#but her daughter is darker than her | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

elswhore · 1 month ago

Text

۫ ꣑ৎ . you, the daughter of a powerful man who owns the city, navigate a growing, intense attraction with ellie, a new hire tasked with cleaning your family's mansion.

mdni. class difference. older ellie. rough sex. fingering. face sitting. unrequited feelings. forbidden attraction.

you lean against the polished mahogany railing of the staircase, your fingers tracing the intricate carvings absentmindedly.

from your vantage point, you can see ellie moving through the foyer below, her movements, trying not to disturb the space she occupies.

the new hire.

the cleaner.

her auburn hair is tied back in a messy bun, a few strands slipping free to frame her face as she kneels to scrub the marble floor.

she’s thorough, focused, but every now and then, her eyes flick upward toward you.

it’s not the first time you’ve caught her staring.

yesterday, when you passed her in the hallway, her gaze lingered just a fraction too long, her lips parting as if she wanted to say something but thought better of it.

today, it’s bolder.

her green eyes hold yours for a heartbeat longer than they should, sharp and searching, before she ducks her head back to her work.

your stomach tightens, a slow coil of heat you can’t quite name.

you shift your weight, the floor creaking faintly beneath your boots, and her head snaps up again.

this time, she doesn’t look away.

the rag in her hand stills, forgotten, as her eyes trace the lines of your figure.

there’s something raw in her expression, something that makes your pulse quicken.

you could call her out, demand to know why she’s looking at you like that, but you don’t.

you let the silence stretch, let the weight of her stare settle into your bones.

she stands slowly, wiping her hands on her jeans, leaving faint smudges of soap suds.

the distance between you feels charged, like the air before a storm.

you’re the daughter of the man who owns this city, everyone in town knows your name, your face, your power.

people don’t look at you like this.

not with such unguarded intensity.

but ellie does.

and it’s unraveling you in ways you didn’t expect.

you take a step down the stairs, your movements deliberate, testing the waters.

her eyes follow you, unwavering, though her jaw tightens slightly, like she’s bracing herself.

you pause, one hand resting on the banister, your body angled toward her.

the space between you is still vast, but it feels like nothing at all.

you can see the faint flush creeping up her neck, the way her fingers flex at her sides, like she’s fighting the urge to move closer.

or maybe to run.

“ellien” you say, your voice low, testing the sound of her name on your tongue.

it’s the first time you’ve spoken to her directly, and her reaction is immediate, her breath catches, her shoulders stiffen, but her eyes don’t leave yours.

they’re darker, pupils wide, and you swear you can see the pulse jumping at the base of her throat.

“yes, ma’am?” her voice is rougher than you expected, a little husky, and the formal address lands strangely, like it doesn’t belong in this moment.

it’s polite, deferential, but there’s an edge to it, a challenge hidden in the way she says it.

like she knows you’re untouchable, but she’s daring to push anyway.

you don’t answer right away.

instead, you tilt your head, letting your gaze roam over her, her faint scar cutting through her eyebrow, the freckles scattered across her nose.

she shifts under your scrutiny, but she doesn’t break eye contact.

the tension is a living thing now, coiling tighter with every second that passes.

you could step closer.

you could tell her to get back to work.

you could do anything, and she’d have to listen, because of who you are, because of the power your name carries.

but that’s not what you want.

not really.

the grandfather clock in the corner ticks loudly, each second stretching the moment thinner.

ellie’s lips part again, and for a fleeting second, you think she might say something to break the silence.

but she doesn’t.

she just watches you, waiting, her eyes burning with something you can’t quite decipher but can’t look away from either.

you take another step down.

the gap between you shrinks, and the air feels hotter, heavier, like it’s pressing against your skin.

her fingers twitch, and you wonder what it would feel like if she reached out, if she closed the distance.

you wonder if she’s thinking the same thing.

the tension snaps like a taut string when your father’s voice booms through the house, warm and commanding.

“little doll! im off to work, come see me!” his words echo up the staircase, pulling you out of the charged moment with ellie.

your head turns instinctively toward the sound, but before you move, you glance back at her.

ellie’s still standing there, rag clutched loosely in her hand, her eyes locked on you.

the intensity in her gaze hasn’t faltered, but theres a flicker of disappointment, maybe, or frustration, like she knows this moment is slipping away.

her lips press into a thin line, and for a split second, you think she might step forward, say something, anything, to hold onto whatever this is.

but she doesn’t.

she just watches, her chest rising and falling a little too quickly, the flush on her neck still betraying her.

you hold her stare for a beat longer than you should, your own pulse hammering in your ears.

there’s a pull in your chest, an urge to stay, to see how far this unspoken thing can go.

but your father’s voice lingers, a reminder of who you are, of the world you belong to.

you turn away, the motion feeling heavier than it should, and start down the rest of the stairs.

your fingers tighten around the banister, grounding yourself as you cross the foyer, your polished shoes clicking against the marble.

your father’s waiting in the grand entryway, his tailored coat draped over one arm, his briefcase in hand.

he’s a towering figure, the man who owns this city, his presence filling the room with effortless authority.

his smile is wide and fond as he sees you approach, oblivious to the storm of tension you’re leaving behind.

“there’s my girl.” he says, pulling you into a quick, familiar hug.

“ill be gone a week this time, business in the capital, keep things in order here, yeah?” you nod, forcing a smile.

your father’s driver opens the door, and he’s gone in a flurry of instructions and the clink of his watch against his cufflinks.

a huff escapes your lips, the sound swallowed by the vast emptiness of the estate.

the loneliness creeps in, familiar and heavy, settling into your bones like the chill of the early morning.

he’s gone for a week, and while that should feel like freedom, it only amplifies the quiet, the way the house seems to hold its breath without him.

you pull your blazer tighter around you, the fabric doing little to ward off the feeling, and turn back inside.

the heavy door shuts behind you with a soft thud, the warmth of the foyer wrapping around you but doing nothing to thaw the restlessness stirring in your chest.

you pause, your eyes sweeping the space, and there she is ellie, standing near the base of the staircase, her cleaning supplies neatly packed away in a bucket at her feet.

she’s done for the morning, it seems, her flannel sleeves rolled up to her elbows, revealing the faint outline of a tattoo peeking out from under the fabric.

her auburn hair is still tied back, but a few more strands have slipped free, catching the light filtering through the tall windows.

she doesn’t notice you at first, her head tilted slightly as she wipes her hands on a rag, her movements slow and methodical.

the sight of her, so at ease in a space that feels too big for you today, pulls you toward her almost against your will.

the boredom, the loneliness, the lingering heat of her earlier stare, it all collides, pushing you to close the distance.

“ellie.” you say, your voice cutting through the quiet.

her head snaps up, and there it is again, that sharp, searching look in her green eyes, the one that makes your pulse skip.

she straightens, tossing the rag into the bucket, and you catch the faintest flicker of surprise in her expression before it smooths into something neutral, respectful.

“ma’am?” she replies, her voice low and rough, the word carrying that same undercurrent of defiance you heard earlier.

it’s polite, but it feels like she’s testing the boundaries, seeing how you’ll react.

you take a step closer, your boots clicking softly against the marble, and gesture vaguely toward the foyer.

“you’re done already? you’re quick.” she shrugs, a small, almost imperceptible movement, but her eyes don’t leave yours.

“not much to do today, place was already pretty spotless.” there’s a pause, and then, quieter.

“figured i’d get it done before you needed the space.” you nod, but the silence that follows feels too heavy, too loaded.

the boredom gnaws at you, and the idea of retreating to your study or wandering the empty halls alone is unbearable.

you tilt your head, studying her, the scar on her brow, the freckles dusting her cheeks, the way her hands flex slightly at her sides, like she’s not sure what to do with them now that she’s not working.

she’s older than you, you realize, though you’re not sure by how much.

there’s a steadiness to her, a quiet confidence that feels out of place for someone in her position, and it intrigues you.

“how old are you, ellie?” you ask, the question slipping out before you can overthink it.

it’s a simple enough start, something to break the monotony, to keep her here a little longer.

her brows lift slightly, like she wasn’t expecting you to care about something so mundane.

she shifts her weight, leaning against the banister, and the movement is casual, almost too relaxed for someone speaking to the boss’s daughter.

“twenty-three.” she says, her tone even, but there’s a spark in her eyes, like she’s curious about why you’re asking.

“you?”The question catches you off guard, no one asks you things like that, not so directly.

“nineteen.” she nods, and you swear you see the corner of her mouth twitch, like she’s holding back a smile.

“young to be running a place like this.” she says, her voice careful but laced with teasing.“i don’t run it.”

you say, a little too quickly, your tone sharper than you intended.

“my father does... i just… keep things in order when he’s gone.” her eyes flicker over you, taking your posture, the way you’re standing just a little too stiffly.

“could’ve fooled me.” she murmurs, and the words feel like they carry more weight than they should, like she sees more than you want her to.

the air between you shifts, the tension from earlier creeping back in, slow and deliberate.

you should walk away, go back to your study, let her get back to whatever she does when she’s not working.

but you don’t.

instead, you take another step closer, close enough now that you can see the faint sheen of sweat on her temple, the way her fingers curl slightly, like she’s fighting the urge to reach out or pull back.

“what’s it like?” you ask, your voice softer, conspiratorial.

“Working here, i mean.. in this house..in this town.” her expression shifts, something guarded flickering in her eyes, but she doesn’t look away.

“it’s… quiet..” she says after a moment, her voice low, like she’s choosing her words carefully.

“people don’t talk much, not to me, anyway, but i see things, hear things, your family’s got a lot of eyes on them.”

you feel a jolt, like her words have brushed against something raw.

she’s not wrong, everyone in this city watches you, waits for you to slip, to prove you’re more than just your father’s shadow.

but the way she says it, the way her eyes hold yours, makes you feel exposed in a way you’re not used to. “and what do you see?” you ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it, your voice barely above a whisper.

ellie’s gaze sharpens, and for a moment, you think she might deflect, might retreat into the deference she’s supposed to show.

but instead, she leans in just a fraction, her voice dropping to match yours.

“i see you,” she says, and the words land like a spark on dry tinder.

“not just the fancy clothes or the big house, you’re… different, like you’re waiting for something.” your breath catches, and the space between you feels impossibly small now, charged with something you can’t name but can’t ignore.

her eyes are locked on yours, unflinching, and you feel the weight of her words settle into you, heavy and warm.

you could step back, break the moment, remind her of the lines that separate you.

but you don’t.

you stand there, caught in the pull of her gaze, the loneliness you felt earlier dissolving into something sharper, something that feels dangerously alive.

──────────────────────────────

the second day without your father dawns quieter than the first, the sprawling house still cloaked in that heavy, expectant silence.

you’ve retreated to your art room, a sunlit space tucked away in the east wing, where canvases lean against walls and the air smells faintly of turpentine and dried paint.

it’s one of the few places in the mansion where you feel untethered, where the weight of your last name doesn’t press so hard.

today, you’re trying to paint yourself, a self-portrait, an attempt to capture the restlessness churning inside you.

the canvas stares back, half finished, your features rendered in soft, uncertain strokes.

it’s not right.

it’s not you.

you’re perched on a stool, wearing a loose, sleeveless dress that clings lightly to your frame, the neckline dipping lower than you’d wear in public, the hem riding up your thighs as you shift to adjust your brush.

the fabric feels like a rebellion against the polished blazers and tailored slacks you’re usually seen in, a small act of defiance in this too big house.

you’re so focused on the canvas, on the way the light hits your painted cheekbone, that you don’t hear the door creak open.

“knock knock.” ellie’s voice cuts through the quiet, low and teasing, pulling you out of your thoughts.

you turn, paintbrush still in hand, and there she is, leaning against the doorframe, her flannel unbuttoned at the collar, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

her auburn hair is half loose today, brushing her shoulders, and her green eyes flick from you to the canvas with a spark of curiosity.

you raise an eyebrow, trying to ignore the way your pulse jumps at her sudden presence.

“didn’t realize you were invited.” you say, but there’s no real bite in your tone.

you’re glad she’s here, even if you won’t admit it.

the boredom has been gnawing at you all morning, and her arrival feels like a gust of fresh air.

“figured I’d check on the boss lady.” she says, stepping into the room, her boots scuffing softly against the hardwood.

“see what you get up to when you’re not giving orders.” her eyes linger on you for a moment, catching the exposed curve of your collarbone, the way the dress hugs your thighs, before she glances at the canvas.

“that you?” you nod, setting the brush down and wiping your hands on a rag, smearing a streak of ochre across your knuckles.

“trying to be, not sure it’s working.” you tilt your head, studying the painting, then look back at her.

“what do you think?” ellie steps closer, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jeans, and you notice the way her gaze sharpens as she takes in the canvas.

her lips twitch, and for a second, you think she’s going to laugh.

she catches herself, but not fast enough.

a low, stifled chuckle escapes, and she covers her mouth with one hand, her eyes glinting with mischief.

you huff, crossing your arms, the motion pushing your cleavage up slightly, though you don’t notice.

“what’s so funny?” you demand, your voice edged with mock indignation.

“go on, say it.” she shakes her head, still fighting a grin.

“it’s… uh, it’s not bad,” she says, her voice betraying her amusement.

“just… doesn’t look much like you, too stiff, you’re not that…”

she gestures vaguely at the canvas, searching for the right word.

“posed.”

you roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips.

her honesty, blunt and unfiltered, is a stark contrast to the careful deference you’re used to from everyone else.

“fine, artist.” you say, tossing the rag onto the table and leaning back on the stool, your thighs shifting slightly, the dress riding up another inch.

“if you’re so good at it, why don’t you draw me?” ellie’s smirk falters for a split second, her eyes flicking to you, then away, like she’s suddenly aware of the challenge she’s walked into.

“me?” she says, pointing to herself, her voice a little higher than usual.

“draw me, let’s see if you can do better.” she hesitates, her gaze darting to the sketchbook, then back to you.

“alright.” she says, her voice dropping into that low, rough register that sends a shiver through you.

“but don’t blame me if it’s worse.” she crosses the room, picking up the sketchbook and pencil, and pulls a chair over to sit a few feet away, facing you.

you adjust your pose, leaning back slightly, one hand resting on the edge of the stool, the other brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

the dress shifts again, the neckline slipping lower, exposing the soft swell of your cleavage, the hem barely covering the tops of your thighs.

you don’t think much of it, you’re in your own space, after all, but ellie notices.

her eyes flick down, just for a moment, before she forces them back to the sketchbook, her jaw tightening.

she starts to sketch, her pencil moving in quick, precise strokes, but you can tell she’s struggling to focus.

her gaze keeps drifting to you, lingering on the curve of your neck, the exposed skin of your chest, the way your thighs press together as you shift.

each time, she catches herself, her cheeks flushing faintly, and she looks back at the paper, her strokes growing less confident.

“tou okay over there?” you ask, your voice teasing, but there’s a warmth to it, a curiosity you can’t suppress.

tou lean forward slightly, and the motion draws her eyes again, her pencil pausing mid line.

“yeah,” she says, too quickly, clearing her throat.

“just… trying to get the angles right.” but her voice is strained, and you can see the way her fingers grip the pencil a little too tightly, the way her eyes keep betraying her, darting to the soft lines of your body before she yanks them back to the page.

you tilt your head, a slow smile curling your lips as you realize what’s happening.

she’s distracted, undone by the sight of you, and the power of that knowledge sends a thrill through you.

you shift again, deliberately this time, letting one leg cross over the other, the dress riding up just enough to expose more of your thigh.

“take your time.” you say, your voice softer now, almost intimate.

“im not going anywhere.” ellie’s breath hitches, barely audible, and her eyes meet yours for a fleeting moment.

there’s that spark again, that raw, unguarded intensity that makes the air feel too small.

she doesn’t laugh this time.

she doesn’t even try to play it off.

she just stares, her pencil hovering over the sketchbook, and you can feel the tension coiling tighter, a thread stretched to its limit, waiting for one of you to pull it taut or let it snap.

time has slipped away, the minutes stretching into what feels like hours as ellie works, her pencil scratching softly against the sketchbook.

the sound is hypnotic, a quiet rhythm that lulls you into a drowsy haze.

you’re still perched on the stool, but your posture has softened, your body slumping slightly, your head tilting as your eyelids grow heavy.

the loose dress still clings to your frame, the low neckline and hiked up hem exposing your cleavage and thighs, but the earlier thrill of teasing her has dulled into a warm, sleepy haze.

you’re half-asleep, caught in that liminal space between awareness and dreams, the tension from earlier simmering beneath the surface but softened by exhaustion.

ellie’s voice breaks the quiet, low and a little hesitant

“done.” the word pulls you back, your eyes fluttering open as you blink away the fog.

you straighten slowly, stretching your arms above your head, the motion tugging the dress even higher on your thighs.

you don’t miss the way her eyes flicker down, just for a second, before she busies herself with the sketchbook, her fingers smudging the edges of the page as if to distract herself.

you slide off the stool, your bare feet brushing the cool floor, and cross the short distance to where she’s sitting.

“let’s see it.” you say, your voice still thick with sleep, but there’s a spark of curiosity there, a need to know what she’s captured.

ellie hesitates, her grip on the sketchbook tightening for a moment before she relents, flipping it around to show you.

you lean in, close enough to catch the faint scent of soap and something earthier on her, like pine or cedar.

your eyes fall on the drawing, and for a moment, you’re silent, caught off guard by what you see.

it’s good.

really good.

the lines are confident, capturing the soft curve of your jaw, the tilt of your head, the way your hair falls in loose waves.

she’s drawn you with a kind of raw honesty, your sleepy eyes, the slight parting of your lips, the relaxed slump of your shoulders.

the way she’s shaded the hollow of your throat, the delicate lines of your collarbone, the suggestion of your cleavage, it’s not overt, not crude, but it’s intimate, like she couldn’t help but linger on those details.

the dress is there, clinging to your form, the hem high on your thighs, and she’s captured the vulnerability of it, the way you look both powerful and exposed.

it’s not just a drawing of you, it’s how she sees you.

you glance up at her, and she’s watching you, her expression unreadable but her eyes betraying a quiet intensity.

her cheeks are faintly flushed, and her fingers twitch against the sketchbook, like she’s bracing for your reaction.

the air feels thick again, that familiar tension coiling back to life, sharper now because of the drawing, because of what it reveals about how she’s been looking at you all this time.

“not bad.” you say, your voice softer than you mean it to be, a teasing lilt creeping in despite the way your heart hammers.

“didn’t think you had it in you.” her lips quirk into a half smile, but it’s strained, like she’s trying to play it cool and failing.

“told you.” she says, her voice rough, her eyes flick to the drawing, then back to you, and for a moment, you think she might say something more, something that would tip this moment over the edge.

but she doesn’t.

she just holds your gaze, her breath steady but shallow, waiting.

you step back, just enough to break the spell, but the heat of her stare lingers on your skin.

your dress feels too thin, your body too exposed, and yet you don’t move to cover yourself.

instead, you tilt your head, letting a slow smile curl your lips.

“you should keep it.” you say, nodding toward the sketchbook.

“might be worth something someday.” ellie’s eyes widen, just a fraction, and then she laughs, a low, nervous sound that makes your chest tighten.

“yeah, right.” she mutters, but she doesn’t tear the page out or close the book.

she just sits there, the sketchbook still open, the drawing of you staring up at both of you like a secret neither of you is ready to name.

the tension hums between you, alive and electric, and you know this moment is a turning point, one you could push, one you could pull back from.

