#because that's immediately what i thought of

[ssahotchnerr]

omg Katie i was rewatching s7 (as one does) and ohhhh my gosh I forgot how delicious and gorgeous beard!Hotch is😔😔 he’s just soo!!

I can’t stop thinking about maybe the beard making a comeback while on vacation or something, him being all domestic with that beard — and it’s just such a change from his usual suit and tie lawyer important job vibe😔 sorry just thought to share and wanted to know what you think of him <3333

while on vacation

i just couldn't not write a fic about this 🤭 bearded aaron my beloved cw; fem!reader, established relationship, jack calls reader mom, domestic fluff with a hint of spice❤️‍🔥, light suggestion <3 wc; 1.2k

"Don't scrunch up your face so much," you laughed gently, applying sunscreen thoroughly across Jack's face. Whether it was his forehead, the bridge of his nose, or his cheeks, he either attempted to move out of the way or scowled further in protest.

"But I don't like it," Jack complained. "It's cold and smells funny."

"I know you don't bud, but the last thing you want is to get sunburnt," you told him, your eyes sympathetic. "The sun here is a lot more harsh compared to how it is at home. I'd hate for you to be miserable, and not have as much fun because of it."

"I guess. It stings my eyes sometimes too."

"Just try your hardest not to touch your face, and you should be okay," you reassured him, snapping the sunscreen shut and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Plus, I don't think you want your father's lecture on the importance of SPF."

Speaking of - "Aaron?" you called out. "Are you almost ready?"

"Yeah..." You heard him sigh from the bathroom, the faint sound of him searching through his toiletry bag audible. "I forgot to pack my razor."

You grabbed Jack's hat and placed it atop his head, angling it more downwards to playfully cover his eyes. You got to your feet, meeting Aaron in the bathroom. "You? Forgot to pack something? What happened to the spreadsheet?"

"I don't make spreadsheets for everything," Aaron laughed at your teasing, an inquisitive expression soon taking form on his face. "Do you think the hotel carries razors?"

"I don't see why they wouldn't."

"Or we'll just have to stop at a store later," he shook his head, giving up his search and zipping up his bag.

"Or we could just... not," you suggested, pushing yourself off the doorframe and running your hands under water quickly. Once clean of any lingering sunscreen remnants, you gripped onto Aaron's polo, your hands soon roaming his torso.

An amused grin formed on his face, "Oh?"

"We're on vacation. That means getting out of routine, taking it easy, not shaving." You shrugged, continuing your flirtatious touch by toying with the collar of his shirt. "So what if a light beard makes an appearance. It wouldn't be the end of the world."

"And that's the only reason, right?" Aaron inquired as a mischievous smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his eyes gleaming with a playful understanding. "That we're on vacation?"

You weren't slick, and he knew it. However, your request did surprise him - you've only seen him with a beard once when he returned home from Pakistan, short lived as Jack despised it. But you hadn't mentioned it since.

You widened your eyes, feigning innocence, "I can't imagine there being another reason."

He lowered his voice, leaning in close. "Just say it turns you on sweetheart, it's alright."

Surprised at his sudden forwardness you immediately blushed, but he also wasn't wrong. However, before you had the chance to respond -

"Mom, Dad, you coming?" Jack asked, waiting patiently at the door with his beach towel in hand.

"Yeah, we're coming." Aaron clicked off the light, his hand finding your lower back. As he guided you out of the bathroom, it wandered further down, causing you to playfully push it away with a giggle before any young eyes could see. "Did Mom put sunscreen on you?"

He got a groan in response.

Over the course of the next few days, Aaron obliged, heeding your wishes and not shaving. It was mere stubble for a day or two, which was still a sight to see. But towards the end of the week, the beard was coming in wonderfully.

With his dark hair, slightly tousled from the laid-backness of the week's pace, the beard also complemented the sharpness of his features. It brought out the color of his eyes, enhancing their deep, intense color. His jawline, which could make you go weak in the knees any day, was more defined, a perfect contrast to the soft yet rugged texture of his beard.

Add in his sunglasses, the sweaty t-shirt clinging to his body at times due to the heat, and his developing tan, you were absolutely swooning. It was nearly impossible to tear your gaze away from him.

Even the smallest of things were driving you wild. Aaron simply placed breakfast in front of Jack one morning; face adorned by his beard, conversing with his son naturally, the domesticity had you fluttering in all ways. You found yourself wishing you had the same request on your honeymoon.

In addition, the slow vacation mornings also allowed you the time to admire Aaron before he awoke, peaceful and content in sleep. For the first time in a while too, he looked well rested.

Jack had been worn out and sleeping in also, due to the sun exposure and the long-yet-fun days catching up to him. It thankfully granted you and Aaron some much appreciated time to spend alone together.

"Good morning," you mumbled softly when Aaron's eyes found yours, reaching up slightly to press a kiss to his lips, his jaw, neck, anywhere you could reach. You continued to litter him with kisses, before full-on straddling him.

Aaron chuckled, his hands landing on your hips. His voice was still rough with sleep, peering up at you with his sleep-heavy eyelids. "I'd say it is."

You laughed softly against his skin, pulling his t-shirt collar down, giving you access to kiss his chest.

"What do I need to do to get a wakeup call like this every day?"

After pressing one more kiss to his collarbone, you sat up, remaining on top of him. "I can't believe it's our last full day," you whined as a dull filled you; back to the city, back to normalcy, back to clean-shaven Aaron.

He hummed in agreement, his finger tracing the tan line from your bikini bottoms, visible above the waistline of your pj shorts. "It did go by fast, didn't it?"

You nodded, your shoulders slumping as your bottom lip protruded in a pout.

"Are you mourning the end of our time off, or the fact that the beard will be leaving," Aaron questioned, an admirable glint in his eyes. Again, he looked thoroughly relaxed laid against his pillow, his hair sticking out in all directions as he gazed at you.

"Both," you sighed, cupping his jaw and letting your thumb graze his stubble. "Don't get me wrong, I adore seeing your clean and attractive face. But I am going to miss this."

"I'll tell you what, I'll keep it a few more days. To allow you to enjoy it thoroughly, in the privacy of our bedroom." He sat up, positioning you on his lap and easily bringing his lips to yours. With Jack so close, the two of you hadn't been very adventurous in fear of being caught. "And maybe it'll make an appearance more often. Since you like it so much." He mumbled lowly amidst the fierce kiss, a light smirk tugging at the ends of his mouth.

You pulled back briefly, a finger pressed to his chest. "Is that a promise?"

"Definitely."

[angelsforthenight]

screen babe, mean babe, guess who’s gonna cream babe! (pt 2)

camgirl!vi x reader (read pt 1 here)

summary: after an abysmal night, you know who PinkSage really is. you want to loathe her, yet you can’t seem to escape vi’s agonising game, especially underneath the guttural heat of your city’s sun.

pre a/n: yaaawl if ur expecting smut in this chapter then i’m sorry but not yet 🙁🙁 i want to drag s.m.g out longer than i did with my last ellie series so you’re gonna have to wait until the next chapter. sometimes a slow burn can be so much better and worth it in the end, i promise! hope you guys still enjoy <3

content: AAAANGST, vi is really mean, very slight slut-shaming, cursing, crying, playful!vi, teasing! this entire chapter is a huge tease, vi is extroverted, difficult goddamn lesbians, some painful yearning, some cute moments, vi’s got one point up in this chap but we’ll see how that’ll go…

“i know who you are.”

your eyes persist in hers: as if trying to burrow yourself inside them and make yourself known.

vi, irritated as is, raises her brows and shakes her head; urging for you to elaborate. you have no idea where your boldness came from, but you find yourself continuing.

“PinkSage. y-you’re PinkSage, i watch you all the time i—“ vi’s face does a whole u-turn, the colour draining from her face.

“hold on, shut the fucking door first!” she hisses frantically. you flinch into obeying her. when you turn back around, your heart sinks at the disgusted look on vi’s face. maybe you hadn’t thought this one through.

“the fuck were you thinking? saying that shit whilst your parents are sleeping right there?” she whisper-scolds, storming towards you. you back away until you’re up against your door. yeah… what exactly were you thinking was going to happen? for your favourite cam-girl to immediately get on her knees and start eating you out? of course this moment hadn’t gone as you expected.

“huh? you just gonna stand there like a dumbass after revealing that shit? you of all people?” vi continues, her voice raising. she’s so enraged! as if it’s your fault that the woman you’re supposed to idolise happened to stay in your house. it’s only a fucked-up coincidence. your lips quiver as you find your voice.

“you— you’re being too loud.” are the only words that you can think of to say. vi stares at you in disbelief.

“… my parents are sleeping after all, right?” you mutter, looking away. vi is scowling so much she may as well pop a vein.

“hah. you’re a sick fucking freak.” she laughs dryly, shaking her head incredulously. though your gaze flicks up to her; bewildered and hurt, you’re not just going to let her talk down on you like this. not when what vi does is worse.

“you spread your legs for, like, a million pervs online. i don’t think you have the right to talk.” you snap whilst your voice trembles. here’s to thinking the world of PinkSage…

“pervs including your dull ass.” vi scoffs.

“watch your mouth, unless you’d like to sleep in the streets.”

“oh yeah? and what would you explain to your parents?” vi’s lips twitch into a grin, “mommy, daddy! kick vi out because i jerk off to her online but she’s being mean to me in real life!” she mocks, her voice lilting into a higher-pitched tone. your instinct is to push her in order to shut her mouth. vi only stumbles a little, but she glares at you as if you’ve thrown tomato juice all over her white top.

“fuck you.” you’re about to leave until something comes over you, feeling compelled to say one last thing. let her sit with this shit.

“and for your information, last time you streamed? you orgasmed to my name. your_user? yeah, that was me.”

you relish in the way vi’s expression mellows into one of astonishment. she’s dumbfounded and silent.

“sleep with that, bitch.” you spit, hastily slipping back to your room. you would’ve slammed the door if it wasn’t going to wake your parents up. your mother sleeps with one eye open and any noise would have her rising from her bed as if she’s a vampire.

once you make it back to your room, you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. you’re trembling: entire body buzzing from head to toe with adrenaline and fury.

two steps closer to your bed and you feel a glob of tears swell in your throat, shooting up to your eyes. they are quick to rivulet down your cheeks like a torrent, and you intake a shuddering breath, coated with phlegm. afraid of vi hearing you next door, you immediately cover your mouth.

you jump into your bed, too arrogant to admit that the reason why you’re sobbing in your pillow is because you’re upset. you’re fucking pissed is what you are, embarrassed that you even said anything — and that vi had the gall to respond like that. whereas a week ago you would’ve praised PinkSage as if she were a saint, you’re sitting here wondering who the fuck this woman thinks she is.

of course famous people are dickheads in real life. you should’ve expected this. you fiercely wipe your tears, yanking your covers over your head. at least you were able to have the last word. you think about the look on her face, hoping she feels just as stupid as you do.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

it’s the morning that’s downright awful. you woke up too early, and now you’re forced out of your will to sit with your family and vi to eat breakfast.

your parents are trying so hard to impress her and you hate it. they’ve even gone the extra length of setting a table in your backyard, spread neatly over the stone ground. you don’t remember there being this much food in your house, let alone the gingham cloth fanned over the table. as if this breakfast is a special occasion. they must think vi is a goddamn prodigy! they find it to be groundbreaking how can she be oh so sweet volunteering for animals and taking care of them, and how she works out a lot and that tattoo on her face…

you chew your food slowly, glaring daggers at her as she compliments your mother’s cooking with her mouth full. meanwhile you would’ve gotten scolded for doing that! you’re being petty and stifling: insanely moody in this delicate summer morning. how could you not? you were in tears because of her audacity last night!

you bet if your parents found out what vi really does, your dad wouldn’t suggest playing basketball with her, and your mother wouldn’t be asking her all these stupid, prodding questions. ones like, “vi, do you have a boyfriend? o-or a girlfriend! if that’s what you prefer?”

you two make eye contact then. a split second, but it was palpable like an electric current zipping up your spine. you’re the first to look away; suddenly interested in swirling your fried egg around, smearing the yolk.

“nah. not interested in that stuff.” she replies dismissively, cool as a cucumber, because everything about her is cool! peachy! you prick your bacon with your fork hard, bringing it up to your lips as you flicker a glance at vi once more. since she’s not paying attention anymore, your eyes decide to fixate on the slope of her nose, shimmering from the light mixed with shadows that are dancing from the leaves above.

vi mutters something indignantly to your father, something you don’t hear because she suddenly steps on your foot under the table. hard. you accidentally let out a gasp that’s a little too loud, obliging everyone else to stop what they’re doing to glance up at you. they definitely forgot that you were even here. you glare at vi, who’s looking away as if she hadn’t just done that on purpose. are we suddenly little kids now? did she wake up completely overturned? ready to be an upbeat ray of sunshine after rudely shutting you down last night?

“everything okay?” dad raises a brow. vi only pretends to be curious, furrowing her brows and pouting, a faint jeering expression for your eyes only. what is she trying to play at? this isn’t just mere playfulness. this is something else.

“yeah, fine.” you murmur. you’re ready to push your chair back and leave until you hear your mother.

“oh, y/n can take you. she knows her way around the area better than any of us.” you freeze.

“what?” you brow quirks into a look of foul disdain. especially because vi looks like a grinning dog at your mother’s suggestion.

“you guys can even take the bikes!” dad chimes in enthusiastically. you want the skies above to open up and take you away. right here, right now.

“but—“

“i would love to go with you.” vi beams. that wretched look on her face, full of mischief and lies. the sun on her face isn’t exactly helping either. it’s all a cruel taunt: the way it kisses her face, the way it highlights her plush lips curved into that sweet, deceitful smile. she could be the sun herself… if she wasn’t so obnoxious. yet you find yourself relenting, giving a speck of yourself away to the woman who gets under your skin. you force yourself to stare at the wooden ridges of the table instead of the sunlight dancing on vi’s features.

“…fine. where to?”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

the lazy july sun is beating down on you mercilessly. vi’s wearing a baseball cap, but you? you were too pissed off and stubborn to listen to your mother’s advice on wearing a hat. so now you’re suffering.

you’re steering down the tree-lined dirt track with your bike. though it’s so damn hot, you really do appreciate the beauty that summer brings along: how everything appears so bright and awake. you won’t pretend that it can’t be suffocating however, especially when you have a certain pink-haired someone riding a bike behind you, distinctly aware of her eyes boring down your back.

vi slightly quickens so she’s right beside you, you side-eye her.

“who says that theres space for the both of us?” your words may as well have a double meaning. vi grins. there is actually enough space, you just don’t want her next to you.

“i did. you’re so sweaty you’re glowing by the way.”

“aw, thank you.” you sneer at her before picking up the pace.

“hey, wait! i was fucking around!” she chuckles, following you down the road.

you guys ride until you’re in the city: bustling with people and markets. mothers are dragging their screaming kids, men are oozing with sweat; grumbling as they push past people. you’re jealous of those passing by that are able to fan their faces. vi parks her bike, but you don’t.

“well, it has been lovely escorting you.” you mutter sarcastically, gripping the handlebars.

“what? you’re not staying? what makes you think i know my way around?” vi counters. she looks so puzzled, like a puppy. you swallow, seeming to crumble just a little more when you look at her face for too long.

“um, i didn’t know you wanted a tour… but fine.”

you two walk along the markets. vi has quite some time before she’s called in for work so she wanted to familiarise herself with the city beforehand. at first, you guys hardly talk, simply following vi as she wanders about instead: watching as her eyes glint at the vintage trinkets and antiques they sell in stalls.

you feel like a clamshell stalling quietly behind her, as she eagerly chats with quite literally anyone. she’s so extroverted! it’s begrudgingly interesting watching her communicate, her delivery of words smooth and clear, making anyone hang onto her words like rope.

there’s too many people in this narrow path, and too much pushing. you don’t want to lose yourself in the crowd, so you helplessly tug on vi’s sleeve. vi glances back.

“you good?” she keeps walking with you continuing to use her sleeve as leverage. it’d be a mess if you guys were to randomly stop now, with this sea of people that have clearly got places to be.

“yeah, i just don’t wanna lose you.” you reply, realising too late how weird that just sounded. vi, jovial as she already has been, only smiles wider. you quickly back-pedal.

“m-my parents would kill me if i were to lose our guest, you know?”

“here.” you all but expected for vi to lace her fingers into yours, holding your hand as you continue to slink through the masses of people. why is she being like this? was last night completely erased from her head, or does she just not care that much? you stare at the back of her head, as if that’ll give you answers. you secretly enjoy the warmth of her hand, subtly pressing your palm further into hers. vi doesn’t notice. good.

you guys find yourself in a music shop. this, after all the other markets and shops you’ve visited, finally has captured your keen interest. you come here all the time, the main source of all your cds in your room.

your eyes sparkle when your fingers stumble across one you’ve always wanted. limited edition, and it has a holographic cover too! how sick is that?

however, the excitement quickly fades when you remember that because you were stuck in your cloud of fitful anger, you ended up forgetting your wallet at home. you palm your pockets, making sure it miraculously doesn’t just so happen to be there… but nope. nothing.

“boo.” you feel the hotness of her mouth hard by your ear before you even register anything else. you squirm away, glowering at her only to be met with a cheeky smile back. vi’s already got a whole bag of stuff! how nice that must be.

“you gonna buy that?” vi points her gaze at the cd in your hands. you slot it back in the genre section. “i don’t have money, left it at home.” you mumble.

vi snorts, “you’re a real smart one, ain’t ya?”

“shut up. go pay for that and i’ll wait outside.” you grumble, practically storming out the door. you’ve never met anyone quite like vi. she’s so playful, and stupid and sweet, hot and mean all at the same time: getting under your skin in the worst way imaginable. the memory of PinkSage feels like it’s slipping from your fingers like sand.

vi comes back a moment later, smacking a cd down in your hands and walking ahead like nothing happened. you stare at her confusedly, but your eyebrows quickly rest in realisation as you gaze down at the cd. it’s the same one you wanted. your stomach betrays you by fluttering and then churning intensely.

“hey.” you call out, making vi stop.

“what’s your deal? why’d you buy this for me?” you grip the cd, heart beating like a live wire. vi turns around and walks closer to you. branches are singing from the breeze, seagulls are cawing, but you can’t hear anything. not when your full focus is on her. not when she’s walking so close it’s as if she’s going to step right through you.

“‘cause i saw how much you wanted it. you were gleaming.” she shrugs. how casual she must be, whilst your heart is pounding to the rhythm of her syllables. vi-o-let. why must you treat me this way?

“it’s no big deal.” she stares at you blankly up and down. you point your view downwards, focusing on the ladybug that’s started to crawl on your shoe. a kind respite from vi’s torturous gaze.

“why… why are you being so nice? after wh-what happened last night?” curse your sudden nervousness.

vi might as well close the gap between the pair of you, gentle fingers tilting your chin up to direct your gaze on her. oh, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.

“because you’re my biggest fan.” vi stretches out her words, soft and punishing. this godforsaken woman… you could quite literally die on her feet. your brain short-circuits and then switches off. especially when you witness vi’s gaze flickering to your lips. your breathing quickens, and it feels like your body isn’t yours anymore. you may as well be a floating bubble.

until vi takes her hat off and puts it on your head instead, patting it. “come on, let’s skedaddle. you don’t think our bikes got stolen, do you?” she jogs ahead, whilst you stand here like a dumbass, the cd lying limply in your hands.

this is a brutal penance worser than last night. vi did that on purpose, to see your reaction, and now that she’s got her fill, she’s going back to pretending as if nothing happened. how unsparing. how cruel.

you force yourself to drag your feet, one feet after the other towards vi. your head is lagging behind, still stuck on her touch.

a/n: some of u might hate me for this 😅😅👅👅👅 but oh my god u guys are in a DOOZY for chapter three i’m literally trembling thinking about writing it ughhhfhdhhd once again lmk if u wanna be added to the taglist but also some of u guys need to check that ur mentions are on or else i can’t tag! :< anywhooo sorry that this chapter was a little shorter but did anyone else clock the cmbyn tea…

taglist: @marvelwomenarehot0 @ghgygd @jupitism @reneesub @cotrill09 @itzsky82 @elliesbabygirl @adora-moonshine @maxinephobia @ch3sire-blu3 @krilara @perrzs @thankynext @zaunite-516 @eren-luvr @cpt-prices-leftnipple @goticapomposa @lolitalovess @moonchildcovenxx @spicedcherrylolli @mystar-girl57 @mar1posita @avonnimimi @kirajess @caitvisgirl @heyy-lovey @antobooh @jajsnjz @beachaddict48 @aceywaycy @sleepingwasp @elliezlils11utt @vincinnamontoast @runawaybaby3 @h0n3yf0rlif3 @iluvwomensm

[darksturnz]

i seen this on insta n immediately thought of chris LMAO

Chris is fucking insufferable.

Like, actually.

You could kill him.

You’re gripping the sheets, face down, barely keeping yourself together as he drags slow, deep thrusts into you from behind—each one knocking a little breath out of your lungs. The room is dim, the only light coming from the streetlamp outside, casting long shadows across the walls, but it’s enough to catch the reflection in the mirror beside his bed.

And that’s when it happens.

Right as you’re about to break, jaw slack, eyes unfocused, you glance at the mirror and—

That motherfucker.

Chris is looking directly into the reflection, his brows furrowed in concentration, his lips twitching—and then he lifts a hand and fucking waves at you.

Your brain short-circuits.

“What the fuck—”

You twist slightly to glare at him over your shoulder, but Chris just grins, all dimples and mischief, like he’s not currently rearranging your guts.

“Hi Ma,” he greets casually, voice all smooth and deep, like this is some normal, everyday thing.

You’re still trying to process his audacity when he decides to double down, snapping his hips forward suddenly, and you choke on a gasp, your fingers scrambling to grip the sheets once more.

Chris hums in amusement, watching your reaction in the mirror like a damn hawk.

“What? You looked,” he points out smugly, and god, you wish you had the strength to punch him.

But you don’t.

Because he’s currently fucking you stupid.

And when he waves again, like a fucking asshole, you don’t even have it in you to be mad anymore.

You just whimper into the mattress and squeeze your eyes shut, refusing to give him the satisfaction of watching you fall apart.

Doesn’t matter, though—he grabs you by the roots of your hair, forcing you to watch as he fucks you through the mirror, a shit-eating grin stretched across his face

[fancyfeathers]

Imagine being Yandere!Dick Grayson’s pretty little wife…

Yandere!Dick Grayson who meets his darling while leaving his apartment in Blüdhaven to run some errands, she lives in the building next door and was leaving herself to go to work.

Yandere!Dick Grayson whose darling runs right into him, spilling her coffee all over the both of them because she was distracted. She feels horrible and starts sputtering out apologies but he is to distracted to hear a word she is saying, he was absolutely beautiful, unrequited love at first sight.

Yandere!Dick Grayson who sits by the window of his apartment that faces her apartment that is across the small alleyway between them. He sees her come home from work, absolutely exhausted and crashing out almost immediately after she closed the door, she didn’t even make it to bed or make dinner for herself, falling asleep on her couch.

Yandere!Dick Grayson who watches her every night before he goes off on patrol, half the time she sleeps on her couch and the other half of the time she goes to bed without dinner and that just won’t do. When he is about to leave on patrol, he goes over to her apartment first, breaking in as Nightwing, changing her into her pajamas, and tucking her into bed when she falls asleep on the couch and she looks so adorable all curled up like a baby.

Yandere!Dick Grayson who runs into her while walking Haley and inviting her out to dinner since Haley seems to like her and he knows a dog friendly restaurant just a block away. He is absolutely buzzing with excitement when she accepts because he is starting to get tired of sneaking into her apartment when she didn’t eat and trying to get her to drink soup or a smoothie in her sleep.

