather than later.

“You sure?”

“Yes. It's not haunted.”

“Ah, so it's just a tourist trap, then? To make money?” Tim asked, trying to keep the excited interest out of his voice, trying to keep the conversation casual.

Danny wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Yeah, but it's nothing special. Just like any small town, you know?”

“Some people always take it a bit more seriously, right? There's always some believers,” Tim fished for more information. In every tourist attraction that claimed to be the home of Bigfoot or Mothman there was always someone who actually believed in what they were selling.

And if they believed, maybe they had some real information. Maybe even ways of combating them.

“Yeah, sure. There's those that believe and even—” Danny paused, swallowed, and then said, with real anger in his voice, “even some nut jobs that claim to study ghosts.”

Some people were studying ghosts? Tim made a mental note to look into them.

Danny cleared his throat as if embarrassed by his outburst and asked, “Do you believe in ghosts?”

Tim allowed the subject-change, not willing to push it and risk Danny suspecting him. “Haven’t you seen all the new villains on the news? They look kinda ghostly, don’t they?”

“Most newspapers write about them as if they’re a new kind of meta-humans.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Tim shrugged. “But I don’t think ghosts would be much stranger.”

“You’re not scared?” Danny asked, a puzzled expression on his face.

“Of course!” Tim laughed. “But I don’t see why they would be more dangerous just because they’re dead. If anything, that only shows that they’ve already been killed once!”

Danny smiled at that and Tim took it as a win. His new friend might not feel comfortable opening up about everything just yet, but at least he could show that he’s open to talking about it when he was.

[nana-mizu-shiki]

have you read Fatherless Behaviour by lemonlimemadness

I have now!

Well, I'm still reading it and am only at ch. 3 rn, but I wanted to reply before tomorrow and rec the fic before then too.

I typically don't rec or read unfinished works (unless it's a series) but I am *loving* it and I still have 9 chapters to go, so I'm probably going to subscribe if I like where I think it's going (*^^*)

He is, as Dick would say, tripping balls.

Eh. He’ll heal.

Tim blinks up at him blearily. Like, that's nice, bro.

His mother cosplaying a rotisserie chicken in her grave aside,

This, in hindsight, is probably why he’s depressed as hell.

Me.

Height spurt, wherefore art thou, he thinks desperately, looking up further

I really liked how even with the comedic tone, Tim's paranoia and mental crisis' at being small again are really well written and explained, going into detail of Tim's catastrophizing thought process

He knew she'd been paying attention to his Powerpoint!

Yeah, that's not gonna help you later on buddy.

“Well, funny you should say that. Because I have, in fact,” Tim motions to himself with both hands, “become child.”

Become Child is just inexplicably funny to me and I will not and can not explain why,

But anyways, this is where I left off, and the only reason I paused to write this, in addition to not wanting to wait until tomorrow, is because my tumblr & drafts were beginning to lag and take screenshots out after I took them and not save, so I'm posting now so I don't loose motivation 👍

[dogfancier]

Some prize winners from the Victoria Poultry and Kennel Show, 1901

1. Widford Galahad, english setter owned by Mr. A. R. Clarke. 2. Battle Royal, bulldog owned by Mr. F. Nash 3. Barry Lord, st. bernard owned by Mr. G. Angliss 9. Ch Melbourne Bluestone, fox terrier owned by Mr W. Beilby 10. Plevna, borzoi owned by Dr. C. Ryan 12. Mostyn Lubra, cocker spaniel owned by Mr. T.W. Jones 13. Sandringham Theo, basset hound owned by Mr. W.G. Brown 14. Tim Flaherty, poodle owned by Mr. J. Kett 15. Team of Irish setters owned by Mr. L. Langslow 16. The Dane, greyhound owned by Mr. J. Meredith

The birds are: 4. Golden pencilled hamburg hen, 5. White leghorn cockerel, 6. American bronze turkey cock, 7. Dorking cock, 8. Plymouth rock cock and 11. Light brahma cock.