─────────────────────────────

the night has crept in too quickly, the hours slipping through your fingers like sand.

outside, the wind howls, rattling the tall windows of the mansion and sending a chill through the walls that no amount of heat can fully banish.

the cold air seeps into your bones, amplifying the loneliness that’s been gnawing at you since your father left.

the house feels too big, too empty, its grandeur a hollow reminder of your isolation.

you prepare for bed mechanically, slipping into a soft silk nightgown that brushes against your skin, its delicate straps and short hem offering little warmth against the chill.

you pull the heavy duvet over you, curling into the center of your oversized bed, but the loneliness clings tighter than the cold.

the darkness of your room feels oppressive, the shadows pooling in the corners like they’re watching you.

you close your eyes, willing sleep to come, sleep finally claims you, but it’s not peaceful.

a nightmare claws its way in, vivid and suffocating, you’re running through the house, but the halls stretch endlessly, doors vanishing as you reach for them.

something’s chasing you, formless, relentless, and your father’s voice echoes, calling you “little doll” but twisted, mocking.

you stumble, your nightgown catching on something sharp, and the cold air burns your skin as you fall into darkness, alone, trapped.

a scream tears from your throat, muffled by the pillow as you jolt awake, your heart pounding so hard it hurts.

your breaths come in shallow gasps, the room spinning as you clutch the duvet, trying to anchor yourself.

the nightmare’s grip lingers, your skin clammy, your body trembling.

the silence of the house is deafening, broken only by the faint creak of the floorboards outside your door.

then, a soft knock.

“hey… you okay in there?” ellie’s voice, low and cautious, cuts through the haze of fear.

the door creaks open before you can respond, and she steps inside, her silhouette framed by the dim light spilling in from the hallway.

she’s in a loose t-shirt and sweatpants, her hair messy like she’s been roused from sleep, but her eyes are alert, scanning the room before settling on you.

you sit up, pulling the duvet higher to cover yourself, suddenly hyper aware of the thin nightgown, the way it clings to your chest and leaves your shoulders bare.

“i’m fine.” you say, but your voice shakes, betraying you.

you swipe at your damp cheeks, embarrassed by the tears you didn’t realize were there.

“just… bad dream.” ellie hesitates in the doorway, one hand gripping the frame, her gaze softening as she takes you in.

“sounded like more than just a bad dream” she says, her voice gentle but firm, like she’s not buying your attempt to brush it off.

she steps closer, her bare feet silent on the rug, and the room feels smaller with her in it, the air charged with a quiet intensity.

“you sure you’re okay?” you want to snap back, to reclaim the armor you wear so easily during the day, but the nightmare’s aftershocks are still rippling through you, and her presence is oddly grounding.

you shake your head, a small, reluctant admission.

“it’s stupid,” you mutter, looking away, your fingers twisting the edge of the duvet.

“i just… i don’t like being alone in this house sometimes.” ellie’s quiet for a moment, and you half-expect her to leave, to mutter something polite and retreat back to the staff quarters.

but she doesn’t.

instead, she moves to the edge of your bed, sitting down carefully, keeping a respectful distance but close enough that you can feel the warmth of her presence.

“not stupid.” she says, her voice low, almost a murmur.

“this place is huge, creepy as hell at night, i’d get spooked too.”

you glance at her, searching for judgment, but there’s none in her expression.

her green eyes are steady, warm, and there’s a faint curve to her lips.

“you don’t have to stay.” you say, though the words feel hollow, like you’re testing her.

you don’t want her to go, not really, not with the cold and the loneliness still pressing in.

she tilts her head, studying you, and there’s that spark in her eyes again, the one that makes your pulse quicken.

“i’m not goin’ anywhere unless you tell me to.” she says, her voice rough but sincere.

her gaze flickers over you, taking in the way you’re curled up, the thin straps of your nightgown, the way your hair falls messily over your shoulders.

it’s not blatant, but it’s enough to make your skin prickle, to remind you of the power you felt earlier when you caught her staring.

the room is quiet again, save for the faint howl of the wind outside, and the space between you feels heavy.

you could send her away, retreat back into the safety of your role, your name.

or you could lean into this, let the tension unravel, see where it takes you.

“sleep next to me.” your voice trembles, a mix of lingering fear from the nightmare and the aching loneliness that’s been eating at you.

you’re still curled under the duvet, the silk nightgown clinging to your skin, your heart pounding as you wait for ellie’s response.

she freezes, her silhouette still on the edge of your bed, her green eyes catching the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains.

for a moment, you think she’ll say no, that she’ll retreat back to the safety of her role, the hired help who shouldn’t cross this line.

but then she nods, her voice low and steady.

“yeah, okay.” ellie shifts, kicking off her boots and sliding onto the bed, keeping a careful distance, a friendly, respectful gap that feels like a chasm despite the tension crackling between you.

she lies on her back, one arm tucked behind her head, the other resting on her stomach, her t shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin above her sweatpants.

the bed is massive, but her presence makes it feel impossibly small, every rustle of the sheets amplifying the heat building in your chest.

you try to close your eyes, to focus on the steady rhythm of her breathing beside you, but sleep won’t come.

the nightmare’s shadow lingers, and so does the memory of her drawing, her gaze, the way she looked at you like you were more than just the boss’s daughter.

the silence stretches, heavy with unspoken words, and you can feel her awake beside you, the air thick with anticipation.

you turn your head, and your breath catches.

she’s already looking at you, her eyes glinting in the dark, wide and unblinking, like she’s been watching you this whole time.

the intensity in her gaze pins you in place, stripping away the pretense, the distance.

you hold her stare, your pulse hammering, the space between you shrinking with every second that passes.

beither of you speaks, but the pull is undeniable, a current dragging you closer.

then, ellie moves.

it’s slow at first, deliberate, like she’s giving you a chance to pull back.

but you don’t.

she shifts closer, her body turning toward you, her hand brushing against your arm under the duvet, sending a shiver through you.

her face is inches from yours now, her breath warm against your lips, and you can see the question in her eyes, the hesitation.

you don’t give her time to overthink it.

you lean in, and she meets you halfway, her lips crashing into yours with a hunger that steals your breath.

the kiss is deep, urgent, her mouth hot and insistent, tasting faintly of mint and something uniquely her.

her hand cups the back of your neck, pulling you closer, her fingers tangling in your hair as she presses herself against you.

the kiss swallows the tension, replacing it with a raw, desperate need that’s been building since the moment you caught her staring.

ellie pulls back just enough to look at you, her eyes dark with want, her chest heaving.

“you sure?” she rasps, her voice rough, like she’s fighting to keep control.

you nod, your own voice failing you, and that’s all she needs.

she surges forward, kissing you harder, her tongue sweeping into your mouth, claiming you.

her hands roam, sliding under the hem of your nightgown, her calloused fingers grazing the soft skin of your thighs, making you gasp into her mouth.

she’s not gentle, but there’s a purpose to her touch, a reverence in the way she explores you, like she’s been imagining this for days.

she pushes you onto your back, straddling your hips, her weight grounding you as she kisses down your neck, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin above your collarbone.

your nightgown is bunched up around your waist now, and she pauses, her eyes raking over you, taking in the exposed skin, the way your chest rises and falls.

“fuck.” she mutters under her breath, almost to herself, and the raw desire in her voice sends a pulse of heat through you.

her mouth is on you again, but this time it’s different, hungrier, rougher.

she spits into her hand, her movements deliberate, and you feel the slick warmth of her fingers as they slide between your thighs, teasing you open.

you moan, the sound swallowed by the dark, and she smirks against your skin, her fingers circling your clit with a precision that makes your hips buck.

“so fuckin’ wet,” she murmurs, her voice low and filthy, and you can’t help the whimper that escapes you.

she doesn’t tease for long.

her fingers slip inside you, two at first, stretching you with a slow, deliberate rhythm that has you arching into her touch.

she’s relentless, curling her fingers just right, her thumb pressing against your clit in time with her thrusts.

the bed creaks under you, the sound mingling with your gasps, the wet slick of her fingers, her low, ragged breathing.

she’s fucking you like she means it, like she’s staking a claim, and you’re helpless beneath her, your body responding to every touch, every thrust.

her other hand grips your thigh, spreading you wider, and she leans down, spitting directly onto your cunt, the act so brazen it shocks you into another moan.

the added slickness makes her fingers glide faster, rougher, and you’re unraveling, the coil in your core tightening with every second.

she’s watching you, her eyes locked on your face, drinking in every twitch, every gasp, like she’s memorizing you.

“ellie!” you choke out, your voice breaking, and her pace quickens, her fingers driving deeper, harder.

you’re close, teetering on the edge, and in the haze of it all, the words spill out, raw and unfiltered.

“i- love you.”Her movements falter for a split second, her eyes widening, a flash of shock, fear, maybe disbelief, crossing her face.

“what? no…” she says, her voice rough, almost panicked, but she doesn’t stop.

if anything, she fucks you harder, her fingers relentless, her lips crashing back to yours to silence you, to drown out the weight of your words.

tou don’t care.

you’re too far gone, your body chasing release, your hands clawing at her shoulders, pulling her closer.

the orgasm hits you like a wave, crashing through you, your body shuddering as you cry out, your nails digging into her skin.

ellie keeps going, drawing it out, her fingers slowing but not stopping until you’re trembling, oversensitive and gasping beneath her.

she finally pulls back, her hand slick and glistening, her chest heaving as she looks down at you, her expression unreadable.

you’re still catching your breath, your body buzzing, the room spinning.

the weight of what you said hangs between you, heavy and unresolved, but she doesn’t say anything else.

she just watches you, her eyes dark, her lips parted, like she’s caught between running and staying.

the cold air feels sharper now, the loneliness you felt earlier banished but replaced with something new—something fragile, something dangerous. You don’t know what she’s thinking, but you know this moment has changed everything.

your heart is still racing, your body trembling in the aftermath of your release, the air thick with the weight of your confession.

the words “i love you” hang between you like a live wire, raw and exposed, and you’re scrambling to take them back, to undo the vulnerability you’ve just laid bare.

“i-im sorry, i didn’t know why i said that—” you stammer, your voice shaky, your cheeks burning as you try to meet ellie’s gaze.

she’s still hovering above you, her t shirt rumpled, her hair a mess, her eyes dark and unreadable.

her chest heaves, her slick fingers flexing at her side like she’s trying to ground herself.

for a moment, you think she might address it, might confront the words you let slip, but instead...

“sit on my face.” she says, her voice low and commanding, rough with desire.

the bluntness of it steals your breath, your apology dissolving into a startled gasp.

her eyes lock on yours, unyielding, daring you to hesitate, to shy away.

there’s no room for shame in her tone, no space for the awkwardness you feel creeping in, just raw, unfiltered want.

you blink, your mind catching up to her words, your body already responding despite the nervous flutter in your chest.

“w-what?” you manage, but it’s weak, more reflex than resistance.

the idea sends a fresh wave of heat through you, your thighs clenching instinctively, and she notices, her smirk widening.

“you heard me.” she says, shifting to lie back on the bed, her hands resting casually behind her head, her posture all confidence, like she’s already picturing you above her.

“c’mere. i’m not done with you.” her voice is a challenge, a pull you can’t resist, and the way she’s looking at you, like you’re hers, like she’s claiming every inch of you, makes your pulse pound.

you hesitate for a heartbeat, the vulnerability of your earlier confession still stinging, but the heat in her gaze, the way her tongue darts out to wet her lips, drowns it out.

you want this.

you want her.

slowly, you move, climbing over her, your nightgown still bunched around your hips, your skin flushed and sensitive from her earlier touch.

her hands find your thighs as you position yourself, guiding you, her fingers digging into your skin with just enough pressure to make you shiver.

you hover above her face, your breath hitching, suddenly hyper aware of every detail, her freckles, the scar cutting through her eyebrow, the way her eyes burn with anticipation.

“ellie…” you murmur, half a question, half a plea, but she doesn’t give you time to second guess.

“down.” she says, her voice a growl, and she pulls you closer, her strength surprising you as she guides you until you’re straddling her face, your thighs trembling on either side of her head.

the first brush of her mouth against you is electric, a jolt that makes you gasp, your hands flying to the headboard for balance.

her tongue is relentless, lapping at you with a hunger that feels like it’s unraveling you from the inside out, her hands gripping your hips to keep you exactly where she wants you.

you’re a mess of gasps and moans, your body moving instinctively, grinding against her mouth as she works you with a precision that’s almost brutal.

she’s not gentle, she’s devouring you, spitting against your clit before sucking it hard, the wet heat of her mouth driving you higher, faster.

your thighs shake, your nails dig into the wood of the headboard, and the tension from earlier, the unspoken weight of your words, dissolves into pure sensation.

“fuck, ellie!” you whimper, your voice breaking, and you feel her groan against you, the vibration sending another shockwave through your core.

she’s relentless, her tongue circling, her lips closing around you, her hands urging you to move, to take what you need.

the room spins, the cold air forgotten, the loneliness banished by the heat of her mouth, the strength of her grip.

you’re close again, too fast, the coil in your core tightening until it’s unbearable.

your hips buck, and she doubles down, her tongue plunging deeper, her hands bruising your thighs as she holds you in place.

the release hits you like a storm, a cry tearing from your throat as you come, your body shuddering above her, waves of pleasure crashing through you until you’re gasping, boneless, clinging to the headboard to stay upright.

she doesn’t stop, not immediately, her tongue slowing but still teasing, drawing out every aftershock until you’re whimpering, oversensitive and trembling.

finally, she pulls back, her lips glistening, her eyes half lidded and smug as she looks up at you.

you slide off her, collapsing onto the bed beside her, your chest heaving, your mind blank except for the lingering buzz of your orgasm.

the silence returns, but it’s different now, less heavy, more charged.

she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, her breathing still uneven, and glances at you, her expression unreadable but softer than before.

the weight of your earlier confession lingers, unaddressed, but for now, it’s buried under the raw intensity of what just happened.

you don’t know what this means, what tomorrow will bring, but as you catch her eye, you know one thing for certain.

the two of you are not finished.

#ellie smut #tlou ellie #ellie x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie willams x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams tlou x reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie x fem reader #wlw #lesbian #wlw smut #꣑ৎ e. williams ── written by kai

754 notes · View notes

sleepyhoon · 6 months ago

Text

BAJA BLAST - S.JY

pairing. religious stepbro!jake x fem reader genre. drabble, porn w plot warnings. virgin perv jake, stepcest, religious themes, brief mention of alcoholism & death word count. 3.5k smut tags. degradation, dry humping (i guess…), handjob, jake sucks reader’s tits thru her shirt, p in v for like 30 seconds.

a/n. hmm trying to get into darker themes to expand my genres a bit more … not too sure how i feel abt it yet but it was interesting to explore a new trope! i understand darker tropes aren’t for everyone sooo feel free to skip over if this isn’t for you!! <3

———

“You’re disgusting, and you’re not gonna find a God-fearing husband if you keep parading yourself like a slut.”

Jake pries your legs open a little wider, further situating himself between your thighs as he smears his precum on the core of your panties. He glances up at you when you scoff, knees digging into the mattress as he drags the tip of his cock along your clothed cunt. “What?” he sneers, raising a brow at you.

“You have a girlfriend and you’re getting yourself off between someone else’s legs; you’re the slut,” Jake’s cock twitches in the palm of his hand at your insult, you take a mental note of this, “and, I don’t even want a God-fearing husband, whatever that is.”

“It means a religious husband, genius. None of them probably want you anyway, so the feeling is mutual.”

Degrading as it may be, this is the shit that gets Jake off; certainly not his prude, preacher’s daughter girlfriend who only allows him to kiss her for a few seconds at a time, because anything longer than that could be “too tempting”.

He didn’t hate Chaeyoung in the slightest, but he likely wouldn’t have made all that effort to court her had he known she was saving herself for marriage in every aspect. No lingering touches, no suggestive comments, and certainly no racy photos; the poor boy would’ve been fine with her sitting on his lap every now and then if it meant he’d get to jerk off from the weight of someone on top of him.

Much like Chaeyoung, Jake was on the treacherous path of saving himself for marriage, but even he allowed himself a bit of wiggle room. Saving himself entirely for marriage was beyond unrealistic, but he was willing to at least avoid shoving his dick in someone before there was a ring on his finger if it meant he could get off in other ways.

Jake didn’t have the heart to break up with Chaeyoung just because she wanted to stay pure until marriage, but he wasn’t planning on waiting that long to finally get his dick wet. Besides, breaking up with the preacher’s daughter for seemingly no reason was a bad look, especially considering that Jake was the youth pastor at the same exact church.

Aside from the pastor and his wife, Jake and Chaeyoung were the only couple treated as royalty in their church community. They were seen as devoted followers of Christ whilst showcasing what an appropriate, God-fearing, young, Christian couple should look like. From the outside looking in (or even just looking from his girlfriend’s perspective), they truly did resemble a perfect couple.

How Jake got into jerking off between his step-sister’s thighs was a long story.

His original plan was to keep his distance when he first met you a little over a year ago, a few months before his father was preparing to marry your mother. Jake didn’t take kindly to you at first, bewildered on how such a respectful, faith-driven woman such as your mother could produce a daughter the exact opposite of her. Your outfits were entirely too skimpy, you had a horrible attitude, and you had tattoos. In Jake’s eyes, you were the definition of sin.

And that’s exactly why he felt disgusted with himself when he realized he was desperately attracted to you.

It was horrible, the countless nights he’d spent jerking himself off to the thought of you sinking down on his cock and riding him until he passed out. He’s certain his stamina is low and would probably finish in under five minutes, but it doesn’t hurt to dream; and that he does.

Until you showed up to his apartment one Monday morning with a large Baja Blast from Taco Bell and a proposition.

“Taco Bell at ten in the morning, seriously?”

You hadn’t greeted him with a “Good morning!” or “Hey, how are you?” and instead jumped the gun and went straight into, “Hey, you know how my dad died?”

Jake held his front door open, running a hand through his messy, morning hair in confusion as he responded, “Wasn’t it from, like, alcoholism?”

You rolled your eyes at him, “Yeah, but I meant like… you know that he’s dead, right? Also, Taco Bell serves breakfast, genius.”

“YN, it’s too early for this.” Jake says with a frustrated sigh, prepared to close the door in your face because it’s way too early to deal with your bullshit.

“I’m getting his inheritance from my grandmother, a huge one.”

Jake tried his best at attempting to hide the look of shock on his face. From his knowledge, your grandparents were loaded; practically rolling in money since the moment they were born. Having your father’s inheritance transferred to you was a blessing, Jake didn’t even want to imagine the useless crap you’d waste that money on.

“Congrats, did you come here to rub it in my face?”

You sighed, slightly embarrassed and a little defeated knowing you’d need Jake’s help. You felt entirely guilty for even coming to him in the first place, the two of you weren’t close and hardly spoke outside of gatherings, the only reason you showed up to his apartment was because you didn’t have his phone number; only his address you had to scroll in your GPS to find from the one time you drove him home.

“No, I’m not here to brag. I need your help.”

Jake hesitantly opened his door wider, allowing you into his home that you nervously pace around in. “Help with what?” he asked, locking the door behind him.

“I don’t get the inheritance until after my grandma dies.”

“YN, are you crazy?! I am not helping you kill your grandmother!”