Yandere!Dick Grayson who just happens to run into her over and over again, walks with Haley, stopping in at the restaurant she works at as a waitress and getting seated in her section, or just happening to be driving by when she is walking home from her university night classes and he offers to drive her back to her apartment.

Yandere!Dick Grayson who finally asks his darling out when they end up on their accidental walks together and she accepts, so he doesn’t have to sneak into her apartment to take care of her, he’ll have a meal in tupperware waiting on her kitchen counter when she comes home with a cute little note on it and then he’ll call her when she is about to fall asleep and talk to her about her day and just happen to remind her to fall asleep in her bed since the couch is bad for her back.

Yandere!Dick Grayson who tells her that he is Nightwing after a year of dating, and that is fine until she practically becomes the Lois Lane of Blüdhaven with Nightwing swinging down and sweeping his darling off of her feet when she was almost mugged or Nightwing knocking on her apartment window for everyone on the street to see, or Nightwing seeing her during a fight and he smiled and waved at her.

Yandere!Dick Grayson whose darling can’t break up with him because she needs him to protect her because now she has a target on her back because of the amount of times she has been seen with the original Boy Wonder. Though she is tired of her life being at risk of being killed when she is just trying to get by at her crappy job and get her university degree, but Dick has a solution…

Yandere!Dick Grayson who helps his darling move into his apartment with him, and by help I mean he carries everything inside by himself and then when his darling asks what she can do he asks if she could make lunch so they can eat when he is done.

Yandere!Dick Grayson who sits down with his darling after one time where she nearly got shot at work and asks her to quit, it’s too dangerous and he can’t bare the thought of potentially loosing her.

Yandere!Dick Grayson who slowly shuts down his darling’s social life, pulling her out of in person classes and making her do school online, locking the front door of his apartment and not leaving her a key so she can’t get out…

Yandere!Dick Grayson who finds a positive pregnancy test in the bathroom trash when he is about to get ready in the morning. Haley was acting off the last week or two, always near his darling and her head on her tummy, and now he knows why, his darling is pregnant.

Yandere!Dick Grayson confronts his darling about it, still acting all happy about it and…

“I get it baby, you wanted to surprise me and-“

“Dick, I can’t go through with this pregnancy.”

Yandere!Dick Grayson who completely shatters when she says that, especially when she tells him that she thinks she wants to break up with him.

Yandere!Dick Grayson who ties up his darling while she is asleep that night and gags her, before moving her into the closet where he set up a little room for her until he can figure out a long term solution because anyone could hear her scream here and the apartment is no where big enough for a baby.

Yandere!Dick Grayson who starts conditioning his darling once she realizes there is no way out of this. She gets to watch a movie if she sits by Dick while he makes dinner or she gets to go on a walk with Dick and Haley if she lets him pick out her outfit, soon all her life is a series of ultimatums.

Yandere!Dick Grayson who gets his darling stuck with a ring on her finger and pregnant with his child.

Yandere!Dick Grayson who knows animals can sense people’s emotions, so whenever his darling is sitting on the couch, Haley is sitting next to her, her head resting on her lap, both of them are sad.

[ssa-dado]

Cat Equals Sign Of Integration

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader Genre: fluff, smut (implied) Summary: Aaron, ever the strategist, decides that a little wine might help soften the blow of figuring out with you how to tell the team you’re dating. A solid plan - except for one tiny flaw: wine makes him a whore. Warnings: +18, MINORS DNI Hotch is a touch starved whore, a few cuss words here and there, wine gets a bit into both of your heads. Word Count: 5k Dado's Corner: Did I hallucinate this while working on one of the many requests still on my to-do list, only to realize halfway through that it was completely derailing from the main plot - but too cute to abandon? Yes. Is this fun? You tell me (pretty please).

masterlist(s)

One of the many rules you and Aaron had in your relationship was that if you cooked for date night, he was the one doing the dishes.

His idea.

You had been opposed to it at first - not because you minded, of course. You were actually a huge fan of grown men handling household chores without whining like toddlers about how it might somehow demasculate their poor, fragile egos.

No, you were opposed because you didn’t want him doing it out of some sense of obligation.

It took you a while to accept that Aaron wasn’t doing this because he owed you - he was doing it because he wanted to.

Because that was just… Aaron.

Ever the caregiver, always looking for ways to make life easier for the people he loved. He could give you the world and still come to you like a wounded dog, begging for forgiveness because he thought he wasn’t enough.

It was infuriating - for all the deep psychological reasons you could analyze for hours, but also for a much pettier one: when it was his turn to cook, instead of letting you do the dishes like the so-called rule dictated, he just… did them anyway.

And thus, the noble Mr. Clean - brave warrior of dish duty, his arms submerged in treacherous, frothy depths - found himself utterly helpless against the sudden, most dreadful buzzing of his phone.

A cruel twist of fate, indeed!

Stranded, defenseless, bound by duty to his porcelain captors, he could do nothing but stand there, a tragic figure of great importance, cruelly denied his right to immediately bestow his undivided attention upon whatever poor soul dared summon him.

Oh, the agony! The injustice! How swiftly the mighty are humbled… by a sink full of bubbles.

That was because, logically, if even a single drop of water touched his phone, he would instantly lose all of the very important, highly classified FBI secrets stored inside. Of course, phones couldn't possibly be waterproof.

Ha, imagine?! What a concept.

“Who is it?” Aaron asked, still scrubbing at your wine glass like he was trying to erase its entire existence.

Which – by the way - was completely pointless, considering that in less than five minutes, he planned on refilling it with some more. A different wine, yes. But for God’s sake, you weren’t going to die if the last few drops of white mixed with the red.

…What a fussy man.

“Penelope,” you replied, admiring the view.

What a view, really. That man was all legs and no ass, and you were finally learning to appreciate it. 

“Ignore it,” he said, not even turning around.

Unfortunately for him - and for the HR department still blissfully unaware that their most serious, by-the-book boss was fraternizing with a subordinate - you were a profiler.

The U.S. government literally paid your bills every single month because you were exceptionally good at reading people.

And the way he answered? Yeah, that wasn’t the tone of a man casually dismissing an unimportant text. No, that was the tone of a man caught red-handed, scrambling for plausible deniability.

Embarrassed. Secretive. Suspicious. Frankly, if you didn’t already know what he was hiding, you’d be halfway to slapping cuffs on him. Wouldn’t even be the first time.

And so you read it – out loud.

Penelope Garcia, 7:56 PM:

hotch sir hotch bossman sir, i am DYING please tell me if you found out who her mystery boyfriend is i am suffering!!!!!!!! i know you know. i know it in my heart. if you can’t say it just give me a hint. a tiny one. a cryptic riddle. a blink. i will take anything.

^.ᆽ.^= ∫

By her, of course, she meant you - because despite a few months of keeping your relationship under wraps, you still hadn’t gotten around to telling the team. Your colleagues. Your friends. Your unwanted, overly nosy adopted children.

That their elusive "mystery boyfriend" was, in fact, your mutual boss.

You were going to tell them. Eventually.

Didn’t know when. But you would.

Then again, it wasn’t like you were surrounded by some of the best profilers in the country, trained to pick up on the slightest behavioral shift.

It’s not like the second two incredibly touch-starved people like you and Aaron started walking around with even a fraction of happiness, that wouldn’t immediately raise suspicions.

…Except, apparently, it hadn’t.

Because somehow, the team had only managed to land on half the conclusion: you were seeing someone.

But Aaron? Not even a blip on their radar.

It was almost impressive, really. The answer was so obvious that they had discarded it entirely, still wandering around in the dark, trying to piece together a puzzle that was sitting right in front of their faces.

Just like Penelope was doing now, so desperate for some reason that she was straight-up asking him outright - when not that long ago, she still thought twice before even making a dirty joke in his presence.

And so, you got up, walked over to Aaron, and held the phone directly under his nose. “What does this mean?”

He squinted at the screen, then at you. “Oh, honey, I don’t know. She always sends me that - I don’t understand what exactly equals the sign of integration”.

…What?

You were suddenly just as confused as he was.

He blinked at you, eyes wide, eyebrows raised in that utterly sincere, slightly bewildered way of his. “That sign before it,” he said, completely lost. “It looks Chinese. Thought you knew Chinese, sweetheart.”

…What?

Oh, for the love of God.

If this man hadn’t already seen the absolute worst horrors the world had to offer, you would fight for his innocence with your nails, your teeth, and - if absolutely necessary - one of the worst shooting records ever logged in the Bureau.

You looked at the screen again.

^.ᆽ.^= ∫

Oh.

Oh, that’s what had confused him.

“Aaron,” you said gently, doing your absolute best not to kiss him right then and there, “that is a cat.”

You sighed, then pointed at the message again. “By the way, the ‘sign’ in the middle is in Korean, not Chinese.”

He looked at the screen again - then back at you. “…Cat equals sign of integration?”

“No, honey,” you said, barely suppressing your smile, tapping the little text emoji. “It’s just a cat.”

He studied it for another second. “Oh.”

There. That did it. You gave in. Leaned in and pressed a loud smooch to his cheek.

At least your dignity was still intact - he had no idea why you’d done it, just assumed it was one of those spontaneous bursts of affection that came with being hopelessly in love.

Honeymoon phase truly did work wonders.

“Do you think I can have the cat too?” he asked, grabbing the bottle of red and a corkscrew.

That was a trap.

Because Aaron Hotchner still signed every single text he sent.

And while it wasn’t an issue when he was sending something standard -

Lawyer, 6:17 PM:

They found a new body, we’re gathering at the precinct in 30.

A.H.

- it became a lot more unsettling when he sent the filthiest, most depraved things you’d ever read, only to end them with that stiff little A.H. like he was dictating official Bureau correspondence.

Lawyer, 11:51 PM:

Sweetheart, if only these stupid walls weren’t so thin, I’d have you right here with me, bent over, face pressed against this mattress, making you come so many times you’d forget your own name. At least three. Maybe four, if I’m feeling generous.

A.H.

So now, standing in his kitchen, watching him pour wine like he hadn’t just permanently scarred you with his painfully bureaucratic approach to sexting, you knew that if you admitted he could simply copy-paste that ‘cat equals integration sign,’ it would only be a matter of time before you were subjected to something truly traumatizing, like -

Lawyer, very-late-office-hour PM:

It’s your fault I’m getting distracted with the paperwork, because I’m still thinking about how good you tasted last night while sitting on my face. God, I can still feel your thighs shaking, you were so sweet for me, honey, so fucking perfect.

P.S. How many reports do you still have left? Because I’ve been thinking about having you on my tongue again before the night is over. I think I’ve got about an hour or so left but then I’m all yours.

^.ᆽ.^= ∫

A.H.

Yeah. No. Absolutely not.

That man could not be trusted with the cat.

“Oh, honey,” you cooed, pressing a soft kiss between his shoulder blades as your fingers brushed over his back. “I don’t think you can get it. She must have programmed it herself into her phone.”

You truly hoped you were as convincing as he was clueless about text etiquette.

“It’s a pity,” he sighed, both of your wine glasses in hand as he made his way to the couch. “I would have loved to send you the cat.”

…Of course he would. Smug ass.

But as the words left his mouth, something shifted in him - just barely. A pause that didn’t usually belong there... weird.

Still, you followed, watching as he settled in, patting the cushion beside him with a half-smile. “Come here, sweetheart.”

A misleading gesture, considering his legs were very much spread - a much clearer invitation. At least, that’s how you chose to interpret it.

Because you could swear - those legs spoke to you. Called to you. So you slid right into your rightful seat - his lap.

…Would have been rude not to answer.

“Back to Garcia,” he said, resting a hand on your thigh as he handed you your painstakingly polished wine glass - so clean, so immaculately spotless, that the red wine inside looked redder than red. A real masterpiece, Mr. Clean. “She doesn’t seem to be letting up about finding out who you’re dating… This is the fourth message this week.”

You raised a brow, taking a sip of your wine. “Well, she’s second only to you when it comes to being nosy about gossip.”

Aaron exhaled, shaking his head, that same small half-smile back on his lips.

That particular smile.

The one he used when he was trying to convince someone he was fine when, in reality, he was not - when he was trying to reassure everyone else while simultaneously refusing to admit, even to himself, that something was eating him alive.

Oh, now you knew what this was about.

He had definitely practiced this conversation in his head - refined it down to the perfect phrasing. Measured. Logical. Reassuring.

A version so well-rehearsed, so carefully constructed, that he’d convinced himself first before trying to convince you - that this didn’t scare him.

That this was just another rational step forward.

That it was fine.

Because if he could make it sound easy, maybe it would be.

Maybe it would give you something solid to lean on, because the last thing he wanted was for you to feel like you were standing on shaky ground with someone just as fractured as he was.

But in the end, even the best-laid words couldn’t withstand the weight of his emotions - whether he liked it or not, even rocks are meant to erode.

“I think it’s time we come clean to the team,” he admitted, completely veering off-script - though, of course, he still made sure to soften the blow with a kiss to your temple.

Not that it made much difference. You both knew this moment was inevitable, but somehow, you’d managed to delude yourselves into thinking that if you just kept putting it off, the perfect time would miraculously appear.

At first, you’d delayed it until things were official.

Then, because you needed to be sure this could work in the long run.

Then, because you wanted time to just enjoy each other.

Truthfully? If it were entirely up to the two of you, you’d probably keep postponing it indefinitely - at least until the day you were both retired, far away from any fraternization rules or painfully awkward team dynamics.

Unless, of course, your eyes had been deceiving you all along, or life decided to be cruel and rip this happiness away from you before you ever even got the chance. All you could do was hope not.

Aaron sighed, watching you carefully. “So, how do you want to do this?”

At least he could take comfort in the fact that his very specific plan of having wine while discussing this was still intact - especially since the very large sip you took the second he asked hadn’t gone unnoticed.

He huffed a laugh.

Yeah.

This was going to be fun.

“Are we sure we have to?” You groaned, tilting your head back against his shoulder.

“I’m afraid so, sweetheart. It’s the only way to keep them from getting the satisfaction of figuring it out first and do this our way…”

It was his turn to take a long sip now… he surely wasn’t thrilled about the lack of an actual game plan.

“…Still need to figure out what exactly we mean by ‘our way,’” he admitted. “But, you know… that’s what these are for.”

He tapped a finger against his temple, then against yours, clearly implying that your very skilled, highly trained profiler brains would surely work this out.

You, however, were placing your bets on your problem-solving skills drastically improving after a few more glasses of wine, because right now?

“We are so fucked,” you commented.

Aaron clinked his glass against yours, deadpan. “Completely.”

You both took long, slow sips of wine like it might somehow provide divine intervention.

It didn’t. You were indeed left pretty much alone in this.

You sighed, setting your glass down on the coffee table. “Well, you definitely have the face of someone who already has a plan...” You reached up, brushing your fingers along his jaw. “...a very handsome face.”

Cheesy. But deserved.

Aaron chuckled. “I believe…” He kissed you on the cheek – twice - before setting his own glass down too. “…We should tell them directly. Get ahead of it. Lay it out as matter-of-factly as possible.”

“Matter-of-factly?”

He nodded, all serious, like he hadn’t just suggested the worst possible approach.

“Sweetheart…” You pinched his cheek, making him scrunch his nose, hoping – more like praying - that it would snap him out of whatever fantasy land of logic, reason, and good intentions he was apparently living in.

“If we tell them directly, Penelope will throw an actual partypersonally design matching t-shirts, and have the entire team wear them.” You paused, leveling him with a look. “And you know it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I know.”

“Emily and Derek will immediately start making jokes like two middle schoolers who just learned what sex is and will not let us breathe.”

“I know.”

“JJ will be quiet but then ask all of a sudden, ‘So when’s the wedding?’ which will restart the chaos all over again.”

“I know.”

You turned to face him, deadly serious. “Spencer-”

“-Will hit us with a full statistical analysis of workplace relationships,” Aaron finished, exhaling sharply, already bracing himself.

Because there was only one team member left to account for - the worst of them all.

“And… oh God… Dave…”

And with that horrifying realization, he did the only logical thing a man in his position could do - he face-planted directly into your chest with a dramatic, muffled groan of pure defeat.

You blinked down at him, amused. “Honey…”

Why was he even so touch starved like that?

“All I ask,” came his muffled voice, still very much nestled between your breasts, “is five minutes of peace.”

You snorted. “You do realize this isn’t exactly discouraging me from making fun of you, right?”

He sighed again. “You do realize that if you keep laughing, you’re just shoving them further into my face?”

…Damn him and his irritating ability to state the obvious.

You sighed, fingers absentmindedly combing through his short spikes of hair. “…So we’re back to square one.”

Aaron exhaled, still very much face-first in his chosen safe haven. “Unfortunately.”

You hummed, “Okay, hypothetically, if we just… never tell them, how long do you think we could get away with it?”

That was so absurd that it actually made him lift his head. He blinked at you, utterly offended by the suggestion.

“I am not spending the next decade pretending I don’t stare at your ass every time you walk away.”

…Alright. That was definitely the wine talking.

In vino veritas, as the Romans said. Wine makes people say dumb shit: the truth.

“Wow. Didn’t know you were a poet, Hotchner.”

His lips twitched. “Don’t pretend you’re above it, because I catch you every time you drift off during briefings just to stare right at-”

“Alright, alright,” you cut him off, slapping a hand over his mouth before he could fully call you out... he was not happy about it. “We’re both shameless…"

You needed an exit strategy. Fast.

You reached for his wine glass over the coffee table. “Well, at least the bright side of telling them is that we won’t have to schedule our coffee breaks in advance anymore and pretend to look surprised when we see each other.”

And all of that was just for one single moment.

The fleeting brush of fingertips as you handed him the cup you always poured for him.

The way his hand was always warmer than yours, despite the fact that you were the one holding the scalding mug, as if basic thermodynamics simply did not apply to Aaron Hotchner.

And if it was one of those days, sometimes, there’d be a little extra something.

A longer touch.

Eye contact that lingered just a second too long.

A slow sip from his cup while still holding your gaze, and suddenly, it felt indecent - like something you definitely shouldn’t be doing in broad daylight, let alone in a federal building.

And now - here, in the comfort of his apartment, with nothing and no one to stop you - he reached for the wine glass you were offering, except… he wasn’t actually reaching for the glass.

He was just holding your hand.

Aaron chuckled, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your knuckles. “I think we’re holding onto this touch just a little too long,” he murmured, nuzzling into you, his breath warm against your ear. “Might start looking suspicious.”

Didn’t he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Oh, also some-” you started, or at least tried to, because as if everything else wasn’t enough, now he was kissing just behind your ear, his lips just brushing the sensitive skin there, warm, and slow, and wet and… God…

Okay. Okay.

Maybe it was the wine.

Maybe it was the fact that you were always kind of a little bit obsessed with him.

Either way, the result was the same: you really, really wanted him right now.

You sighed, tilting your head to grant him a little more access - but not too much, or you might actually end up using the full length of his three-seater couch instead of stubbornly remaining curled up in the same cramped two-foot space you’d unofficially claimed as your own. Ergo - going horizontal with him instead of just being seated on his lap.

“I thought we were having a serious discussion,” you murmured, though the breathy edge to your voice wasn’t exactly helping your case.

Aaron hummed in response, slowly dragging his lips from behind your ear down along the curve of your jaw, pressing a kiss at the hinge. “We are.” Another kiss. “What were you starting to say, sweetheart?”

And another one.

You tried to think. Really, you did.

But it was getting increasingly difficult with his mouth still very much on your skin, moving towards places that were making it exponentially harder to form coherent thoughts.

You would’ve made a mental note to never wear anything that resembled a tank top around him again, if only you had the actual brain capacity to form any notes right now.

“Aaron-”

Aaron smirked against your skin. “You were saying?”

…Blank. Absolutely blank.

Your brain stalled for a solid three seconds before mercifully rebooting.

“I-” You licked your lips, cleared your throat. “Penelope.”

That, thankfully, was enough of a keyword to get him to back off - though, the second he did, you already desperately missed the warmth of his mouth on your skin.

He tilted his head, “Penelope?”

You swallowed. “She’s… gonna be beaming.”

Aaron blinked at you. “Beaming.”

“Yeah.” You smiled, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, because God, he was too cute when he was confused like this. “Her and Kevin have been desperate for another couple to go out with. Ever since JJ and Will stopped leaving the house because they’re too busy baby-proofing every square inch of their lives.”

Aaron’s brows furrowed slightly. “And by ‘go out with,’ you mean double dates.”

You hummed, fingers grazing his cheek. “Mmm. Yeah. Double dates.”

Aaron didn’t even hesitate. “Oh, absolutely not.”

You blinked, pulling back slightly. “Wait, what?”

His face was resolute. “I’m not doing double dates.”

You squinted at him. “Okay, but why?”

And that’s how you learned that if there was one thing your boyfriend hated - more than messy paperwork, more than delayed flights, more than the Bureau’s budgeting meetings - it was double dates.

Not specifically with Penelope and Kevin. God, no. He was practically the puppet master of their relationship in the first place. Just… double dates in general.

“They’re impractical,” he said.

You snorted. “What do you mean?”

Aaron sighed. “They are a waste of time. You sit there, and for the first fifteen minutes, it’s fine. The usual small talk, polite conversation…”

You nodded, barely biting back a grin. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

Honestly, this just sounded like some classic Aaron Hotchner being the most adorable introvert to ever exist.

He shot you a look, deadly serious. “It’s a trap.” You nearly cooed. Adorable. “Because at some point, you end up talking one-on-one with someone from the other couple. And right when the conversation is actually getting interesting-”

He suddenly paused.

His hand started at your shoulder, innocent enough - until it wasn’t, until it drifted lower, fingertips skimming down until they found your thigh, before sliding inward, squeezing your soft flesh there.

“See?” Aaron murmured, voice deceptively casual. “It starts off innocently. A hand on the shoulder…”He angled his fingers just a notch further up your upper thigh. “…Then the thigh. Then-”

He leaned in, kissing you just at the corner of your mouth.

"A little kiss here," he murmured, lips barely brushing your skin.

Then another - softer, lingering just at the very edge of your lips.

"A little peck there."

Okay.

Ahem.

For a man who hated double dates, he was making a very strong case for them.

This was clearly foreplay.

Had to be foreplay.

You chose to interpret it as foreplay.

So, naturally, just as you were about to pull him in properly - to finally taste the wine on his lips – he pulled back.

Mixed signals whore.

“And then,” he continued, and you swore his voice had gotten even lower - sluttier, if you were being honest - "it escalates.”

...Wine-induced yapper. "Because one couple decides a little peck isn’t enough, so they turn and start devouring each other’s faces… in public.”

The wine that was in your system, instead, suggested you should have him biblically, right here, right now, on his couch.

“Care to demonstrate this part too?” You licked your lips, tilting your head.

Aaron sighed “Honey.” You knew you were in trouble the moment he smirked. “You’re demonstrating my point…”

Your stomach dropped.

“…You want more.” Aaron tutted, shaking his head, feigning disappointment. “Of course you want more. A chaste kiss isn’t enough. How could it be, sweetheart?”

Hell yes you wanted more.

Badly.

You might have even nodded without meaning to.

“But imagine if this was happening in public. In front of two other people. What about them?” he murmured, tilting his head, voice dropping into something dark, silky, dangerous. “In front of two other people.”

You swallowed, very much not thinking about them right now.

“Because at that point, they only have two choices: they either sit there - third-wheeling, watching - or…” His hand slid beneath your shirt, fingers splaying wide over your bare waist, gripping, pulling you that much closer. "… they start doing it too."

Your breath hitched. “Aaron-”

"With just a kiss, it creates an environment," he murmured, lips grazing the shell of your ear, "where both couples get competitive. Where they start copying each other - but making it more…"

He dragged his nose along the curve of your jaw, the ghost of his lips tracing just behind it. "Passionate."