[luvly-writer]

“XOXO”

Tim Drake x Reader

💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋

Series Masterlist:

💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋

Summary:

What happens when you mix the scandalous trio from the Upper East Side Elites with the batfamily? Find out!

Ch. 1 They don’t need an introduction

Ch. 2 She is as beautiful as she is poisonous

Ch. 3 Part-Time lovers, Full time problem

Ch. 4 The Queen and the Prince

Ch. 5 Siblings are the worst

Ch. 6 Let’s go viral baby!

Ch. 7 Angel and Ivy

Ch. 8 She makes the whole place shimmer

Ch. 9 Under the mask, there’s a heart

Ch. 10 Snowy hands & warm smiles

Ch. 11 Fun Loving in Winter

Ch. 12 A Crowd’s Favorite

Ch. 13 Wrapped in Pretty Paper

Ch. 14 A broken heart is fixed by another

Ch. 15 Christmas is a time for lovers

Ch. 16 He followed me all the way to NY

Ch. 17 I can hear my heart breaking

Ch. 18 Nothing happened in the way I wanted

Ch. 19 Every corner of this house is hunted

Ch. 20 The smiles are made of ice

Ch. 21 Gonna regret being too honest

Ch. 22 Loving you was like breathing

[mw4n]

Should ¥XX,000,000 Make Fushiguro's Shit Worth It? - ch. 2

༄ synopsis - Being Toji Fushiguro's in-house private solicitor may pay well, but recently you're reconsidering if the pay makes all the stress (read: Toji himself) worth it. At this point, with all the less-than-legal actions Toji commits on the regular, you're practically a certified mob lawyer. [ full synopsis ]

༄ series tags - toji fushiguro x reader; lawyer! reader; no curses; yakuza/organised crime; violence; explicit content; dilf! toji; tags to be added

༄ wc - 5.2k

<< ch. 1 || ch. 3 >>

( う-´)づ︻╦̵̵̿╤── \(˚☐˚”)/

It’s times like these where your brain disobediently begins to wander to relatively unimportant matters, like the chances of someone in the office accessing the printer history and seeing that you’ve freshly printed a document conspicuously labelled ‘CV - final.docx’ under your printing account.

Then, your brain starts to think about the chances of them bringing that up with your boss, and how embarrassing it’ll be if this falls through. 

If it was any other office, you’d say that those chances would be slim - if not flat out impossible. But your mind drifts further towards Usui, whose cubicle is parked right next to the printing room and has been known to snoop in the printer history when he’s bored.

That was how he found out one of your colleagues had been using the printer to print advertisements for their brother’s business: more than 90 flyers. 

Honestly, what kind of hobby is that? Browsing the printer history?

You purse your lips with annoyance at the thought, unaware that the slight movement has caught Fushiguro’s attention.

He pauses from his perusal of your CV - even the manner in how he scans your paper, one handed and casual, seems hot (insert dreamy sigh) - watching you silently over the top of the page. 

Finally, he speaks up.

“Something the issue?” The voice settles around you. The background noise dulls amidst the washing in your ears. 

Any concerns about Usui dematerialise and you snap to attention, not unlike a soldier before their superior.

“Not at all, Mr. Fushiguro. Take your time.” 

He hums, lowering back to your CV. It’s taking him longer than expected, but despite your shitty job, your CV is relatively impressive. It seems he also notices.

“So, Y/N, this is all well and good,” he sets it down, spinning it on the table to face you. He’s conjured a pen from somewhere and is using the back of it to tap at a particular set of words, “but what I want to know is why someone who graduated near top of her class from Kyoto University, excellent marks and sponsored by an international law firm, is doing at your current company and not… there.” 

The pen nib clicks onto paper and circles around the name of the firm. 

Is he even allowed to ask this? 

You stare down at it. It’s just a couple words - it doesn’t even take up that much space on the paper, but it had felt huge for the few months it occupied in your life. 

You’re not surprised he’s asking. If you were on the other side, interviewing a candidate, you would ask too.

The events of last year run through your mind, scenes rapidly unfurling. The sights, smell, sounds flood into you briefly. You resist the urge to withdraw and squeeze your eyes shut, settling for digging your nails into your palms under the table instead.