“What?! Jake, no! God, just let me finish.” An awkward beat of silence passed before you continued, “She says I’m not getting the inheritance unless I get into religion and be involved in church.”

“Yeah, can’t help with that.” Jake took a moment to look you up and down, eyes focusing on the fresh tattoo right under your knee, “You’re gonna need a miracle.”

You followed behind Jake like a helpless puppy as he entered his kitchen, nervously toying with your fingers as you set your drink down on the kitchen counter, “I know we aren’t really close, and that’s partially my fault, but I’d really appreciate it if you could help me out with this.”

“With what, YN? You haven’t said what you’d need me to do.”

“Just, every so often, tell my family that I’m involved in church and help out. Shit like that.”

Jake chuckled, powering on his Nespresso, “As if that’s gonna work. You know your family goes to church, right? What are they gonna think if they don’t see you there but I’m telling them you showed up? They’d see right through it.”

“They don’t go every Sunday! I’ll just check ahead of time and go with them whenever they do go, and on the days they don’t go you’d be able to cover for me.”

Jake sighed with a shake of his head, reaching into his cabinet to retrieve a coffee mug, “It’s not just Sunday service, YN. They also go to bible study and help plan church events. Your family is very involved in the community.”

“Again, they don’t attend every event, right? I’ll go when they go and you cover when I can’t! And, besides, it’s not like they’re expecting me to go to every single event; as long as they think I’m putting in effort I’ll be fine.”

You seemed proud of yourself and your plan, which only annoyed your step-brother even further, because you clearly hadn’t thought this through.

“What’s in it for me?”

You paused, quirking a brow at Jake, “What do you mean?”

“We barely even know each other and you expect me to do this big favor for you for free? Be realistic.”

“Well, what do you want?”

“I want…half of the inheritance.”

“Jake, even you know that’s too much.”

Yeah, maybe he was being a little petty, but it was your own fault for asking for a favor like this and not offering him anything in return. He may not know the exact amount of your inheritance, but based on your reaction, it had to be a life changing amount of money; enough to give him a portion of.

“I’d rather not say what the exact amount is,” you start, looking down at your sneakers, “but it’s a lot, and I’m definitely willing to give you a fraction of it if you help me out. Just not half.”

“How much?”

“For you? Fifty-thousand.”

Jake dropped the ceramic mug to the ground, eyes widening as the cup broke and scattered across the kitchen floor. You flinched, jumping back on instinct while he remained frozen in place. “Fifty-thousand dollars?”

You wanted to tell him it’s truly nothing compared to the amount you’d have leftover, and that you’d offer him more if he insisted on it, but fifty-thousand seems to be enough for him. Instead, you nodded, carefully backing into the living room to avoid accidentally stepping on the ceramic shards.

“Does that work?”

It was too late to pretend your offer wasn’t more than he’d been expecting, but still, Jake had no reason to believe you’d hold up to your end of the deal; even if giving him fifty-thousand dollars would hardly make a dent in what you’d be receiving.

Jake shook his head, “I don’t know you, how can I trust you’ll actually give it to me?”

“You can’t just take my word?”

“The only word I take is the word of God.”

You should’ve seen that one coming.

Jake continued, “I want a down payment that I can receive now; something so that if you don’t pay me, I still got something out of our agreement.”

Intrigued, and a little frightened, you tilted your head at him, “Money?”

Jake shrugged in response, carefully stepping over the shards of ceramic, “Doesn’t have to be, your mom says you don’t have much of it.”

“I have money!”

Jake rolled his eyes, retrieving a broom and dustpan from the hallway closet, “Right, because your part-time barista job pays so much.”

You let out an exasperated sigh, “I really don’t know what else to offer you.”

“Better think of something or you’re on your own.”

The sound of ceramic clicking together as Jake cleans filled the silence, leaving you to brainstorm on what he would accept as a down payment offer. Money wasn’t an option, and you didn’t know enough about Jake’s interests to offer him some sort of bribe.

However, Jake is a man. Yes, a religious one, but still a man. If you’re lucky enough, there’s one thing you could offer that no man, not even Jake, would pass up.

“Chaeyoung is saving herself for marriage, right?”

Jake paused, suspiciously glancing at you over his shoulder, “I don’t see how that’s any of your business, but yes.”

You nodded, “Are you?”

“Again, not your business, but yes.”

“What about loopholes?”

Jake fully turned around this time, narrowing his eyes at you, “YN, where are you going with this?”

You shrugged, defensively raising your hands, “What if I was your loophole? Like, I help you get off however you want without actually having sex, so it won’t count as sinning. And, trust me, I won’t tell anyone.”

Jesus Christ, you seriously wanted the inheritance that bad?

Jake immediately wanted to accept the offer and drag you straight into his room, but he couldn’t; he had to be nonchalant about this or risk you revoking your suggestion.

He faked a look of disgust, a confused, twisted snarl on his face as he responded, “But, you’re my step-sister; isn’t that wrong?”

You shrugged, “I don’t care if you don’t. Plus, we’re adults and we barely even know each other, it’s not like our parents married years ago and we grew up as siblings.”

Fair point, not that Jake needed any further convincing.

“I’m not offering you this again, by the way. You either accept it now or you’ll never get the chance again,” you warn Jake, taking a seat down on the edge of his couch.

After a few long moments of pretending to weigh his options, Jake extended the end of the broomstick in your direction, slowly using the handle of it to lift your skirt. You didn’t react, your eyes following the edge of the broomstick as Jake continued his actions. He lowered his head slightly, confused as to why he couldn’t see your panties, until he realized.

You weren’t wearing any.

He cleared his throat, quickly pulling the broom away before leaning it up against the wall. “Sure, whatever, I guess. As long as you don’t tell anyone.”

Easiest deal of his life.

Jake made sure you kept to your end of the deal, and maybe took some advantage of it.

The first incident occurred a few weeks after the agreement, when Jake had to cover for you upon missing Sunday service due to you being hungover.

“She was up all night designing flyers for the coat drive next week,” Jake addressed your mother’s concerns, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder, “she really wanted to come to today’s service, but I told her she should get some rest.”

Your mother clutched her heart, staring up at Jake in complete awe, “YN? My YN?”

Jake nodded, a sheepish grin on his face as he responded, “The one and only.”

Your mother was skeptical, tilting her head at her stepson with her brows furrowed, “Just doesn’t sound like something she would do, unless there was something in it for her, of course. You’re not covering for her, are you?”

Jake faked a laugh, “The only thing YN is covered in is the blood of Jesus Christ.”

…And apparently Jake’s cum only a few hours later.

“…Now, guess who’s stuck designing flyers for the coat drive? Me!”

“I told you I would do it, you little brat,” your fist tightens around Jake’s clothed cock and he groans, squeezing his eyes shut at the new, uncomfortable, yet pleasant sensation.

You were slightly off-put and a little humored when Jake showed up to your apartment requesting, “A handjob but I, like, keep my boxers on. Like, just do it through my clothes.”

“Wouldn’t you rather…have your boxers off?”

“Are you nuts? I’m not letting you touch me,” he’d said, unbuttoning his dress pants as he lowered himself on your mattress.

You obliged his request, awkwardly rubbing him through his boxers, watching as his facial expressions changed so quickly and constantly. His brows would furrow then relax, lips would twitch before sinking his teeth in them, all while he tried his best not to finish embarrassingly quick.

Which didn’t work.

Jake was already on the edge of cumming when you lowered your head down to his groin, placing a small peck against the head of his clothed cock, the material sticky and wet from his precum.

His body jolts at the touch, arching off the mattress with swears spewing from his lips as his orgasm washed over him. He shoves his boxers down in record time, grinning to himself when you groan in agony when his cum lands on your cheek.

Had you been literally anyone else, maybe Jake would’ve felt bad that he came so quickly and didn’t have the energy nor interest to give you anything in return; but he didn’t. This was an agreement, and as long as the two of you held to both your ends of the deal, there was nothing to feel bad about. He didn’t owe you anything else.

Surprisingly enough, the arrangements weren’t happening as frequently as Jake hoped they would.

You immersed yourself into the church community, showing up to Sunday Worship and Bible Study as if it were a second nature. Jake should be proud, really, that you’re serious about being devoted; even if it was under the premise of obtaining your father’s inheritance, but he’s pissed.

He waited weeks for you to slip up, intentionally scheduling a Bible Study session or some church fundraiser at a time where he knows you’ll be busy and have no choice to skip, but you show up.

To every fucking event. Until you don’t.

Your younger cousin was getting baptized and you missed it, and if it weren’t for Jake making up some lame excuse and covering for your ass, your mother would’ve gone ballistic on you.

Jake’s happy to cover for you, though, knowing he’d be getting something in return not too long afterwards.

After weeks of feigning, that simple slip up was how Jake found him back between your thighs, pumping his cock along the outline of your cunt through your thin panties.

“Whatever,” you sneer, propping yourself up on your elbows, “marriage is the last thing on my mind right now.”

Jake rolls his eyes, pausing and grateful at the fact that he has a better of your tits. For some godforsaken reason, the air conditioner in your home is always on full blast, and despite assuring your guests that you don’t feel that cold, your body certainly says otherwise; if the way your hardened nippled poke through your shirt is anything to go by.

He licks his lips, pumping his dick a little faster as he leans down and traces his tongue along your clothed nipple. You’re saying something, maybe asking him what he’s doing or to keep going, but he can’t hear you; having you like this is new territory for him, nothing else in the world mattered at this moment.

His saliva stains your t-shirt as he continues, moaning against your chest as he flicks his tongue against your bud. Jake lightly traps your nipple between his teeth, tugging on it just enough to sting before releasing it once again, lapping his tongue against it as if to apologize.

Your hand moves to his hair, giving it a tight grip as Jake moans before shoving your arm away entirely. “Are you insane?! Don’t touch me!”

“But-”

“Wait.”

Fuck, that felt good. It wasn’t much but it felt so fucking good.

He needed more of you, fuck all this waiting for marriage bullshit. He tried his best for as long as he could, and he doesn’t want to fucking wait anymore.

“I wanna try something,” he mumbles, wasting no time in pushing your panties to the side. The sight of your glistening cunt is enough to make his mouth water, and Jake swears he can hear a choir of angels singing as he stares down at it in awe.

“Jake, I thought-”

“Fuck that,” Jake is quick to cut you off, already knowing what your next words were, “I don’t wanna wait anymore; show me how.”

“How to what?”

“The one thing you know how to do.”

“Oh, fuck you. You’re such an asshole.” You say, but it doesn’t stop you from maneuvering your right hand between your bodies and gripping the base of Jake’s cock, encouraging him to scoot forward as you guide him directly to your hole.

You don’t move him any further, making the choice of letting Jake decide whether he’s serious about this.

He is.

He presses the head of his cock further into you, squeezing his eyes shut as you wrap around him so snug and perfect. He stills his movements, head dropping to your shoulder with a groan.

It’s already too much and he’s not even halfway in. It feels too good, so wet and warm and tight, better than he could’ve ever imagined.

“Fuck…”, he mumbles into your shoulder, taking note of how none of this barely had an effect on you.

“It’s okay,” you assure him in an oddly sweet tone, “try moving.”

“I can’t, think I’m gonna come if I do.”

“You’ll be fine, just-”

Jake lets out a loud, frustrated groan as he raises his head away from your shoulder, “You wouldn’t fucking get it.”

Jake spent too many countless nights imagining this very scenario, and now that it’s finally happening he can barely even handle it. Everything feels too good and it’s all too much for him to bear.

He pulls his dick out of you entirely, giving himself a few hard pumps as his impending orgasm approaches. It looks almost painful, the way he’s gripping and pumping his cock, how red his tip is, you’re surprised a few tears don’t slip from his eyes when he finally does finish, painting your thighs with his cum as his body trembles.

He rests a shaky hand on your knee, grip on his cock softening as he makes a mess across your panties, thick, white ropes of cum staining your underwear.

“Fuck,” Jake mumbles to himself as he steadies his breathing. He’s never came this hard before, to the point where he feels exhausted and genuinely empty.

“Are you…okay?” You ask, cringing at the sticky feeling between your thighs.

Jake nods slowly, sitting himself up as he tucks his now-softened cock back into his boxers, “Let’s, uh, get cleaned up so we can go.”

His head his spinning as he rises from your bed, a dizzy feeling coming over him as he stands. Fuck, maybe this is why he should’ve waited for marriage.

“Go where?”

“Bible study is starting soon,” he explains, “if we leave now we can stop by Taco Bell beforehand, I need a Baja Blast.”

#enhypen smut #enhypen imagine #enhypen scenario #enhypen #jake sim smut #jake sim imagine #jake sim scenarios #jake sim hard thoughts #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen x reader #kpop #kpop smut #kpop imagine #jake x reader #jake sim x reader

2K notes · View notes

mimiiiiiiiiisstuff · 4 months ago

Text

"This is me trying"

Prologue.

ok yall!! so i'm in a bit of writers block for IBDL and the older AU after tumblr deleted the chpaters I spent days writing. Butttt I did come up with this, reader is still neglected bc she can never be happy, but it's a darker Mafia Au. This also sucks bc it also got deleted but i really wanted to post something and get feeback on this concept. This is the prologue! Hope yall enjoy! Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments make my day and encourage me to write more. Send in aks!!

TW: BRIEF SA, IF IT TRIGGERS YOU, DONT READ!

The Wayne Manor was a sprawling gothic monstrosity perched on the edge of the Gotham skyline, a dark and looming silhouette against the backdrop of a city that never truly slept. It was a place where secrets festered, where power and control were everything, and where the lives of the people within its walls revolved around wealth, influence, and fear. For the people who lived in it, this was home. For you? It was a prison.The Wayne family was Gotham's most powerful mafia family, maybe even in all of North America, an empire built on crime, manipulation, and ruthless control. At the top of it all was Bruce Wayne, the cold and calculating godfather. Your actual father. Beneath him, each of his children had their role to play. But you, his biological daughter, were no more than a ghost within the house. You were a byproduct of a two-night stand with a whore, as your family called her, that had long since faded into shadows, and your presence was barely tolerated by the very people who were supposed to be your family.

At least, that’s how it felt after nearly a decade of living here.

You had arrived at Wayne Manor when you were just seven years old, dragged from the wreckage of your mother’s overdose by a man who was nothing more than a stranger. Bruce Wayne—cold, distant, and unforgiving. A man who ruled over the city with an iron fist and a heart as cold as the marble floors beneath your feet. He wasn’t your father, he never had been. He had simply become the man who was tasked with your care, but that wasn’t much of a care at all. Bruce’s love had always been reserved for the empire he had built, not you. You were merely another complication in his already fractured world. He told you that your mother had left you, that you were his responsibility now, and that you needed to prove you were worthy of the Wayne name. A name that, for the longest time, had been nothing but an empty echo in your mind.

Your mother was your hero, a military hero who realized how fucked up America was and retired. She, like most veterans, got hooked on drugs but that didn't mean she loved you any less. When she died, she took your happiest parts with her.

“Prove you deserve the last name Wayne,” Bruce had said when you were first brought into the manor, his eyes hard, his tone colder than the mansion’s marble floors. He’d looked at you like you were nothing but another part of the vast empire he controlled, a problem to be solved, a name to be earned.

And that’s what you did. You worked. You tried to prove yourself, to be a part of this family—this business. But it didn’t matter. You were invisible to them, a shadow in the background of the Wayne Empire. A ghost that haunted the halls of a mansion that never felt like home.

The moment he had taken you in, he’d told you to keep your head down. "Wayne’s don’t cry. Wayne’s don’t show weakness," he had said, his tone dead and devoid of any warmth. You couldn’t even remember the last time he’d spoken to you unless it was to reprimand or scold you for something minor. You learned quickly that to Bruce, you didn’t exist.

He was the head of the Wayne Mafia and Wayne enterprise, the mastermind who controlled everything from the shadows. He was feared, respected, and never showed weakness. He wasn't your father. He was your boss, distant, cold, and authoritarian. To him, you were nothing. He barely acknowledged you unless you were needed for some mafia-related task, which was almost never. You were neglected in the deepest way possible, emotionally invisible, yet physically present only when it was required.

You learned early on that any attempt to gain his affection was futile. He was too busy running his empire, and any sign of weakness—like wanting to be close to him—was met with disdain. His affection was reserved for his empire and all his other children.

At 15, you had spent eight years in the mansion without a single ounce of affection from him. You were a tool to him, nothing more. And yet, despite his coldness, you still wanted to earn his approval. You knew it was futile, but there was still something inside you that clung to the hope that one day, maybe, he’d look at you like he did the others. You became top of your class, played volleyball, did cheer, ballet, theatre, became student council president, won every award under the sun hoping he’d notice, that one day he’d show up at your award ceremony and bring your siblings. They’d all be grinning at you proudly, they’d make sure everyone knew you were part of the family, they’d let you sit with them at dinner and let you tell them about your most recent tennis match. But that was always a fantasy.

And maybe that was what broke you the most: knowing that he would never see you as a true part of the family.

Earning the Wayne name felt like a distant dream, like something only the others could ever attain. Bruce made it clear when you arrived at Wayne Manor was that you didn’t belong here yet. His blood ran cold when he looked at you, as though you were a mistake he’d have to clean up. There was no room for kindness, no words of comfort. Just a cold gaze, and then the hollow command to stay out of his way.

As you grew older, the cruelty only deepened, and it wasn’t just Bruce.

When Dick Grayson entered the scene, you were still just a child, struggling to make sense of your place in the mansion. He was everything Bruce wasn’t, charming, always smiling, and the golden boy of the family. The way he spoke to you, with that practiced air of kindness, made your skin crawl.

But the smile he wore to the rest of the world was never the one he gave you. The moment the doors closed behind you two, that smile would disappear, replaced with a smirk that spoke volumes. His jokes about you, his casual jabs, it was like nothing you did would ever be good enough. He was always pushing you, always finding ways to make you feel small.

“You know, if you weren’t so weak, Bruce might actually notice you,” Dick would say as he walked by, his eyes flicking over you like you were nothing more than a nuisance. "But don’t worry. Maybe you’ll prove yourself one day. Maybe.”

His words, though they came with a laugh, always carried the sharp edge of cruelty.

The eldest of the children, the perfect golden boy, the one who could do no wrong in Bruce’s eyes. Dick was no different than the rest. As a leader of a section of the family’s operations, he was a busy man. He had his own goals and ambitions, and when it came to you, he cruel.

To Dick, you were a lost cause, someone who wasn't worth the effort, the butt of the joke. While he didn't mock you as often as Damian or Jason, he certainly didn’t love you, he didn't even like you. He was more likely to ignore you entirely, but if you caught him in a bad mood.........He never tried to be a big brother, and in moments when you needed comfort, he’d either brush you off or simply laugh at you and make you feel worse.

Damian—Bruce’s biological son. Your little brother who seemed to have it all. The heir to the throne, groomed for greatness, your father's love. It wasn’t hard to see the resentment and hatred in his eyes whenever you crossed paths. At 13, Damian was already a lethal force, training under the most dangerous men in the world. But what you hated most about him was that, despite the bitterness, he always seemed to find ways to put you down.

your younger half-brother, was the perfect assassin in training, and he hated you. He hated how you existed in his space, how you took up time and energy that could have been spent on his training. To him, you were a nuisance, a shadow in his way. He didn't care about family bonds or affection. You were just the member of the household that didn’t belong.