A teeth-grazing kiss against your pulse.

A slow drag of his lips down the column of your throat, before he made his way back up, tilting your chin up with his fingers just so, forcing you to look at him.

And God, that look.

"More tongue," he continued, letting you see it first - his own darting out, wetting his lips just before he brushed them over yours.

Not kissing.

Not yet.

“More biting.” Aaron caught your lower lip between his teeth, pulling just enough to confirm what you already knew -

He tasted like red wine.

Rich. Dark. Addictive.

And so did you.

“More touching.” His hand drifted, fingertips just skimming over your ribs, teasing along the underside of your breast - so close, so close, before he let it trail lower again, just as his lips ghosted over your ear.

"More sounds."

You barely bit back the breathy, desperate little moan clawing its way up your throat because -

Aaron shoved you off his lap.

In one fluid motion, he shifted, pressing you back into the couch, caging you in beneath him, his arms bracketing either side of your head.

His knee slotted between your thighs, pressing up just slightly - just enough to make you gasp, make your hips twitch without thinking.

You were pretty sure now that this was, in fact, foreplay.

“At that point,” he murmured, lowering himself, pressing his body against yours, pinning you down with nothing but his weight, “if you’re already getting ideas…”

Aaron rolled his hips against you, his knee shifting just enough to have you sucking in a sharp breath. “…it’s better off just staying home. Because at least then,” he whispered, “we can do this.”

And then he kissed you. Properly.

Deep and hungry, pressing you down into the cushions until you moaned into his mouth, pulling him closer as one of his hands slipped under your shirt.

“You-” you swallowed, trying to find words, but he stole them from you, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your jaw. “You expect me to believe this is why you hate double dates?”

“I expect you to understand,” he murmured against the sensitive skin of your neck, “that if I ever go on one…” he nipped at your pulse, making you gasp. “…I’ll be thinking about this the entire time.”

Then - click.

The sound of the button of your pants being undone, followed shortly by the hiss of your zipper. You felt the warmth of his fingertips slipping beneath the waistband of your pants, resting over your hip bone.

Well, fuck.

“You’ll be sitting across from me,” he continued, voice so unfairly composed, so infuriatingly smooth, “pretending to listen to whatever they’re taking about.”

He tilted his head, kissing along your collarbone, then much lower. You made a mental note to always wear anything resembling a tank top in his presence from now on.

“And the entire time…” his fingers dipped just slightly beneath the elastic of your underwear.

You shuddered. “Aaron.”

He hummed, pleased - so deeply pleased - before finally sliding lower, his fingers finally brushing right where you needed him most.

You whimpered.

“I’ll be remembering,” he murmured, “exactly how you sound right now.”

Your back arched into his touch, fingers digging into his shoulders, nails biting into muscle as his fingers moved.

“And how you look,” he added, his lips brushing the curve of your breast, “when you fall apart for me.”

Your breath hitched-

And then.

Then-

He stopped.

Just - stopped.

His hands left you completely as he leaned back, settling onto his knees above you, looking far too pleased with himself.

You gaped at him, betrayed. “Are you kidding me?”

Aaron just smirked, gaze flicking over you, taking in your flushed cheeks, your uneven breathing, the way your body was still desperately aching for him.

“See?” he shrugged, voice so damn smug. “This is why I hate double dates.”

How funny would it be if these ended up being his last words?

You huffed, adjusting yourself on the couch, crossing your arms like you weren’t still ridiculously turned on and very annoyed about it. “Alright, you know what? Fine. No need to suffer through a double date if we just… conveniently wait to tell the team about us until after JJ and Will start going back out with Penelope and Kevin.”

Aaron smirked.

At least you’d both come to an agreement - the exact same procrastination tactic you’d been using, just with a new and improved excuse attached.

“…Smart girl.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I wouldn’t dare, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, still breathing heavily, still so deeply unsatisfied, as Aaron pressed a kiss to your temple, then stood, stretching his arms.

“I’ll clean the wine glasses,” he mused, already heading toward the kitchen. “And then I’ll be back to you.”

You stared at him.

He paused, glancing at you over his shoulder, smirking.

You huffed, sarcastic, “glad we could work this out.”

You were not glad. Not at all. Especially because not even a full minute later, your phone buzzed with a text.

From him.

From Mr. Clean himself, who was currently just a couple rooms away from you.

Lawyer, 8:43 PM:

Sweetheart, I hope you're ready, because I’m going to spread you out on that couch and fuck you so deep, you’ll still feel me when you sit at your desk tomorrow.

^.ᆽ.^= ∫

A.H.

"Garcia just told me how to get the cat," came his voice from the kitchen - so damn smug you could hear the smirk in it, followed the sound of his footsteps getting closer.

Before you could turn, before you could say anything, he was there - leaning in from behind the couch, arms sliding around you, caging you in, whispering into your ear -

"It was just a simple copy-paste."

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[writeriguess]

hiii may I request katsuki x reader where he has to go to a work trip overseas and reader stays home, where she finds out she’s pregnant (or it could be the other way around, we stan prohero reader) 🥹 ofc when he comes back she has the news prepared, please tooth rooting fluff 🫶🫶

Future Little Explosive

Katsuki Bakugo had been gone for just over a week on an overseas work trip, and it was already driving you insane. He called every night, making sure you were eating properly, locking up before bed, and not overworking yourself. He was as gruff as ever, muttering complaints about jet lag and how annoying his colleagues were, but you could hear the longing behind every word. He missed you. And there was something you hadn’t told him yet—something that made every call feel heavier with a secret.

You were pregnant.

The realization had hit you two days after he left, when your body felt off in a way that couldn’t be ignored. The nausea, the exhaustion, the unusual cravings—it all clicked together. A few tests later, and there it was: two solid pink lines staring right back at you. You had spent the following days in a mix of shock, excitement, and pure anticipation, thinking of how to tell Katsuki the life-changing news. You could already imagine his reaction—equal parts disbelief and sheer pride.

You had started picking at your meals more, wondering if you should change your diet already. You found yourself resting your hands over your stomach absentmindedly, marveling at the fact that a tiny life was growing inside you. The thought made you emotional at odd moments, and you cursed your hormones when you teared up over something as simple as dropping a spoon. More than anything, though, you wished Katsuki was home to experience this with you.

By the time he was due to return home, you had everything planned. You wanted it to be perfect—something that would catch him off guard in the best way possible. You decorated the living room subtly, nothing too flashy because you knew your husband would immediately be suspicious if he walked into something too extravagant. Instead, you placed a small, neatly wrapped box on the kitchen counter with a onesie inside that read: Future Little Explosive.

When the front door finally swung open, you practically ran to him, throwing your arms around his neck as he grunted in surprise, his strong arms instantly securing you against him. He smelled like the airport and faintly of smoke, but to you, it was the most comforting scent in the world.

“Missed me that much, huh?” His voice was low, teasing, but there was a tenderness behind it that only you ever got to hear.

“You have no idea,” you murmured, breathing in his scent. It had been too long without him.

He kissed your forehead before stepping back, scanning you up and down with narrowed eyes. “You look different.”

Your heart jumped, but you played it cool. “Long week.”

As he dropped his bags by the door and toed off his boots, you grabbed his hand, tugging him toward the kitchen. “C’mere, I got you something.”

He raised an eyebrow but followed without protest, his sharp crimson eyes flicking to the small box on the counter. “What’s this?”

“Open it and see.”

With a skeptical huff, he tugged at the ribbon and lifted the lid. His brows furrowed at first as he pulled out the tiny onesie, turning it over in his hands. The room was silent for a moment, and you watched as realization dawned on his face.

His grip on the fabric tightened slightly, eyes flicking up to meet yours, wide and searching. “Wait… are you serious?”

You nodded, tears already pricking at your eyes. “Yeah, Katsuki. We’re having a baby.”

For a second, he just stared, his jaw clenching like he was trying to keep his emotions in check. His fingers trembled slightly around the fabric, his breath shaky. And then, with no warning, he surged forward, crashing his lips against yours in a kiss that was all passion, relief, and overwhelming love.

“Holy shit,” he breathed against your lips, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. “You’re serious?”

You let out a watery laugh, nodding. “Dead serious.”

A rare, unguarded smile broke across his face, something so raw and full of emotion that it made your heart swell. His hands, which had always been rough and calloused from years of hero work, were gentle as they moved to rest on your stomach. His touch was hesitant at first, like he couldn’t believe it was real. Then, he pressed his palm fully against you, his warmth seeping through your clothes.

“We’re gonna have a little brat running around, huh?” His voice was softer now, almost in awe.

You placed your hands over his. “Yeah, we are.”

He exhaled sharply, then let out a low chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. “Shit, I’m gonna be a dad.”

“Yeah, you are.”

For once, he seemed lost for words. His usual cocky attitude had melted away into something far more vulnerable, and it made you love him even more. He pulled you in again, holding you like he never wanted to let go. And in that moment, you knew—this was the beginning of something incredible.

[meazalykov]

used and discarded

barcelona femeni x f!reader with features of romantic!esmee brugts x f!reader, platonic!alexia putellas x f!reader, and platonic!kika nazareth x f!reader.

warnings: abandonment, r being used, alcohol/getting drunk, r being put in a dangerous situation, angst but comforting

there was loud music, crowded spaces, or overpriced drinks in the city center of barcelona. 

one thing about you, you were never one to turn down a night out, not because you particularly enjoyed it but because you loved spending time with people. 

at least, that’s what you thought.  

your college friends had invited you out, something they didn’t do often, at least not unless they needed something from you. you didn’t think like that though. you just figured they were busy, and when they did ask you to come out, you were happy to say yes.  

so, here you were, sitting at a bar in the center of barcelona, your friends all huddled around a small table. your presence alone had drawn attention; a few people had recognized you when you walked in, whispering amongst themselves about how one of barcelona’s midfielders were in the building.

“y/n, let’s take a picture,” lee, the one who had invited you out, grinned, sliding into the seat next to you.  

“huh? oh, sure,” you said, barely processing before she was already adjusting her phone’s camera.  

you weren’t even sure what the picture was for, but you didn’t question it, simply smiling as she leaned in. after a few clicks, she was already typing away on her phone, most likely uploading it to her instagram story.  

you had barely touched your drink, still nursing your first one while everyone else was already onto their second or third. you didn’t mind, though. you were used to staying in control.  

“sooo,” lee dragged out, setting her phone down, “any chance you can get us into that club you went to with your teammates last week?”  

you blinked, recalling the team outing at a private lounge that had required special reservations. 

“oh… i don’t know. alexia was the one who set it up.”  

“you could ask, though, right?”  

“i mean, i could, but i think it was a one-time thing…”  

“come on, y/n,” another one of your friends, sophie, pouted, “you have connections. just ask.”  

you hesitated. you didn’t like using your status for favors, and you definitely didn’t like asking alexia for something that would obviously annoy her. you didn’t want to say no, either. you had a hard time with that.  

“i’ll see,” you finally said, earning a satisfied grin from sophie.  

before you could dwell on it, your phone buzzed on the table. you glanced down, seeing a text from kika.  

kika: you still out?  

you furrowed your brows, replying quickly.  

you: yeah, why?  

she read the message immediately. then, the typing bubble appeared before disappearing. a few seconds later, another message popped up.  

kika: just wondering. don’t get too drunk, bebé.  

you smiled at the nickname, a warmth settling in your chest. kika was always looking out for you, she was your best friend on the team.  

“who’s that?” sophie leaned over, glancing at your phone screen before you could lock it.  

“kika,” you answered easily.  

“ugh,” another friend, laura, groaned and rolled her eyes, “she doesn’t like us.”  

“what?” you asked, confused.  

sofía laughed, shaking her head, “y/n, you’re so oblivious. your teammates hate us.”  

your stomach twisted slightly at that. 

“they don’t hate you.”  

“they do,” laura insisted, “especially the famous one alexia. she glares at us every time she sees us with you.”  

“yeah, and your girlfriend esmee? she never even speaks to us.”  

you frowned. you had never noticed that. sure, alexia could be intimidating, but she wasn’t rude. and esmee was just… esmee. she wasn’t overly social to begin with. not since you started dating her over a year ago.

“maybe you’re imagining it,” you tried to reason.  

sophie smirked. 

“sure, y/n. keep telling yourself that.”  

the conversation moved on, but the thought lingered in your mind. was that really true? did your teammates really dislike your friends? why hadn’t they told you?  

you had no way of knowing that they had told you, just not directly. they had made snide comments, given you looks, even subtly tried to pull you away from your college friends and find better one. you, ever the optimist, had brushed it off every time. it wasn’t until you left the bar a couple of hours later to go to another one with all of your friends. 

the next club had flashing neon lights everywhere, the bass-heavy music that made your heart vibrate, and the taste of alcohol on your tongue. your friends had pulled you onto the dance floor, your laughter mixing with theirs as you all jumped to the beat of whatever song was blasting through the speakers. 

arms were thrown over shoulders, drinks raised in cheers, and cameras constantly flashing as you posed for pictures that you would probably only remember through instagram stories the next morning.  

it felt good to be carefree for once and to be normal. no football, no training schedules, no expectations…just you and your college friends, blending into the crowd. they hyped you up as you downed another shot, playfully teasing you when you scrunch your face at the burn. 

sophie had draped an arm around your shoulders at one point, grinning as she said, "this is so much better than all that football stuff, right? just us, no stress."  

you had laughed, nodding, "well i don’t knowwww this is just fun."  

now, standing in front of the mirror in the bar’s bathroom, you weren’t so sure.  

your reflection stared back at you…swollen cheeks, slightly unfocused eyes, hair a little messier than you remembered. you swallowed hard, gripping the sink as the dizziness hit you all at once.  

"shit," you mumbled, splashing cold water on your face.  

you had training tomorrow. well, later today, technically. afternoon practice, but still. your coaches always told you that recovery was just as important as training itself but here you were, drunk off your ass, wobbling slightly as you turned off the sink.  

oh well. it was one night. you barely go out anyways. so pushing the thought aside, you dried your hands and pulled out your phone, the screen nearly blinding you in the dim lighting.  

1:34 a.m

you sighed, tucking your phone into your pocket before pushing the door open and stepping back into the main part of the bar. the air was thick with the scent of sweat, spilled drinks, and cheap cologne. the music pounded in your ears, and the crowd had only grown since you left.  

you expected to see your friends still dancing, still drinking, still having the time of their lives. as you looked around, scanning the room, something felt… off.  they weren’t at the table where you last saw them. they weren’t by the bar either.  

your stomach twisted slightly as you wove through the crowd, bumping into people as you checked each corner of the bar. maybe they had gone outside for fresh air? maybe they had moved to a different section?  

after ten minutes of searching, the pit in your stomach deepened.  

they were gone.  

pulling out your phone, you quickly tapped into the group chat.  

you: where did you guys go?  

no response.  

you bit your lip, stepping up to the bar counter, trying to steady yourself as you leaned in toward the bartender. 

"um, excuse me?"  

the bartender, a middle-aged woman who looked like she had seen it all with her blue hair and tired eyes, barely glanced at you as she wiped down the counter, "yeah?"  

"did you see a group of girls? they were all wearing black, and one of them had, uh, purple hair?"  

she nodded, "yeah, they left about fifteen, twenty minutes ago."  

you blinked, "oh. are you sure?"  

she finally looked at you then, raising a brow, "yeah, kid. saw them walk out together. didn’t see them come back."  

your lips parted slightly, almost offended since you were called a kid but no words came out. you stood there, frozen, gripping your phone a little tighter as the reality of the situation slowly sank in.  

they left without you and without telling you.  

quickly, you opened your messages again, typing another text.  

you: did you guys leave??  

the three dots appeared, then disappeared. your stomach dropped. another few seconds passed. then, one by one, you watched as your messages were marked as read.  

no response.  

you stared at the screen, heart pounding.  

they left you. they actually left you. 

you looked around the bar again, as if expecting them to magically reappear, to jump out and tell you it was just a joke. unfortunately, they weren’t there. the people around you were strangers, caught up in their own worlds, unaware of the sinking feeling in your chest.  

your breath hitched as you tried to reason with yourself. maybe they thought you had already left. maybe they were too drunk and forgot to text you.  deep down, you knew the truth.  

they didn’t care.  

they had used you for pictures, for attention, for the free drinks you had bought earlier in the night. they had laughed with you, danced with you, but when the time came to actually care about you, they had walked out without a second thought.  

your hands trembled slightly as you locked your phone, shoving it into your pocket. you suddenly felt so stupid for believing they were your real friends and for thinking they actually liked you. you hated yourself for letting yourself get this drunk and careless when you had training tomorrow.  

the realization hit you like a truck.  

you were alone.

your fingers trembled as you gripped the edge of the table, trying to steady yourself. deep breaths. in through your nose, out through your mouth. it wasn’t working. your chest was tight, your vision was swimming, and the realization that you were completely alone in a barcelona bar at nearly 2 a.m only made it worse.  

you swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as tears threatened to spill. you were not going to cry here. not in front of all these strangers and not where anyone could see you breaking down.  

so you did the only thing you could think of, you got up on shaky legs and pushed through the crowd, stumbling your way back to the bathroom. once inside, you locked yourself in the farthest stall and collapsed onto the closed toilet seat, pulling your knees to your chest as the first sob broke free.  

this wasn’t fair.  

you just wanted to feel normal, to have a life outside of football. was that too much to ask? unfortunately, this is what you got for trusting people, for believing that they actually cared about you. you frowned realizing that your teammates were right.  

you hiccupped, wiping your face with the sleeve of your hoodie, but the tears wouldn’t stop. you had never felt so stupid in your life. your phone buzzed in your lap, and for a moment, you debated ignoring it. when you sniffled and glanced down, your blurry vision barely made out the contact name ‘esmee <3’ and a tiktok link she had sent.  

your breath hitched. she was awake and without thinking, you clicked on her contact and hit call.  

it rang once.  

twice.   

“hey,” esmee’s voice came through, casual, like she hadn’t just been sent into a call unexpectedly from her girlfriend at 2 o’clock in the morning. 

“are you good?”  

the second you heard her voice, everything inside you cracked open.  

“esmee,” you choked out, your words tumbling over each other in a drunken panic, “i— i’m scared, i don’t–i-i i don’t know where i am, i was just having fun and then they.. fuck! they left me and i can’t find them and i-i- i don’t know how to get home..”  

“hey, hey, slow down” esmee’s voice sharpened, her usual laid-back tone replaced with concern and fear after hearing your cries, “where are you?”  

you squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your forehead against your knee. 

“some bar. near the beach. a..um.. an old fashioned speakeasy like bar, i think? i don’t know which one.”  

“okay,” esmee said, her voice calm but urgent, “send me your location, yeah? you know how to do that?”  

you nodded quickly before realizing she couldn’t see you. 

“y-yeah,” you stammered, but when you tried to exit the call and open the app, your fingers felt clumsy, your mind sluggish from the alcohol.  

“shit, hold on,” you muttered, fumbling with your phone.  

“you got it, love?” esmee asked, softer now, but still worried.  

“i.. um? i think? wait!”  

you cursed under your breath as you clicked the wrong thing twice, your breathing getting quicker the longer it took. finally, finally, you managed to send her your live location.  

“got it,” she confirmed almost immediately, “okay, i’m coming. just stay on the phone with me, alright?”  

you sniffled, “i.. i’m so sorry, es. i didn’t mean to wake you up!”  

“you didn’t wake me,” she interrupted, “i was already up waiting for you to get home safely before i went to sleep...”  

you couldn’t stop apologizing. the shame, the embarrassment, the fear…it was all too much. it was then when another thought slammed into you like a freight train.  

alexia.  

your breath hitched, and fresh tears welled in your eyes.  

“esmee,” you whimpered, “am i gonna get in trouble?”  

she hesitated for a second. 

“what do you mean?”  

“alexia,” you choked out, “she’s gonna be so mad. i— we have training tomorrow and now i— i’m drunk and stupid and i…”  

your voice cracked as sobs overtook you again.  

“hey, hey, stop that,” esmee said quickly, “we’ll deal with that later, okay? i’ll talk to her.. right now, i just need you to breathe. i’m on my way. just hold on for me, alright?”  

you tried, you really did. however, you couldn’t stop crying.  

“it’s gonna be okay,” esmee reassured you, voice unwavering, “just stay with me. i’m coming to get you.”

esmee arrived faster than you thought possible. by the time you stepped out of the bar, still clutching your phone with shaky fingers, she was already getting out of her car, eyes scanning the drunk and hyped up crowd until they locked onto you.  

“y/n,” she breathed out in relief, rushing toward you.  

you sniffled, rubbing your arms, the cold night air making your already trembling body shake even more. esmee’s face softened as she took in your red-rimmed eyes, the way you were shivering not just from the weather but from the way the alcohol was leaving your system too fast.  

without a second thought, she shrugged off her jacket and draped it over your shoulders. 

“oh my, you’re freezing,” she muttered, rubbing your arms through the fabric. you swallowed hard, feeling your throat close up. 

“i-i didn’t know what to do,” you admitted in a small, broken voice.  

esmee sighed, her expression a mix of frustration and concern.

 “it’s okay, you’re safe now,” she reassured, looping an arm around your waist. 

“come on, let’s get you to the car.”  

she guided you toward the passenger side, opening the door and helping you in before buckling your seatbelt for you when she noticed your fingers weren’t cooperating. once she was sure you were settled, she jogged around to the driver’s side, getting in and turning up the heat the second she started the engine.  

you curled into yourself, esmee’s jacket engulfing you as you tried to stop the shivers wracking your body.  

“i’m taking you to mine,” esmee announced as she pulled out of the parking lot, “i don’t feel good about leaving you alone like this.”  

you didn’t argue. you couldn’t. you just nodded, eyes unfocused as you stared at the dashboard.  

the drive was quiet, except for the occasional sniffle from you and the sound of esmee tapping her fingers against the steering wheel, deep in thought. when you arrived, esmee wasted no time guiding you inside, kicking off her shoes as she led you to the bathroom. 

“you should shower,” she told you gently, already reaching for a fresh towel from the shelf, “it’ll help you feel better.”  

you nodded numbly, taking the towel from her hands. before you could turn away, she added, “i put a t-shirt of mine and some sweatshorts on the counter for you. they’ll be warmer than what you have on.”  

you swallowed back another wave of emotion, touched by her care. 

“thank you, es. i love you.”  

she gave you a small, reassuring smile. 

“i love you too. take your time, okay?”  

you took a longer shower than you intended, letting the hot water soak into your skin and wash away the night. when you finally emerged, dressed in esmee’s warm, oversized clothes, she was waiting for you in the kitchen with a glass of water and a packet of vitamin c on the counter.  

“drink,” she instructed, sliding the glass toward you.  

you did as told, drinking slowly, your hands still trembling slightly around the cup.  

when you finished, esmee nodded approvingly and motioned toward the her bedroom. 

“come on, let’s get you to bed.”  

you followed her, exhaustion settling deep in your bones. the moment you curled up under the blankets, your body felt heavier, your eyelids drooping almost immediately.  esmee crouched beside you, tucking a strand of damp hair behind your ear. 

“get some sleep, yeah? we have training tomorrow.”  

your stomach clenched at the mention of training. will alexia get super mad for your irresponsibility?

esmee seemed to read your mind. 