A scale sits inside your mind, weighing the choices. Either lay low, make up some reason, or be honest and risk… his disdain. 

The thought that he, like the others, would just dismiss you and think of you as another liar, presses against your chest suffocatingly. You can’t put your finger on why it would upset you so much.

So what if he doesn’t believe you? Worst comes to worst, you just go back to your cubicle and continue working. Nothing changes. The world goes on. 

You’re aware that the silence has stretched on a tad longer than it should’ve, yet Fushiguro doesn’t speak.

He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. (He’s wearing a loose cream sweater this time, of which you suspect is designer. It’s got these irregular and obtrusive stitches at the cuffs and hem, but the rest of the make is constructed so well that those have to be deliberate design.) 

“I… did go to that firm, actually. I received the offer shortly after my undergrad and it was only with their help that I was able to pay for most of law school,” your voice dries up at the next part. You hem, taking a sip of water. “But it was during one of my training days there, right before I was set to graduate, where I ran into some trouble in the firm and… was terminated. Due to the sensitivity of what happened, they settled for just revoking my place and the last tuition payment.”

You weren’t blacklisted, per se, but it didn’t exactly help that the people involved in the ‘trouble’ were pretty well connected. 

He’s not stupid. Judging by how cautiously you’re speaking about it, he knows it would be fruitless to prod any further. 

“Are you not allowed to speak of it?” 

Your face remains stiff, betraying no emotion. “I wouldn’t really want to.”

If he decides to take back his offer because of this, you wouldn’t really blame him per se. You’re not exactly forthcoming with the details, and that could be a risk in itself depending on the job. 

“Hm…” Fushiguro scans the name of the firm on your CV, imprinting it in his memory. Though he’s not the most well-versed in the legal field, being involved in a completely different industry of work, the name feels familiar.

You watch him, almost cautiously. His face is unreadable. 

Your heart sinks. 

-

“Do you have any questions?”

You blink - the only indication of surprise you’ll allow yourself. Have you passed some kind of stage? Successfully, at that? 

Regaining your mental composure, you sit up straighter, hands folding neatly in your lap and knees pressing against one another. 

“For… you?”

There’s an amused lilt along his lip. The lip, which you notice, has a pale scar in the end. You wonder if that feels different than the rest of his skin. Probably.

“Yes, for me.” Though he’s not smiling, you can feel some smirk-like energy emanating off him. 

“Ah, I was mainly wondering what kind of work you’re involved in. What would I mainly be required to do?” 

You can’t lie, you’re curious on why he’s decided to extend an offer, an extremely generous one at that, to you in the first place, given your relatively limited interaction with him. 

“That…” this time, he’s the one who looks a little troubled. “It’s mainly just small things. Representing me when some clients try to sue my business, or if something happens with Megumi again, I can rest assured knowing that he’ll have someone to contact that knows what they’re doing. Just in case the brat runs into some… problems.”

Your brows furrow. “Typically, Mr. Fushiguro, paying someone to be your exclusive lawyer is quite a big deal-”

He flaps a hand, “if it’s the money you’re worried about, don’t be. I’ll compensate you satisfactorily.”

“I am worried about the money, but not my salary. With all due respect, Mr. Fushiguro, what kind of business do you run that allows you to pay so generously and require a lawyer?” You hesitate before saying this next part, but this interview has been relatively informal from the start and - again, if anything goes wrong, you’ll just go back to your tedious office job again. “And… what made you consider me as a candidate?”

“My business details will be confidential. But I call it that just for tax reasons, it’s essentially just me being a freelancer. As for why you…” Mr. Fushiguro leans back, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “... instinct?”

…

That answer was barely a step up from him saying ‘your looks’, and was hardly reassuring. You don’t get the sense that he’s as generous with details as he is with your future salary though. 

He must see the hesitant expression and deigns to elaborate. Though not much.

“Trust me, and in my line of work, instinct… is the difference between-” he raises a hand, drawing a line high, “-and here.” His hand plummets lower.