Damian's cold demeanor was the product of years of indoctrination into the Wayne family’s brutal world. He was protective of the family, of Bruce’s approval, so any sign of weakness or attachment from you only made him more disgusted. He’d learned to use violence as a way to control people, but when it came to you, he was especially harsh, never lifting a finger to defend you, but constantly mocking, hurting, and ridiculing you, making you feel small and insignificant.

Damian never missed a chance to make cruel remarks about you, as though any attempt at closeness with you would be seen as weakness.

"You're nothing more than a distraction," Damian would sneer as he walked past you, his green eyes glowing with disdain. "Father is wasting time on you. You’ll never be one of us."

His words sliced through you like a blade, and it only made the ache of rejection burn deeper.

Tim was the one who ignored you the most. He had a sharp intellect, a mind for strategy, and an indifference to almost everyone around him, including you. You had tried to talk to him once, hoping for some sort of connection, you were around the same age after all, but he just stared through you as though you weren’t there.

When he did speak, it was never pleasant.

"Could you be quieter for once?" he snapped one evening, his gaze never leaving his laptop screen. "Some of us are trying to work."

It was a pattern, one that left you feeling invisible, like you didn’t even exist in his world. On rare occasions, when he was in a particularly bad mood, he’d throw a cutting remark your way, something meant to remind you that you were just a nuisance in his eyes.

"You think you’re important just because you’re here?" Tim would sneer. "Get over yourself. You’ll never be more than a side character."

The family’s strategist, and tech genius, was the quietest of the bunch. Tim was obsessed with perfection, everything had to be meticulously planned. When it came to you, he was condescending. He believed you were too naïve, too soft for the harsh world they lived in. It was clear that he didn’t consider you part of the family in a meaningful way. To him, you were just another piece in the game, and you were never treated like an equal.

Tim would lecture you about what you should be doing, constantly putting you down in subtle ways that made you question your worth.

Jason was the worst of all, next to Damian of course. Where the others merely ignored you or made snide comments, Jason was outright cruel. He made it clear that he didn’t want you here from the moment you arrived. He’d watch you with a sneer on his face, like you were something he had to tolerate rather than a part of the family.

“Do you ever stop being pathetic?” Jason growled one night, cornering you in the hallway. He was older than you—by eight years—and his presence was always overwhelming, his anger like a shadow that clung to him wherever he went. “You’re nothing but a waste of space. Bruce should’ve left you on the streets where you belong.”

You could never forget that night. The venom in his words, the way he towered over you with that sick, twisted smile that barely concealed the disgust he felt for you—it stayed with you, festering in your mind.

Your older brother, was once a wild and rebellious soul, but after his brutal experience with the Joker, he became even more distant. He had built walls around himself, and those walls excluded you. To him, you were nothing more than a symbol of the dysfunction that ran through the Wayne family. He didn’t care about you, he resented you for simply existing.

Whenever he interacted with you, it was laced with sarcasm and cruelty. He would always mock you in front of the others, tearing down your self-esteem at every opportunity. Your attempts to reach out to him were met with disgust, and sometimes even attacks. If you tried to talk to him about anything personal, he’d brush you off with an eye roll or sarcastic comment.

He was a silent witness to your pain, and he didn't care to acknowledge it.

The girls—Steph, Cass, and Barbara—were no better.

Stephanie would occasionally feign interest in you, only to turn it into a mocking session. "You really think Bruce cares about you?" she’d ask with a smirk. "He just likes having more bodies around to do his bidding. And you? You’re nothing but a backup plan, a mistake."

Cass, though quieter, was no less cruel. She had a way of looking at you as if you were beneath her, like you didn’t even deserve to breathe the same air. Her silence was more suffocating than any words could be.

Barbara, though, was the most calculating. She used her intelligence to manipulate, twisting everything into a game of control. She’d often mock you in front of the others, making it feel like you were a joke.

“Do you really think you’ll ever be anything but Bruce’s charity case?” she asked one day, her voice laced with sarcasm. "You’ll never be one of us. Don’t kid yourself.”

They were mean in every sense of the word, they made fun of your looks, your weight, your height, they gave you insecurities you never would’ve thought of.

Alfred, the Wayne family’s butler, was perhaps the only one who ever showed any genuine care, but even that was limited. Alfred's soft-spoken nature meant he was there for you, but he was more like a caretaker than a father figure. He was more interested in making sure you were fed, safe, and well taken care of, but he never pushed against Bruce or the others to make sure you were emotionally okay. Alfred was loyal to the family and followed Bruce’s commands, no matter how cruel they were.

And then there was Duke.

Duke, the one who never even seemed to acknowledge your existence. He was polite—always saying "hello" when he passed by, but that was the extent of it. He didn’t hate you. He didn’t love you. He just… ignored you. It was almost worse than anything the others did. At least when they made fun of you, you existed to them.

But Duke? He acted as if you weren’t even in the room.

In the end, you were just a shadow in Wayne Manor. There was no love here, no family. Just a constant, searing reminder that you didn’t belong.

You were nothing. You were nobody.

But you’d change that. You had to. You had to prove yourself worthy of the Wayne name. Even if it meant enduring their cruelty.

Because deep down, you knew that in a family built on power and fear, only the strongest survived.

And maybe, just maybe, you could become something more.

At Gotham Academy, you were untouchable.

There was no other way to put it. You were awkward and lonely in middle school but that changed as soon as you hit puberty in high school. Suddenly you were the girl everyone wanted to be or be with. Effortless grace and charm, the kind of girl who seemed to have it all together. You were the captain of the cheer team, the student body president, the girl who could throw a party, lead a project, and still ace every test. The guys chased after you with varying levels of persistence, but none of them knew who you really were. They didn’t know you were a Wayne.

They didn’t know you were just a forgotten child in the massive, shadowed halls of Wayne Manor.

At school, you were alive. Teachers fawned over you, praising your work ethic, your achievements, and your positive attitude. "Your essays are brilliant," Mrs. Summers would say, always raising her eyebrow in surprise when she saw your name at the top of the page. "You never fail to impress, your parents must be proud." You smiled, the words coming easily, just as they always did. The praise felt good, almost like an escape from the emptiness that waited for you when you returned to Wayne Manor.

But the truth was, you were dying for something real, something that made you feel seen at home.

When school let out, you gathered your things, avoiding the usual parade of admirers by slipping through the back doors of the school to your waiting car. Today, there was no stopping the swarm of boys who followed you from class to class. Josh from the football team had been practically suffocating you all day with his relentless compliments, while Lucas, the track star, was constantly finding excuses to "study" with you. Both of them seemed to think your "no" was just another challenge. But despite their attention, you were still the one who didn’t belong.

Because once you left Gotham Academy, once you stepped into Wayne Manor, you were nobody.

Bruce never cared to acknowledge your presence, let alone make you feel like part of the family. He was always wrapped up in his business empire or his “other life,” never bothering to check in on you. The closest thing you had to a father was Alfred, the ever-loyal butler, who was the only one who seemed to care about you. But even his affection was distant, a courtesy reserved for a child who didn’t quite fit.

Damian, Tim, Stephanie, and Duke all attended Gotham Prep, the elite school for Gotham’s privileged. Bruce had never bothered enrolling you there, and you wondered, sometimes, if it was because you weren’t good enough, weren’t worth the effort.

And yet, despite their indifference, you longed to be seen by them. Maybe if you earned their respect, earned Bruce’s approval, they would start noticing you.

But it was always the same: emptiness.

The one place you could truly escape to was Grace's house. Grace was your best friend, your sister in every way that mattered. She was the one who saw the real you, the one who didn’t care about your last name or your family’s wealth. She was the only one who knew you were the unwanted daughter of Gothams most infamous mobster. She accepted you as you were: a girl who was as talented as she was misunderstood.

At Grace’s house, you felt alive. It was a normal, cozy home, filled with laughter and love, the kind of place that had never been offered to you at Wayne Manor. Her parents treated you like their own daughter, and her two older brothers—Isaac and Nathan—had taken to protecting you like you were their little sister. Her youngest brother, James annoyed you as much as he did Grace and somehow, you loved him for it. It was nice being a big sister to someone who was actually normal and didn't try to kill you all the time.

Grace’s oldest brother, Daniel, was another story, he treated you like a sister even though you've had a crush on him since you were 10.

You flirted with him constantly. It wasn’t anything serious, but Daniel had a way of making your heart race in a way that the boys at Gotham Academy never could. He was a older than you, maybe 21, with a confident charm that made him irresistible. Tall, blonde, jacked, he was the perfect All-American boy. You knew he wasn’t ever going to see you as anything more that a little sister but that didn’t stop you from trying. Every time he walked into the room, your heart did a little skip, and you couldn’t help but turn into a blushing mess. Grace teased you endlessly for it. Daniel was your first ever crush and that feeling would never really go away, no matter how much you saw him or how sisterly he treated you.

Most nights, you stayed over at Grace's. It became a regular tradition—weekends spent in her house, sprawled out on her couch for movie marathons, stealing her clothes, gossiping about school, and stealing snacks from her kitchen. You loved it there. You could forget about Wayne Manor, forget about the neglect and the loneliness, and just be a normal teenager. You came over for Thanksgiving, your birthday, and for Christmas they even had a stocking with your name on it.

One night, after a particularly grueling practice, Grace invited you to another sleepover at her house. As usual, you packed a bag with the essentials, pajamas, a change of clothes, and your phone, just in case. You already had most things at her house, you practically lived with her at this point. The moment you arrived, Grace’s dad, Thomas, greeted you with a warm hug, his hearty laugh filling the room. “Here comes trouble!” he said, ruffling your hair in that easy-going way he did every time you showed up.

You felt the pang of longing for a real family, but you pushed it away, embracing the warmth of the moment. You wanted to be part of this family, a normal family.

Grace’s siblings were equally welcoming. Nathan tossed you a snack and winked. “You ready to get your ass kicked at Mario Kart again?” he teased, knowing full well that you were unbeatable.

James groaned "I knew I smelled another loser walk in" You gasped dramatically and put him into a headlock, ruffling his hair till he apologized.

As the night went on, and you all sat around Grace’s kitchen table, laughing and joking, you couldn't shake the feeling that your life at Wayne Manor, and the family that barely looked at you, was a shadow that still loomed over your heart.

But then, as if to prove that life couldn’t just be simple for you, the front door of Grace’s house swung open, and your phone buzzed in your pocket. You glanced at it, your stomach dropping as you saw the name.

Alfred.

You knew what it meant. You couldn't sleep over tonight. Bruce was having people over and you had to be there in case the guests asked about you. Another night where you'd sit at the table in the maids kitchen, listening to your family get along without you. Pretending that Bruce’s absence didn’t eat away at you, didn't make you feel less than. You ignored his message. You didn't want to go home, really the guests never even knew Bruce had a biological daughter, they wouldn't ask about you. This was just Alfred's way of trying to make the family bond with you.

It was always the same. Bruce only ever reached out when he needed you for something, when his empire demanded your presence. But never for the reason you truly needed. Not for affection. Not for love.

You stood up abruptly, suddenly feeling suffocated by the laughter and warmth of Grace’s home. You didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want to go back to the place that always made you feel so… alone. But you had to. You had no choice. You already ignored Alfred's text long enough, you missed dinner so you had to get home or else Bruce might actually kill you, if he even noticed you weren't there.

No matter how far you ran, how many awards you won, or how many boys followed you around at school, the question remained: when would you finally be seen by the ones who mattered most?

That night, your prayers were answered, your bravery caught the entire family's attention just when you had gotten okay with their negligence, began to enjoy doing whatever you wanted from the shadows.

The rain was fucking relentless.

It hammered down from the heavens, soaking you to the bone as you walked through the backstreets of Gotham. The kind of rain that made you feel like you were being baptized in cold, dirty water. You pulled the hood of your jacket up, not that it did a damn thing to keep you dry. The city’s grimy streets were slick with water, reflecting the neon lights like a damn funhouse mirror. You kept your head down, trying to ignore the chill creeping through your clothes.

Grace’s house had been a brief escape from the cold, suffocating grip of Wayne Manor. For a few hours, you’d felt like a person again. Like someone who could actually live, instead of just existing as a piece of forgotten furniture in the mansion. But that was before Alfred had texted. Before you saw his name flash across your screen, making your stomach twist in a knot.

"Shit," you muttered under your breath, shoving the phone back into your pocket. Not today. Not now. You needed more time before you went back to that suffocating place. But you knew it wasn’t a choice. Bruce would be pissed, and when Bruce Wayne was pissed? Everyone knew about it.

Still, you had to push forward. It was Gotham, after all. A rainstorm in this city could mean anything from a mugging to a full-on shootout. Every step felt heavier as you neared the looming silhouette of Wayne Manor. The mansion stood there like some kind of ancient titan, always watching, always waiting, and never giving a damn about who you were.

The door creaked open, and you slipped inside, trying to make as little noise as possible. Maybe you’d get lucky and Bruce would be too busy with whatever the hell was going on to notice you sneaking in.

Fat chance.

The foyer was dark, and the mansion smelled like dust and expensive wood polish. You should have felt comforted by the familiarity, but instead, all you could feel was that gnawing sense of isolation. The Manor had always felt like a prison to you, and not the kind you could escape with a couple of well-timed sprints or clever words. This was a cage built with stone and glass, and you were stuck inside it.

You started down the hallway, the faint sound of voices growing louder as you passed the dining room.

And then you stopped. Something in the air changed. The hairs on your neck stood up. You were too close to the dining hall, and the moment you looked in through the door, your breath hitched in your chest.

There, at the long grand dining table, sat your family—or, well, what was left of them. Every one of them was slumped forward, tied to their chairs with ropes, blood trickling from their ears, noses, and mouths. The first thing you noticed was that no one was moving. No one was breathing. They all looked... dead.

Bruce. Damian. Jason. Dick. Tim. Cass. Duke. Steph. Barbra, even Alfred was slumped over in the corner where he usually kept watch. All of them.

Your stomach dropped to your feet as you backed away slowly. This was not happening.

“No fucking way,” you breathed out, stepping back, trying to backpedal before anyone heard you. But your mind was already working overtime. Who did this? Why?

The answer came quickly. It didn’t take much to put two and two together. The guests, it had to be them. The rich assholes who had “business” with Bruce. Except now, you were figuring out that the business they were conducting didn’t involve any stock markets or deals. It was murder.

And then the realization hit: whoever these people were, they weren’t here for some petty robbery. They’d been in the house long enough to take down the entire family without a sound.

Fuck.

Your mind went blank. For a second, you thought you were dreaming. But no, this was real. And this was not happening.

You were about to turn on your heel and haul ass out of there, but that’s when you heard it. Footsteps. Heavy footsteps. Two of them, moving fast, and definitely not the quiet kind. The air around you felt thicker. The kind of thick that made your skin crawl.

You darted to the side, taking cover behind a marble pillar. From the sound of it, someone was coming this way. Your heart pounded in your chest as you held your breath, praying to God they didn’t notice you.

You needed to leave. Now. Run. Go.

But just as you turned, desperate to bolt before anyone saw you, you froze.

Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, and moving fast.

There was no time to think, you stayed hidden watching them walk around the room. They were wearing crisp black suits, and all three looked like they shopped in the"Big and tall" section. There was no way you could fight off all three, yeah you had some muscle but nothing like Jason or even Tim. Even Bruce would break a sweat facing these guys. They seemed to be checking Bruce's pockets right now, looking for something.

While they were distracted, you took deep breathes, trying to calm down. Who the fuck were these people? How did they manage to trick the infamous Wayne Family? What did they want? How could you get out of this and save your family?

Did you even want to save your family?

You shook the thought away quickly; of course you wanted to save them, they were cruel and horrible but who were you to decide their fate without trying to help them? Who made you judge, jury, and executioner?

Then you saw it, Bruce's emergency button, hidden on the wall. Only noticeable to someone who's wandered these halls for years. You almost fell to your knees in relief as you sneakily crawled over to it and pressed it.

Help was on the way and the intruders didn't know you were here! You smiled feeling pure relief at your quick thinking.

How's that for useless huh Damian? You wanted to taunt him as you looked at his unconsious form. He was so much better this way, they all were. They were silent.

Then, you heard it, the loud blaring of alarms and sirens. "Emergency." "Emergency." Alfred's voice rang through the whole manor and the sirens alerted the men that you were in the dining room.

You groaned, eyes burning with tears, "Who's the fucking dumbass that made the silent alarm LOUD?"

The men came rushing into the dining room yet it seemed to be your lucky-unlucky day. Only one of them had a gun.

Time seemed to slow as he aimed it at Bruce's soon to be lifeless head. You don't know what came over you as you tackled Bruce's unconscious body out of the bullets way.

You regretted it as soon as you did it, your vision went white with pain as the bullet hit you shoulder.

You pushed through the pain and grabbed a butter knife as one of the unarmed men approached you. You punched and ducked but the pain slowed you down. He hit you hard right in the ribs, so you did him one better and gouged his right eye out with your butter knife. Those boxing classes really did do some good, no wonder your mom insisted on them.

More shots rang out and it was out of pure adreneline that you were able to pull almost each and every member of your family under the table. Damian was the only one left and as you stood to pull him down too, you saw the armed man pull the trigger of his gun. He was going to kill your baby brother, he was aiming at the 14 year old's head. No matter how cruel or vicious Damian was, he's still a child, still your little brother.

You couldn't let him die. Maybe that's why you threw your self on top of his body, protecting him from the two bullets aimed at him.

Fuck.

This hurt. No wonder people hated being shot. This hurt more than cheer warm ups, did you think you were bulletproof?

You decided that you would just allow the next person to be shot. The man's footsteps were coming closer and you were getting more light headed from the pain. You turned to Jason's unconscious body and punched him. "Wake up you fucking loser! I can't fight this guy."

Obviously, Jason didn't wake up, why did you even think anyone in this family would ever try and help you?

As you shook him and panicked even more, you noticed something shining in Bruce's pocket. So much for "No weapons at the dinner table."

A sleek black gun, any other day you would've marveled at the custom design on it and focused on the monograming, but right now all that mattered was getting it before you bled out and the man killed you. You crawled and those five steps felt like eternity and when you finally grabbed the gun out of Bruce's armani suit pocket, the scary man was standing above you with a cruel grin.

Your heart dropped as he knelt next to you and stroked your hair, "Hey, pretty." He breathed out as he knelt next to you, his hands wandering around your body and up your skirt. Bile rose to your mouth and your heart dropped. No. This isn't happening. "If I had know Bruce had such a pretty thing, I would've been come here. You're certainly the looker compared to your sisters." He said as he began smelling your hair.

You don't know how it happened, but suddenly he was laying on the floor with blood coming out his throat. You looked between your hand holding the gun and his now lifeless body in horror. The last thing you heard before passing out was a flurry of boots and gunshots and a man that sounded like your father yelling for a doctor. The last thing you saw was a tall boy lifting you up, his eyes as blue as the sky, and you genuinely believed you died and went to heaven.

The room was cold, sterile, a sharp contrast to the emotional storm raging inside you. The pain in your shoulder and stomach was nothing compared to the weight on your chest, the realization that no matter what, you couldn’t escape this life anymore. You had made your choice, whether you liked it or not.

You woke to the soft beeping of machines and the scent of antiseptic in the air, your vision still blurry. It didn’t take long for the footsteps to reach you—slow, deliberate. The door creaked open, and one by one, they walked in.