“don’t worry about anything right now,” she said softly, “just sleep.”  

you nodded sluggishly, already halfway to unconsciousness. once your breathing evened out, esmee sat back on her heels, exhaling slowly. the dutch woman’s gaze flickered toward her phone.  

should she call alexia?  

es’ fingers hovered over the screen, debating. if she didn’t tell her, alexia would find out eventually. and if you didn’t say anything, esmee would.  

she locked her phone with a sigh.  

tomorrow. she’d deal with it tomorrow.

fourteen hours later and training felt like a nightmare. your body moved, your legs carried you through drills, your passes were sharp and physically you were fine. however you felt destroyed mentally. you were barely holding it together.  

the people you thought were your friends had left you and abandoned you in the middle of the night, drunk, alone, in a city that wasn’t really your home. yes, you’ve played at barcelona for two seasons so far but you did not grow up here. the more you thought about it, the worse it hurt and it was obvious to your team.  

you weren’t laughing at vicky’s jokes like usual. when salma hugged you, you barely hugged back.when  patri nudged you playfully at one point, expecting you to counter her with one of your usual surprise tackles, but you just stared at her blankly before looking away.  

the energy you normally carried was gone and alexia noticed, of course she did.  

she watched you closely throughout training, her brows furrowed every time she caught the vacant look in your eyes or the way your jaw clenched like you were holding something in. she had asked you once,

"you okay?" 

and you had lied to her,  

"yeah, i’m fine."

esmee, stretching beside you, visibly cringed at the words. she knew the truth. she had seen you break down in her living room hours ago, your voice cracking as you admitted how scared you had been, how stupid you felt for trusting them. she didn’t say anything, not yet, not until after training.  

when the session finally ended, you trudged off the field, heading toward the locker room before anyone could pull you aside but alexia was faster.  

“y/n,” she called, her voice leaving no room for argument.  

you turned around, your heartbeat picking up when you saw the sharp look in her eyes, “yeah?”  she stared at you for a moment, like she was waiting for you to break on your own. when you didn’t, she took a slow breath and asked again, “are you okay?”  

the same question but this time, her voice was firmer.  

you swallowed, forcing yourself to nod. 

“yeah. just tired.”  

the blonde woman’s eyes narrowed slightly, but before she could press further, esmee stepped in.  

“alexia,” esmee said, voice calm but firm.  

alexia turned to her, raising an eyebrow.  

esmee sighed, rubbing the back of her neck knowing that you would not tell alexia the truth out of embarrassment. 

“can i talk to you? privately.”  

alexia’s gaze flickered back to you briefly before she nodded. 

“of course.”  

you watched as esmee led her a few steps away, out of earshot. your stomach twisted, knowing exactly what was coming next.  

esmee exhaled deeply before starting. 

“she’s not okay,” she said flatly.  

alexia crossed her arms, “i know that. i’m just waiting for her to tell me the truth.”  

esmee shook her head. 

“she won’t.” she paused before continuing, “she went out with her college friends last night and got really drunk.”  

alexia’s jaw tightened.  

“and they left her,” esmee added, voice dropping slightly, “like…literally left her alone in a bar, drunk, with no way home.” alexia’s expression darkened immediately, “what?”  

esmee nodded grimly, “she called me in a panic at almost two in the morning. crying, scared out of her mind. she didn’t even know where she was at first. she could barely get her location to send.”  

alexia’s hands clenched into fists at her sides.  

“she is staying at my home for a while,” esmee continued, “i am making sure that she is okay, as her girlfriend and all. this morning wasn’t good at all, she is messed up about it. i mean, imagine thinking these people are your friends and then they just leave you when you’re at your most vulnerable. gosh it makes me want to tackle them and make sure that my cleat hits their shin or something..”  

alexia exhaled slowly, trying to keep her composure, “why didn’t you guys tell me this happened?”  

esmee hesitated, “because she’s embarrassed and because she didn’t want you to be disappointed in her.”  

alexia ran a hand through her hair, exhaling sharply, “i’m not disappointed. i’m fucking furious…not at her, at those fucking smartasses.”  

esmee nodded, “yeah. me too.”  

alexia’s gaze flickered back to where you were sitting on the bench, staring down at your hands, looking so small and tired.  

“she needs to hear it from you,” esmee said gently, “that you’re not mad at her since she won’t believe me when i tell her.”  

alexia nodded, setting her jaw, “i’ll talk to her.”  

esmee clapped a hand on her shoulder, “good. and, uh… maybe be soft about it, yeah?”  

alexia rolled her eyes, but there was no real annoyance there, “i can be soft, you know.”  

esmee smirked, “mm-hmm. you better be.”  

alexia took a deep breath and started walking toward you.

however, you were gone.

you didn’t bother waiting for cooldown stretches, didn’t linger in the locker room like usual, didn’t stay to laugh with the team or chat about plans for the rest of the day. the second the coach dismissed you, you grabbed your bag and sprinted out, ignoring the confused voices calling after you.  

"now what was that about?" aitana muttered, glancing at kika.  

kika frowned, her confusion mirroring the rest of the team’s. when she turned to esmee and alexia, her brows furrowed even further at the way they shared a look…one that screamed ‘we know exactly what’s wrong.’  

“what the fuck happened?” kika asked, her gaze darting between them.  

neither alexia nor esmee answered.  

instead, alexia let out a slow breath, eyes still fixed on the exit you had just bolted through. 

by the time you reached your apartment, your entire body ached…not from training, but from exhaustion, from the emotional weight sitting heavy in your chest. you barely registered the way your hands trembled as you unlocked the door, throwing your bag onto the couch before heading straight to the bathroom.  

the second the hot water hit your skin, you broke.  

sobs wracked through you, the sound bouncing off the shower tiles as you clutched your chest, feeling like you were falling apart. you had already blocked them, every single one of them on every social media platform, and on your phone, making sure that you cut them out of your life.  however, it didn’t make you feel any better because no matter how much you tried to erase them, the damage was done.  

they had left you drunk, alone, and vulnerable. you could’ve been hurt. you could’ve been taken advantage of. the more you thought about it, the more sick you felt. were they laughing about it now? did they think it was funny? did they plan to do that to you?  

you squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your forehead against the shower wall, trying to drown the thoughts out with the sound of the water. however, nothing helped. by the time you ran out of tears, your chest physically ached. you dried yourself off, threw on a pair of pajamas, and crawled into bed.  

it was barely 5 p.m., but you didn’t care. last night had given you almost no sleep, and all you wanted was to escape into unconsciousness but just as your body started to relax, the doorbell rang rapidly… over and over.  

your stomach dropped.  

no. you squeezed your eyes shut, willing whoever it was to just go away but the ringing didn’t stop. with a heavy, exhausted sigh, you dragged yourself out of bed, pulling your hoodie tighter around you as you made your way to the door.  

the second you opened it, your heart nearly stopped.  

your girlfriend. alexia. kika.  

fuck.  

you swallowed, gripping the door handle tightly, too drained to even process the why behind their presence but without a word, you stepped aside, letting them in.  

you barely had time to turn before alexia was on you, wrapping you in a tight embrace, her arms locking around your shoulders.  

“why would they do this to you?” her voice cracked slightly, thick with emotion.  

your chest clenched. your breath hitched. and just like that…you broke all over again. a choked sob escaped your throat as you clung to alexia, your fingers digging into the back of her shirt as you cried into her shoulder.  

“i- i don’t know,” you hiccupped, shaking your head against her, “i don’t know what i did to them… why they hate me?”  

“they don’t hate you,” kika interrupted firmly, gently pulling you toward the couch, “they’re just terrible and evil people. and you did nothing to deserve that.”  

you let yourself sink into the cushions, your body feeling heavy from exhaustion and heartbreak.  kika sat beside you, rubbing soothing circles into your back, while esmee… who had been quiet up until now since she moved beside you, wrapped an arm around your shoulders while giving light kisses on your shoulder blade.  

“that was maybe the scariest moment of my life,” you admitted quietly, voice hoarse from crying, “i was so drunk… i didn’t know where i was… and they just left me. i should’ve just stayed my ass home.”  

esmee squeezed you tighter, her warmth comforting against your shaking body. “you’re safe now,” she murmured, “they don’t get to hurt you anymore.”  

alexia, who had taken a seat on the coffee table in front of you, reached forward, gently tucking a strand of damp hair behind your ear. “listen to me,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions in her eyes. “you are not trash. you are not disposable. they used you because you’re kind, because you give without expecting anything in return and that’s not a flaw, y/n. that’s what makes you, you. you just have to learn how to set boundaries..”  

you sniffled, looking down at your lap, “it doesn’t feel like a good thing right now.”  

alexia’s fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet her gaze. 

you swallowed hard, more tears welling in your eyes, “but how do i stop feeling like this?”  

“time,” kika said softly, still rubbing your back, “and us. we’re not letting you go through this alone.”  

esmee kissed the top of your head, “no more shitty friends. you have the team, and you have me.”  

you exhaled shakily, nodding, even though your chest still ached.  

kika stood suddenly, stretching before heading toward the kitchen, “i’m making you tea. you need something warm in you.”  

“cabinet above the sink,” you mumbled, sniffling again.  

“got it,” kika called back.  

alexia stayed in front of you, her fingers absentmindedly playing with your hair as she continued to study you, as if trying to will away all of your pain just by being there.  

“i should’ve noticed sooner,” alexia murmured, voice laced with guilt.  

you shook your head quickly. 

“it’s not your fault, alexia.”  

she clenched her jaw, clearly not convinced. but instead of arguing, she simply sighed and leaned back slightly.  

“you’re staying with esmee for while,” she decided firmly.  

“yes! you might as well move in with me at this point since we’ve been talking about it. i don’t want you to be alone right now either...” esmee interrupted before you could object. 

you nodded weakly, whispering while looking at your girlfriend, “okay.”  

masterlist

author's note: this is my 1000th post lol

[innorality]

shower thoughts ft.satoru lol

"y-you want me to what?" satoru gulped loudly. "bathe me. here," he watched closely as you grabbed the shower head, handing it to him innocently before laying your naked form in the bathtub. satoru gripped the shower head tightly, examining your body and, shit, he was already getting hard.

you smiled before closing your eyes, muttering a soft, "go on." and as soon as you do, you hear satoru's hand rushing to the faucet, turning the water on. "hold on." he told you, playing around with it to find the perfect temperature for you. when the water was warm enough, he slowly dragged the shower head towards your feet, before moving it up, and up, and up, until he found himself pouring water right onto your chest.

upon that, he found himself staring. the water was perfectly distributed on your chest, streams dripping right around the two globes that interested him the most. he wanted to see them wet, and took the liberty of grabbing one of them and putting them right underneath the shower head.

at the relaxing sensation, you let out a low moan, knowing that would get him going. and you were absolutely right, because as soon as you did, satoru tensed up and his dick twitched in interest—but he kept his composure. his hand, however, did not move an inch.

a few seconds went by in complete silence before you opened your mouth again. "massage them." satoru's eyes widen, pupils migrating towards your face. "seriously?" he swallowed his saliva once more as you nodded, and he did just that. his fingers moved one after the other on your boob, massaging with expertise, making you release low moans after low moans.

suddenly, a light bulb popped up inside his head as he got an idea that he would qualify as wonderful. he moved the shower head away, making you open your eyes in confusion. he changed the temperature a little to make it more lukewarm, and made the stream a bit stronger.

"spread your legs," he ordered, and the tone that he used made you oblige almost immediately. "read somewhere that this felt nice." he placed the shower head a little above your pussy, making the water flow directly onto your clit with a somewhat powerful force, making you gasp and arch in surprise.

"feels good, yeah?" he rubbed your right nipple while going back and forth with the shower head as you called his name over and over again, begging for more.

"I wanna see if I can make you cum like this," his eyes bored into yours, previously focusing on your cunt. "let's test it, yeah?"

[sirhamburrger]

loser? nah, i'm a nerd. it's different.

a multicharacter drabble (m. fushiguro, y. okkotsu, s. gojo, s. geto)

NERD!MEGUMI who totally has an rbf, but is so, so gentle when he explains complicated biology concepts to you. he acts all annoyed when you say you don't undertstand, like 'were you not paying attention during the lecture?' or 'i'm pretty sure we learnt this back in junior high'. but his voice is calm and steady as he walks you through it - no condescension, just quiet patience hidden behind his sharp words. behind that cool facade he projects in front of everyone else, you see genuine warmth in his eyes - his eyes that you see soften slightly when you thank him for his help.

NERD!YUTA who doesn't wear his glasses to class because he doesn't want to be made fun of for how they look on him. they're a beautiful tortoiseshell pair, sitting perfectly on the bridge of his nose, accentuating his deep blue eyes. at least, that's what you observe from staring at him for prolonged periods of time. one day you're studying with him in the library, and his glasses slip down his face. without a second thought, you extend your hand to push them up with your index, your thumb accidentally brushing his cheek. he turns red almost immediately, and you can't help but smile.

NERD!GOJO who is annoyingly confident in his own abilities. always the first to say his piece in class discussions, always the first hand in the air when there's a question to be answered. when you've had enough, and mutter something under your breath about him being an insufferable know-it-all, he turns to you with a teasing glint in his eyes. "aw, don’t be jealous. i can tutor you if you want," he offers, resting his chin on his hand, a lazy smirk playing at his lips. "though, fair warning - you might fall for me in the process. happens all the time."

NERD!GETO who is somehow the most chill and laid-back guy you've ever met. and since you almost never see him study, you wonder sometimes how he's managed to get to where he is today. all that wondering comes to an end when you're paired up with him for a chem project, sitting across from him in his living room as you stare at him blankly. he looks so different - raven hair tied up in a messy bun instead of its usual neat ponytail, humming to himself as he taps a pencil against the seam of his plush lips. he's in deep thought, clearly. truly, he's got it all; brains, brawn, and no small amount of quiet charm.

jjk masterlist || general masterlist © sirhamburrger 2025

[rosegolden13]

Hardware store owner!John Price drabble <3

He’s on his smoke break in his office in the back, window open to let in the cool evening breeze and let out the stink of cigar. Store’s been slow today, but that’s no surprise for a random weekday.

Gaz and Soap are messing around out front, their voices carrying into his office from the cracked open door. No doubt they’re playing their makeshift version of floor hockey with a roll of duct tape as a puck and the yard sticks as sticks. Normally, he’d tell them off, but with no customers in, he let them have their fun. It would be closing time soon anyways.

The mechanical ring signalling the arrival of a customer is familiar enough that he tunes it out entirely. It isn’t until that sweet chirping filters through his door that he finds the need to immediately tap out his barely finished cigar, despite the fact that both Gaz and Soap are free to help you. Those muppets don’t know about the leaky sink you’ve been struggling with or the marigolds you’re desperate to help bloom. He needs to be there. It’s only reasonable.

His pace quickens a bit when he hears how your voice seems to be laced with anxiety, words spilling into one another. By the time he gets to the front, Soap has got his palms up, clearly trying to placate you like you’re a spooked horse. 

“Poison?! I-I don’t want to kill them!” You’re wringing your hands, stress palpable, as your bracelets clash against one another on your wrist. And this is what he’s been waiting for since you last came in, another chance to help his favorite girl.

Gaz is moving towards you as if to reach out a hand to place on your arm, but before he can, John’s heavy hand is on your shoulder, standing just behind you. “I’ve got this one, boys. Start cleaning up for me, will ya?”

Gaz and Soap exchange knowing smirks as they head off with a simple “sure thing, cap’n” and a “you got it, Price”. You’re looking up at him and he has to fight back the rush of pride that flows through him when he catches the relief in your expression. 

His thumb absently runs over the fabric of your flowy pink top, feeling your warmth through the thin fabric. “What’s the problem, doll? Never seen ya worked up like this.”

“John, oh, thank God. There’s mice in my attic- a whole family of them. I really wouldn’t mind, but there’s droppings everywhere. Animal control told me to call the exterminator. But I couldn’t live with myself if I had to- They’re only looking for a warm place to stay!” The words are a rush from your glossed lips, his hand rubbing over your shoulder the whole time and then squeezing gently once you’re done. 

God, you’re adorable. This passionate over the lives of a few woodland critters. He’s never flinched at bloodshed, but he’s not one for needless killing either, especially of anything as small and helpless as some mice.

His smile is patient as he looks down at you. “No exterminator necessary. I’ll handle ‘em for ya, lovie. Got a few humane traps I can set up for ya, free of charge. Wouldn’t want ya to get your finger trapped in ‘em.”

Your trust in him is all the payment he needs. Oh, and that sweet smile you give him as you babble happily about how he always knows just what to do. 

—

He follows you back to your place in his pick-up truck.

As you lead him inside, murmuring sheepishly about how it’s a bit of a mess inside, he’s focusing on how your smaller form squeezes in next to his in the tiny entryway, how you put your keys away with a gentle metal clatter, the movements unconscious because you’ve no doubt done them day after day. The intimacy of being in your space gets to his head, filling his mind with thoughts of placing his keys over yours on the little hook. 

You’re leading him upstairs to the attic soon enough. While he busies himself with setting up the traps, you sweep up mouse droppings. Settling into the work, a comfortable silence lingers over you both. John’s taking note of the christmas decorations, old books, and various bins you have stored up here, making a mental reminder to offer to come over if you ever need help getting the boxes down from here. He wouldn’t want you tripping down that rickety ladder leading up here. 

He’s setting down one of the last traps, placing it by a crack between the wall and floor that he wants to offer to fill for you, when you shriek, the sound loud enough to cover up the scurrying claws of the mouse that had just ran right by your sneakers. In an instant, your hands are digging into his hairy arm, clinging to him. 

It takes him a moment, looking between your hands and then your scared expression, before he’s springing into action. “Shh, darl’. It was jus’ a mouse. Can’t hurt ya. I won’t let it.”

He lets you hug his arm, using his free hand to gently rub your other shoulder. There’s a slight heat in his cheeks that he hasn’t felt since he was a teen, that small thrill of being alone in the dark, tucked close to another warm body. One touch from a pretty little thing and the seasoned captain is falling apart.

The moment is broken when you pull away with a sheepish smile. You’re apologizing again and again for getting spooked like that but John’s just watching you with a smile, sneaking glimpses at the crescent shaped divots your manicure left in his arm. He doesn’t want them to fade, mind wandering to how you could tear up his back with those claws.

Once the job is done, you say goodnight to him at the door, the yellow porch light casting a halo over his hair. He promises to come back once any of the traps are filled to bring the mice to a field so they don’t end up back in your attic again. 

And, no, doll, you don’t need to repay him but, how could he ever say no to a homecooked meal sometime?

[kurokawaia]

ATTITUDE!! 彡 Bakugou, Shoto, Dabi, Hawks

| MDNI - 18+ | WARNINGS :: bakugou x fem!reader, hawks x fem!reader, dabi x fem!reader, x fem!reader, shoto x fem!reader, second pov, suggestive content, nsfw themes, implied smut/nsfw, no actual naughty acts, pet names used: babe, baby, sweetheart, dear, my love + more? MINI ONESHOTS. total wc :: 1.5k

⋆·˚ ༘ *REQUEST :: Could you maybe write a headcannon where reader says can you please shut the fuck up to them ? It can be more nsfw suggestive like. Like dabi finds it kinda hot and katsuki is kinda pissed but more in a amusing way. Could you do it pls for hawks,dabi,katsuki and maybe shoto? - @carokitten

DABI

Yeah good luck with you saying that actually making an impact because, surprise surprise, it is not going to work, if anything that just turns him on. "Don’t pretend you don’t like it when I—" You didn't even know what Dabi was rambling about while you were trying to concentrate on your task.

"Can you please shut the fuck up?" you snap, the words just slipped out before you could register even saying them. Immediately after you bit your bottom lip, mentally cursing yourself because you know your mans a freak, it probably gets him going.

Dabi stops abruptly after hearing your outburst and rests his hand on his palm, his elbow balanced on the table right beside you. A smirk rises on his lips as he nudges your shoulder. "Damn, babe. That's kinda hot," he chuckles before slyly slinging his arm around your shoulder, his hand moving your chin towards his face as you were looking away. With a swift movement, you are know dangerously close to his face, only a mere inch away, the pad of his thumb playing with your bottom lip teasingly, watching your face turn red. "Say it again," he teases, moving closer until his lips will graze your own, until your heart is pounding so loud you can't process any thoughts, licking his lips like he’s about to devour you whole.

You roll your eyes. "I swear to god, Dabi—"

He leans over you, almost causing you to fall of the chair, Dabi's lips press against yours and a haste movement of his tongue slipping past before you could even register until he pulls away. Swear all you want, babe, I’ll make you beg me to keep talking, to help you through it..." he murmurs slowly and your cheeks flare up knowing he was referring to something other that yapping your ear of.

HAWKS

Hawks has been teasing you for the past ten minutes, throwing in suggestive comments every chance he gets. He’s clearly enjoying the way your cheeks heat up and the way you stiffen momentarily whoch just made his experience so much better. Flustered, {name}, flustered, {name}, flustered, {name}, is the only thing singing in his head right now. "Y’know," he muses, his chest pressing against your back as you finished wiping the counter, causing you to be flush against him and the cool marble. "I could just keep talking if it means getting a reaction outta you. Kinda fun watchin’ you get all flustered like that—"

"Can you please shut the fuck up?" you cut in as nice as you could. Hawks freezes because he has never aroused such a reaction in you such as that before and it made him let out a laugh from behind you, moving his arms to cage you in, so you won't move. No, no, no, no. You aren't going to let him get to you. "Ohh, feisty," he grins and you let out a shaky breath feeling his lips graze the crook of your neck. He's getting to you. "Didn’t know you had that in you."

"I mean it, Kei'," you mumble, unable to comprehend between the sensations of his touch and how his words made your lower abdomen do flips. "What if I don’t?" he murmurs and you could feel him pressing in closer to you, you aren't going to last if this keeps up, his voice dipping lower. "What if I just keep talking, keep whispering in your ear, keep making you—"

"Kei, stop right now," you say, cutting him off but this only riles him up further, and did you really want him to stop? No. No you did not. One of his arms move so that now, after his hand slowly traces up from your hips to your chin, tilting your head back into his shoulder, having clear access to your neck to place kisses on. "Well, sweetheart, you just made this a whole lot more fun for me." Oh, you just made this a whole lot more fun, sweetheart."

BAKUGOU

Bakugou is ranting about something—probably a fight that happened on patrol, probably how he’s the best—and you’ve been nodding along, but he just. Won’t. Stop. And, Oh my days, it is giving you a headache. "So then that extra tried to land a hit, and I fuckin’ dodged it—like obviously, dumbass should’ve known better—"

"Can you please shut the fuck up?" you sigh, rubbing your temples, shoving your face into the pillow your head was laying on. For a moment, he looks like he’s about to explode—literally. "Ohh, you think you’re real funny, don’t ya?" He smirks and you don't reply, the headache in your temple getting worse.

Suddenly you feel a big, heavy mass fall onto you causing a winded groan to leave your lips, muffled by the pillow on your face. "You don't get to say that to me and just sink into the pillows, baby," he taunts, snatching the pillow off your face, a surprised escaping your mouth. Blush coats your face as he leans his forehead against your own, lips about to press to yours, your breathing stills while your heart begins to poud hard in your chest. "Go on. Say it again. See what happens."

Maybe you should snap back at him more often...

SHOTO

Shoto has been talking in his usual calm, tone, explaining something in excessive detail. At first, you were listening, but now he’s been going on for several minutes, completely unaware that you’ve stopped paying attention. "I read that different types of ice melt at slightly varying speeds depending on density," he continues, watching the ice cubes swirl in his drink, referring to the ice in the cup, comparing it to his quirk. "It’s not significant, but it is interesting to consider in—"

"Can you please shut the fuck up?" you say, your cheeks meeting your palms. Shoto pauses mid-thought, blinking at you. He's buffering, trying to process your words. "…Did you just tell me to shut the fuck up, dear?" You sigh, resting your chin in your palm. "Yes, my love. I did." For a moment, he just stares at you, as if contemplating something. Then, so effortlessly it makes your stomach flip, he leans in slightly, his gaze steady.

"That was rude," he states. You open your mouth to reply, but his fingers brush your wrist absentmindedly, and you suddenly feel very aware of how close he is and lord have mercy, you're about to fold. "You don’t usually talk like that," he continues, "I think I like it."