Heaven and hell. 

The reminder of your salary makes you swallow the rest of the questions back. No matter what hellish conditions he proposes or how hard he works you or how suspicious this is all beginning to sound… ¥XX,000,000 is a crazy number that lowers any inhibitions. 

An angel on your shoulder pipes up. But… what if he requires you to be on call 24/7? 

The devil on the opposite side smashes the thought with ‘¥XX,000,000’.

What if his personality as a boss ends up to be the absolute worst - worse than your current one! 

¥XX,000,000.

What if his work is… illegal?

You grit your teeth. 

¥XX,000,000!!!!!

That���s one, two, three, four, five, SIX zeroes at the end of that! 

The social media jokes about would you suck your bros dick for 20 dollars runs through your mind. That’s 20 dollars. Imagine this?

"And is the money… legal?” You feel hesitant asking this, worried if that’s an affront to his character.

He raises an eyebrow. “Say, how big of a concern would you say that is for you?”

our shock probably condenses too visibly, judging by the large guffaws that begin belting out of Fushiguro.

As you walk back to the office, your iced coffee barely touched and gripped in your hand (he had been smart to order both your drinks as takeaway, it seems), you feel dazed.

The concrete under your high-heeled pumps feels closer to clouds and a heaviness you hadn’t even known had been weighing on you feels lifted. 

The next steps logically present in front of you. You’ll have to type and present your two weeks notice to your boss, but Fushiguro said you’d be on call starting after this weekend.

That meant for your last week at work, you’d be working for Fushiguro - essentially two jobs at once. He hadn’t been the most forthcoming with details, but you hadn’t either with your past. And it seemed like his requirements weren’t that much.

Besides, it was just him and Megumi. Even though you were just one person, how much work could there be? 

You can’t even help but smugly think to yourself: this might be the easiest ¥XX,000,000 anyone’s ever made. 

(The you in the future can only look back at your naive self and sigh.)

--

The first time Fushiguro employs your services, he only texts you a location pin with four words. (‘My office. One hour.’) The notification catches your attention right as you step into the carriage of a packed train car, along with the rest of the 5PM rush, causing you to pivot directly on the heel and wrestle your way out. Apologising profusely to the others ,you have no choice.

You had just gotten off of work (it was still your last week in your crappy law firm) but Fushiguro had already told you at the informal ‘interview’ of the possibility of being contacted after the weekend. For that salary, you had no complaints of working two jobs for a week.

Judging from this text message and your first texting conversation, you can already feel that Fushiguro has a very identifiable no-nonsense minimalistic style. The lack of detail in his messages makes you want to grit your teeth, but there’s nothing you can do but squeeze into a different train line – enduring the disgruntled puffs and stares from the other sardined-crammed salary dogs eager to get home.

As you persist through the side-eyes from a couple of the older students, you reflect on that location pin. Why does his office location seem familiar?

It’s only when you step off the bus and approach the looming black gate, complete with two robust security cameras, that you realise that his office location is literally just his house.

Or at least, it’s the location that Megumi had you drop him off at a few weeks ago when he had busted his bike AND your car. The car, of which, was still getting serviced.

You had half a mind that the mechanic was an extreme slacker and had already resolved to never go to him again for any issues. Sure, the damage wasn’t small but did it really warrant more than three weeks in the shop?

Maybe you just didn’t know that much about cars.

Keeping your face as impassive as possible, you approach the intercom at the side of the gate and shoot a text to Fushiguro.

I’m here. What floor?

The message blueticks but no notice of him typing shows up. You furrow your brow, your thumbs hovering over the keyboard to follow up, when an abrupt grating noise causes you to jolt a foot in the air.

The black gate slides open a hair – its automatic – and you walk in.

Sidewalk-height embedded floor lamps light up the path to a two-story tall lofty glass lobby and carefully maintained shrubbery and foliage decorate the road in. The road stretches towards an underground carpark, but you just beeline to the lobby.

Everything about this gated community exudes wealth. If you had any doubts of Fushiguro’s ability to follow through with ¥XX,000,000, you don’t now.