Dick entered first, his expression calm but unreadable. His gaze lingered on you for a moment, and instead of his usual mocking smile, there was something more restrained about him now. The newfound respect he had for you was obvious, but there was a subtle weight behind it. He didn’t say much, just gave you a nod.

“You’re still breathing, that's good,” he said softly, his voice low, a simple acknowledgment. “We all owe you for that. For what you did.” The words weren’t a compliment, they were recognition, quiet and heavy. The respect was there, but so was the unspoken truth: You were one of them now.

You expected to feel happier. You imagined this day so many times before, you prayed for it, so why were you sick to your stomach now that it's happened? Why didn't you want it anymore and why hadn't you realized it till now?

Damian was next, stepping in with his usual, stoic expression. His eyes flicked over you briefly, but there was no anger in his gaze, only a quiet understanding, maybe even admiration, hidden beneath the surface. He didn’t bother with pleasantries.

“Your actions saved all of us,” he said, voice flat. “You’ve earned your place here. Just don’t forget it.” His words weren’t harsh, but there was no room for doubt. You had proved yourself. And that meant something far more permanent than any spoken affirmation could express.

Ungrateful brat. You took a bullet for him and he couldn't even thank you. God, you hated him. You were starting to wish you weren't a good person and let them all die. The inheritance would've been insane.

Jason followed suit, and though his rough edges remained, there was a faint softness in his expression as he looked at you.

“Damn, princess,” he muttered, his eyes scanning you with quiet intensity. “You really pulled through. You did what most of us couldn’t.” His gaze softened for just a moment, and then he leaned against the doorframe. “Didn't realize I had such a badass as a little sister. The knife move, the way you ducked and punched? Sick."

Jason, of all people, was praising you. Treating you like his sister rather than dirt at the bottom of his shoe. The nickname, princess, he once used to ridicule you, was said with a quiet revrance; like he actually thought you were a princess now. You couldn't help but feel good, this was all you wanted all these years. And in that moment, you would get shot again without hesitation if it meant you would get that everyday.

Tim entered next, and though his face was stoic, his eyes betrayed the flicker of respect, maybe even admiration. “We all saw it,” he said, his voice steady, but tinged with something quieter. “What you did… It wasn’t just about surviving. It was about protecting us. You earned the right to stand beside us. We all thank you.”

Well, it's not great but at least someone is appreciative. None of them would've done the same for you.

Cass entered, silent as always, but the look she gave you spoke volumes. She didn’t need to say anything—her eyes, sharp and understanding, told you that she saw your sacrifice, saw what you had done for them. She gave you a slight nod, acknowledging your place among them.

Then Duke and Stephanie stepped in.

Duke’s eyes were calm, but you could see the flicker of something more behind his gaze. The weight of what had happened didn’t escape him. His voice was steady as he spoke.

“You did what we couldn’t,” he said, his tone quiet but unshakable. “You kept us alive. All of us. And that means something. You’ve earned your place in this family.” His eyes softened, just the slightest bit. “Just don’t forget... that this family doesn’t leave anyone behind. Not anymore.”

And then there was Stephanie. Her usual energy was gone, replaced with something more somber. She didn’t crack a joke or make a snide remark. Her eyes scanned you with something like respect, but more than that, a quiet understanding that you’d been forced to prove yourself in ways none of them had ever been asked you to.

“Guess you really are one of us now,” she said softly, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, but it wasn’t lighthearted. It was tired. “I don’t know about you, but I’m glad you’re still here.” Her voice wavered slightly, but she pulled herself together quickly. “You’ve got our backs. We’ve got yours.”

Barbra stood next to her in agreement, looking hesitant to say something. She was the only one who noticed how much you resented them even though you were desperate for their love and approval.

What. The. Fuck.

No way this is happening. This is not real. Who knew saving someone's life could have them do a complete 180. Stephanie said she had your back. Duke acknowledged your existence. Jason didn't make you cry. Damian didn't attempt to kill or maim you. It's like the sky turned pink.

Finally, Bruce.

He stepped into the room, his presence overwhelming. The familiar weight of his gaze was on you immediately, but today there was something different—something almost proud in the way he looked at you, as if he finally saw you as more than just a forgotten name in the Wayne family history.

He was quiet for a moment, his hands folded in front of him. And then he spoke, his voice steady, unyielding, but carrying an undertone of something that almost felt like respect. “You did more than survive. You saved our lives. Every single one of us.” His eyes didn’t leave you. “You’re part of this family now. You’ve earned it. You earned the name Wayne.”

The words hit you harder than anything else. Part of the family.

It was like a weight dropping onto your chest—something heavy, something that couldn’t be easily brushed away. There was no turning back. You were one of them now, and that scared you, you hadn’t anticipated that.

Bruce’s eyes softened, just slightly, but his voice remained firm. “From this moment forward, you have a curfew. Midnight. You may have earned your place here, but you’ll follow the rules, just like the rest of us.”

You didn’t say anything. How could you? His words settled into your chest like stone, the finality of them carving out any space for protest. There was no choice in the matter. You were in this life now, whether you wanted to be or not. Midnight was late for a curfew anyway, Grace had to be home by 9.

“We all owe you our lives,” Bruce continued, but there was no gratitude in his tone, only a recognition of the debt. “But that doesn’t mean you’re exempt from the responsibilities we carry. Understand?”

You nodded once, slowly, the words caught in your throat. You wanted to speak, wanted to scream, to tell him that you weren’t sure you could do this, that you didn’t know if you were ready to live this life—the life of a Wayne, the life of this family.

What did a mafia family even do? Did you run around being Bruce's useless henchman, or did you have to go around trying to kill people? Could they be more specific about the pros and cons?

But nothing came out. There was nothing you could say that would change anything now.

Jason gave you a crooked grin,“Guess you’ve got to start following the rules now, huh? Welcome to the real family business.”

Tim’s gaze lingered for a moment, his eyes unreadable. “We’re all in this together,” he said quietly. “Whether you like it or not.”

Damian’s face softened, but only slightly. “I expect you to keep up,” he added, before turning to leave. “No slacking. We all carry our weight in this family.”

Cass’s presence remained, her silent approval almost suffocating in its quiet intensity.

Duke gave you one last nod before he turned, the weight of his gaze a reminder that you couldn’t slip out of this, no matter how much you might want to. He wasn’t angry—just silently resolute in his understanding. “You’re one of us now. That means something.”

And Stephanie? Her eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, before she gave you a small, tired smile. “We’re with you. All the way.”

Bruce? He gave you one last look, his eyes still holding that rare spark of approval—but it wasn’t soft. It wasn’t warm. It was measured, like a general overseeing a soldier. You were part of the mission now.

“We’ll train,” he said, his voice unwavering. “We’ll teach you everything you need to know. But it’s clear you’ve already proven yourself.”

You lay back against the pillows, the silence that followed hanging heavy in the air.

This is so weird. Why are they all being nice? How do you react to it? How do you interact with them? Is it genuine gratitude for saving their lives or is it a cruel joke to make you feel like you're important.

As they left, one by one, you stayed there, immobilized by the weight of it all. You’d earned your place here. But what did that mean now? What did it mean to be part of this family? You weren’t sure you even wanted it. But it was too late to turn back now.

OK YALL HERES THE PROLOGUE!! LMK WHAT YALL THINK AND HOW I SHOULD/ IF I SHOULD CONTINUE THIS FIC!!! HOPE YALL ENJOYED!! SEND IN ASKS! SORRY IF IT SUCKS LEAVE ME ALONE!!

811 notes · View notes

solelifauna · 8 months ago

Note

So this NOT to imply the writing is bad

But so far the Batfam fic as me genuinely shaking in anger , the fact that dick is convinced that y/n as to prove herself to be "worthy" genuinely got to me to the point I need a pallete cleanser

Could we please get a small drabble of reader growing close with one of the "outside" batfam members?

Like maybe Kate(batwoman) and Luke (batwing) because they are under used

Or hell, maybe to really grind the family gears, reader gets close to azrael

(you know Bruce would've able to do shit if reader got close with Kate, she would fucking eat him alive)

Hey, You're all good bro! I also just want to put out that my fic is based on an au! The portrayals of any characters in my fic are based off of their canon and fanon counterparts, just with my own twist. Since this is a darker universe/au, the Bats along with other heroes are going to be a lot more brutal and jaded.

Also love your idea bro. But, I'll do you one better. Constantine. Bruce absolutely can't stand him and the reader being friends with/getting along with him? Oh, that's bound to grind Bruce's gears. It would also be easier to meet Constantine too.

Let's just say one day the reader gets caught up in some Justice League Dark stuff that Constantine is trying to solve. She gets kidnapped by a cult that wants to use her as a sacrifice. I mean, she is a pretty huge target, being the daughter of a Billionaire after all. Anyways, shes kidnapped, nobody is coming to get her, not from her family at least. Long story short, Constantine arrives too late to stop the ritual, but things don't go according to plan for the cultists anyway. Turns out that the person sacrificed wouldn't be killed, but would instead become a vessel.

Great, now you have some old, eldrich being living rent-free in your mind. The being is old, donning the title "Keeper of Hell", but you'll just call it (they? him? her?), Adam. Yeah, Adam wasn't too happy with the name. When Constantine arrives, however, hes pleasantly surprised to find you alive. When he realizes that you, a 15-year-old, now carry the presence and power of an eldritch being older than Gotham itself, he groans while lighting up a cigarette. Looks like he'd have to deal with you now.

He checks over you making sure you have no internal and external injuries before explaining your situation. He feels a little sorry for you, but he is in no condition to train you. He asks around to other JL dark members, hoping to see if anyone is willing to help you control your new powers. He sighs again when nobody steps up to the plate, too busy with their own sidekicks and quests.

Reluctantly, he tells you he'd help you figure stuff out. And there begins the blossoming of the amazing "Grumpy old man and kid they didn't ask for" troupe. When you tell Constantine your name, he blanks, because of course he gets stuck with one of the bat's kids. However, based on your tone of voice when discussing your family (and the way you begged him not to let Bruce/Batman know of your predicament), he's guessing things aren't all too great between you all. Well, thats not his problem, his only job was to train you and make sure you don't end up accidentally killing someone.

Yeah...like that thought process is going to last. Training sessions start out bleak and professional, he's only doing a job. Then as time continues, he finds himself enjoying your company, your enthusiasm to learn and your rambunctious/sarcastic comebacks always have him fighting off a smile. It's been a while since he's had company like this. Soon, you're both going out on missions, and then ice cream breaks afterward. He lets you fall asleep on his shoulder, drooling all over his trench coat after particularly difficult missions and he can't bring himself to mind.

He's fond of you, although he never admits it out loud. It's okay though, because even though he's never said it out loud, his actions speak louder than words. You could feel his love and pride for you. Although he wasn't exactly your dad per se, he was still something to you, maybe the wine uncle? You don't know, and you don't particularly care to put a label on what Constantine was to you, you're just glad that he's there.

Shit hits the fan, however, when one day you decide to go on a solo mission. It's nothing crazy, just getting rid of some poltergeists and low-level demons and shades. Now, were you given permission to go on this mission alone? No, but in a normal teenage manner, you decide to go anyway. Everything was fine, you got rid of all the poltergeists in the area and even some of the shades too! It's all going well until you realize that the demon mentioned before was not as weak as you were told. You gulped when its blood red eyes turned to you.

"Well shit." Constantine was going to kill you.

It immediately lunges at you, you barely rolling out of its sharp claws. You hit it with a couple of spells, causing the demon to roar out in pain, burn marks now littering its side. Its tail whips at you, colliding with your stomach as you fly into a wall with a loud thud. You groan as you pick yourself up, clutching your ribs, each breath a jagged pain that ripples through your chest. Your arm is slick with blood, the gashes from the demon's claws burning as if its very essence were trying to sear your flesh. You grit your teeth and weave another spell, calling on Adam’s power to knock the demon back. This time, a burst of raw energy slams into it, shattering its leg with a sickening crack.

For a brief moment, you think it's over, ready to strike the final blow. But the demon’s leg snaps back into place, bone and flesh knitting together as if the injury had never happened.

“Of course,” you mutter under your breath. “Why would this be easy?”

The demon lunges again, and you’re just a split second too slow. Burning pain flares through your right arm as its claws tear into you, ripping through your flesh like paper. You scream, the sound involuntary, but you push through the pain, refusing to go down without a fight.

Drawing back, you unleash another spell, a sharp projectile of energy aimed at its neck. The demon flinches, letting out a low growl. That reaction—panic—gives you the first glimmer of hope. Its neck. That's its weak spot.

With renewed determination, you gather every ounce of strength you have left. The cuts across your body throb, and your arm feels like it’s on fire, but you push it all aside. You can do this. You have to do this.

You unleash a volley of cutting spells, each one aimed at the demon’s throat. It fights back viciously, throwing you around the room with a strength that makes your vision blur. Every hit you take feels like your bones are splintering, but you keep going. You keep attacking.

Finally, one of your spells strikes true.

The demon lets out a gurgling screech as your spell cuts deep into its neck. Blood—thick and dark—pours from the wound, and it claws at its own throat, choking. Its body spasms violently, and then, as if collapsing in on itself, it begins to disintegrate. In a few seconds, all that’s left is dust.

You stand there, panting, barely able to process the fact that you did it. You won. A grin spreads across your face, and despite the pain radiating from every part of your body, you let out a weak cheer.

But the celebration is short-lived.

Pain cuts through you like a knife, sharp and sudden, reminding you of just how battered you are. Blood is still oozing from the various gashes across your body, and your arm feels like it’s hanging by a thread. You stumble, nearly falling, but catch yourself at the last second.

“Crap… I’m bleeding out,” you mumble, wincing. “Whoops.”

With what little energy you have left, you remember the spell Constantine taught you, the one that would tether you to him no matter where you were. He warned you not to use it unless it was an emergency—and bleeding out from demon-inflicted wounds definitely qualifies.

You lift your shaking hand and cast the spell, a sluggish flick of your wrist sending out a ripple of energy. A portal forms, shimmering and unstable, but functional enough. Without much grace, you stumble through it, disappearing from the demon’s lair.

What you didn’t know, however, was that Constantine was currently in a Justice League meeting.

The first thing you feel is a sudden drop, like the ground beneath you has vanished. You barely register the sensation of falling before you crash, hard, onto something solid. Groaning, you blink through the haze of pain and find yourself sprawled across a massive table.

You can hear voices—muffled, alarmed—but the world is spinning too much for you to focus. All you know is that you're lying on something cold and hard, and you’re absolutely drenched in blood.

Forcing your eyes open, you see several figures standing around you, staring in shock. Your vision is blurry, but you can make out Superman’s cape and Wonder Woman’s armor. You try to process what's happening, but the pain in your arm and ribs keeps pulling you under.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow. Fuckkkk." You cry out.

Suddenly, the scent of smoke fills the air. You don't even have to look to know who it is. Constantine’s familiar trench coat brushes against your arm as he crouches beside you, cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. His eyes flicker with a dangerous mix of exasperation and barely concealed anger.

“What in the bloody fuck, kid?” he snaps, his tone harsher than usual, but the concern underlies his words.

You wince, the situation hitting you all at once. Crap. Now I've got to deal with this.

You muster a weak, sheepish grin, wincing as you turn your head to face him. “Heyyy Constantine, how are ya?”

His brow furrows deeper, and he’s clearly not amused. “What did you do?”

You swallow hard, trying to think of how to explain yourself without getting ripped to shreds—verbally or otherwise. “I—well, promise you won’t get mad?”

“Too late for that, kid. I’m already halfway there,” he growls, his eyes narrowing as he looks over your wounds. “Now get to it.”

You bite your lip, trying to find the least disastrous way to explain. “So… I sorta… mighta… gone on a solo demon-hunting mission,” you blurt out quickly, hoping he’d just move past it.

The way Constantine’s eyes widen, and the immediate twitch in his jaw tell you that he’s definitely not going to move past it.

“You did what?!” His voice rises as he stands up, rubbing a hand over his face. “Oh bloody— I thought I specifically told you not to go by yourself! And this is what happens!”

“Hey, well, I’m alive, aren’t I?” you say, grinning nervously, trying to play it off.

“That’s besides the point!” He throws his arms up, pacing as he takes a long drag from his cigarette. “Bloody hell, I should’ve known better with you kids. I swear, this is why I never—”

Just then, a dark, grim voice cuts through the chaos, and your heart nearly stops.

“Constantine,” Batman’s tone is low, authoritative. “Why is my daughter bleeding on our table?”

Oh no. No, no, no. Not now.

You freeze, your mind going blank as you feel the weight of Batman’s presence at the end of the table. You slowly, painfully turn your head to see him standing there, cape draped over his shoulders, his gaze icy and locked onto you. His usual stoic expression somehow looks even more intense.

“Ah… shit,” you mutter under your breath, groaning inwardly as you realize you’ve just landed yourself in the absolute worst situation imaginable. “I completely forgot he was still here.” Wait, did you say that out loud?

Constantine gives you a sidelong glance, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, kid, you did. And now we’ve got more than just your wounds to worry about, don’t we?” He sighs deeply, rubbing his temples, already anticipating the fallout.

Batman’s eyes narrow, arms crossed as he takes a step closer to you, his voice low and dangerous. “Care to explain yourself?”

You’re still bleeding, your head is pounding, and you’re pretty sure at least a few bones are broken, but none of that compares to the fear creeping up your spine as you look up at your father. Your mind races for an answer, but every excuse you can think of feels flimsy at best.

Constantine clears his throat, sensing the rising tension in the room. “Right. Let’s get her fixed up before this turns into an interrogation, yeah? Kid’s bleeding all over the place, and she’s already taken a beating. We’ll save the lecture for later.” He waves his hand, muttering something under his breath as he kneels beside you again.

The tension between Constantine and Batman lingers in the air, thick and heavy, but Batman finally relents. His eyes soften—slightly—as he watches Constantine work to stabilize your injuries with magic.

You can feel yourself growing weaker, the adrenaline finally wearing off as the pain becomes unbearable. Constantine mutters a healing spell, one that slows the bleeding and knits some of the less serious cuts together. It's not perfect, but it’s enough for now.

“I think it’s time to get you all fixed up, huh?” Constantine says softly, his earlier anger tempered by concern as he helps you sit up, his hand firm on your back to support you.

You nod weakly, not daring to meet Batman’s eyes again. You’re in deep trouble, but for now, at least, you’re still breathing. As Constantine gets ready to teleport you to a safer place to heal, you hear Batman’s voice, calm but steely.

“We’re not done here.”

And with that ominous promise hanging in the air, Constantine picks you up, and the world around you shifts once again.

Constantine gently carries you through the halls toward the Justice League’s med bay, muttering curses under his breath with every step. You could feel his frustration radiating off him, and now, in the quiet aftermath of the fight, guilt begins to settle in your chest. The adrenaline from the battle has worn off, and now you're left with the consequences of your reckless actions.

“Hey, Constantine… I—I’m sorry for not listening to you. I really am,” you say, your voice soft and heavy with regret.

He sighs, not looking at you, but his tone is stern. “I’m not going to lie and say I’m not mad at you, kid. You didn’t just ignore my warnings—you put yourself in danger. There are rules for a reason. What if you got seriously hurt and couldn’t cast a spell back to me? Even worse, what if you died or got possessed?”

His words hit you hard, and you wither under the weight of them. You know he’s right. All those rules and restrictions aren’t just him being overprotective or controlling, they’re because he cares. He’s seen the kind of darkness that can swallow people whole, and the thought of that happening to you terrifies him, even if he’ll never say it out loud.