What?

He was leaning in to place a kiss to your lips, and you were about to fall onto the futon in reciprocation until he pulls away, going back to yapping about his ice water. You groan. "Oh my god, Sho'."

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

honey's a/note:: i do know about dabi's past i just don't want to spoil anyone who isn't up to that bit yet in the manga/show! i got spoiled on for his reveal and i will not be the one to spoil it for anyone else! so i will try my best!

[rizzanon]

07-1 | PARANOIA AT IT’S FINEST

m.list | prev | next

“I can’t believe you’ve actually roped us into this.”

Caitlyn’s voice cut through the soft hum of chatter filling the orphanage’s main hall, carrying that distinct tone of exasperation she reserved for situations she swore she wouldn’t get involved in—but inevitably did anyway. Her arms were crossed, her stance one of feigned reluctance, but the way her gaze flickered to the children running past, the small, almost imperceptible twitch of her lips as one of them called out her name—it told a different story.

Adrien snorted beside her, nudging her side. “Oh, please. You say that like you’re not already attached to half these kids.”

Caitlyn scoffed, glancing away as if that would somehow disprove his statement. It didn’t.

It had been a week. A week since you first suggested volunteering here. A week since you first stepped into this building and felt something settle beneath your skin—something quiet, something wrong.

And yet—

Nothing.

There was nothing.

No alarms. No leads. No proof. No reason to feel this way.

Even after you snuck into the cave to tap into the Batcomputer—timing it precisely for when no one would be around, combed through records, permits, reports, and analyzed every file you could find that could tell you that this place wasn’t what it seemed—nothing. The orphanage was clean. The reports were routine. The funding sources checked out.

And that was what upset you the most.

It should have been a relief.

But it wasn’t.

Because you still couldn’t shake that feeling. That deep, gut-wrenching sensation that something was staring you in the face, something was waiting just beneath the surface, something was wrong.

Because you knew—you knew—you were missing something.

But what?

You stared across the room, watching the way the children moved, how the staff interacted with them, how everything seemed so perfect. Too perfect. The kind of perfect that made your stomach twist, that made something cold crawl up your spine because nothing in Gotham was ever truly perfect.

You crossed your arms, fingers digging into your sleeves, tension knotting itself between your ribs.

You could really use Tim’s smartness right now—

The thought barely formed before you crushed it.

No.

You weren’t going to burden him with this.

Things were still… complicated. You had distanced yourself for a reason. Bringing him into this would only drag up all the messy emotions you weren’t ready to deal with.

Maybe—maybe this really was just you overreacting.

Maybe you were seeing ghosts where there weren’t any.

Maybe that “vision” you saw was something made up in your head.

But that doesn’t explain why it was so vivid. Why it felt so raw, so real—

“You’re doing that thing again.”

Caitlyn’s voice pulled you back, and you blinked, finding both her and Adrien watching you with unreadable expressions.

“What thing?”

“You always get that look,” Adrien added, arms still crossed but his smirk growing. “Like you’re five seconds away from spiraling into an existential crisis.”

“I do not—”

“You do,” Caitlyn confirmed immediately. “You get all quiet, and your face does this thing where you look like you’re trying to solve the world’s biggest mystery when, in reality, you’re probably just making stuff up in your head.”

“I do not.”

Adrien huffed out a laugh. “Oh, yeah? Then what were you just thinking about?”

You opened your mouth, then promptly shut it, refusing to dignify that with an answer.

Caitlyn gave you a knowing look. “That’s what I thought.”

“Can we focus on something else?” You huffed, shifting your weight to one side. “Like the fact that you two are terrible influences?”

Adrien snorted. “You’re the one who dragged us into this.”

“You didn’t have to come,” you pointed out.

“You think we’d actually let you volunteer at an orphanage alone?” Caitlyn raised a brow. “Be real.”

You exhaled through your nose, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

“You should be thanking us,” Adrien added smugly. “Especially since we’re the ones keeping you sane.”

“You call this sane?”

“Well,” Caitlyn starts, “you haven’t completely lost your mind yet, so I’d say we’re doing a decent job.”

Before you could respond, a familiar weight latched onto your side, small hands gripping onto the fabric of your sleeve.

Elliot.

You glanced down, only to be met with the boy’s wide, expectant gaze.

Elliot had latched onto you like a baby duck the second you stepped foot in this place again, and over the past few days, he had only gotten more attached. He followed you everywhere, immediately sought you out whenever you arrived, and if you so much as moved an inch away from him, he was quick to close the distance again.

And truth be told—you weren’t used to this.

This kind of closeness.

Not really.

Of course, you had experience closeness with Caitlyn and Adrien.

But Elliot—

Elliot was different.

Elliot didn’t hesitate.

Elliot didn’t keep his distance.

Elliot clung to you like you were something safe.

And you didn’t know how to handle that.

Not when you didn’t even feel safe with yourself.

“Aren’t you gonna play with us today, (Name)?” His voice was soft, hopeful, like he had already decided that whatever you answered, he wasn’t going to accept a no.

You hesitated, opening your mouth—only to stop when he gave you that look. The one you were slowly realizing was his greatest weapon. The one that made your defenses crumble.

The wide-eyed, unblinking stare.

The slight, pleading tilt of his head.

The tiniest wobble of his lower lip.

It was lethal.

And the worst part? He knew it.

“…Yeah,” you found yourself saying before you could even think about it. “Yeah, okay. Just give me a minute, okay?”

Elliot beamed.

If you had even an ounce less self-control, you might have visibly melted.

You watched as the boy ran off towards where the other kids were playing.

“Oh my god,” Caitlyn whispered dramatically.

“Precious,” Adrien added, looking between the two of you like he had just discovered his new favorite thing in the world.

“You two need to get a grip.”

“It’s cute,” Caitlyn commented. “You’ve basically adopted him at this point.”

“I have not.”

“You so have,” Adrien smirked. “It’s adorable.”

“You two seriously need hobbies.”

Caitlyn just grinned. “Says the person who dragged us here for no apparent reason.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell them it wasn’t for no reason, that there was something wrong with this place—

But then the air shifted.

The room didn’t go quiet, not really. The children were still playing, voices still carrying, footsteps still echoing against the floor. But something in the atmosphere changed, something subtle yet immediate, something that made the back of your neck prickle.

Something you felt more than saw.

A presence.

Mrs. Cole.

She entered the hall with a soft, pleasant smile, her hands clasped neatly in front of her, her posture calm, collected, perfect.

And yet—

Something in you immediately recoiled.

It had been this way from the beginning. The first time you met her. The first time she spoke to you. That deep, instinctive discomfort—the kind you couldn’t explain, the kind that settled beneath your skin and refused to leave.

And the worst part?

You were alone in that feeling.

Adrien and Caitlyn greeted her like normal, their smiles easy, their voices light. The other volunteers, the staff, the children—they all liked her.

But you—

You just stood there.

Watching.

Waiting.

And that gnawing feeling of unease only grew stronger.

Because something was wrong.

But you just couldn’t see it.

Mrs. Cole approached with the same composed, effortless grace she always carried—her steps measured, her smile gentle, the kind of expression that made it impossible to distrust her. She looked at ease, radiating a warmth that made people lean in instead of pull away.

But you didn’t lean in.

You were staring.

“Ah, there you all are.” Her voice was warm, measured, like honey drizzling over words that had been carefully chosen before she even spoke them. “I was just telling the staff how lucky we are to have such dedicated volunteers.”

Caitlyn beamed. “Well, it’s been great so far! The kids are all super sweet.”

You were watching.

Mrs. Cole’s reaction came exactly when it should. A gentle smile, an approving nod—textbook-perfect in a way that sent something unpleasant curling in your stomach.

“You’ve been wonderful with them,” she said smoothly. “They’ve taken quite a liking to all of you.”

A normal thing to say. A reasonable thing to say. And yet—

Something about it snagged in your brain, like a thread pulled too tight.

They’ve taken quite a liking to all of you.

Not “you’ve made a great impact on them.”

Not “they enjoy having you around.”

The wording was… off.

Why was it off?

You barely noticed Adrien chuckling beside you. “Well, Caitlyn’s the favorite, obviously. The girls follow her around like ducklings.”

Caitlyn nudged him. “Please. You’re the one they treat like a jungle gym.”

Mrs. Cole gave a small, polite laugh, like she was indulging their banter rather than truly engaging in it.

You noticed that.

You noticed everything.

You noticed how detached it felt, how it landed exactly where it needed to but carried no real weight.

The way her shoulders never fully relaxed, despite her friendly demeanor. The way her eyes lingered just a second too long before moving on. The way her responses never carried the slight unpredictability that came with casual conversation—everything was too smooth, too well-placed.

You noticed that.

And then—her eyes flicked to you.

There was no shift in expression, no telltale sign that she had noticed you just staring, analyzing every micro-movement, every carefully placed word. But the second her eyes met yours, you felt something in you go rigid, your body instinctively preparing to mask whatever she might have caught.

Which, ironically, felt unnatural.

Because you couldn’t let her see that you were suspicious of her.

“And you,” she said, the warmth in her tone undisturbed, like she hadn’t just caught you in the act of scrutinizing her. “Elliot seems especially fond of you. It’s lovely to see how much he trusts you already.”

You ignored the way Caitlyn and Adrien both smiled knowingly at the mention of Elliot’s attachment to you.

You knew you should say something pleasant. Something easy. Something neutral. Something normal.

Instead, the words that came out were flat, toneless.

“Yeah. He’s a good kid.”

An awkward pause.

Too short to be obvious, too long to go completely unnoticed.

Caitlyn’s smile faltered slightly. Adrien shifted beside you, like he could feel the weird tension in the air but wasn’t sure if he should acknowledge it.

And Mrs. Cole?

She didn’t even blink.

She absorbed the bluntness of your answer like it didn’t affect her at all, her expression remaining perfectly composed, perfectly pleasant, as if she hadn’t just been met with a wall.

“That he is,” she agreed, gracefully moving past it, as though she hadn’t just walked into a conversational dead end. “Well, I won’t keep you from the children. Thank you again for all your help.”

She excused herself with the same quiet ease she always carried, stepping away to tend to the other kids.

The second she was out of earshot—

Adrien whirled on you. “Okay, what the hell was that?”

Caitlyn groaned. “God, could you have been any drier? That was painful.”

You exhaled sharply. “I answered her, didn’t I?”

“You barely did,” Adrien shot back. “You sounded like someone forced you to acknowledge Elliot at gunpoint.”

Caitlyn smacked your arm lightly. “Dude, what’s your deal with her?”

You crossed your arms. “It’s nothing.”

“That’s definitely not nothing,” Adrien shot back. “You’ve been like this since day one. What is your deal with her?”

You opened your mouth—then closed it.

How were you supposed to explain this?

What were you supposed to say?

That something about her felt wrong, but you couldn’t prove it? That every interaction with her left you feeling like you had just missed something? That her presence made you instinctively wary in a way you couldn’t rationalize?

That no matter how hard you looked, you still couldn’t find anything to justify it?

“…I just don’t like her,” you muttered.

Adrien scoffed. “Yeah, no shit.”

Caitlyn and Adrien weren’t going to let this go.

You knew it from the second Caitlyn narrowed her eyes at you, that sharp stare she always gave when she smelled something off—when she knew someone wasn’t telling the full story. Her arms were crossed, her weight shifted slightly onto one foot, but there was a tension there, like she was waiting.

Adrien was the same. Standing beside her, his arms folded, his brow raised in quiet expectation. He wasn’t impatient—not yet—but he was watching you, like he was giving you the chance to explain yourself before he dragged it out of you.

You didn’t give them anything.

Adrien broke the silence first. “Okay, seriously. What is your problem with her?”

“I don’t have a problem with her,” you replied immediately.

Too fast. Too sharp.

Adrien scoffed. “Right. You just happen to tense up like a goddamn statue every time she’s around.”

Caitlyn gave a dramatic huff. “You act like she personally wronged you in another life. Or murdered your dogs or something.”

“Titus and Ace are fine…” you muttered.

“Exactly!” she said, exasperated. “That’s what makes this so weird! There’s no reason for you to act like this!”

You didn’t respond.

But Adrien wasn’t done. “Look, if she said something to you, if she did something—”

“She didn’t.”

“Then why are you acting like this?”

“I’m not acting like anything.”

Another lie.

But you said it so smoothly, so effortlessly, that it almost sounded convincing.

Almost.

Caitlyn’s eyes flicked over your face, sharp and discerning, scanning every microexpression, every flicker of something that might betray you. Adrien wasn’t even trying to be subtle about his suspicion anymore.

Yet, you still didn’t give them anything.

You were stubborn. Tight-lipped. Unyielding.

Because you couldn’t tell them.

Not yet.

Not when you still didn’t know what was wrong.

So instead, you acted.

Acted like everything was fine.

Like you weren’t uneasy.

Like you weren’t drowning in the feeling that something was slipping through your fingers.

Your gaze drifted past them—toward Mrs. Cole.

She was across the room, surrounded by children, laughing at something one of them had said. She knelt slightly, leveling herself to their height, hands gentle as she adjusted the collar of one child’s shirt. She was warm, present, soft-spoken—exactly what a warden of an orphanage should be.

And yet—

You couldn’t shake it.

That feeling.

That deep, gnawing unease that clung to your ribs like a second skin.

You watched her closely. The way she spoke, the way she smiled, the way her hands moved as she patted a child’s head. Everything was measured. Natural.

But was it?

Or was it too natural?

Too perfect?

Her movements were fluid, seamless, her expressions genuine. Nothing about her demeanor was off. Nothing about her gave you any reason—any reason at all—to feel this way.

And that was what unsettled you the most.

Because there had to be something.

There had to be a reason.

You just couldn’t see it.

Gotham was shifting.

Bruce could feel it.

It wasn’t something obvious—no, this was something far more subtle. A change beneath the surface, insidious and creeping. It was the kind of shift that haunted the shadows, leaving behind nothing but the unsettling sense that something was on the brink of happening. Bruce had learned to trust that feeling, that gnawing instinct that had saved Gotham more times than he could count. And right now, it was telling him that something was very, very wrong.

Another murder. A woman in her early twenties, found in a dark alley just outside a prestigious club.

Bruce sat at the Batcomputer, his fingers hovering over the keys, eyes tracing the same reports for the hundredth time.

This was the third this month.

There was nothing connecting the three victims, other than the fact that they were all young Gotham socialites.

But there was something else.

The way they were murdered. Stabbed and slashed. And the slashes—those markings—they were unmistakable.

They all had markings from a Talon. Meaning—

The Court of Owls.

Gotham was shifting, sliding beneath the surface like a shadow.

And he knew that feeling.

He had felt it before.

It wasn’t paranoia. It was an instinct.

An instinct he’d developed after all these years, after all the lies and manipulation, after the near-destruction of Gotham.

He couldn’t afford to let it happen again.

The last time the Court of Owls made their presence known, it was a brutal awakening.

The Court had been quiet for months since then. But the stillness only made him more wary. He knew how they worked—silent, methodical, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And now, with another death on his hands, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the Court was making its move again.

And then, as if Gotham’s problems weren’t enough, another report came through. The Riddler had escaped Arkham. Again.

It had barely been two weeks since Riddler’s last stunt. Arkham had barely contained him long enough to let the city breathe before he escaped again.

Bruce could feel the weight of both issues pressing down on him, the combination of old ghosts and new ones tangled together in a knot that was suffocating.

He rubbed his temples, trying to block out the noise, the weight of it all. Gotham was shifting, and every move it made felt like it was slipping further out of his control.

And Bruce had no doubt—Nygma had already set the board.

His fingers moved across the keyboard, cycling through city surveillance, tracking movements, patterns, anything that might give him a lead. There was always a pattern with Riddler. Always a thread to follow. But right now, with the Court making their move from the shadows, Gotham couldn’t afford another high-profile attack.

He needed to tackle this immediately.

He rubbed a hand over his face, then ran it through his hair. It was too much. Too many pieces of the puzzle scattered in front of him, too many possibilities. But there was no time.

His gaze focused on the web of information splayed across the massive screen—patterns, reports, whispers of activity. Pieces that didn’t quite fit yet, but he could see the shape they were forming.

Behind him, Dick leaned against the table, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He was here. He was listening. He was doing everything Bruce had asked of him.

But Bruce could tell.

He was distracted.

Not in a way that was obvious. Not in a way that would compromise the mission. But it was there.

A slight delay in his responses. The way his gaze lingered on nothing for a second too long. The tension in his posture—not the kind that came from exhaustion, but from something else.

Bruce had seen it before.

But this time, he didn’t know what was causing it.

Not exactly.

He’d been watching him for days now, and every time they spoke, it felt like Dick wasn’t really there. His focus was on the case, sure, but it wasn’t complete. There was something else pulling at him. Bruce had tried to push it aside—he couldn’t afford to get distracted by personal issues, not with Gotham at risk—but it was hard to ignore. Dick wasn’t just distracted. He was withdrawn. And Bruce had seen that behaviour before. He knew that behaviour.

It was the way Dick stood, his arms crossed, his jaw clenched, his eyes never fully meeting Bruce’s. It was the way he moved through the cave like he was running on autopilot. Like he wasn’t really present. Like he was fighting something inside of him. And the longer Bruce let it go unspoken, the more it gnawed at him. Because Bruce knew Dick better than anyone. He knew when something was eating at him. And he couldn’t let it fester.

Not now.

“What’s on your mind?”

Dick blinked, looking up from where he had been staring at the ground. “What?”

Bruce glanced at him. “You’re distracted.”

Dick huffed out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not distracted.”

Bruce didn’t say anything. Just watched him.

“Okay, maybe I’m a little distracted.”

Bruce didn’t push. He just waited.

For a second, it seemed like Dick wasn’t going to say anything else. His mouth pressed into a thin line, and Bruce saw the muscles in his jaw tighten. It was that familiar look—the one Dick wore when he was trying to hold something back. Bruce could see it now. The weight he was carrying, the quiet frustration. He could see it, feel it, radiating off of him in waves. He shifted, arms tightening around himself. Then, finally—

“It’s (Name).”

Bruce’s shoulders tensed.

Of course.

He had heard bits from Alfred. How you were avoiding Dick, the way he had been silently carrying the weight of your distance. The way you hadn’t been talking to Dick the way you used to.

Bruce could feel it too.

Alfred had asked him to check on you. It shouldn’t have been that hard. Except, for some reason, he could never find a moment with you.

Not really.

Had it always been this hard?

No. That wasn’t right. He would’ve noticed if it had been.

Wouldn’t he?

But now Bruce was thinking, really thinking.

The last few weeks. The subtle shifts in your behavior, the way you had started slipping through the cracks before he could catch you. The way Alfred had gently suggested—more than once—that he should talk to you. The way you never seemed to be in the same room as him anymore.

The way he couldn’t remember the last time you had really spoken to him.

Not since you decided to quit being Batgirl.

Ah.

Was that what this was about?

Him letting you quit?

He had given you space because that was what he always did—he never pried, never pushed, never asked for more than you were willing to give.

But what if that was the problem.

What if he had let you drift too far?

His fingers curled against the edge of the desk, a slow, controlled movement. He hadn’t wanted to think about it before. Hadn’t wanted to believe it. Because the idea of you avoiding him—

It wasn’t possible.

Was it?

Bruce’s throat felt tight, and he didn’t understand why.

Dick exhaled sharply beside him, running a hand through his hair. “She barely looks at me anymore.” His voice was quiet, resigned. “But you already knew that.”

Bruce swallowed.

No. He hadn’t. Not really.

But if he admitted that you were avoiding Dick, then he’d have to admit that you were avoiding him too.

And he couldn’t accept that.

He wouldn’t.

He wasn’t sure why the thought unsettled him as much as it did. People had walked away from him before—people he had cared about, people who had once looked at him the way you used to. And he had let them go, because that was what he did. He didn’t hold onto things that weren’t his to keep.

But this was different.

Because it was you.

You. His daughter.

His flesh.

His blood.

Bruce exhaled slowly, letting the silence stretch between him and Dick. He wanted to ask—wanted to know just how far this distance had spread—but he wasn’t sure he was ready for the answer.

Dick, however, wasn’t finished.

“I don’t even blame her,” he admitted, his voice quiet, restrained, like he had already gone over this a thousand times in his head. Maybe he had. “She has every right to be pissed at me. I just—” His voice faltered for a second before he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “It’s different now. She doesn’t look at me the same way. I don’t think she ever will again.”

Bruce studied him carefully. He could see it—the guilt, the regret that had been eating at him.

But what unsettled Bruce the most wasn’t Dick’s regret. It was the realization that he had assumed this was only about Dick.

That it had never once occurred to him that you were avoiding him too.

The thought lodged itself in his chest like a shard of glass. A slow, cutting thing that he couldn’t pull free.

No. That wasn’t—

You weren’t avoiding him.

You wouldn’t.

Would you?

If it was true, if you were avoiding him, it was just—just a misunderstanding. Just—

His jaw tightened.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Not with you.

Of all the people he had failed, of all the people who had ever walked away from him, you were the one person he thought would never do that.

But had you?

Had you already left, and he just hadn’t noticed?

Bruce didn’t react. Not immediately, at least.

But Dick saw it.

The shift. The way Bruce’s shoulders tensed just slightly, the tightening of his grip against the edge of the console, the way his jaw locked. To most people, it would’ve looked like nothing. Just another one of Bruce Wayne’s unreadable silences. But Dick had spent too many years watching, reading between the lines, noticing the things that no one else did.

Bruce’s silence was never empty. It was full. Full of things he didn’t say, things he wouldn’t say.

And right now?

Right now, Bruce wasn’t just listening. He was realising something.

Dick exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s what I thought.”

He hadn’t meant to bring you up—not like this, not here. But Bruce had called him distracted, and, well… he wasn’t wrong.

You had been stuck in his head for days. Weeks.

Every unanswered call. Every delayed text. Every excuse you made to get away from him as soon as possible.

Dick had tried. God, he had tried.

That lunch a few days ago—he had been hopeful, maybe even stupidly so, thinking that things could be… normal. That he could talk to you without feeling like there was a wall between you both, that you wouldn’t keep him at arm’s length.

But the moment you saw him, you were already looking for an exit.

You barely stayed long enough to eat. Said you were busy. That you had somewhere to be.

And Dick had let you go.

What else could he have done?

You had every right to do this. To be mad, to resent him, to ignore him, to pretend like he didn’t exist.

He deserved it.

Especially after what he did.

Especially after what he’s been doing for years now.

It’s not like he didn’t understand your anger towards him. He did.

He knew what it was like to feel replaced, he experienced it first-hand. He should have understood what he was doing the moment he benched you. He should have known how it’d feel like to you.

He should have handled it better. Especially since he knew at the time, you were still grieving.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. That this didn’t hurt.

But… this wasn’t just about him benching you, was it?

No.

This wasn’t the first time he made you feel like this, was it?

This wasn’t the first time he’s made you feel like you didn’t belong.

Like you were something temporary—something easily set aside.

Maybe that was the worst part.

How long had it been like this?

How long had he been like this?

He swallowed hard, staring blankly at the Batcomputer screen, but his mind was already somewhere else.

The first time he saw you, you were a baby.

He hadn’t even really processed it at the time.

Everything had been a blur—his parents were dead, his life had been turned upside down, and now he was in some massive, unfamiliar mansion with a man he barely knew and a butler who spoke to him with a kind of patience he didn’t know how to handle.

And then there was you.

You’d been brought to the manor not long after he had arrived.

A tiny thing, barely able to walk on your own.

He remembered that moment, the moment Alfred brought you into the manor. That moment burned into his memory in a way he never really questioned before. Maybe because it had been one of the only stable things in those early days, when the ground had been ripped out from under him and his life had been shattered beyond repair.

He hadn’t thought much about you at first.