Your phone dings again.

45.

You quickly text back asking for what flat, but upon pressing forty-five into the intercom, the lobby door opens automatically as well without having to input the corresponding flat letter.

A thought fills you.

There’s no way…

Indeed, Fushiguro’s apartment occupied the entirety of the forty-fifth floor. At this point, having seen the apartment complex and even how fast the elevator had jetted up all the way, your heart feels dead to the splendour of the rich. Instead you can only wonder what exactly does Fushiguro do?

The apartment door is partially ajar, light spilling into the dim lift-area, but you knock regardless.

A voice–distinctly not Fushiguro–rings out. “Come in.”

It’s Megumi.

You push open the door and the warm light of the setting sun fills your vision: floor to ceiling glass windows, the largest living room you’ve seen in Tokyo yet and a wall-mounted screen of the biggest TV you’ve seen ever depicting a split-screen game of Kirby beating the shit out of Ryu from Streetfighter going ham.

Where the fuck does Fushiguro get his money from?

You had been happy at the sound of ¥XX,000,000 but seeing the wealth is much different than merely hearing about it. The joke he made at the interview – “Say, how big of a concern would you say that (the legality of the money) is for you?” – is beginning to feel less like a joke and more like an omen that your money blinded eyes had missed!

Who jokes like that?

You had even googled Fushiguro online but had found no mention of any rich man with that last name!

Well, that wasn’t true, but the photo that had come up was definitely not the Fushiguro you knew. Some professor who lived randomly in Hokkaido. No one who could plausibly match the scale of the wealth you’re seeing and the name ‘Fushiguro’ had shown up with your research.

You’re apprehensive, but you’ve already walked into the mouth of the tiger. Might as well wander further in. Or however the saying goes.

Was that even a saying?

“Hello,” you slip off your heels, soles crying with relief at the action, and greet Megumi. “Is Fushiguro in?”

Megumi turns around, blinking in acknowledgment of your presence. “Dad…? Ah, he did say you were stopping by. He’s in his office upstairs.”

Up…stairs?

Stairs? In Tokyo?

Comically, you slowly turn to see the wooden spiral staircase that leads to a partial second floor that overlooks the massive downstairs open-space living room and kitchen area you’re in.

“Ack-!” A strangled cry catches your attention as some explosion unfurls on the screen in the corner of your eye.

It’s at this moment that you realise another teenager you know is sitting cross-legged next to Megumi. Tongue sticking out of his mouth in extreme concentration, Itadori’s slamming his thumbs onto the controller.

Your gaze pans to the screen.

“Who’s winning?”

The Kirby is clearly wiping the floor with Ryu.

You were a little surprised that Itadori was better at videogames then Megumi bu-

“Me, of course,” Megumi scoffs, haughtily, stopping your train of thought.

Megumi is Kirby?

You flick back to Megumi’s spiky hair and cold demeanour. Itadori’s sunshine smile. The cute, round and pink Kirby. The macho buff Ryu.

Maybe it does make more sense that Itadori would play a manly-masculine figure like Ryu.

Megumi as Kirby though?

Feeling like your characterisation of him has been momentarily subverted, you can only respond with an empty-headed “ah,” before you pad up the spiral staircase to find the office.

Fushiguro is engrossed on his laptop, an annoyed expression on his face, when you knock.

He skips the pleasantries, not even acknowledging that you’re fifteen minutes early, despite the fact you had literally hauled ass across Tokyo to get here without a car and during the 5PM off-work rush, and gets to it.

“I need you to do something for me,” he sighs, leaning back and pinching his brow. He directs a palm to the chair in front of him, so you naturally take a seat.

You slide a hand into your tote and pull out a small notepad, ready to take notes. “Yes?”

Fushiguro rubs his chin. “I need you to… silence someone for me.”

Your stomach drops.

A beat passes.

You clear your throat. You hadn’t exactly been clear about your employable services, and this… coupled with the wealth and mysteriousness that he’s been engaging… “What, exactly, do you mean by silence?”