By the time you reach the med bay, the guilt feels like it’s pressing down on you as much as the pain in your ribs. Constantine lowers you onto a cot, tucking you in with a gruff gentleness that only he could pull off. He sits down on the side of the bed, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with a quick flick of his fingers, his eyes never leaving yours.

“What I’m trying to say, kid,” he starts, exhaling a cloud of smoke, “is that I care. I care about you, I care about what happens to you. I don’t want—” He pauses, his voice softening. “I don’t want to ever have to find your body one day. So please, from now on, let me know before you do something stupid like this.”

His words hang in the air, raw and unfiltered. You nod, trying to process it all, and then something clicks in your mind. Wait… did he just say let him know?

“Let you know? Does this mean—” Your eyes widen as realization hits you. “Does this mean I can go on solo missions?”

Constantine lets out a resigned sigh. “Yes, yes, you can start going on solo missions—”

“Hell yeah!” you exclaim, sitting up a little too quickly. Pain shoots through your ribs, but you can’t help the excitement bubbling inside you.

“—but, only the ones I sanction and authorize,” Constantine finishes, cutting through your excitement with a stern look. You deflate a little at his words, but it’s still a victory in your book.

Without thinking, you throw your arms around him, ignoring the sharp pain it causes in your ribs. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! I promise I won’t let you down!”

He chuckles, patting your back awkwardly before pulling away. “Yeah, yeah, I know you won’t. Now, lay back down and get some rest. You still have dark and brooding to deal with.” He gestures toward the direction of the meeting room, clearly dreading the inevitable confrontation with Batman. “And by extension, I do too,” he adds with a heavy sigh.

You groan, sinking back into the cot, the exhaustion finally catching up with you. “I don’t know why he even cares. If he did, he would’ve figured this out ages ago.”

Constantine glances at you, his expression softening for a moment. He takes a long drag of his cigarette before speaking. “He cares, kid. He just… doesn’t always show it the way you want him to. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it.”

You scoff, though part of you knows he’s right. “Yeah, well, doesn’t feel like it.”

Constantine stands, taking one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it into a nearby ashtray. “Doesn’t matter how it feels right now. The Bat’s going to want answers, and if I know him, he’s going to want to have a very long talk with you. You’re not out of the woods yet.”

You wince at the thought of the upcoming conversation, knowing that Batman’s interrogation will be thorough and far less forgiving than Constantine’s.

“Great,” you mutter, closing your eyes and sinking deeper into the cot. “Just what I need.”

Constantine gives you a small, almost affectionate smile before turning to leave. “Get some rest, kid. You’ve earned it. I’ll deal with the big bad Bat for now.”

And with that, he walks out, leaving you alone in the med bay. As much as you’re dreading what’s to come, you can’t help but feel a sense of relief. Despite the pain and the mistakes you made, you know that Constantine’s got your back. And, maybe, just maybe, Batman does too, even if it’s buried under a mountain of brooding and silence.

For now, though, you let the exhaustion pull you under, trusting that everything else can wait until tomorrow.

As you rest, your body finally succumbing to the exhaustion, your breathing evens out and your mind drifts into sleep. The med bay is quiet, sterile, but the tension in the air lingers, waiting for the inevitable. Eventually, a dark, caped figure glides into the room silently, his form casting long shadows across the walls.

Batman—no, Bruce—stands over you, his sharp eyes tracing every bruise, every cut that mars your face. His jaw clenches as a million thoughts swirl in his head, none of them offering any comfort.

What the hell happened to you? Why are you and Constantine so close? How did you even know Constantine? How much had he missed—how little attention had he been paying—to not notice any of this?

Bruce sighs, a deep and frustrated sound. He removes his cowl, setting it on the side table with a weary hand. Without it, he seems less intimidating, less imposing. He stares down at you, seeing the cuts and bruises marking your skin, but what hits him harder is the way your face, in sleep, is still so achingly young. You're his daughter, and yet it feels like you're a stranger to him now.

How did you get so far away?

He knows the answer. The fault lies with him, with the choices he made, the excuses he repeated to himself—telling himself he was too busy, telling himself he would check in later. Later never came, though, and the space between you widened, until it wasn't just him you were drifting away from, but your brothers too.

Bruce noticed the way your brothers treated you, the harsh words, the cold shoulders. He saw the distance, but he justified it, telling himself it was sibling rivalry or something that would pass. He didn't step in. And now, as he looks at you lying there, bruised and battered from a fight he wasn’t even aware of, the reality sinks in: he has no excuse.

With a heavy sigh, Bruce reaches out, his rough but careful hand carding gently through your hair. The gesture is tender, hesitant, as if he's not sure whether he has the right to touch you like this anymore. But as his fingers comb through your hair, you stir in your sleep, a quiet murmur escaping your lips as you unconsciously lean into his touch. It's such a sweet, innocent moment, and for a brief second, Bruce allows himself to feel the warmth of it.

But the moment is fleeting.

He feels the presence before he sees it, the unmistakable smell of cigarette smoke filling the room. His jaw tightens as his hand stills. He doesn’t turn right away, but his voice cuts through the silence.

“Constantine,” Bruce says, his tone gruff even without the cowl to disguise it.

Constantine steps into the room more fully, leaning against the wall, a half-smoked cigarette between his lips. He regards Bruce with that same nonchalance he carries everywhere, though there's a flicker of something else in his eyes—something more cautious.

"Thought you’d still be brooding over in the corner," Constantine says, taking a drag of his cigarette. His eyes drift to you, lying peacefully on the cot. “Didn’t expect to see this version of you.”

Bruce doesn’t respond right away. He pulls his hand back from your hair, his gaze hardening. "What happened?" The question is direct, but underneath it, Constantine can hear the concern, the frustration Bruce doesn't voice aloud.

"She went off on her own," Constantine mutters, taking another drag before blowing out a cloud of smoke. "Went after a demon. Got roughed up pretty bad, but she handled it in the end. Strong kid. Stubborn too. Wonder where she gets that from, eh?"

Bruce's eyes narrow. "And you let her?"

"Let her?" Constantine laughs, a short, sharp sound. "Mate, I didn’t let her. She went behind my back, just like she’s gone behind yours for who knows how long. Difference is, I’m the one she actually came back to.”

That lands like a punch to Bruce's gut. He doesn’t react visibly, but Constantine can see the tension in his posture.

"I didn't know she was…" Bruce starts, then stops, shaking his head. The words feel inadequate. "I didn't know she was involved with this stuff, i didn't even know she was a meta. Or that she knew you."

"Yeah, well, she found her way to me," Constantine says with a shrug, stubbing out his cigarette on the wall. “And she's not a meta by the way, she's a vessel for some eldritch being"

A vague expression of surprise appears on Bruce's face.

"I don't blame you, mate. I was surprised to find her alive afterwards. Not just anyone survives that kind of transformation, she's strong.”

Bruce crosses his arms, his gaze flickering between you and Constantine. “I know she’s strong.”

“Do you?” Constantine raises an eyebrow, the challenge clear in his tone. “Because she’s been running herself ragged trying to prove it. To you. To herself. And, hell, maybe to me too, but at least I see it.”

There’s silence for a moment. Bruce clenches his jaw, turning to look at you again, sleeping soundly despite the tension in the room. He knew Constantine was right. You'd been pushing yourself, fighting to show that you didn’t need them—that you were strong enough on your own. And he had let you. He'd let you because he didn't even care to notice.

Constantine sighs, sensing the weight of the silence. “Look, I didn’t come here to throw stones. But you’ve got to get your shit together with her. She’s tough, but she’s still a kid, and she’s your kid. She needs you.”

Bruce doesn’t answer, but his silence speaks volumes. He watches you, the soft rise and fall of your chest, and feels the regret gnawing at him.

“I’ll handle it,” Bruce finally says, though the words feel hollow.

Constantine gives him a long look, then nods. “You better. Because if you don’t, she’ll be right back with me..”

With that, Constantine pushes off the wall, flicking away the last of his cigarette. “I’ll check in on her later. Try not to fuck this up, mate.” And with one last glance at you, Constantine leaves, the tension in the room ebbing with him.

Bruce remains, standing over you, his mind a whirlwind of regret, guilt, and the desire to fix what’s been broken for far too long. He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead—something he hasn’t done in what feels like years—before stepping back, pulling the chair beside your bed to sit vigil over you.

He’s still not sure how to bridge the gap, but for now, he stays. It’s a start.

Well, thats all folks! I really enjoyed writing this au, so thanks for the idea! Maybe ill even make a pt. 2 to this? Who knows? Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it.

#batfamily #yandere batfam #platonic yandere #neglected reader #yandere bruce wayne #yandere damian wayne #yandere cassandra cain #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #john constantine #yandere john constantine (kinda)#batfamily x neglected reader #batman #batfam #batfamily x reader #justice leauge dark

2K notes · View notes

onmyyan · 9 months ago

Text

Ain't no sunshine

Chapter 4

A/n: love this series, fem reader, yandere themes, platonic yandere Batfamily

Taglist: @uniquecutie-puffs @starsdotalk @ghostdoodlen @nickey-diano @76lonelyspoons @m3vl0vesu @uknowimdumb

"What's this about Gordon?" Damian asks after arriving in the dining room, he was perplexed by her message, what on earth would they need to speak about you of all people?

"(Y/n) moved out." Barbara says biting the bullet.

There was a moment of silence as her words registered before chaos broke out.

"What do you mean moved out?" Dick asks putting down the bagel he was eating his eyes held disbelief, "I mean I just checked her room and she's gone." Barbara says making his stomach lurch.

"We missed her birthday." Tim speaks suddenly realizing, his mind working a mile a minute. Jason curses under his breath at the revelation, how could he be such an idiot?

"You're wrong she wouldn't leave like that." Dick shook his head, the thought of you simply disappearing sent a wave of deep-seated unease through the family, and something else, something much darker had been born in that moment within each of them.

"Alfred confirmed it." Barbara says softly trying not to upset Dick further than he was.

Cass stood still before signing, "How could we not have noticed?"

Damian having enough of the conversation pulled out his phone calling your number, only to be met with the same answer Barbara got when she tried, his brows furrowed as the automated voice told him the number was disconnected. "Her phone's off." He speaks a pit forming in his stomach,

The Manor was quieter than usual.

That's the first thing Bruce notices when he wakes up that morning, an almost empty quiet filled the halls as he went from his bedroom to the study, he couldn't put his finger on what it was exactly and this bothered him to no end.

Alfred stood diligently by the marble counter top waiting for Bruce's instructions, "Good morning Alfred."

"Master Bruce." Alfred greeted him simply, rather curt for the old man, and Bruce notices this immediately, his mind racing on what he could have done to upset the man. "Is something wrong Alfred?"

"To be the world's greatest detective you can be incredibly dense." Alfred served him his coffee without another word and made Bruce feel like a child being scolded for something.

It wasn't until he walked by your room did his senses go off, it was much too quiet in there, knocking softly he found the door opening from the slightest touch. Alarm bells immediately start going off at just how empty it is, how void of life. He rushed downstairs, searching for Alfred to question him, when he saw his whole family gathered in the dining room.

They stare at him, all with that deer in a headlight look, "What?" He asks knowing something was up.

"(Y/n)'s gone." Dick speaks up, biting at his thumb, "And we missed her birthday." Jason adds on his guilt making his shoulders slump inward.

Bruce looks over to Alfred as if to confirm what he was told, the older man simply nods.

Meanwhile on the other side of Gotham, you're completely unaware of the chaos your absence is causing. Too busy enjoying your new life.

Bruce went to the cave immediately, checking the cameras for your form, he searched through a week of footage before he saw your graceful exit from the manor. A week. A fucking week you'd been gone and your own father hadn't noticed.

Bruce had felt like a true failure only a handful of times in his life, losing Jason, and now, you.

Only this time there was no Joker to blame, it was him. His fault his daughter felt the need to disappear without so much as a goodbye. The years of ignoring your presence simply because you were his 'easy child' the one he never had to worry about, the one who never made waves, come crashing down upon him, he rests his head on his hands, eyes never leaving the screen. "What have I done?" He speaks lowly, mind reeling from the shame of his inaction.

His blue eyes hardened at the sight of you on the screen, he could fix this, couldn't he? He just needed a second chance, he'd show you the love you deserved, the nurturing you needed, he didn't care that you were a legal adult now, (he winces at the thought of forgetting such an important birthday, he'd throw you the party of all parties once he got you home, he swore it.) you were his daughter, his youngest daughter, and you needed him no matter what you thought.

Dick Grayson prided himself on many things, one of which being his bond with his family, so to be faced with the reality that he wasn't the best big brother around, kind of shatters him. He refused to accept the fact that his, along with everyone else's actions, lead to your choice to abandon them, instead he reasoned, you were feeling rebellious, youthful energy and all that, he was sure once you got this out of your system you'd be right back where you belonged. Where he could keep an eye on you, a proper eye this time.

Jason fumes silent, pacing the kitchen, he feels like a cat is clawing at his skin from the inside, unable to do anything with his pent up frustration he grips the counter top hard enough for his knuckles to turn white. He hated himself right now, hated how garbage he felt, you were only eighteen, all on your lonesome in a city like Gotham? It was enough to set the hairs on his neck on edge.

Tim was busy on his tablet, he was already searching the city's CCTV cameras for any trace of you, his fingers working so fast they cramped, sweat drips down his brow as he searched, unable to tear himself away from his task. He felt maybe just maybe if he found you, he could begin to make up for how shitty he'd treated you, begin to open up to you in the way you'd always wanted. He needed to find you, and based on the usually composed family's obvious panic, it needed to be fast.

Barbara busied herself with rummaging through your empty room for anything she could use to find you, if she just had the chance to explain herself, she's sure you'd understand, sure you'd look at her with that expression you had when you were younger, like she was your personal hero.

Cassandra finds herself staring out at the distant view of Gotham, her hands twitching at her sides as she struggles not to take action, sure she didn't have a bond with you like she did with the others but she still cared for you, from a distance, she felt it was safer as you were the only civilian in the family. A choice she thinks now was a mistake. Maybe if she'd let her walls down a little more, you'd have confided in her instead of leaving.

Damian, in his rage, wasted no time heading to the cave to suit up, there he found his Father, still leaning over the computer table. "What are you doing?" Bruce asks barley looking away from the screen. "What do you think? Going to find that idiot before she gets herself killed." He seethes yanking on his tactical gloves.

"Damian -"

"How dare she leave us- we are a family." He spits the word out like it's a curse, "You don't leave your family." He reiterates slamming his hands into the table holding various gadgets. "I'm going to find that fool and drag her back here." He promised.

"Just hold on for a moment." Bruce stands walking over to his son to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, "We have no idea where she is, let us do some recon. Tim will find her address in no time, if she's still in Gotham we'll find her within the week."

Damian hesitantly agreed to his father's reasoning.

It takes them a week to find you, you were very good at hiding your tracks, using only cash, staying in shady areas because they weren't monitored, it's only when you post a selfie with some new friends do they lock your location down.

Tim took five minutes to himself to stare at the photo before alerting the family, he found it after all, he felt entitled to it, to the joy on your face, the other people in the picture made it easier to find you, first he found their names, then their addresses and used that along with the small bits of background he could see to triangulate your new address.

He'd never seen that look on your face, it was a casual cocky sort of grin, one that said you were genuinely enjoying yourself. He couldn't fathom how you were so happy without them, it sort of hurt his feelings, but at the same time he needed to see more of that smile, see what other expressions you made, he'd only ever seen that sad dejected look on your face, he huffs to himself, saving the picture for himself before sending the info to the group chat.

Bruce decided to let one of his kids do the interacting with you, feeling too ashamed to face you yet, he sends Dick, knowing you once looked up to him.

You're three hours into a horror movie marathon, courtesy of the box TV you stole off the back of a moving truck, when someone knocks at your door.

You don't pause the movie, using it as cover to tip toe towards the door, sure it was still early in the night, but everything was dangerous in Gotham.

You don't say a word, sneakily looking through the grimey peephole all you can make out is a tall dark haired man.

He knocks again causing you to flinch. Swiping knife out the drawer, you hide it behind your back before swinging open the door expecting the people you'd stolen the TV from or maybe one of the thugs you'd beaten black and blue, not Dick Grayson.

"Hey little bird." He greets like an old time friend, not the man who'd ignored you your entire relationship.

"How the fuck- what are you doing here?" You sigh revealing the knife as you rest your hand on your hip, exasperated by his mere presence. He eyes the knife before laughing, "I like the energy, good call living in this neighborhood." He invites himself inside, scrutinizing your apartment, a deep sigh leaving his lips, "You shouldn't be living like this-"

"Hold the fuck on." You point the knife at him accusingly, "You didn't know I existed a week ago, now you barge into my home," you emphasize with another point, "shit all over it and start lecturing me about how I should live?" You stare at him like he's grown another head before laughing, he friend stepping closer, "I'm ...I'm sorry, I know I forgot your birthday - we forgot, but you didn't need to run away-"

"I didn't run from shit." Crossing your arms, "I'm an adult, I moved out." You say pointedly.

"Be that as it may- you should have said something, do you have any idea how worried we've been?" He pleads, brows furrowed, "I know you're mad, you've every right to be, but this isn't safe." He gestures to your apartment. "I walked past a drug deal on the way up here ya know." He chides like he's scolding s child.

"Come back to the manor." He says softly, stepping closer once more, until he could touch your shoulder, "no need to leave the nest so soon." You stare at his hand, then him, before pointing the knife at him, your hand steady,

"Get the fuck outta my house."

Dick leaves reluctantly, he was determined to bring you home, thought you'd jump in his arms for a hug once he showed up, but you didn't, you looked at him with disgust, anger, and a hint of fear, he hated it. He wanted you to look up at him like the big brother he was, not like your enemy.

You're panting after the encounter, knife clattering to the ground, you follow shortly after, collapsing as your mind tried to process the whirlwind of emotions coursing through you.

It was a storm, so you latched on to the one feeling that would anchor you, rage.

You don't sleep that night. And it's a good thing because Damian is breaking through your window lock like it was the easiest thing, he enters your home, face deadset in a glare. "You left the manor for this shit hole?" He almost laughs, his hand on his sword makes you incredibly nervous. "What's it matter to you? Thought you'd be thrilled." You roll your eyes, too exhausted to deal with another one of them in such a short time period.

"You've disrupted the natural flow in the manor with this little stunt." He seethes, "I'm going to restore it." He states as if speaking a fact. "How prey tell do you intend on doing that, you massive twat?" He simply smirks before looking behind you, you turn around and see Jason leaning against the wall, his red hood mask on, obstructing his facial expression, making him all the more unnerving.

"You're a long way from home." Jason says kicking off the wall, moving to hover behind you, "Why are you here?! Okay I'm officially over this reunion, out." You point to the window they entered from.

"Oh we're leaving, just not without you." Jason chimes up his hand hovering over his guns, fingers twitching.

To your defense, you did try and run, but it was no use, they were on you faster than you could process, a sweet smelling cloth is pressed to your mouth, and as much as you fight it, eventually you need to breathe, it takes one good inhale for the chloroform to kick in, you slump in someone's hold you're unsure of which one and your world fades to black.

#yandere dc imagine #yandere dc #yandere #various yandere x reader #yandere batfamily x reader #yandere batfamily #yandere batfam #aint no sunshine

1K notes · View notes

sramoonlight · 23 days ago

Text

Back in town

What if the Batfam got another version of their spidey?