He hadn’t thought much about anything except the overwhelming, gut-wrenching anger that had settled in his chest, the grief that was still raw and sharp, the sheer, desperate need for revenge that burned beneath his skin.

So he ignored you.

Or at least, he tried to.

Because you didn’t ignore him.

It didn’t matter.

It shouldn’t matter.

But time had a way of changing things.

Little by little, your presence became something else.

He didn’t know when it started. When you stopped being a stranger and started being—

Well.

You were way younger than him, but that never stopped you from being stubborn, from trying to talk to him, from wanting him to be happy. And maybe that was what got to him the most.

That innocence. That kindness.

You just wanted him to smile.

And, somehow, eventually, he did.

He hadn’t known how to deal with you.

You weren’t annoying, exactly.

You were just—

There.

Soft and small and persistent, constantly hovering on the edges of his grief, constantly reminding him that there was still something else in this house besides darkness and vengeance.

He didn’t know what to do with that.

Because somewhere along the way, things changed.

He wasn’t sure when.

Maybe it was the first time you climbed onto the couch beside him and fell asleep against his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Maybe it was the first time you grabbed his hand and pulled him outside, insisting that he chase you around the garden, that he play with you, that he let himself just be a kid, if only for a little while.

Maybe it was the first time you hugged him, your tiny arms wrapping around his waist, telling him that you loved him in the simple, easy way that only children could.

Whatever it was, it had stuck.

You had become his family.

His little sister.

His responsibility.

Dick didn’t know how much of who he is today had been shaped by you, but it was more than he’d ever admit.

And maybe that was why he wanted to keep you away from the truth for so long.

From the pain, from the violence, from the endless cycle of grief and vengeance that had become his life.

He didn’t want to ruin that part of you.

Didn’t want you to know about the things he did at night. Didn’t want you to see the kind of world he and Bruce lived in.

So he never told you about Robin.

Not at first.

Not for a long time.

Not when he went on to build a new name for himself.

Not when he left Gotham and became Nightwing.

You didn’t need to know.

You weren’t supposed to know.

You were supposed to have a normal life. A safe life. One that wasn’t filled with violence and blood and pain.

That was what Bruce had wanted for you.

That was what he had wanted for you.

That was why he hadn’t told you.

And maybe—maybe, that had been a mistake.

Because when you had found out that day—

When Tim sought him out, asking him to be Robin again. When he had come to Dick with that relentless, unwavering certainty that he needed to be Robin again. That Batman needed a partner. That Gotham needed balance.

After Jason’s death had fractured something irreparably in Bruce, in Alfed, in you, in him—

God, Jason’s death.

The guilt gnawed at him, relentless, insidious, something he never let himself think about too long.

Because Jason had died wearing his colors.

Jason had died playing the role Dick had walked away from.

Being Robin. And being your brother.

Jason had died, and Dick hadn’t even been there.

Not for Bruce, not for Alfred, and not for you.

Dick hadn’t been there to stop him from taking on the job, he had not been there to stop him from going to Ethiopia, hadn’t been there to—

He just wasn’t there.

And you—

You didn’t even know the true cause of Jason’s death.

You had to find out the truth about Jason’s death—

The truth about the lives he and Bruce led—

From some random kid who somehow knew the truth before you did.

Instead of hearing it from him. From Bruce.

God.

He still remembers the way you looked at him on the day you found out the truth.

The moment you stepped into the cave that Bruce had hid from you for years.

Your arms crossed tightly over your chest, your expression unreadable—except for your eyes.

Your eyes were always so damn expressive.

And that day, they had been filled with something that made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

Betrayal.

Dick could feel Tim watching from across the cave.

He wasn’t saying anything—wasn’t even moving—but he was there, standing next to Alfred at the bottom of the stairs, barely in the shadows.

Dick almost felt sorry for the boy, for having to witness some family drama he wasn’t apart of unravel before him. But then again, he walked himself into this the moment he went to find him.

“…How long?”

Your voice was steady. Controlled.

But he knew you. Did he?

Knew how your hands clenched subtly at your sides when you were trying to keep yourself from shaking.

Knew how you bit the inside of your cheek when you were trying not to cry.

You were trying not to cry.

And it’s all his fault.

“…How long have you been lying to me?”

He didn’t know how to answer that.

Didn’t know how to explain that he had never wanted you to find out like this.

Didn’t know how to justify the years of secrecy, the years of letting you believe he was just your older brother, just the normal, easygoing Dick Grayson who had left Gotham to make a life for himself aside from being Bruce Wayne’s ward.

The years of letting you believe that he didn’t hide anything from you.

But the silence stretched too long.

And that was an answer itself.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head.

“You were Robin.” you said, and it wasn’t a question.

It was a fact.

A truth you had just put together, piece by piece, and now it was unraveling everything you thought you knew.

Dick swallowed.

“…Yeah.”

You blinked, staring at him like you didn’t recognize him.

Like you weren’t sure if you ever had.

“Our father is Batman.”

“Yes… he is.”

“And Jason?”

Dick’s breath caught.

He looked away.

But that was answer enough, too.

Your expression twisted, something like realization dawning on your face.

“That’s why—”

You cut yourself off, exhaling sharply.

“That’s why he died? He died because he was Robin too..?”

The words hit him like a gut punch.

Dick could barely breathe.

You were staring at him, waiting for an answer, but he didn’t have one that wouldn’t make this worse.

Jason.

Jason, who had died in his colors. Jason, who had been Robin because Dick had left. Jason, who had never gotten the chance to grow up, to get out, to become something more than just a ghost haunting all of them.

Jason, who you had mourned, who you had cried for, who you had spent weeks asking Bruce about only to get nothing in return.

And now you knew the truth.

You knew everything.

And Dick felt sick.

“I—” His throat was tight. Dry. He forced himself to swallow. “It wasn’t—”

But you had already taken a step back.

Away from him. And for some reason, that single step had hurt more than any punch he’d ever taken.

“How could you not tell me?” you asked, voice sharp with something between betrayal and disbelief. “How could you just—just let me think—” You exhaled, shaking your head, hands clenched into fists. “I grieved him, Dick. I stood at his grave, wondering how he could just die like that, and you—” Your voice broke. “You knew. You knew the whole time.”

Dick winced. He wanted to reach for you. To fix this. To explain.

But what was there to explain?

That he hadn’t wanted you to know? That he had convinced himself that if you never found out, you’d be safe?

That it hadn’t mattered, because Jason was dead either way?

That was worse, wasn’t it?

So he stayed quiet.

And that silence was answer enough.

You let out a shaky breath, your expression twisting. “So that’s why you were always busy, huh? Because you were Robin. Because you’re Nightwing now. You always had something to do. Something more important.”

Dick’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “I was—”

“You were lying,” you cut him off, and Tim could see the way that made Dick flinch. “You were always lying, weren’t you?”

“I didn’t want you to get involved in this life,” Dick forced out, his voice tight, defensive in a way he hated. “I couldn’t let you—”

“Oh, right, because lying to me was so much better,” you snapped. “Keeping me in the dark was so much better—”

“I was protecting you!” Dick snapped back, his voice louder now, sharper than he meant it to be.

It echoed through the Batcave.

Tim flinched slightly in his peripheral vision.

Alfred didn’t move.

You let out a bitter laugh, something short and humorless. “Protecting me?” you echoed. “Jason is dead, Dick. And you want to talk about protection?”

Dick clenched his jaw.

You weren’t wrong.

And maybe that was the worst part.

“Why?” You took a step forward. “Why, Dick? Why wouldn’t you tell me? I thought—I thought maybe, maybe, if you didn’t have time for me anymore, the least you would do is not lie to me. That you wouldn’t keep something this huge from me.”

Dick’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

That was what did it. That was what ruined him.

He had nothing to say, because you were right.

“I just wanted to protect you,” Dick finally said, and it was almost desperate, like he was trying to hold together something that had already cracked beyond repair.

“And you thought lying was the way to do that?” Your voice was shaking now. “You—you let me believe you just didn’t care anymore. I was so naive that you could just continue to lie to me for years, isn’t that why?”

“That’s not true,” Dick said quickly, stepping forward, but you stepped back just as fast.

You inhaled sharply. “I just want to hear you say it.”

Dick stilled.

You swallowed. “Tell me that you didn’t want to keep it from me. Tell me that it was Dad. Tell me this wasn’t your choice.”

Dick clenched his jaw.

And for a second—a brief, terrible second—you saw it.

The truth.

The answer before he even said it.

His shoulders squared, his expression unreadable, and then—

“I didn’t want you to know.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut.

You took a step back, blinking.

“What?”

Dick’s face was set, his voice firm. “Bruce told me not to tell you, but I didn’t want you to know either.”

You stared at him, uncomprehending.

“You—” You swallowed hard, your throat burning. “You didn’t want me to know?”

The betrayal was sharp, almost dizzying.

Dick flinched.

“I had to find out from him,” you suddenly snapped, pointing directly at Tim, who stiffened, eyes going wide.

“I had to find out from some random kid that has nothing to do with this—”

Tim opened his mouth. “Uh—”

“And not from you—my brother..!”

“This isn’t how you were supposed to find out,” Dick said quickly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?” You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Well, then how exactly was I supposed to find out then? Were you even planning on telling me the truth?”

“(Name)—”

“Or were you going to keep this from me ‘til the day I die?”

Dick took a step closer. “Please, just listen—”

“No,” you cut him off, shaking your head. “I can’t do this.”

Dick froze.

You exhaled sharply, turning on your heel and heading for the exit.

“Wait—”

But you were already gone.

Tim hesitated, looking between the empty space where you had been and the absolute wreck that was Dick Grayson standing there, unmoving, like if he did, he might actually collapse under the weight of the argument that had just happened.

The silence stretched.

And then Alfred stepped forward.

“Master Bruce is still pursuing Two-Face,” he said evenly. “I will go check on Ms (Name).”

Dick exhaled slowly, rubbing his face.

Right.

There were more pressing matters.

And they weren’t going to wait.

Dick doesn’t even know what happened after that. You two just… avoided each other.

Avoidance wasn’t new between you two, but that time, it felt different. Alfred had told him you weren’t just avoiding him—you were avoiding everyone. That should’ve made him feel better, knowing he wasn’t the only one left out in the cold. Instead, it only made the weight in his chest heavier.

For a while, he didn’t know how to fix things. Didn’t even know where to start.

Maybe that was the problem.

Then and now.

It had always been you who stepped up first, the one who reached out, patched things up, and smoothed over the cracks in whatever had fractured between you. Even back then, after weeks of avoiding him, it was you who sought him out first—apologizing for your outburst, telling him you wanted to be Batgirl.

He hadn’t been happy about it.

Of course, he hadn’t.

The last thing he wanted was for you to get pulled into this life, the same way he had, the same Jason had. But at the same time… he didn’t want you to think he didn’t trust you. Because he did.

Didn’t he?

Maybe he should’ve helped more. Trained you. Guided you the way Bruce had done for him, the way he had done for Tim. But things had been complicated—Bludhaven was drowning in corruption, Blockbuster was tightening his grip on the city, and Dick had been stretched too thin to be what you needed.

Maybe that was why things had always felt strained between you.

Why things always felt off with you and him.

He hadn’t been there for you—not the way he had been for Tim, who had started out at the same time you did. And now, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering: Was it because Tim was Robin while you were Batgirl? Was it some misplaced instinct, some part of him that thought Barbara could help you better just because she had worn the mantle first?

Or was it just him? His failure?

Dick has many regrets.

And you—you are one of them.

Not because of who you are, but because of how he handled you.

Or rather, how he didn’t.

How he stood by and watched, too consumed by his own battles, by his own pain, to see you needing him. How he told himself it was okay, that you were strong enough to handle it alone.

And maybe you were. But that doesn’t excuse him from not being there when you needed him most.

And now, for the first time, you aren’t the one bridging the gap between you.

And he hates that he’s only realising this now.

He could have fixed this—maybe. If only he’d made the effort sooner. If only he’d found the courage to do something. To make up for what he failed to do. But now, everything feels too fractured, too far gone.

And that’s what hurts the most.

The fact that you don’t seem to need him the way you once did. That maybe, just maybe, you’ve moved on from him.

The thought suffocates him.

He wants to fix it. He wants to scream at the walls, to do something to make it right, but he’s frozen. Because what if it’s too late? What if you’re done with him? What if you’ve already written him off, already decided you don’t need him in your life anymore?

The overwhelming guilt twists tighter, leaving him suffocated, alone in his own mind.

You’ve stopped waiting for him.

And it kills him.

Dick knows he’s running out of time. And for the first time in his life, he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to fix it.

Not when you were avoiding him. Not when everyone he’s asked tells him to give you space, to leave you alone.

But how long more can he continue leaving you alone? When that was the exact reason you two were in this position?

His instincts tell him to give you time, let you breathe, to let the air clear before trying again. But that voice in the back of his mind screams that it’s too late. That if he waits too long, if he doesn’t move now, this—this—will be the end of whatever was left of your connection.

And the thought terrifies him.

He’s not sure if it’s pride or fear that holds him back now. Maybe a mix of both. Because even if he did try, what if you didn’t want him as your brother anymore? What if you didn’t need him in the way he still needed you?

What if the space you wanted from him was one he could never fill again?

What if it’s too late?

The coldness in the way you’ve pulled away, the way you’ve stopped needing him… he’s afraid that’s the reality.

And maybe that’s the hardest pill to swallow: that he’s powerless here. That even with all the skills, all the experience he’s had, this is one thing he can’t control.

This feels wrong. It feels so wrong, and he can’t shake the feeling that something is slipping through his fingers, something irreplaceable. You’re not just anyone. You’re his sister.

You are his little sister. And that’s why this hurts so much more.

The space between you isn’t just the distance of an argument, or a fight that can be fixed with a few words. It’s a gap between family—between two people who were supposed to always be there for each other, no matter what. And somehow, he let it slip away. He let it stretch farther and farther, until now, when it feels like he can’t reach you.

He hates this.

He hates feeling lost, unsure of how to fix something that should be simple. He’s always known what to do, always known how to make things right with his team, with anyone—everyone—but not with you.

Not now.

The years of you looking up to him, trusting him, believing in him… and now, you’re turning away. And it’s because of him. Because he wasn’t there when you needed him, and because now, when everything has broken, he’s just letting you walk away.

His thoughts spiral, each one heavier than the last. He should’ve done better. He should’ve noticed the small things—the moments where you tried, where you reached out, when you needed him to show up. He should’ve noticed everything.

But he didn’t.

It feels like too much to fix now. How can he bridge this gap? How can he even begin to make things right when you’re already gone from him, retreating, pulling away from the only person who was supposed to be there for you through everything?

How can he let you go?

He can’t. He just can’t.

Because you’re his sister. And no matter what’s happened, no matter how much space you need, he can’t just let this be. He can’t let you slip away from him, not when he still loves you so damn much, not when he’s still your brother.

Dick hates that even now, it feels like he’s still not prioritizing you. Not when Gotham is on the verge of chaos, when everything is unraveling faster than he can keep up with.

Bruce needs him—Gotham needs him. And he hates himself for thinking this, but it almost feels easier to focus on the city, on the madness, on the constant fight to keep everything from falling apart, than to face what’s happening with you. He hates that he can’t just put his focus on you without it feeling like he’s failing the entire city.

Not when the Court of Owls is seemingly starting to creep back into the shadows, when they’re pulling strings from behind the scenes. Not when Riddler is out again after his bombing less than two weeks ago. The city feels like it’s shifting into new, terrifying territories, with danger lurking in every corner.

It’s easy to justify the exhaustion, the endless grind, when the city’s on the line. But it doesn’t make the guilt disappear.

The guilt that he still hasn’t gone after you. That he still hasn’t made things right yet. Not when Bruce needs him for this, not when Gotham seems to be shifting into unknown territories.

He tried to shove it down—tried to bury the guilt—and just focus. Focus on the bigger picture.

But it’s hard.

It’s so hard.

Every time he tries to focus on something else, his mind inevitably goes back to you. He hates it.

Bruce’s brooding presence is a constant reminder that there’s always something more pressing—always a new threat looming. And yet, Dick can’t seem to escape the nagging pull of you.

“Bruce,” Dick snaps suddenly, his frustration slipping through. He didn’t mean to. He didn’t mean to bring you up again, but he needs something to clear his head. “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t mean to bring her up. Let’s get back on track.”

He barely registers the way Bruce’s gaze sharpens, the way his lips tighten in a fleeting moment of something—concern? Worry?

No, it looked more like… guilt.

But Bruce doesn’t voice it. Instead, there’s a brief pause, and then, a subtle shift in his eyes. His entire demeanor falters for the briefest second, and Dick feels it, like a change in the air, as though Bruce is about to say something.

But Bruce just sighs, a deep, tired sound, and mutters, “Alright.”

The conversation moves on, like it always does. The case file is opened again, the details of the recent murder presented to them both, as if nothing’s changed, as if everything’s fine.

But things definitely weren’t fine.

And it wouldn’t be for a long time.

Damian wasn’t one to get caught up in things that didn’t concern him. That’s what he told himself. But when it came to you, he doesn’t know why things are different now.

It wasn’t that he cared. Not really.

He was Damian Wayne, after all.

He was above things like worry, like caring too much.

But when he started noticing how you’d been waking up earlier and earlier to bake things—treats, he noted with growing curiosity—and then leaving for school with them in tow, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

You weren’t just baking for no reason. You weren’t baking for yourself, like he had first assumed. No, you’d been bringing them to school, and that… that didn’t make sense. You weren’t that kind of person. Unless you were making it for your schoolmates.

No, that was certainly beneath you. You had to know that.

But then you started coming back late. Very late. Far later than what could be excused by a few extra-curriculars or staying after school.

That was when Damian decided to… observe.

He wouldn’t call it stalking, no. Stalking was a bit too… intrusive, in his opinion. He preferred to call it a ‘careful examination of your recent activities.’ That was much more appropriate. And so, with his usual precision, he followed you, quietly keeping his distance, ensuring you never knew he was there.

It wasn’t as if he cared. He didn’t care at all. Obviously.

But he was curious, and he wasn’t about to admit to himself that he was starting to care a little more than he should.

And that’s when he saw it.

You and two other people—a blond guy and a brunette girl—heading towards an…. orphanage?

Damian’s sworn he’s seen the blond guy somewhere, but he can’t place a finger on it.

The place wasn’t far from the manor, but it wasn’t somewhere he expected you to be.

He kept his distance, blending into the shadows as he watched you hand out the treats you’d baked to the children there. So that’s who you were making them for, he thought, his mind almost too sharp for his own comfort.

From where he stood, he observed the way you moved among the children there, your every action contrasting with the other two people you came with. Your friends, as he had identified them, were lively, and they were running around with some of the kids, laughing, playing. But not you.

No, you sat back. You were content just to watch. You were curled up on the grass with some of the other children around you, reading them books.

Books?

Damian frowned. Was that really you?

The same you who never seemed to have time for things like that? The one who always preferred to be out in the field, out on patrol with the rest of the family?

He couldn’t recall a time where you’d ever been the type to sit and do something so mundane. Yet here you were, doing it effortlessly, surrounded by the kids.

And then, of course, there was him.

A little brunette boy. Always near you. Always by your side. Clinging to you like you were his only source of comfort.

Damian’s fingers tightened into fists. His jaw clenched, but his eyes stayed on the boy. For some inexplicable reason, he hated how close he seemed to be to you. How you didn’t seem to mind. No, you were indulging him—letting him climb all over you, laughing at whatever he said.

Damian hated it.

He didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand why this bothered him so much. Why the sight of some random, orphaned kid getting your attention like that twisted something inside him.

He now watched as you and the same boy were sitting off to the side, away from the others, in a quiet corner of the yard. The kid was holding up a stuffed animal, trying to make it talk in a high-pitched voice, and you—you—were playing along, mimicking the voice and laughing as if it was the funniest thing you’d ever heard. Damian’s gaze never wavered. He could see it—the way you were smiling at him. At him, not at anyone else.

Damian didn’t get it. What was so special about this kid? Why did he have to be so attached to you?

And why did you seem so attached to him?

Why were you so at ease with a kid you barely knew for more than a week at most?

Damian hates the fact that he’s feeling like this, that he’s thinking such stupid thoughts.

He watches as the kid tug at your sleeve, saying something in your ear. How much more were you going to indulge this kid?

“Hey, (Name),” Elliot asked in his little voice, “why’s that kid just standing over there, staring at us?”

You blinked, and without thinking, your gaze followed his.

And there, standing by the fence, was Damian. His figure was stiff, unmoving, his gaze intense and unwavering as it locked onto you. His eyes were cold.

Damian’s heart skipped a beat when he saw you look up, your expression morphing from confusion to realization as your gaze fixed on him.

Damn it, he thought.

Damn it, damn it, damn it.

You knew.

You knew he had been watching.

You didn’t say anything, but he could tell. And the worst part? He didn’t even care that you caught him. He didn’t care that you’d seen him there. What bothered him was the way you’d stopped laughing, the way you’d looked away from him. That distant, almost guilty feeling he got from you.

It was clear. You were aware now.

And somehow, that made it worse.

You groaned slightly, already knowing what was coming. It wasn’t like you hadn’t expected him to follow you; it was just… typical. Rolling your eyes, you’d excused yourself from Elliot, and made your way toward the edge of the orphanage, where Damian stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the railings. The only thing separating the two of you was the metal bars, but that didn’t seem to stop him from making his presence known.

You stopped a few feet away from him, taking in the sight of his usual stubborn posture. “What the hell are you doing here?” you asked, keeping your tone casual, though there was a sharpness beneath it.

Damian’s response was as expected. “Just passing by,” he said, but you could tell it was a lie by the way his eyes darted, refusing to meet yours directly.

You deadpanned, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow. “Really? You’re just ‘passing by’ on this side of town? When’s the last time you took a stroll over here, hmm?” you remarked, giving him a knowing look. The whole situation screamed of him being here for some other reason.

Damian scoffed, clearly not fond of being caught. He straightened up, trying to act casual, but you weren’t buying it for a second. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes. ��You’re so stubborn, it’s exhausting,” you muttered, turning to walk towards the entrance. You glanced over your shoulder, your voice softer but more commanding now. “Come inside. Stop standing out here like a loner. It’s an orphanage, not some shady alley.”

Damian shot you a look of annoyance, but instead of refusing, he followed you, clearly annoyed by your comment. “I’m not a loner,” he muttered under his breath, but you could hear the bitterness in his tone.

You smirked, knowing you had won this one. He didn’t even try to argue as you dragged him inside, making sure to ignore his huffing and groaning. Once inside, you immediately caught Caitlyn and Adrien’s surprised expressions when they saw Damian lagging behind you.

Adrien was the first to speak, his jaw nearly dropping. “Is that Damian freaking Wayne I see?” he asked, a cheesy smile on his face.

Damian stood with his usual unimpressed look, glaring at Adrien like he had just been asked the dumbest question in the world. “Is he an idiot or just plain stupid..” he muttered, not in the mood for any more attention.

Caitlyn turned to you, a hint of confusion in her voice. “You invited your brother?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“More like he invited himself,” you replied, giving him a side-eye.

Damian just scoffed, his expression unreadable. “I’m just making sure she’s not getting herself involved in some shady business,” he muttered, clearly irritated, and yet somehow still reluctant to admit he had followed you because he wanted to.

You laughed quietly, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.”

Before Damian could open his mouth to retort, one of the staff came in, calling the children for their meal time. You glanced at Damian, who looked like he was trying to figure out how to stand still without getting involved, but then you pulled him over to the table where everyone else was sitting.

Damian was unceremoniously slotted between you and Adrien, who immediately started up a conversation, not sensing the tense atmosphere Damian was giving off.