Your voice sounds a little pinched. Anyone would in this situation.

He chuckles. That feels like a death knell.

“Literally.” There’s a roaring sound in your head. A million versions of tiny yous scream in panic around your mental scape, upending neurons and dragging their tiny nano-nails down your mycelium-wrapped cells. “There’s this woman that… I’ve had some history with, and she’s been yapping some falsities about me. Shut her up for me.”

You feel like an employed thug.

Shut her up.

Your mental image of yourself shifts from your beautiful, well-put together, but admittedly tired looking body to a broad shouldered, beefy moustached henchman. One wearing a wife-beater and yups ‘yes, boss!’ at every remark.

You look down at your hands. These hands weren’t built for tying the ropes around wailing victims in warehouses! These hands were built for typing on keyboards, gripping iced drinks, and spending hours writing on paper!

The image of the moustached henchman you comes to mind again.

You shudder.

A premonition, perhaps.

“You’ll need to be a little clearer. What do you mean by history with? Who is this woman? What falsities? And what do you mean by shut her up?” The last part comes out sounding near desperate.

Fushiguro looks to the side. At the time, you hadn’t known it, but looking back at it… that was a tell-tale mark that he was embarrassed. Maybe even he hadn’t anticipated that your first job from him was for this.

After a couple more minutes of what could only be described as ‘prodding’, you finally extract the situation from Fushiguro. The most painful prodding of your life. You had never known a client requesting help to be so difficult. Usually, they wanted to provide more details for you to get rid of the problem! None of this looking away, humming, twiddling thumb business.

It’s a hook-up. He’s telling you to get a hook-up to stop pestering him and spreading information about him. The same speechless feeling you had when you had seen the casual display of wealth from his house comes back again.

Does a hook-up really need to be silenced? Is blocking her not enough?

You scratch out that last thought. With your newest data on Fushiguro’s personality (this face-to-face meeting so far) it was unlikely he had her number to begin with.

Whatever.

For the sake of that ¥XX,000,000 you’ll just deal.

“Do.. do you remember her name?”

Trying to get helpful information out of Fushiguro feels like trying to cradle a wiggling cat.

“Nah.” He tosses a grape into his mouth, biting down with a crunch. The bowl of grapes had been produced out of nowhere it seems, suddenly spawning into his hand as he leisurely munches away. With every crunch of the fruit under his pearly-whites, you can hear the number of hours you’ll have to spend searching for this woman ticking up.

Had you really graduated law school for this…

“Do you remember what she looked like?”

He leans back in his office chair at a terrifying angle, thumbing at the scar at his lip absentmindedly. You feel a little ray of hope. He hmms. A sign of him thinking, surely-

“Blonde.”

A couple seconds go by before you realise that’s all the information he’s got (or willing to give you).

You know better than to ask if she had long hair or short. With how hard he had to dig in there – by ‘there’, you mean his head, of course – you were probably lucky to even get blonde from the empty expanse in the end.

You pitied the woman he had so heartlessly forgotten.

Clearly she couldn’t let him go if she was still yapping information, fake or not, about him.

“How long ago was this?”

He pulls up his calendar on his computer, squinting.

“Not sure. Could be a week. Two weeks. Three. A month.”

I can’t believe this man!

You sigh, deciding to put your foot down. This is the first task from him, and you’re fearful that this is going to let a scary precedent build.

“Sir, you do know I’m not a private investigator, right? You might be better off hiring an actual P.I for this.”

Fushiguro narrows his eyes like a cat, the edges of his lips flicking up.

He opens his mouth. A stream of unidentifiable numbers falls out, injecting energy into your brain with every increased digit.

“….!@#(% yen.”

That’s all he says, and that’s all it takes for your bending spine to crack straight. The countless hours calculated to do this job vanish in lieu of a big plastic beam on your face.

“Blonde, you said?” 

Walking past the living room, head full of thoughts, you almost smack straight into another kid. It’s a girl with an adorable bob and flower-clipped into her fringe. She’s wearing the same middle-school uniform as them. Probably another one of Megumi’s playmates.