Content you’ll see here: neglected!reader, yandere!Batfam, spidey!reader, female!reader, mentions of death, ATSV x DC

English it’s not my first language, so please be patient

You are spider woman, you’ve been a spider for two years and even when things go hard you make it worth over and over again

That was always your best power, you won’t gave up easily even if the things go hard, so when a spider person appeared to ask you to join his team you were excited.

You lost your universe because of that.

Homeless, you keep living in Miguel’s dimension, he kinda feels guilty about loosing your home like he did something for you to be in this position, he didn’t

But this was your only home now, even if his guard is up not letting himself be seen as something more than a boss, that men sees you as a daughter and you see him as a father

You never had one, actually, you and your mother were by your own not caring about a male figure who could give you comfort or something like that.

So you clenched into that man like your life depended on it

He keeps acting like he doesn’t care, he does

Maybe that’s why you stopped going on dangerous missions

You lived there like nothing happened, missing your mother and the city you used to protect with your life but there was nothing for you to do, only pretend like you were born there.

And that surprisingly lead you to this moment, the moment where you were walking to find Miguel on his “office” if you can call it that.

You took a deep breath hearing how he was humming a song you don’t know, it’s weird to see him acting that way but sure it’s a thing you should appreciate

— Miguel — You spoke, his humming stopped and he looked down to you, the platform going down slowly.

The way he looked at you showed how he is struggling to find the words, a very rare thing to see from him

He walked to you, his hands wrapping around his waist

— I need to send you on a mission — He said in a sigh, like it was a hard thing to say

— I’ll do it, big man! By why would you not just tell Lyla to tell me? — you chuckled imitating his pose

That sent a weird expression to Miguel’s face.

— There is an anomaly in a dimension without Spider-Man —

You swallowed, that type of missions are the toughest but why would he send you and not someone like Jess to do it?

And he wouldn’t send you to do something if you don’t have a reason to do it.

— What’s the catch? — he bites his cheek, the skin tearing by the way his fangs got into it

— There’s a you in this dimension, she was suppose to be Spider-Woman but she died —

Damn that was tough, you looked down thinking about it

A you that died, but your world kept going without you or maybe it wasn’t, if Miguel is giving you this mission probably is because it’ll give you the chance to save a dimension

Like you didn’t to yours.

Taking a deep breath you took his hand

— I’ll do it, it would be just a flash and I’ll be back — that surprisingly set a smile on his face

He ruffled your hair making you laugh and try to pull him away

— I’ll get going now, see you soon —

You tapped your clock, a portal opening as you crossed it.

And everything felt familiar, you were send to a restroom in a school and you can see it as your old dimension

Different, the colors are darker like you could just hide on the shadows not matter the colors you were wearing.

You checked yourself in the mirror, you’re using an uniform

Is this… Gotham Academy? Damn, the you from this dimension lived at Gotham? You are not surprised she died

And that makes you wonder, Miguel didn’t tell you to hide your identity, that means the corpse hasn’t been found

Your other you is probably there, alone in a dark place waiting for someone to care enough to look for her

Anyways, you patted your cheeks leaving the restroom

There was a smile on your face, clinging into the backpack on your shoulder while trying to look from there

— (Reader)! I was looking for you! — a pair of arms hugged you leading you to your classroom.

The chat was something trivial, luckily, your friends talks too much for you to not say anything out of line and keeping some information for yourself

First, the you on this dimension likes chocolate milk, it isn’t something you’ll drink in your nowadays but damn! You drank just a sip and you can guess why she loved this milk

In your dimension, on Brooklyn, you wouldn’t look at the milk boxes because they would be filled with expired milk, you can feel yourself shiver at the memory.

The day at your new school wasn’t something bad, it does have a proper education and you guess it’s because your family is wealthy enough to pay a good education

Speaking of which, you are dying to have this day done so you’ll get back to your mother! She isn’t your mother, but she would be the mother from this version

Probably she didn’t die in that accident, if you’re wealthy enough to afford this school she wouldn’t be working in a gross street with crime all over it.

And the day was over, you left the school with your friend by your side

— Are you walking home again? Damn, Mr. Wayne doesn’t care about your well-being —

What?

Mr. Wayne? THE Bruce Wayne? Your mother married Bruce Wayne on this universe? What a surprise! And damn good! Not even Bruce Wayne could look away from your mother

— Nah, I prefer walking — you smiled at him, leaving him behind.

Now, Where is the Wayne manor? You looked on your backpack looking for a phone but there wasn’t

Doesn’t she have a phone? That’s a thing you’ll tell Mr. Wayne to give you! Now you think about it, you know he has a problem with adopting kids but everyone left him after turning eighteen

Not even his youngest, the one from that failed marriage with the Al ghul’s daughter cared enough to stay and he was just fourteen.

He is going to be a good dad right? Sure he is, he would probably spoil you every day to gain some love for you.

Typing something on your watch you rushed to press a device on an alley, the little spider bot crawling to hide on a safe place

— Lyla, are you here? — You whispered and the hologram showed at your side

— What is it? — she changed her appearance, a shirt with “I love Gotham” on it

— Can you… could you please look where the Wayne manor is? —

You’re helpless, you sure are.

You entered the manor with slow movements, it’s quite late and you are sure your new step father would be mad about it

You don’t want your first memory with him being scolded, that would be so wrong and bad at the same time

Maybe you could stick yourself on the ceiling and go to your room, wait, no, if there is no Spider-Man here that means there is not canon for you to do your usual things and don’t get caught

Damn you have to walk, and the stairs are just in front of the dinner room where you can hear voices.

Taking a deep breath you prepare yourself, you walked to the stairs

— Miss (Reader)! — it was worth the shot.

— I thought you didn’t attend school, I’m sorry for not picking you up, come here, let’s eat lunch — the butler, an old man took your arm leading you to the table

The chat between everyone ended, they all looked at you like you didn’t belong

That… that isn’t a thing for a loved child to experience.

You sat down, next to an empty seat probably for you mother, she would be so mad when she sees how everyone is looking at you

The butler sets a plate in front of you with food, it was onions on it

You hate onions.

Probably the you from this universe doesn’t mind them, there is no way anyone would make you eat it if you don’t like it

The chats start again like you aren’t eating there, now it feels weird

Is this family the classical evil one from those fairy tales? You are sure in there the step mother is the villain, but Bruce Wayne doesn’t look like a bad person

And suddenly everything clicks.

Your friend complaining about Bruce not caring about your well being, the butler not knowing if you attended school and.. the reason your body hasn’t been found

No one looked for you.

No one care enough about you

So that’s the catch, the you from this dimension is a no one beside your family, they don’t care about you.

You feel bad about her, you sure do, she died and at the last second maybe she thought her family would care about her but there you are, taking her place

But it feels off, you know every Spider-Man has someone for them to rely when they feel bad or someone for them to look up

Was she really this lonely?

Ah, for her it must be this butler

The one who dragged you to the room even if no one wants you there

Probably this man is the only one who cares about you, there only one who would cry when he finds out you are dead.

You rushed to eat, you need to leave this place quickly

— Miss (Reader) be careful, you are going to chock — you didn’t listen, instead you picked up your plate even if the butler looked like he was about to take it from you

And..

You hugged him, tightly

— Thank you, thank you for everything —

You’re sure he would feel bad about not saying goodbye, probably he would think he had to do more for you even a little more

The feeling of having the chance to do something but being unable, you know it, you are not her, and yet this man needs a way to say goodbye.

You left the room running upstairs, you could only hear a voice

— Isn’t she acting weird? —

Let’s get back to you, you followed your intuition to where your room is supposed to be

It happens to be a place filled with spiderwebs and dust, a place you wouldn’t expect you to sleep and see as a safe place.

Opening the door you realize, you are the protagonist of a weird story where Bruce Wayne is the evil stepfather and his kids the villains

It’s too small, small for a whole manor where at least five people live at

— There used to be posters — You whispered touching the small pieces of masking tape left on the walls

You can see a piece of paper left on the floor like it was just teared off

And… in a small corner, where everything seems to find their reason, there is an altar

With your mothers photo

— So you’re dead even in this universe — You mumbled, your hands moved to grab the photo smiling at the view

In your universe, you had photos of her, but when everything disappeared the photos did too and you don’t have the heart to ask Miguel to see her from the computer

You can’t see her face again, but there is something for you to hold even if it doesn’t feel the same anymore

— You wouldn’t let this happen, you would make this girl happy — it feels off,

You know, you just know the you from this world only finds comfort on the idea of living for her mother

She died alone, alone by the thought of what could be.

That gave you an idea

Immediately, you moved across the bedroom looking for something until you found it

A diary.

— Damn, how lucky I am — You smiled opening the small notebook.

“Dear diary, I’m not going to write dear diary everytime I want to write on you, sorry not sorry”

Yeah, that kid is you for sure

“My name is (Reader) (Last name) Wayne, Am I supposed to present myself? Well I did! Anyways, uhm, the life on Gotham is pretty weird”

“My father, he is too much into his own life to care about me and I don’t mind, I mean, I always thought he left us behind but he didn’t know about me and now he’s forced to take care of me, he doesn’t even pretend to like me”

So, you knew? That feels incredibly bad, knowing no one cared about you but still having to deal with it and shut your mouth because you don’t have nowhere to go

Wait.. left us behind?

“Mom is gone, her illness won and I’m trapped here, maybe it’s better than being on a foster home or maybe the same”

Bruce Wayne… he is your biological dad?

That makes you angry, the only way he cared enough to be on your life was when your mother died

No, he didnt, he was forced to

— Motherfucker.. — a whisper left your mouth and you started to read the diary

All night.

When the sun comes up you realized how late you stayed up, and you don’t feel tired at all

Maybe is the feeling of angry, but you can’t even close your eyes and pretend to sleep

You hate this family, you hate them all, they’re pieces of shit who doesn’t care about you at all and you won’t accept them in your life

But it isn’t your life, it’s hers and she would love to be seen

Maybe you are here to get rid of the anomaly, but why not changing it a little? There is no canon to disturb, and Miguel isn’t here.

That’s the thing, you’re a performer, back in you universe you were a legendary actress shines every time she is performing, you aren’t anymore but the way you can make everyone look at you is still there.

You stayed up all night, your eyes moving up and down reading every word and taking it with your heart, stealing pages from the diary and writing things she could do

You took her way of talking.

Even you stayed up looking at old photos of her in galas, standing next to a man that isn’t looking at her at all

Videos where only her silhouette could be seen, it was enough because you only needed to count the steps she takes or the way her shoulders move when she’s breathing

You memorized it all

By the end of the night, when you had to blink to take the tiredness away you looked at those pages where the script was set

“(Reader) (Last name) Wayne is the first blood daughter of Bruce Wayne, the family doesn’t care about her at all and they ignore her til she died, the media doesn’t care about her either, she could be seen on the news but she wasn’t interesting enough to get her own article

She’s dead, she died by an anomaly before becoming Spider-Woman, but she had the lucky chance to get back to life

She’s a star, she takes all the attention”.

That leads us here, you walked to the living room where Dick, the acrobat brother who you read about on the diary was scrolling through his phone

— Dick! — You called him, making him look up a little

That look of not caring a little bit about you, waiting for this conversation to be over so he could get back to his business

You can guess he is looking for something to escape, you won’t let him

He’ll see her.

It happened too fast, you used your stickiness to stand in your hands and for a moment that grabbed his attention

— When did you learned to do that? You can’t even go a four without falling — he is seeing you!

For the first time, he left his phone behind looking at you with curiosity

He cares

— I learned by looking at you! — liar, he doesn’t need to know it’s a lie

And his eyes shined, for a second

— Ah! That’s all, I have to go now — you stood on your feet fixing your clothes and that made him jump out of the couch

— What if we go to grab something to eat I- —

— Sorry, I have plans — you left the room, you left him behind

And he couldn’t take his eyes out of your frame

A thing you discovered reading the diary, the you from this universe accepts when someone tells her to wait and that’s certainly the reason no one sees her

She doesn’t want to look like a brat desperate for attention, you don’t need their validation

And a thing that makes everyone on this family be appreciative it’s the way you can’t take the eyes out of them, Jason? Is too impulsive and his body is huge so you have to look at him

Tim? He was too smart, too smart to fool and you have to keep an eye to him

You can keep counting their abilities but that isn’t the point, the point is.. this version, she had things to make everyone look at her but she was too worried about being a good girl to force their eyes to look at her.

You don’t.

It wasn’t a surprise Dick started to be more in the manor, you ignored his presence

But you shined, reminding him of everytime he used to ignore your presence

The texts were there, he trying to get your attention and replying to the last invitation the you from this dimension gave him.

You are on the living room, your legs pressed into your chest while you write something on your notebook

The anomaly hasn’t triggered any device you placed to know their location, a long mission you’ll have to do if you want this universe to be safe

What a pain in the ass.

— Miss (Reader) — You looked up, the butler was standing there with a glass, chocolate milk

You know the version from this universe likes it, yet you don’t know why it isn’t on its usual box

— Is everything okay? — he sat down next to you, giving you the glass as you took a sip of it

It’s good, not good enough to take it everyday but it is

Ah, wait

Alfred, this butler used to put the milk for you when you felt sad, usually when one of your brothers rejected you again

Does he..? He knows, he knows you aren’t the same

— it is it’s just.. well, I’m thinking about leaving the manor — You whispered, his eyes opened in fear

Not fear, that wasn’t the word, pain?

This man, you’ll break his heart if you leave him behind and that’s what you wanted

— Father won’t look at me, so what’s the point on being here? Once I turn eighteen I’ll leave —

He looked at you, there’s no words for him to say because you know he’ll try to make you stay but at the same time he understands it

He saw you, I mean, she crying too much because of things this family did to her and if loosing you means you’ll be happy

He can take it

…

He can’t.

He leaves your side looking at the glass where you just drank what could be one of your last cups of chocolate milk, how his heart aches at the thought of not being able to wipe your tears when you feel down

He wouldn’t, but he needs to, even if it’s wrong.

So when the sun goes down and he’s trapped on the batcave by Bruce’s side he needs to say it

— One of the children is requesting a little more money to pay an apartment — he said with a straight voice, no hesitation even if it was a lie

— Tell Damian landlords won’t accept batcow — he kept typing without looking at him

An usual thing for him to do.

— Your third child, master Bruce — that got his attention, he looked at Alfred

— Tim is already out of here, he needs to move? — Bruce asked, like it was a thing he couldn’t believe

He doesn’t, actually but that doesn’t matter

— No, sir, miss (Reader) — and that send all memories about his little girl to him

And, for his concern, there wasn’t one he could recall

All of them where the ones he saw her eating dinner, no more, no chatting or something similar to it

He feels bad, he does why doesn’t he remember anything about his little girl?

— She wants to move? Why? She is just.. — Damn he doesn’t remember, that makes him even more guilty

He doesn’t know anything about her, yet he can’t do anything now that she’s about to leave

Only..

He thought, his head moving fast in a way he could think of an answer, he can make her want to stay

Yeah! That’s a good answer, he can do that

Taking a deep breath, he stood up walking to Alfred

— Is she here? — he asked, Alfred looked up to him and something shined on his eyes like it was enough for him to find something

— She left just an hour ago, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait ‘til she comes back — damn, good, he lost his opportunity to talk to you

God bless him, he suddenly feels like he needs to be by your side at every chance he gets

Why? Why on earth when he didn’t care about you before? He doesn’t know, there’s no answer and he doesn’t care to find it, it’s his baby! His only blood daughter.

The way Bruce moved to go upstairs made the butler smile, you wouldn’t leave if you father cares enough to take you back to his arms right?

And when everything was going according to his plan, the box of chocolate milk was about to expire.

Yes, another spider!reader, Can you blame me? This is too good to not do it

Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

444 notes · View notes

soaps-mohawk · 1 year ago

Text

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 2 - Adjustments

Summary: You're struggling a bit in your adjustment to your new life, and you're finding some of them are easier to get along with than others. Luckily you're not in it alone.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.

Author's Note: I'm so just overwhelmed with the attention this fic has gotten, but not in a bad way I promise! I'm just surprised is all. Thank you everyone that has read and reblogged and commented. I love all of you and so, since I have no self control, here is Chapter 2. Lots more world building and dialogue in this part, but I promise good stuff is coming.

Also I promise Soap will get his time soon. He's just the hardest for me to write, and you'll see why in this chapter.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

“She was lying.”

Price doesn’t bother looking up as a dark figure leans against the wall next to him. He stares out at the empty space between the barracks and the mess hall, not much traffic between the buildings during this time of day.

“About how she got to the institute.”

“Or at least not telling the whole truth.” Price says, turning to look at Simon. “Something tells me she’d talk if we asked.”

“She’s soft.” Simon says, letting his gaze drift off into the distance.

“She’s a civilian.” Price counters. “The CIA did a little training, but she’ll need some work. We can’t leave her completely defenseless...”

Simon turns to face him again. “There’s something else.”

Price pushes himself off the wall, heading back inside. Simon follows, the two of them making their way down the hall to his office. “There’s hundreds of American military bases across the world, thousands of regiments they could have chosen from, and yet, they sent her to us.”

Simon closes the door behind him as Price sinks into his desk chair. “You think it was deliberate?”

Price pulls open one of the drawers, pulling out the file Kate had given him. “Laswell said the CIA has had eyes on her for years.” He slides it across his desk to Simon. “There’s a lot of why's in this situation, and a lot of how’s. Like, if what she’s saying is true, how did a Staff Sergeant get his daughter into FIOT practically overnight?”

Simon glances up at him over the top of the file. “You think there’s something else going on with this Initiative.”

Price nods. “I do. I think there’s more than one experiment being run, and we’re the guinea pigs.”

You stare at your reflection in the mirror as you run a comb through your damp hair. You look tired, the dark circles that have plagued your face for the last few weeks looking even darker now. It’s been a long day, so long it’s hard to believe it’s only been a matter of hours since you boarded the helicopter in London.

Your new pack had made themselves scarce after dinner, leaving you to your own devices. You had been left alone after lunch too, and you had spent that time laying in bed, resting after the overwhelming scenting.

You’d played back the last few hours in your mind. Leaving London in the helicopter, meeting your new Pack Alpha, Laswell leaving, meeting your new pack, the scenting. You had plenty to think about, to stress over, and you had been surprised when the knock came at your door for dinner. You were equally surprised to see Gaz and Soap waiting for you.

You’d been sandwiched between them again as you walked to the mess. It was busier for dinner, and the eyes weren’t quite so quick to look away with the alphas missing. You know they have to be curious, with an omega on base following around two members of a SpecOps team, smelling like them. You know what they were probably thinking of you, what they were thinking your presence means.

You’ve begun to understand Price’s rules a bit more.

Price and Ghost had joined you as Soap said they would, coming in late from whatever they had been busy doing. You had been seated next to Soap, Ghost taking his other side while Price sat next to Gaz. It hadn’t gone unnoticed to you how close Soap and Ghost sat, and you remembered the look in Ghost’s eyes when Soap had approached to scent you. How his defensive stare had turned icy, threatening even, when he’d gotten close to you as if you were capable of hurting Soap. It had been a silent warning. If you tried anything, you’d have him to contend with.