Adrien, the chatterbox that he was, began asking Damian a series of ridiculous questions, which only made Damian’s discomfort more apparent. “So, Damian, heard you were homeschooled before? How’s it like going from staying in the comforts of your home to having to mingle with us commoners?” Adrien asked, his voice full of that teasing nature you were used.

Damian’s eyes narrowed slightly, though he gave nothing away. “Tt. None of your business,” he muttered, though his tone was less sharp than usual.

You couldn’t help but watch the interaction unfold, noticing how Adrien kept talking, seemingly without stopping for air, while Damian remained his usual, stoic self, barely responding but still staying present.

It was…endearing in a strange way. You had always known that Damian wasn’t someone who opened up easily, but watching him with Adrien was oddly satisfying. Adrien was persistent, and though Damian was clearly trying to distance himself from the conversation, there was a shift.

In the midst of the lighthearted banter, you caught yourself smiling a little. You knew it would take time, but somehow, Damian was warming up to Adrien’s constant energy. You knew that Adrien probably reminded him a bit of Jon—always asking questions, always talking. And now, somehow, the two of them were starting to get along.

You glanced over at Damian, his brow furrowed in a mix of confusion and frustration, and you chuckled to yourself.

Yeah, he’ll get used to him, you thought, enjoying the rare moment where your brother was forced to interact with one of your dear friends. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. And for now, that was enough.

As the kids were digging into their meals, the conversation around the table shifted, like it always did at some point—towards superheroes. One of the younger boys, Marcus, piped up with a mouthful of mashed potatoes, “Who’s your favorite hero?”

The question quickly spread like wildfire, and before you knew it, the whole table was eagerly waiting for an answer from you, Caitlyn, and Adrien. Caitlyn and Adrien exchanged glances, clearly excited. You, however, already knew where this was going. The answer was obvious.

“Don’t say Batman,” you interjected quickly before either could open their mouths. “That’s such a cop-out answer. Everyone knows Batman’s the go-to.”

Caitlyn looked at you with a mischievous grin. “Well, I wasn’t even going to say Batman anyways,” she huffed out. “Mine’s definitely Nightwing.” She leaned back, resting her arm on the back of her chair, eyes gleaming with a grin. “I mean, come on. He’s hot as hell. And have you seen that ass? Dude’s got the whole bakery goddamn!!”

You froze, your eyes wide for a split second, doing everything in your power to avoid crashing out at that. Did she really just—?

Oh god.

Damian’s gruff voice came from beside you. “Tch.”

You nudged him sharply, hoping he’d keep quiet. “Shut up,” you muttered under your breath, trying to maintain some composure, but you could feel Damian’s growing annoyance from the side of your vision. He didn’t even bother looking at you when he responded.

“What.”

“Don’t react.” You said, your voice quiet but firm.

“Richard wouldn’t like what your friend is saying.”

“Hah, if anything, he’d be honoured.”

“No he wouldn’t.”

Your friends glanced at each other, confused by your hushed but tensed conversation with your brother.

And you didn’t blame them.

After all, Caitlyn had no clue that Nightwing was your older brother, Dick Grayson, and that’s exactly why you were doing your best not to let it show. You weren’t about to explain that you didn’t want to hear her gush about his freaking butt during a nice and peaceful meal.

Adrien, always the oblivious to these things, shifted his focus to the conversation. “Well, I didn’t really mess with him before, but Robin is cool as hell. I mean, come on, he practically saved my life. Got to give the lil guy props for that.”

Damian’s posture straightened a little at that, clearly pleased by the compliment. However, he scowled the moment Adrien added, “the lil guy.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed, and he muttered under his breath, “Robin’s not little.”

Adrien raised an eyebrow, teasing. “Oh really? Well, he’s about…” He trailed off, glancing from Damian to you before continuing, “…about your height, actually.”

You almost choked on your drink, your eyes going wide.

Oh no.

Was he literally about to connect the dots—

“What a coincidence. Maybe you should cosplay as him sometime.”

Oh.

At least Adrien’s blondness is still going strong.

Damian’s answer came with no hesitation, voice completely unbothered. “Sure.”

You sighed with relief, though internally, you were in full panic mode.

Thank god that’s over.

One of the little girls, Emma, who had been quietly listening to the conversation, raised her hand excitedly. “I like Batgirl a lot!” she said with a beaming smile.

Or not.

Caitlyn turned to her, a playful glint in her eye. “Oh, really? Which one?”

Emma blinked, confused. “There’s more than one?”

Caitlyn laughed, shaking her head. “Of course! There’s the original Batgirl, then there’s… the replacement, then the ninja one that came out of nowhere, and now the really nice and friendly one.”

You frowned slightly when Caitlyn called you—or well— the former second batgirl, the replacement. But she wasn’t wrong. You had been a replacement. But you had tried making it your own, hadn’t you? That should at least be recognised, right?

You watched as Caitlyn went off into a long rant, detailing the various Batgirls from across the years. Emma and all the other girls looked wide-eyed, clearly taking it all in, though you were sure half of what she was saying was going out the other ear.

You couldn’t help but shake your head, muttering under your breath, “There’s only one right answer.”

Caitlyn, not missing a beat, grinned. “Yes, and that’s obviously the OG!!! I miss her. I wonder what happened to her. She just stopped showing up for years now.”

Oh.

You grumbled, unable to refute the fact that she was right. The OG Batgirl was the best, no question. Barbara created Batgirl on her own. She owned it. But…come on, you had to back yourself up here.

Adrien piped up, “Nah, the blonde one’s the best. She’s cool and real fun.”

You deadpanned at him. “You’re kidding, right? That’s your pick?”

“What? Am I wrong?” Adrien asked, genuinely confused.

You huffed, leaning back in your chair. “Very.”

“You’re both wrong.”

At that moment, Damian’s voice broke through, and everyone turned to look at him.

You glanced at him, not sure if you had heard him correctly. “What did you say?”

Adrien looked at Damian, raising an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Who is it, lil guy?”

Damian’s gaze shifted to the table, his voice as steady as ever. “The best Batgirl is obviously the third. She’s the most proficient and the best fighter.”

You stared at Damian, deadpan.

Of course he picked her.

Of course, he’d back the best fighter—always.

For one fleeting second, you actually thought he was talking about you.

But of course he wasn’t.

You didn’t know why you even entertained the possibility of him choosing you. For half a second, you thought—just thought—that maybe, just maybe, he’d acknowledge you. But no. Obviously not.

You should’ve known better.

“What?” Damian asked, noticing your stare.

“Nothing,” you muttered, though the way you immediately crossed your arms said otherwise.

But it wasn’t nothing. It was mild irritation mixed with some very well-earned pettiness. It wasn’t like you expected him to say you were the best Batgirl, but still! You’d think your own brother would at least pretend you were a contender! For a moment, you really thought Damian would pick you.

But of course he didn’t. You weren’t even in the running.

Fine. Fine.

If Damian was going to be like that, you weren’t going to let him off easy.

“You know who’s not the best?” You paused for effect. “The current Robin.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

Adrien and Caitlyn both turned to you, looking confused. Meanwhile, Damian—oh, Damian froze. His head snapped toward you, expression shifting in real time, his usual blank stare morphing into something far more hostile.

“What did you just say?” His voice was calm. Too calm.

You leaned back in your chair, feigning nonchalance. “I said the current Robin is overrated. He’s fine, I guess. But people act like he’s some unstoppable force of nature, and honestly? I don’t see it.”

Damian’s eye twitched.

Adrien let out a short laugh, glancing between you two. “Wait, why does it sound like you personally hate him?”

“I don’t,” you said. “I just think he’s too aggressive. Like, okay, congrats, you were probably trained since birth, but does that really mean you have to act like everyone else is beneath you? Maybe try teamwork sometime.”

Damian scoffed. “Tt. You mean like how the second Batgirl worked with her team? Oh, wait. She didn’t even have one.”

You stiffened slightly. “Excuse me?”

“She was reckless,” Damian continued, now fully engaging in the argument. “Unrefined. She relied on brute force and emotion instead of strategy, which is exactly why she never measured up to her predecessor.”

Your eye twitched.

Oh. It’s on.

“Well, the current Robin acts like he’s the smartest person in the room,” you shot back. “Always belittling everyone he works with, always convinced he knows best—”

“Because he does,” Damian cut in smoothly, sharp.

You narrowed your eyes. “Oh, please. Batgirl was just as skilled—”

“Skilled?” Damian repeated, looking almost offended. “She was a brute. She had no tactical foresight, no patience, no discipline—”

“She gets the job done,” you interrupted.

“And leaves chaos in her wake,” Damian countered.

“Oh, because Robin doesn’t leave a mess?”

“At least his messes serve a purpose.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “And at least she wasn’t a condescending little—”

“Okay, wait, wait, wait, pause,” Caitlyn suddenly cut in, raising her hands. She and Adrien were staring at you two, completely baffled. “What is happening right now?”

Adrien tilted his head, looking between you and Damian. “Yeah, why do you two sound like you’ve got some kind of personal vendetta against Robin and Batgirl?”

You and Damian both froze slightly, suddenly realizing just how heated this was getting.

You coughed, quickly forcing a neutral expression. “No, definitely not.”

Damian straightened his posture, clearing his throat. “Tt. Of course not.”

Adrien and Caitlyn exchanged a look.

“…Right.” Caitlyn tilted her head. “You sure you guys don’t secretly have some grudge against them?”

Adrien hummed in thought. “Or maybe they just don’t like heroes who remind them of themselves?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

You and Damian both turned to glare at Adrien, who just retreats behind Caitlyn.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Whatever. The current Robin’s still annoying.”

“And the second Batgirl is too stubborn.”

Caitlyn frowned, looking thoughtful. “I don’t know…I always thought the second Batgirl and Robin actually worked well together. Like, whenever they were seen in the same place, their fighting styles just fit. Like they just got each other’s back, you know? At least, from what I’ve seen.”

Your jaw tensed. You pointedly avoided looking at Damian, and you knew he was doing the same.

Caitlyn’s words echoed in your head, looping over and over again like an intrusive thought you couldn’t shake.

“I always thought that Batgirl and Robin worked well together. Like, whenever they were seen in the same place, their fighting styles just fit. Like they just got each other’s, you know?”

No. No, you didn’t know.

Because that wasn’t true.

It couldn’t be true.

Because if it was true, then—

Then what did that mean?

If you and Damian worked well together—if your fighting styles “fit”—if you “just got each other”—then why hadn’t it been enough?

Why hadn’t it felt enough?

Why hadn’t you been enough?

Why had it felt like you were always fighting for validation?

Why did it still feel like Damian only ever saw you as a burden on the field?

If you had actually worked well with him, then why hadn’t he said anything back then? Why hadn’t he—

You exhaled sharply, shoving the thoughts away.

No.

Caitlyn was wrong. She had no idea what she was talking about.

“You’re giving them too much credit,” you said, shaking your head. “They didn’t work well together.”

Caitlyn blinked. “What? No, they totally did.”

You scoffed. “They barely tolerated each other.”

“I don’t know about that,” she said, tilting her head. “They just… understood each other. You could see it in the way they fought. Like, Robin always knew where that Batgirl was gonna move next, and vice versa. It’s like they were in sync without even needing to say anything.”

Your fingers curled slightly.

No. That wasn’t—

That wasn’t—

That was just necessity.

That was pattern recognition.

That was forced proximity because you had no choice but to move together or risk getting each other killed.

That didn’t mean you worked well together.

It didn’t mean Damian saw you as an equal.

It didn’t mean—

“I suppose the second Batgirl is not… entirely incompetent.”

It was barely more than a murmur, but it was enough.

Enough to make the conversation still. Enough to make all of you turn.

Damian’s eyes flickered downward, arms crossed, his expression a mask of impassivity.

But that sentence. That one hesitation.

It meant something.

Your brain stuttered.

Of all things—that was what he said?

Damian Wayne—the boy who had no patience for weakness, who barely tolerated most people, who was damn near incapable of giving credit where credit was due—just admitted that?

And then—

Then he kept going.

“She’s… effective,” he admitted, as if the words physically hurt. “Her combat style is instinct-driven, but adaptable. It lacks structure, but it’s—tt—unpredictable. It forces opponents into a rhythm they’re unfamiliar with. It’s inefficient, but it works. Works for herself. And works for Robin too.”

You blinked.

That wasn’t just some throwaway comment. That wasn’t just begrudging approval.

That was acknowledgment.

You had spent years training. Learning to move, to fight, to make up for every weakness you had. You wanted someone to see that. Your father, Dick, Barbara—hell, even Jason. But you’d never expected him to see it. To notice.

Much less appreciate it.

And yet, here he was, admitting that you were—what? Unpredictable? Capable?

Your mouth opened slightly, but the words never came. You just stared, feeling something unfamiliar twist in your stomach.

You weren’t used to this.

Weren’t used to this at all.

Definitely not from Damian. After everything—

Caitlyn sighed, leaning back. “Yeah, I suppose so. A lot of people in the East End like her, from what I’ve heard.”

The weight of Damian’s words still lingered, but Caitlyn’s casual addition made something inside you shift again.

“But I haven’t exactly seen her in the past few weeks. Wonder what happened?”

And just like that—

That fleeting warmth vanished.

Your body tensed, fingers curling into your palm so tightly that your nails dug into your skin.

“She quit,” you said before you could stop yourself.

It was too sharp. Too final.

You knew it the second it left your mouth.

And it showed.

Adrien and Caitlyn turned to you, their confusion immediate.

They weren’t just confused by the statement itself.

They were confused by how you said it.

By how certain you sounded.

Realizing your mistake, you scrambled to correct yourself, forcing your voice into something lighter. “I mean, I heard she quit. I guess.”

There was a beat of silence.

Caitlyn hummed thoughtfully. “Oh. What a shame.”

And then—

“It’s a load of bullshit.”

Damian’s voice was edged with something sharp.

You turned to him, frowning. “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

Damian exhaled sharply, arms still crossed. “That Batgirl—assuming she really did quit—is an idiot.”

Your jaw clenched.

“She wouldn’t have quit if she didn’t think she was making an impact.”

“But she did,” Damian said, tone clipped, like it was obvious.

Your breath caught.

“She made an impact. Gotham is worse with one less hero. But she’s too dumb and socially inept to realize that.”

The words slammed into you like a brick wall.

It wasn’t mockery. It wasn’t insulting for the sake of it.

It was genuine frustration.

Damian was angry—not because he didn’t like her—but because she left.

You left.

Because you gave up.

As if you didn’t see what you were to Gotham.

But did you even mean something to Gotham?

Your lips parted slightly, but the words wouldn’t come.

Because what were you supposed to say?

What were you supposed to do with the fact that Damian cared?

That he was fighting for her—for you—when you had convinced yourself no one would?

Damian never defended things like this. He never cared enough to.

But here he was, riding this hard.

For Batgirl.

For you.

And you—

You didn’t know what to do with that either.

The air was too thick. Too heavy. The tension sat like a weight between you both.

You turned away, pressing your lips into a thin line. Damian did the same.

And you could feel your friends shift uncomfotably in their seats after that awkward conversation that they got lost in.

“I like whoever (Name) likes.”

Elliot, small but absolute in his convictions, piped up with the kind of unwavering certainty that only kids had.

You barely had time to react before something in your chest tightened, an ache so unfamiliar that you almost mistook it for something else.

Fondness.

You ruffled Elliot’s hair gently, watching as he beamed under your touch, his loyalty so simple, so unquestioning.

“At least someone knows who truly is the best,” you said, your voice soft but amused.

Adrien, clearly irked by the favoritism, complained, “Hey, no fair! That lil guy just goes along with whatever you say. That’s not counted.”

The words were playful, but they settled something in you—if only for a moment.

A brief, fleeting peace.

You risked a glance at Damian, but found his expression unreadable.

And that made you tense even more.

Because how did one conversation just destroy whatever rapport you’d built with him over the last few weeks?

You opened your mouth to say something but—

“Oh! Looks like you’ve brought along another person.”

And just like that—

Everything in you froze.

Your breath stilled.

Your fingers twitched.

Something cold wrapped around your ribs, tightening.

Mrs. Cole.

She moved toward your group, all warm smiles and polished perfection. But you knew.

You knew better.

The warmth didn’t reach her eyes. The perfection was too smooth, too calculated.

And yet, your friends didn’t see it.

They didn’t feel it.

They didn’t feel the unease sinking into your bones, clawing its way under your skin.

You straightened instinctively, every nerve in your body suddenly alert.

You felt your jaw lock.

And you just stared at the old woman standing in front of you and your friends.

When you didn’t move to introduce Damian, Caitlyn, ever polite, started to do it for you.

“Oh, this is—”

“Damian Wayne,” Mrs. Cole interrupted smoothly, smiling. “Son of Bruce Wayne. Of course, I know him.”

Then, with a turn of her head, her gaze landed on you.

And despite the kindness in her expression—

Something inside you shrank.

“I apologise,” she said gently. “I should have realised earlier that you were, in fact, (Name) Wayne. I hope you weren’t too offended.”

Every syllable was measured. Smooth.

There was nothing wrong with what she said.

But your mind churned.

Something in you twitched.

Something itched beneath your skin, something you couldn’t place.

A meaningless pleasantry? Or a subtle dig? A test? Did she expect you to be offended? Was she gauging your reaction?

Your eyes flickered to her face, scanning for any indication of intent. The tiniest shift in expression. A microsecond of amusement. A twitch of satisfaction.

A crack, a slip—anything.

But there was nothing.

Just polite words and a soft tone.

Just surface-level kindness.

Not a misstep. Not a single crack in her perfect facade.

It made your stomach turn.

Your thoughts tangled, looping over themselves, spiraling deeper into your own paranoia—

And then you realized you had been silent for too long.

Too long for it to be normal. Too long for it to be anything but weird.

You scrambled for a response, grasping for something, anything—

“It’s fine.”

It came out rough. Stiff. Completely unnatural.

Like a person forgetting how to be a person.

Mrs. Cole only smiled. If she noticed your awkwardness, she was far too polite to acknowledge it.

Adrien and Caitlyn, however, were not.

You saw it immediately—the way Caitlyn pressed her lips together to keep from groaning, the way Adrien squeezed his eyes shut like he had just physically felt secondhand embarrassment.

Yeah. Yeah.

That was bad.

You wanted to fling yourself out the nearest window.

Mrs. Cole, as if unfazed, turned back to Damian.

“I hope everything here has been to your liking.”

Damian regarded her for a moment before giving a clipped, formal response. “The conditions appear satisfactory.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” she replied easily. “We do our best to provide a safe environment for all the children under our care.”

You didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t breathe.

Just listened.

You tried to read him.

Tried to see if he felt it too.

If he sensed that something was off with Mrs Cole.

But—

Nothing.

Damian’s expression was unreadable, sure. But that wasn’t new.

What was new was that he didn’t seem to think anything of her at all.

“Well,” Mrs. Cole finally said, brushing nonexistent dust from her sleeve. “I have other matters to attend to. It was lovely meeting you, Damian.”

She smiled, nodding at Caitlyn and Adrien before turning back to you.

“And you, of course, (Name).”

Then—

She was gone.

Moving seamlessly through the orphanage, weaving between staff and children like she belonged there.

You exhaled shakily.

You had overanalyzed every movement, every syllable. Had searched for something.

And yet—nothing.

No proof. No reason for this unease gnawing at your ribs.

And yet, it didn’t go away.

It never went away, no matter what you did.

No matter what you tried convincing yourself with.

And as you sat there, stiff and silent—

You failed to notice the way Damian was watching you.

Expression unreadable.

Eyes sharp.

Like he had seen something.

Something off.

Something he couldn’t quite place.

long awaited chapter 7 lol… did you guys miss me 🥰🤗 also ramadan mubarak to all my muslim homies and girlies 🫶🫶part 2 here in a few hours after posting this, will answer my asks after posting part 2 <3

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[fireinmoonshot]

kiss it better | joaquin torres x reader

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Reader Summary: While attempting to hide a present from Joaquin, you give yourself a minor injury. Joaquin has a habit of overreacting whenever you injure yourself – no matter how small. Warnings: Mentions of a paper cut and hurting your hand. Word Count: 1.6k A/N: This is completely self indulgent because I did slam my finger in a door at work today and I immediately thought about how Joaquin would make such a big deal about tiny injuries, so I suffered through the sore finger while typing to write this tonight 😂💗

“Angel, I’m home!” Joaquin calls, closing the door to your apartment behind him and dumping his gym bag on the table by the front door. He kicks off his shoes and looks into the apartment, confused at the lack of response from you. “Angel?”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks for new messages from you but sees none, confusing him even more. If you’d left the house, you would have texted him to tell him, knowing he was due home from the gym soon. There was nowhere else you could be and he was certain of it.

Frowning, Joaquin wanders further into your apartment, figuring he’ll just go room to room and find you that way. You have to be here somewhere. He won’t let himself worry about where you could be if you’re not here. 

“You in here?” Joaquin attempts, calling out again as he pushes open the door to your bedroom. The light is on and the curtains are open, letting the evening light into the room. If you’d gone out, you would’ve shut the curtains and turned off the light…

He’s about to call out again when he hears a muffled swear word from the walk-in closet, just off to the side of your bedroom. He heads towards it, pulling open the door to see you hurriedly pulling a blanket over something in the corner of the room and then clutching your hand to your chest with a wince.

You’re hurt.

“Angel, what happened?” Joaquin is in front of you in seconds, his hands reaching out to take yours in his and inspect it. He’s confused when he can’t see any visible damage. There’s no cuts and there’s no blood. It doesn’t dull his worry, though.

“It’s fine, baby,” you attempt to pull your hand out of his grasp to no avail. “I just accidentally slammed the drawer and caught my finger in it. It’ll hurt for a bit but it’s okay.”

Worry fills Joaquin’s eyes. Even though it’s only a small injury, he takes it very seriously. He steps beside you, wrapping his arm around you and holding your injured hand with his other hand before leading you out of the closet and into the kitchen.

“Sit here,” he says, pulling a stool out for you and making sure you sit on it before he grabs a tea towel and heads to the freezer. He fills the towel with ice before coming back over to you, gently placing your hand on the counter and holding the ice to your sore finger. “Hold this on there for a while, okay? It’ll help with the pain. Do you want some painkillers?”

You shake your head. “It’s really okay, Joaquin. I’ve done this before. I think everyone has slammed their finger in a door at some point in their life. It’s like an unwritten right of passage.” You listen to him, though, continuing to hold the ice to your finger. It’s throbbing, shooting pain through your hand, but you try to ignore it as best you can.

Joaquin’s immediate response to the injury does make you smile, though. No matter how small the injury was, you could always guarantee that Joaquin would make a big deal out of it and treat it like it was life or death. You vividly remember the time you got a paper cut while wrapping Christmas presents and he’d been two seconds away from driving you straight to the Emergency Room. 

Joaquin sighs and pulls out the stool beside you to sit down on it. “What were you doing in there anyway, angel? I called out when I got home and you never replied. Made me worried as hell.” He reaches out a hand and rests it on your thigh, giving it a squeeze.

That… was not something easy to explain. Joaquin’s birthday was coming up in a few weeks and the present you’d ordered for him had arrived a week and a half early from the estimated delivery date. You’d been figuring out a way to hide it so that he wouldn’t see it, deciding that the corner of the closet he very rarely even used since most of the things in it were yours, was the best place… until he got home from the gym earlier than you’d expected and you’d slammed your finger in the drawer you’d gotten the blanket from.

“This is going to sound so sketchy,” you sigh, resting your good hand on top of his. “But I can’t tell you yet. Can you just believe that I had a good reason to be in there and not replying to you when you called out to me? I promise you’ll find out in due time.” 

Joaquin is not the type to fight you on it but you can see the confusion in his eyes. Thankfully, he agrees to let it go – for now. “All right, but only if you promise I’ll find out the reason eventually. I’ll hold you to that and you know I will.”