“Oh- I’m sorry,” you apologise, ceasing from your wailing mental whirlpool of all the hours you’ll have to plug to find this mysterious blonde hook-up.

She stares at you, mouth slightly agape.

You hadn’t bumped into her that hard, had you?

“It’s… okay,” she says, eyes and voice dazed.

“Nobara- where are you?!”

Her docile appearance vanishes as she flares up.

“Shut up, Itadori! You’re the one who can’t even play my Ryu right!”

“You know I main Samus!” Itadori yips back. There’s some hesitancy before he speaks again. “Because she looks good.”  

“You’re so disgusting!” Nobara plants her hands on her hips, calling towards the couch area. From this angle, the tall back of the couch masks the two kids sitting on the carpet. Turning back to you, her ferocious demeanour melts away and now you’re the one dazed at how fast her face changed. She’s too adept. “You’re so pretty. Are you Megumi’s new mom?”

The minor squabbling in the living room fades a little in your ears, along with some colour in your face.

Huh? Megumi’s… mom?

!!!!

Your ears feel like they’re on fire.

How could- wha-

No!!!

“No!!! I just work for Fushiguro!” You rush to clarify, tongue nearly tripping over itself. “I definitely am not Megumi’s new mom! I barely know him!”

She looks unconvinced. “Uh-huh.”

As serious as you can, you set your hands on her tiny shoulders and affix her with a solemn expression. “Serious.”

She purses her lips. “Fine.” A pause. A sly expression. “Are you single?”

“…Pardon?”

Her eyes gleam. “Do you like women?”

“E- Eh?”

 “Nobara, knock it off. You’ll scare her, and she just works for my dad.” It’s Megumi who calls out this time from the living room.

The tiny girl deflates. Her hand grips your pinky finger and shakes it coyingly. “If you’re into women, I know an older girl who I think you should meet. You’re so pretty it’d be a waste not to have you in my life somehow, you know.“

You’re amused that this Nobara girl is trying to matchmake you, having literally just met you a second ago.

“She’s graduated and working already! There’s no way you can pair her with Saori! Saori’s only in high school!” Itadori protests, his voice coming through amidst the Supersmash Bro’s game effects from the impressive speakers.

His cruel reminder of your age shoots you through the heart, but he’s right. You have to agree with him. You can’t have Nobara trying to pair you with a high school student. Hell, even a university student would feel a little weird to you.

It’s less about the age and the difference in maturity from life stages.

“That’s very sweet of you,” you smile, eyes curving, “but I’m afraid I’ll have to say no.”

Nobara shakes her head fast. “Don’t be afraid! Be brave! Say yes!”

This time you laugh and pat her head. “Bye kid, have fun with Megumi and his friend.”

You’re too petty to let Itadori know that you remember his name.

Hmph. That’s what he gets.

…why are you one-sidedly beefing a middle schooler…

As you close the front door and wait for the lift, you can hear the tail end of the trio gossiping about you.

“…so pretty.” That’s Nobara.

“…assistant…” Megumi. You weren't an assistant though.

“…too old for Saori.” That was for sure Itadori.

The last bit makes your eye twitch, but you let it go. Sexual orientation questions aside, high school is way too young for you.

--

Two nights (sort-of) later, you’re hunched over your desk at home when you find her.

Your bangs are pinned back from your face by a fluffy hairband and you’re sporting a sheet mask that you most likely should’ve peeled off ten minutes ago. The only lights in your room is the computer screen (nightshift mode, of course) and the soft penguin night-lamp on your bedside table.

From the hours you’ve spent searching for her (thank goodness your time at your shitty workplace was over, so you didn’t have to be up early tomorrow), you’d long kicked off your fluffy slippers and hitched a leg onto your chair.

Now finally, unlike the four other false leads you had fruitlessly leapt at and had to let go – wasting precious hours – you’re sure that this is the girl.

Yumi Tsukumo.

Blonde. Hooked-up with Fushiguro at her house (the fact that they had hooked up at hers and not Fushiguro’s place isn’t surprising given what little interaction you’ve had about his careless appearing self).

And she was for sure spreading some crazy falsities.

You weren’t exactly sure how Fushiguro had found out. Maybe she had spoken to someone, and it had slowly spread back to him, but judging off her blog alone…

You whistled low.

Small dick? Scroll scroll scroll.

Unimpressive stamina? Scroll scroll scroll scroll.

Rolled over after? You slam your dinky plastic mouse on your mousepad.

Were these actually falsities?

You peel off your sheet mask and trash it decisively. Vindication!!!

Then a reminder that he’s paying you (with suspicious money) and you probably shouldn’t be rejoicing in this pings in your head, and you deflate. But then the pile of empty energy drinks on your desk attracts your attention and you decide to rejoice anyway.  

For all that work just to find this woman and the 2% of help he provided you, maybe you can be exultant for juuuust a couple minutes.

You scroll a little longer on her blog, admittedly some schadenfreude at work, but her privacy settings on all of her her social media has messages turned off. The only way to contact her is most likely in person.

You scrub her digital footprint for her address, a weird expression of uncomfortability on your face. This is your job now.

Now that you have her full government name, it’s significantly easier to find where she works. Honestly, maybe you should be a private investigator.

Satisfied, you note down the address and name onto your notepad and head to your bathroom to brush your teeth, pointedly ignoring the first rays of sunlight beginning to leak through your thin curtains. That was what your sleeping mask was for.

-

It feels a bit stalker-ish to show up at her apartment door, so you settle for appearing at her workplace. It’s a local coffee shop that you’ve never been to, but it’s the kind of place you’d go on a weekend with your friends – all rustic looking and calm.

You cast a glance, longingly, at the chalkboard sign on the street advertising some kind of strawberry shortcake. After what you’re about to do, there’s no way you can come back here anytime soon.

It’s hard to imagine that someone with Yumi Tsukumo’s online footprint works at a cute place like this, so you’re crossing your fingers and hoping you hadn’t gotten the location wrong.

You check your notepad again. You check the maps app on your phone.

Okay… brace.

Dressed in a pantsuit, looking as professional as you can for this, and holding a briefcase that feels red-hot in your hand, you step into the café.

You recognise Tsukumo instantly from her selfies online. The café’s empty, and she’s leaning back on the counter tapping away on her phone. Her jaw mechanically and robotically jolts up and down as she gnashes on what can only be gum.

She looks up at you and sets her phone down, dragging herself to the cashier with a bored expression affixed to her face. The entire café is empty. It’s an odd hour to come.

“What can I get you?”

“Are you Yumi Tsukumo?” You ask politely, nails digging into the briefcase even more.

She raises an eyebrow, the gnashing jaw halts. “Yea, can I help you?”

You’re silent when you serve her a formal cease and desist letter.

Her mouth parts as she takes a moment to read it. You can tell the exact moment when she stumbles onto Fushiguro’s name because her eyes light up in jubilation.

“Oh my god, Toji sent you specially? He remembers me!” She cries out, all excitedly, eyes still scanning the page. “Flowers, chocol…”

You don’t say anything.

Her eyes drag onto the next part and she freezes. The gleeful emotion morphs into confusion and then anger. She slams the paper onto the counter, hand snatching for a coffee cup slated for delivery that no one had collected yet and throws it all over you – outraged.

You really wish you worn a more waterproof shirt instead of one that absorbed coffee so well.

---

next chapter link (to be added)

(probably how Itadori ended up playing Nobara's Ryu instead of his usual main)Nobara: Itadori, why do you like playing Samus so much anyway? Megumi (already knows): ... Itadori: BECAUSE SHE'S TALL AND HAS A NICE BUTT! Nobara: EW! THAT IS UNACCEPTABLE REASONING!

༄ A/N - Please let me know if you think its funny... too long too short... everything... open to all criticism QQ hehe i didn't even think ab making a tag list but more people than expected asked for one so... here! tq for the unexpected support 🙇🙇

i am more active on ao3 so sub there if u guys want email updates etc ~~

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