“I promise,” you smile, giving his hand a squeeze. “How long do I have to have this ice on my hand?” You look over at it. “This ice is freezing and I think I’m starting to lose feeling in my fingers. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

Your words are, unsurprisingly, taken much too seriously by your boyfriend. Joaquin stands up from the stool, grabbing the ice and removing it from your hand. He peers down at your hand, which looks exactly the same as it did before, just much colder. 

“You know, I think maybe you should have your finger looked at,” he starts. “What if you broke a bone and it’s not just bruised? I’ll just go and get changed out of my gym gear and then I’ll go pull the car around the front so you don’t have to go all the way down–”

“Joaquin.”

You cut him off, placing a hand on his arm. There he goes again, being overly cautious with your small injuries. It’s hard not to smile at him. The look on his face makes you fall in love with him even more. 

“I haven’t broken a bone, baby. It’s just bruised and still sore cause I only did it like five minutes ago. It’s going to take a while to feel better again,” you explain. “I don’t think we need to rush off to the hospital for something like a smashed finger.”

Joaquin’s eyes widen. “A smashed finger sounds pretty bad…”

You can’t help but smile at him now. The poor boy is unaware of how completely adorable he is. With everything he does for a job, you’re constantly surprised at how innocent he can be regarding certain topics. 

“Let’s make a deal,” you offer. “If my finger is still hurting really badly tomorrow, if it’s really swollen and I can’t bend it, for example, then I’ll let you drive me to the hospital to get it looked at. But if it’s fine, but still sore, then we don’t have to go to the Emergency Room.”

Joaquin sighs and looks between your face and your hand before slowly nodding his head. “Okay, deal. But you promise you’ll tell me if it’s hurting really badly or you can’t bend it?”

“I promise,” you nod, a thought suddenly occurring to you – a sure fire way to make Joaquin feel better about the whole situation. “But one more thing…” 

“Anything.”

You raise your hand a little off the table. “Will you kiss it better for me?”

A smile makes its way onto Joaquin’s lips, a sudden playfulness replacing his worry – not entirely, but enough to make a difference in his attitude. “Of course I will, angel. We both know that my kisses have healing powers.”

You gasp jokingly. “Does that mean you’re going around kissing people when you’re off saving the world? And all this time I thought you were being a badass Falcon…”

Joaquin smirks, clearly amused. “Pretty sure we’ve established this many times before, that you are the only person on earth who gets my kisses these days, and for the rest of our lives if I have anything to say about it,” he says. 

Gently, he reaches his hand to take yours, making sure not to put too much pressure on your sore finger, and bends down to press his lips to your hand. He’s careful with his kiss, really only brushing his lips lightly over the injury, but it makes you smile nonetheless.

“I think I’m all better now,” you grin up at him as he stands up straight again. 

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Despite my healing powers, will you still let me look after you tonight?” 

“It’d be my honour to be taken care of by you, Joaquin Torres,” you reply. “We could even play a video game if you wanted? I know there’s that new one you were talking about playing with me a few weeks ago.”

Joaquin sucks in a breath and shakes his head. “Okay, first things first – you gotta know how attractive you are telling me you wanna play a video game with me. But second – playing video games involve using controllers, which means having full use of all your fingers, and considering one of your hands is injured, at least until my healing powers really kick in, I’m gonna have to veto that option.”

“You make a fair point,” you hum. “Rain check on the video game, then?”

“You bet I’m gonna take you up on that offer, angel,” he smiles. He leans down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. It instantly warms you up from the inside out, even managing to somehow warm your still ice chilled hand. “Now, should we order takeout? I’m thinking Pizza or Mexican. Thoughts?”

[jungshookz]

taehyung’s gotten really beefy and y/n feels like a hormonal teenager 

➺ pairing; roommate!taehyung x roommate!y/n 

➺ genre; roomie!taehyungiverse!! honk honk humour!! a little sprinkle of smut because it would be illegal to write about beefy taehyung and not talk about his bulging biceps WOOF WOOF y/n is a lucky girl i need himbo gymrat taehyung so bad 

➺ wordcount; 2.5k

➺ summary; over the last few weeks, taehyung’s noticed that you’ve been particularly jittery and nervous around him and he can’t figure out why… after one of his usual morning workouts, he decides to finally confront you about it and your answer is more than satisfying to him. 

➺ what to expect; “wait, so you’re telling me the only reason why you’ve been acting so strange these last few weeks is because you think i’m… sexy?”

➺ currently playing on cee.fm; hey daddy (daddy’s home) — usher 

»»————- 🏋🏻‍♂️ ————-««

you’re not sure when taehyung decided to go on a new health journey, but it feels like you’ve blinked and watched your boyfriend go from just some handsome guy that you’re in love with to this muscular, gym-crazy man who loves protein shakes and asking for extra chicken at chipotle (who you’re still very much in love with, let’s be clear that nothing’s changed about that) and suddenly has the ability to do like 100 pull-ups without getting tired 

“ugh, fuck-“ taehyung grunts as he does his last push up (this is his fourth set, so technically he just did 300 pushups with no problem), getting up from the ground and twisting his upper body from side to side before putting his phone in between his lips, peeling his damp wife-beater tank off and tossing it on the ground 

lately he’s been working out in the morning before starting his day and it’s honestly been such a great change — he feels super pumped for the day ahead and completely reinvigorated 

and getting his workout done in the morning means he doesn’t have to worry about it for the rest of the day! 

he went for a run around the neighbourhood early this morning, and then came home to finish off with some calisthenics 

and now he’s gonna do a little cool-down stretch and hit the shower

he hums to himself as he adjusts his wired earbuds, usher’s hey daddy (daddy’s home) making him bop his head — maybe it’s a little douchey of him to be listening to this song while he’s working out but he can’t help that it’s a good ass song 

he slips his phone into the back pocket of his grey sweatpants before reaching for the bottle of water, twisting the cap off and lifting the bottle to chug half of it down 

“…good lord.” you mutter to yourself, staring at your boyfriend shamelessly from the kitchen as your jaw goes slack 

oh yeah — you’re here, too, by the way 

you’ve been here the whole time

you watched him do all 300 pushups and you counted 

and now your coffee is cold because you can’t multitask and you couldn’t focus on gawking at your boyfriend and drinking your coffee at the same time 

taehyung didn’t notice when you slipped past him earlier to head to the kitchen (and honestly, you didn’t want to bother him mid-workout because you know that you hate it when people interrupt your flow) and you’re pretty sure he still hasn’t noticed you, but you’re fine with that because you’d rather he be unaware of your presence than know that you’ve been creeping on him for the last twenty minutes or so 

you don’t mean to stare, you really don’t, but… how can you not stare at him in his shirtless, sweaty glory like that?

your mouth goes dry and you swallow thickly when he turns around, his back muscles flexing slightly 

and since when did he have such bulging veins in his biceps?! 

your eyes trail down the wide expanse of his glistening back and you immediately get flashbacks from the other night when you had your nails digging into his shoulder blades, your hands sliding down to his lower back as he pushed himself into- 

“good morning, sexy-“ you’re snapped out of your thoughts when tae delivers a slap to your bare ass as he passes by and you immediately grip onto your mug harder, letting out a nervous chuckle, “you’re finally up!”

“yeah, i-“ your voice cracks and you clear your throat before shrugging, reaching down to pull your shirt down a little to cover your ass, “it’s whatever, i’m cool.” your brows immediately furrow in confusion at your own words 

…what?

what are you even saying? 

see, something else you’ve noticed that’s happened since taehyung decided that he wanted to go on a run every morning at 5am and come home completely JACKED is that you’ve started feeling nervous around him and you have no idea why 

the both of you have been together for five years (and seven months) and somehow you’ve reverted to some lovestruck teenager who giggles at everything

in fact, you feel like how you felt when you first met taehyung when he came to see you about your open roommate application — very intimidated by how handsome he was and hoping that he thought you were cool enough to hang out with 

“did you want some of my smoothie, baby? i can already tell this batch might have a little more than usual…” taehyung hums, his tongue poking out from in between his lips as he measures out his double chocolate protein powder, dumping two full scoops into the blender, “could you get the blueberries from the freezer for me?” 

“smoothie?” you clear your throat, nodding and setting your mug down, “uh, yeah! blueberries.” you turn around, pulling the freezer drawer open and pulling out the large ziploc of frozen blueberries before shaking your head to yourself to snap out of your funk 

smoothie? uh, yeah, blueberries! you mock yourself internally — you are literally incapable of forming full sentences, it feels like you’ve got a bunch of marbles rolling around in your mouth 

and he needs to put a shirt on or something because he’s starting to get those toned v-lines that taper down nicely when he wears his sweatpants low on his hips 

you didn’t even know those muscles existed 

“so did you want some? it’s okay if you don’t, i guess i could drink it all, the extra protein will be good-“

“uh, yeah! i’ll have some.” you nod, setting your mug down and turning to get a cup for yourself 

taehyung turns the blender on and the kitchen is immediately filled with the obnoxious, grating sound of ZZzhzhhZHHZHHHHHhHhZHzh but you’re actually glad the space between you is being filled up with that 

otherwise you’d have to make conversation with him 

and in your current state, you are completely helpless 

you watch as he reaches up to slick his damp hair back, leaning back a little to check and make sure all the ingredients are being blended up nice and smooth  

it just feels like he’s moving in slow-motion and you… you… 

see you just lost your train of thought 

THAT’S how bad it’s been 

taehyung glances up at you briefly from where he’s standing at the opposite end of the kitchen island, noticing that you’ve seemed to space out again 

he has no idea what your deal has been for the last couple of weeks — he doesn’t think anything is necessarily wrong between the two of you, and if there’s a problem he knows you’re more than capable of bringing it up with him and talking it out 

but at the same time, something is wrong because you’ve been unusually quiet and every time he tries to make conversation it feels like you don’t know how to speak like a normal human being 

like earlier when he said good morning and that you were finally up and you responded with “it’s whatever, i’m cool”

it’s whatever, i’m cool

what the hell was that?! 

or the other night when he asked you if you wanted to join him in the shower and you let out the most nervous, high-pitched laugh before practically sprinting away to the kitchen and saying something about needing to wash the dishes 

…is it him? are you not physically attracted to him anymore? 

that can’t be it, either… you guys had sex the other night and you were very vocal (you guys actually got a noise complaint from a neighbour but he never told you because he knew you’d be embarrassed and never want to have sex ever again, and to be honest, he’s just planning on putting his hand over your mouth the next time you fuck — easy fix!) 

“okay, what’s wrong with you?” taehyung asks as soon as he turns the blender off, and you look up from the counter with wide eyes, “you’ve been so jittery with me for the last few weeks and i cannot figure out why, for the life of me. if you’re up to something shady, you might as well tell me now and-“

“what?” your eyelashes flutter in surprise and you let out a snort, his crazy accusation immediately sobering you up, “i promise you i am not up to anything shady, in fact, i’m kind of offended you even had that thought-“

“oh, thank god. you’re speaking like a normal human being, i finally fixed you-“ taehyung sighs, blowing a puff of air out as he pops the blender lid off, dipping his finger into the smoothie before bringing it up to his lips for a taste

“you have got to be kidding me.” you murmur to yourself, watching as some of the smoothie drips from his finger onto his toned abdomen

he swipes it off before sucking it off his finger with a satisfied hum

“you’re a freak!”  you blurt out, “oh my god, you are such a freak and it’s like you do these things that i feel like are on purpose but-“

“what are you talking about??” 

“i’m talking about- i just-“ you stumble over your words, letting out a groan when you find yourself being unable to form a sentence again

you pause for a second, shaking your head before composing yourself and painting a nice, pleasant smile on your face, “you… you… are you… are you aware of how ripped you’ve become?” 

“what?” taehyung laughs in disbelief, his eyes flickering off to the side, “i mean… i know i’ve definitely bulked up a little, i wouldn’t say i’m ripped-“

“you have no idea how hard it is to not throw myself at you every single second of every single day — i mean, i love you and i’m attracted to you no matter what you look like but there’s just something so satisfying about biting into your firm, firm bicep,” you make your way over to taehyung before jabbing a finger into his arm, “like, are you telling me this is all muscle?!”

“i mean-“ taehyung looks down before flexing his arm, making his bicep pop out, “yeah, i guess so. wait, so you’re telling me the only reason why you’ve been acting so strange these last few weeks is because you think i’m… sexy?” 

“you have been walking around all shirtless and sweaty with grey goddamn sweatpants so low on your hips that you’re basically naked, this is not on me!” you gawk, eyes widening when taehyung suddenly rounds the corner to get closer to you, “what are you- what are you doing?”

“nothing! we’re having a conversation, aren’t we?” the corner of his mouth twitches in a smirk as he continues walking you back until you’ve found yourself bumped up against the counter, your hands immediately fumbling to grip onto the edges to keep balanced, “oh, what’s wrong, baby? do i make you nervous?” he coos, using his pointer finger to raise your chin and forcing you to look at him before setting both his hands down on the counter and effectively trapping you in 

“you-“ your voice cracks and you feel your face getting hotter (again, not sure why because you’ve been dating this man for five years, but maybe it’s a good sign that after all this time you still get super hot and bothered being around him — the spark is still very much alive!), “you don’t make me nervous, that’s ridiculous.” 

“oh, don’t i?” taehyung tilts his head, sliding a finger up the side of your bare thigh and smiling to himself when he feels goosebumps starting to prickle at your skin, “you know, it’s funny that you’re scolding me for walking around shirtless in my own home when you’re the one constantly walking around in skimpy little g-strings. how do you think i feel, having to keep myself from bending you over every single surface in this apartment and just pushing your panties to the side?” he asks, voice light as he uses his pinky to brush a strand of hair away from your eyes  

“i imagine you probably feel… not… good…” you murmur, crossing your arms over your chest and keeping your chin raised in an attempt to appear as calm and collected as possible

“you don’t have to be nervous around me, honey,” taehyung leans down, and you’re as still as can be when he brushes his lips over yours before starting to plant light kisses along your jaw, ��you know i love you and for the record, i think you’re incredibly sexy all the time…” he takes your hand and places it on his firm abdomen before sliding it down, and your thighs squeeze together upon feeling the ridges of his abs 

and maybe now isn’t a good time to be thinking this but you can’t help but feel good about the fact that taehyung still thinks you’re sexy — it’s giving you the little ego boost you’ve been needing and- I NEED TO SUCK HIS DICK

okay JESUS 

your eyes shoot open at the sudden uncharacteristically graphic intrusive thought and you immediately push taehyung away from you, keeping him at arm’s length 

“wh- what’s wrong?” he asks, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, “did i say someth-“

“i need to suck your dick.” you interrupt, staring at him with a neutral expression on your face

“what?” he lets out a laugh, “i mean, yes, obviously i want that but-“

“you need to be quiet now.” 

taehyung swallows thickly when he watches you drop to the ground in front of him, staring at him in a way he’s never seen before 

oh, jesus.

»»————- 🏋🏻‍♂️ ————-««

“tae-“ you whimper, dropping your forehead on his shoulder as he presses himself into you, a shaky breath slipping past his lips when he feels you clench up around him, “a-agh…” 

“jesus, your pussy always feels so good…” he mutters under his breath, looking down to watch himself pull out slightly before pushing back in all the way, smiling to himself when you whimper and ask him to please, please fuck me-

(needless to say, you guys ended up with another noise complaint. whoops.) 

🎙️ ask taehyung for the recipe to his 70g protein smoothie (talk to my characters!) 

📚 why not explore the rest of the library while you're here? (go say hi to yoongi and y/n in la vie en bonsai!) 

💫 or perhaps you want something shorter to read? (drabbles and mini series like this!)

🌟 or something even shorter? (teeny tidbits!) 

[beloveds-embrace]

Might we have a nibble of undesignated reader?

🦥

How about a whole… cookie? 🍪

Omegaverse Masterlist

It’s not the first time you’ve heard them talk.

The barracks aren’t exactly known for their privacy. Voices carry through the thin walls, whispers slipping through cracks like smoke, curling into places they don’t belong. You’ve learned to ignore it for the most part, tuning out the idle gossip, the careless words thrown around by people who don’t know you, don’t understand you.

But tonight, the words stick.

“They don’t even have a scent, man. It’s weird.”

“Yeah, but they’re still sharp as hell in the field. Maybe they were supposed to be a Beta?”

“Nah, bet they were meant to be an Alpha, but something went wrong.”

“Or maybe an Omega? That’d be even worse- imagine being designed for pack life and ending up like that.”

Laughter follows, sharp and cruel, and you walk away before you hear anything else.

You don’t go to your room. You don’t go to the common area or the mess, or the nest. You don’t go anywhere someone might find you.

Instead, you find yourself outside, away from the hum of voices and the weight of constant, curious stares. The night air is cool against your skin, crisp and biting, the smell of damp earth grounding you in a way nothing else can.

You breathe in deep- and it doesn’t stick the way it should.

What would you have been, if you weren’t… this?

If something hadn’t gone wrong?

Would you have been an Alpha, all quiet dominance and steady control? Would your voice have carried weight, your presence something that demanded obedience without needing to ask? Would you have had instincts that made sense, a drive to protect, a need to claim?

Or an Omega? Soft, warm, instinctively attuned to the emotions of those around you? Would you have been able to scent your pack, comfort them with nothing but your presence? Would you have been wanted in a way that didn’t feel conditional, based on how useful you could be?

Or a Beta- level-headed, unaffected, fitting neatly into the gaps between extremes? Would it have been easier that way, to exist without feeling like something is missing?

Awful generalizations, you know. But at the same time- you wouldn’t know. You’d never know, bcause you’re none of them.

You’re nothing.

Faulty.

The door creaks open behind you, and you don’t bother turning around to see who it might be.

John doesn’t say anything at first, either. Just stands beside you, looking out into the dark, hands tucked into his pockets. The silence stretches, long and heavy, before he finally speaks.

“Got something on your mind?”

You don’t answer immediately. Instead, you swallow hard, staring at the horizon like it might hold the answers you’ve never found.

“…What do you think I would’ve been, Cap?”

John doesn’t ask what you mean. He understands, because of course he does. He hums, tilting his head in thought.

“Dunno,” he admits eventually, lighting a cigar. “Never thought about it.”

You huff a quiet, bitter laugh. “Why not?”

“Because it doesn’t matter.”

You finally turn to look at him, searching his face for something- pity, understanding, a lie wrapped in kindness. They’ve accepted you into their lives and their nest- but how much of it is real, and how much of is just taking pity on a walking, talking fault?

But there’s none of that. Just certainty, his eyes peering at you with no hesitation.

“You are what you are, love,” he says simply, taking a drag of the burning cigar. “And that’s enough.”

A lump forms in your throat, thick and tight. “It’s not, though.”

“For them? Maybe not.” He exhales through his nose, gaze steady. “For us? It always has been.”

The words land heavier than you expect.

Because for all that you’ve questioned yourself, for all the times you’ve wondered if you were missing some crucial piece, they never have. You are theirs, not because of a designation, not because of instinct or scent or pity.

Just because you are.

John claps a hand on your shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze before turning back toward the building.

“Come inside,” he says. “We’re waiting for you. Simon’s kept a plate of food- actual food, not mess slop- for you.”

And maybe- just maybe- that’s enough.

[adverbally]

Intention

Written for the @stmarchmm prompt “courting rituals” | wc: 913 | rated: T | cw: none | tags: Steddie, Steve & Wayne, omega Steve, alpha Eddie, alpha Wayne, early relationship, asking permission to court, non-traditional relationship dynamics

———

Steve hesitates on the Munsons’ front porch. The trailer is familiar and comforting with its worn screen door and peeling paint, the warm light and organized chaos he knows to be hidden inside. This place has become more of a home to him than the house he grew up in.

He doesn’t want to lose that now.

But he thinks about Eddie nervously asking him on their first real date, hiding his grin behind the lock of hair he tugged across his face when Steve said yes; the way Eddie’s eyes had sparkled in the glow of the streetlight outside Steve’s house when he dropped him off after dinner, just before he leaned in for the best first kiss Steve has ever had; how Eddie had carefully brushed his wrist along the cuff of Steve’s sweater so he could still smell Eddie’s smoky ginger scent for the rest of the evening.

Steve wants that, all of that and more. The promise of that has to outweigh the fear of screwing everything up.

He knocks on the door.

It feels like an eternity before Wayne answers, already dressed in his work clothes for that evening’s shift. He seems surprised to see Steve, but he pushes open the screen door between them and waves him inside anyway. “Did Ed not tell you he has band practice? He should be home soon but you’re welcome to wait.”

“No, I…” Steve takes a deep breath and stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets so he doesn’t start fidgeting with his jacket zipper. “I wanted to talk to you, actually, if you have a minute?”

Wayne looks even more baffled now but gestures for Steve to take a seat in one of the mismatched chairs surrounding the small dining table. He doesn’t join him immediately, instead going into the kitchen and silently filling two glasses with water from the tap. When he returns, he sits in the seat across from Steve and slides one of the cups over to him.

“Thanks.” Steve’s mouth is so dry that his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth, but he’s not sure he can take a drink without spilling or choking on it. Not until he says what he needs to say. Keeping his gaze on the scratched tabletop, he begins, “I think you probably know why I’m here.”

“I think so,” Wayne agrees. “And I think you know I need to hear you say it anyway.”

Steve nods, thinking of Eddie’s spicy warm scent to steel himself. “Eddie said you’re not very traditional. Your family, I mean. He offered to do this because he thought I wanted to do it, and I know he would’ve, but my dad…” He cuts off his rambling with a shake of his head. “Sorry, I’m nervous. Eddie said I shouldn’t be–”

“Steve. Take a breath.”

He does, then sips from his glass. Wayne doesn’t say anything while Steve gathers his thoughts for a long moment. Finally, he speaks again, deliberately. “Eddie is incredible. I care about him. I want to be with him.” It’s a gross understatement but if he starts elaborating, he might never stop. “I don’t give a shit what my dad thinks, but it matters to me what you think. Because it matters to Eddie. You’re the most important person in his life. He’s an adult and he can make his own decisions, so I’m not asking for permission, but… I wanted to inform you of my intention to court your nephew.”

Wayne nods, a slight tilt of his head acknowledging Steve’s declaration. “I accept it.”

“Okay.” He nods back, taps his fingers along the side of his water glass, listening to the quiet ping of his nails on its surface. “Thank you.” It’s almost disappointing how anticlimactic this was. He had stressed over it for days, and Wayne just… accepts him, just like that?

Like he can read Steve’s mind, Wayne leans closer. “You’re a good kid, Steve. You saved Ed’s life, you make him happy, you take care of that pack of kids. I think you’re good for him. Mellow him out some.”

“Yeah?” The compliment makes him warm from head to toe. Steve grins down at the table. “I think he’s good for me too.”

Wayne drains the last of the water in his glass. “I’d’ve given my permission, too, if you’d asked. Not that you need it.” He rises from his chair with a groan. “I gotta head to work now, but you’re welcome to wait for Ed. Make yourself at home.”

Steve stands as well, accepting the handshake Wayne offers him. “Thanks again, sir, I appreciate it.”

“Call me Wayne, son.” His mouth twists in a wry smile. “I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” He claps a hand on Steve’s shoulder, then shrugs on his coat. “Make sure you’re being safe, now. I’m not ready to be a granddad yet.”

Wayne can surely see him blushing as Steve stammers, “No, we— I mean, we haven’t, I’m not—” When he realizes Wayne is fighting back his smile, he sighs, embarrassed but relieved to be in on the joke. “Okay, laugh it up.”

He waves to Wayne from the doorstep, watches the beat-up old truck kick up dust until it turns onto the asphalt outside the trailer park. The alpha’s scent lingers in the trailer, more woodsy than Eddie’s but still warm. Familiar.

Steve thinks he could get used to it.