Ghost is territorial, more so than most alphas. You had seen it just a bit in Price, but only because you had been watching for it. Ghost was silent in his claim, but his gaze spoke of his territorialism. As you sat at the table with them, you slowly felt the stares lessen, the curious alphas and betas around you slowly turning away from your table until you were left in peace. You knew it was all thanks to a well-pointed glare from the second alpha at the table.

They’d escorted you back to the barracks before disappearing again, leaving you alone. You’d opted for a shower to try and clear your head, exhaustion weighing heavy in your limbs but your mind was racing too much to really get any rest. You haven’t been told what their normal schedules entail or even what they look like, but you expect an early morning tomorrow. Since Price had said at least one of them needed to escort you around base, that likely meant you were going to be constrained to their schedules.

You know even when they’re not away, their days are probably full of training and briefings, much like yours had been for three months. They’re probably up early, earlier than you’d like to be, and then they go non-stop all day.

You wonder if they ever get a break.

Maybe this is a break for them.

You sit on the edge of the bed after you finish your routine, eyeing the pillows and blankets stacked at the end. They’re military issue, not as soft or as plush as you might have preferred. This is your new normal, though. Comfort isn’t exactly going to be a high priority.

Tears prick your eyes as you run your hand over the comforter. You know it’s the exhaustion, the stress of the day beginning to weigh on you. You’re worn out, and that’s causing a slip in the tight reins you keep on your mood. Omegas and alphas were both prone to being moody, and those who were unrestrained could lose control quickly. Alphas were quick to anger, while omegas could get depressed very easily. Exhaustion drives both to being grumpy, though alphas will descend into irritability and anger, while omegas will get whiny and weepy.

You hate it, how easily you can be driven to cry. How easily you can lose control. It makes you feel weak and helpless, but that’s partially by design. It was supposed to be your pack’s job to fix that, to give you that support and take care of you.

Except you don’t know your pack.

What would they do if you approached them like this, all teary and needy? Would instinct take over and snap them into their roles? Or would they give you an awkward pat on the back and leave you to take care of yourself? Gaz would help you, you think. He had slipped into that role so easily during the scenting. Your fingers twitch on the bedspread, your mind telling you to seek him out, track him down, even if it’s only to catch a whiff of his scent again.

Your phone screen lights up where it’s sitting on the nightstand, drawing your attention from the door. Kate had given you the phone just this morning before you left the hotel. It had her number on it, as well as your pack’s. You’d half expected to find messages already from them when you’d turned it on, but there had been none. They had kept that boundary of meeting in person first.

You pick up the phone, checking the message. It’s from Price.

Breakfast is at 0700. I’ll take you to see the Omega Specialist after.

Seven o’clock. It’s not terribly early. You’d eaten around the same time at the institute. You’ll get to meet the Omega Specialist as well tomorrow. You’ve met plenty of them in your time as an omega, but something about the idea of having someone there who knows, who understands is comforting to you.

You send a reply in acknowledgement for tomorrow’s plan before setting an alarm for tomorrow morning. There’s an uneasy feeling under your skin, a tickling in the back of your mind that you can’t seem to relax. Your eyes are drawn to the desk where the shirts still sit, and before you know it you’re moving to the desk, letting your fingers trail over each one.

You grab Price’s shirt, taking it back to your bed. You curl up with your back facing the door, holding the shirt against your chest, letting the scent of tobacco smoke and whiskey fill your nose. Silent tears slide down your cheeks, your face pressing into the pillow to muffle your sobs.

As you try to muffle your tears, you miss the sound of boots pausing in front of your door, the person on the other side standing there for a moment before continuing down the hall.

You let out a groan as your alarm pulls you from sleep. You had drifted in and out for a few hours before finally managing to get a couple precious hours of sleep. You’d woken when the others got up. You knew they were trying to be quiet but you had heard them shuffling around, talking quietly amongst each other. You’re normally a fairly deep sleeper, but in a new place you always struggle.

A new place surrounded by almost complete strangers.

You turn off your alarm, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. They’re burning a bit, the exhaustion still weighing heavy on your shoulders. You pad to the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face to try and make yourself at least look more alive than you feel. The last thing you need is them getting worried about you. That’s attention you’re not sure you want right now.

You blink sleepily at your closet, trying to decide what to wear. Were you allowed to wear anything? You didn’t have much besides the basics, since the only thing you had been allowed to wear at the institute was its uniform and the clothes they provided. Then when you were with the CIA, they had provided clothes for you to wear as well. The things you have now had been bought by Kate before you left D.C.

Everyone on base wore similar variants of the same uniform. You’re not military, though, so you don’t think those rules apply to you. No one had said anything about your state of dress yesterday. You opt for comfort, knowing you’d likely find out soon if you were going to be forced to dress differently too.

You’re tying your shoes when the knock sounds on your door. You had heard the others moving around, footsteps in the hallway, opening and closing doors, quiet voices talking and Soap laughing at something. You know it’s one of them, yet the nervous tickle at the back of your head is back.

Soap is leaning casually against your doorframe when you open the door. His face lights up in a smile as he sees you. “Morning, bonny. Sleep alright?”

“Yeah.” You shrug. “Tossed and turned for a while.”

“We didne keep ye up did we?” He asks, his smile faltering just a bit.

You shake your head. “No, I never sleep well the first few nights in a new place.”

“Well, our beds are always open if ye need something more comfortable.” He winks at you playfully.

Your face warms at his words, the double meaning not lost on you. You were right, Soap was going to be the one to push your boundaries the most.

Gaz elbows him in the ribs as he passes. “She’s been here a day, mate, don’t go scaring her off now.” He leans on the other side of your doorframe, giving you a smile. “Morning.”

“Morning.” You say, your face still warm from Soap’s teasing.

“You hungry?” Gaz asks.

You nod. You do feel hungry this morning, likely a side effect from your emotional night last night. You step out of your room, the two betas stepping back to give you space as you close the door behind you. Ghost is leaning against the wall next to his door, his eyes watching with the typical cautious disinterest that seemed to be his default setting.

Gaz and Soap sandwich you between them again, close enough their arms brush yours as you walk. It was almost as if they could sense your inner turmoil, the neediness still tugging at the back of your mind. If Ghost hadn’t been trailing the three of you, you might have been tempted to give in and grip their sleeves, or slip your hands into theirs. How would Ghost respond to such a bold move? The mental image of your body flying through the air as he punted you into next week almost makes you laugh.

Price is already seated at a table frowning at his phone over a cup of coffee. Gaz and Soap load up your tray for you, something you’re getting used to rather quickly. It was expected from the alphas, or at least Price, to coddle you a bit, but it seemed the betas were more than happy to get in on it as well.

The thought makes something flutter in your chest.

You’re seated between Gaz and Price again once you reach the table, Price greeting you with a tired smile. “Morning. Sleep alright?”

“Not really.” You say honestly. “New place and all. I’ll settle in eventually.”

“Maybe the Omega Specialist can give you some ideas to help.” He glances at his watch before looking at you as you spoon a heaping spoonful of porridge into your mouth. “Take your time. We have until 8.”

You listen to the conversation at the table as you eat, Gaz and Soap talking about a football game that’s on tonight. You feel eyes on you, your skin prickling a bit. You glance up, half expecting Ghost to be glowering at you again, but his gaze is focused on his eggs. You cast a quick glance around the mess, turning slightly to look behind you.

Three tables over, you find the gaze of some soldier focused on you. You haven’t paid much attention to anyone else on the base, but then again you haven’t had much time or reason to yet. You can’t read the expression on his face as he stares at you, but you feel a shiver run down your spine as your eyes meet his.

He stares at you for a few seconds before his gaze moves slightly past you, quickly dropping back to his plate. You turn around, finding Ghost staring just past your head. His eyes are narrowed, his scent coming off stronger than it had been. You can practically see his hackles raised, the warning clear in the air. You feel the urge to curl in on yourself, the threatening aura radiating from him makes you want to cower.

It doesn't go unnoticed by those at the table either.

“Easy, Ghost.” Price says calmly, Gaz turning to follow his line of sight.

“Bloody wanker.” Ghost grumbles before rising from the table.

You turn back around, but the soldier that had been staring at you is gone.

You nervously pick at your sweatshirt sleeves as you sit in the plastic chair next to Price. You’re still on edge a bit from what happened at breakfast. It wasn’t so much being stared at that bothered you. After now three meals in the mess, you’ve almost come to expect it. It’s Ghost’s reaction that has your mind still reeling.

“I’ve always hated the medical center.” Price says with a sigh as he leans his head back against the wall. “It smells too sterile. Makes my nose burn. Reminds me of too many close calls.”

His words jar you a bit. You hadn’t even thought about that aspect of his job. He’s used to getting shot at, to getting into fights, running head first into danger that would send most running the other way. You wonder how many times he’s been the one with the close call, and how many others he’s had to watch have their own.

You wonder how many times he’s had to make that trip to tell someone’s family.

You’re pulled from your thoughts as the door across from you opens. Price pushes himself to his feet, and you follow as a kind looking woman steps out. You breathe a quiet sigh of relief. You don’t have anything against male Omega Specialists, but you were already surrounded by men. Sure you have Kate, but she’s half a world away.

She’s tall, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Despite being a doctor she’s dressed casually, no white coat or gloves to be seen. Her eyes are light green and crease in the corners when she smiles.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Keller.” She introduces herself, shaking Price’s hand.

American. You think, silently breathing another sigh of relief. Kate really had pulled some strings with this one.

“Captain John Price.” He says.

You introduce yourself when she turns to you, shaking your hand. Her voice is soft and gentle, the scent of beta coming off her in waves.

“Come on in,” She says, leading you into the office. “Sit anywhere you like. Make yourselves comfortable.”

Her office isn’t what you expected either. Instead of the harsh fluorescents, the lighting is softer, warmer. There’s paintings and posters all over the walls, along with several plants. There’s a desk covered in books and paperwork in one corner and a bookshelf with several books packed into it in the other. There’s a couch on one wall, and a couple plush looking chairs on the other.

You move to one of the chairs, sinking down onto it. It envelops you in softness, and you feel as if you might sink into it and never be able to get out. After a day of hard plastic and stiff blankets, it nearly makes you weep.

Price takes the chair next to you, Dr. Keller sitting on the couch across from you. The office smells good, a light, neutral scent in the air aside from the pure almondy scent of beta.

“Alright,” She says, holding a tablet and a stack of files in her lap. “I always like to start by introducing myself and telling you a bit about me, then we’ll get into the important stuff.”

She jumps into telling you about herself. Where she grew up: California. Where she studied: UC Berkeley. What institute she did her residency at: West Coast Training Academy. Where she worked last before Kate called her in: some poor inner city institute in LA.

“Now, on to the more important stuff.” She says, turning on the tablet. “I got your medical records yesterday. You’re quite the healthy girl.”

“Yes ma'am. I have good genes. That’s what my mom used to say.” You respond.

Dr. Keller smiles. “Hardly even been sick. Your heats are all normal, too, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.” You say. “Except for a three month stretch two years ago.”

“Yes, the heat sickness epidemic that hit America.” She says.

You nod. “FIOT locked down completely and everyone was supposed to quarantine, but I heard a rumor that it was one of the beta food workers. She snuck out to see her alpha boyfriend and brought it in with her. We only think it was her because she disappeared not long after the first omega got sick.”

Dr. Keller hums. “I know not everyone was so willing to take it seriously. You made a full recovery, though. No lasting side effects, I’m sure thanks to the state of the art medical facilities that FIOT keeps.”

“Yes, ma’am. We were lucky it was just a mild case.”

“That is lucky.” She flips through something on the tablet. “Your lab results all look phenomenal. I like to do checkups monthly, just to ensure everything is working as it should. I know the CIA gave you quite the cocktail of vaccines while you were with them.” She turns her gaze to Price. “Captain Price, I’ve sent in a request for your team’s vaccination records as well. I’m sure you’ve had everything under the sun, but I’d like to ensure there’s no risk of any accidental exposures.”

“I don’t see a problem with that.” Price says. “If RAMC gives you any trouble, just let me know. I’ll get them for you myself.”

“Thank you, Captain.” She says. “One last bit in this part and then we can move on. I see FIOT issued an implant before you left, as is standard practice.”

You nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. You’ve had more than enough time for it to take effect so we won’t have to worry about any accidental slip ups during your next heat.”

Your cheeks warm at her words a bit. You’ve been trying to avoid thinking about that inevitable side of things.

“And your next heat is roughly six weeks away.” She says, looking at the calendar. “Don't be surprised if it comes a little earlier now that you’re being exposed to alphas again.”

Your stomach twists nervously at that thought. It was common for heats to be triggered early after exposure to alphas, especially after such a prolonged period without exposure to them. It wasn’t likely to start tomorrow, but you knew it could jump a week or two due to the natural pheromones alphas put off, and the instinctual call for the alpha/omega bond.

“You’re planning for the claiming to take place during the heat?” Dr. Keller asks.

“Yes, that’s the plan.” Price says.

“That is the most natural time for it.” Dr. Keller says. “Of course, it is always up to omega preference in the end.”

You don’t miss the way her eyes dart to you for a second.

“Now that that’s over with,” She says, putting the tablet to the side. “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to do this next part with just the two of us.”

A beat of silence passes before you realize she’s asking you. Her eyes are on you, and so are Price’s. She’s asking you. She’s asking you what you want.

“I-I guess...yeah.” You stutter over your words, not quite sure how to answer. Is there a wrong answer? Would Price be upset if you said yes? Would Dr. Keller be upset if you said no? Your eyes turn to Price, trying to gauge his reaction.

“It’s up to you.” He says softly. “We’re here for you.”

You sit up a little straighter at his words, nodding your head. “Y-Yes. That’s okay.”

Price pushes himself to stand up. “I’ll be right outside.”

The air inside the room seems to lighten as he leaves, Dr. Keller reclining back on the couch as the door clicks shut. She pulls out a stack of papers and a pen before she looks at you. Your palms are sweating, and you’re starting to think you’d like the chair to swallow you whole.

“This next part can feel a bit personal, but I just want you to know that everything you say in here is as confidential as you’d like it to be. Captain Price is right. I am an Omega Specialist, I’m here for you. I’m not just a doctor, I’m here to help you in all aspects of being an omega. I know FIOT teaches a lot, mainly obedience and compliance. I want to make it clear that you can be honest with me.” She holds up the stack of papers. “No one is going to see these papers but me, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am.” You nod.

“You don’t have to be so formal with me.” She smiles. “You can call me Dr. Keller, or Doc. You could even call me an evil bitch if you want, it won’t phase me any.”

You can’t help the small smile that forms on your face.

“I’ve got some questions I’d like to ask you. They’re a sort of tracker to measure how well you’re settling in and bonding with your new pack. I’d like to meet once a week until your next heat just to see how well you’re settling in. After that we can meet as often as you’d like. Sound good?”

You nod in approval. It sounds like a lot, but you also know you’re going to have a lot of downtime, even with your pack on base.

“Alright, let’s get started. How are you settling in? I know it’s barely been a day, but I want to know how you feel here.”

Your heart begins to pound in your chest. How do you feel here? How do you feel after being pulled from the institute and taken to a training facility where you found out you’d be moving halfway across the world to be a military pack’s omega.

This wasn’t what you had expected when you reached the age where you became an available omega. Most omegas at FIOT came from rich, powerful, important families and your purpose there was to be groomed into the perfect omega to return right back to that world.

You thought you would be chosen quickly. You had expected it. With your scores and your high ratings and your status, you were what most alphas dreamed of. Yet, the years had passed and though there was some interest, nothing had ever come of it. You weren’t alone in it. There were others like you, those who excelled at being an omega, but then seemed to stall in the selection once they came of age.

Of course, now that you look back on it, you can’t help but think it might have been done on purpose. The Omega Initiative was new, you had been told during your first briefing explaining why you were taken to a remote building somewhere outside of D.C. and greeted not by your new pack, but swathes of CIA agents. Military packs were nothing new, but they wanted to utilize the naturally formed packs and make them stronger and more stable by adding in omegas.

Only highly skilled omegas were considered for the program, but of course you had no say in whether you were going to partake or not. They chose the omegas and they decided where you would end up.

It wasn’t that dissimilar from being chosen from an Institute. At FIOT there was a screening process packs had to go through to be determined eligible to have access to omega files. Then the pack would have to send a neutral emissary, usually a beta, to meet the omegas in person and choose on behalf of the alpha. Most institutes don’t have that strenuous of a process, and some don’t have a process at all. In some, alphas themselves could walk in and choose an omega without even so much as a background check.

Omegas never got a say. As soon as you were handed over to an institute, the ability to choose was taken from you. Whoever your caretakers were as a pup signed over their rights to you and the institute became your legal guardian. They dictated your life up until you joined a new pack.

You had hoped it would be someone rich. If nothing else, you’d get to live a cushy life and you’d never have to worry about anything. When they told you what was really going to happen to you, you had almost cried. You did cry, late at night curled up in your bunk after hours of training and briefings.

Kate picked you for this pack specifically because she knew them and she knew you could handle them and their world.

Maybe if you had been worse at being an omega, things would have been better for you.

Or maybe they would have been worse.

“It’s...different.” You finally say, picking at your sleeves again. “But in a lot of ways, it’s similar to The Institute. It always takes me time to settle somewhere new.”

“Me too.” Dr. Keller says, writing some things down. “And with the time change, it’s just so much harder. I feel like I should be in bed right now, but it’s 8 AM. Have you started nesting?”

You shake your head. “No. I don’t even feel the urge to.”

“That’s fine.” She says, writing something else down. “In truth, I’d be more concerned if you were.”

Your eyebrows raise a bit. “Why?”

“During an adjustment period for an omega, especially in a new pack, there can be something that happens called false instincts. The sudden urge to nest, a drive to bond with pack members too soon, false heats. It’s usually brought on by a sudden change in environment, like when omegas are taken from a place where they’ve spent sometimes years with no exposure to alphas and are suddenly thrown into a space with a lot of alphas. It’s more common in larger packs where you have alphas, betas, and other omegas.”

“Could it happen in smaller packs?” You ask.

“It’s possible, though rare. It can cause some serious issues down the line when those instincts are actually supposed to begin to show up, like adjustment sickness. I’d say if you’re starting to feel the urge to nest or bond before the first week is up, then come talk to me, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am.” You nod.

She smiles, turning the page. “How far have you gotten with the bonding process?”

“Just the scenting yesterday.” You answer.

“And how did that go?”

You pick at the loose thread on your sweatshirt. “Fine. It was...overwhelming.”

“They can be.” Dr. Keller says. “The new members of your pack, how are you getting along with them?”

“Fine, I guess.” You shrug. “I like Soap and Gaz. Price, he’s...he’s nice, and Ghost...” You trail off, not sure how to answer. If she’d asked before breakfast you might have said he doesn't like you. He doesn’t want you to be part of his pack, but after what happened at breakfast...

You can’t be sure he did it for you. He could have thought that soldier was staring at Soap or Gaz or even Price. He could have thought the soldier was staring at him and was annoyed with it. He had scared off the stares at every meal you’d eaten together, but how often did they get stared at? You couldn’t know if that was a daily occurrence and he was just growing sick of it.

He could be annoyed with you because you’re drawing in the stares.

“I don’t know what to think about him yet.” You answer.

She writes something else down, going through a few more questions with you. How is your appetite? How are you sleeping? Are you taking care of your needs? Do you have any concerns?

Before you know it the hour has passed and you’re walking out the door into the fluorescent, sterile hallway of the medical center.

“Remember, you have my number. If you need anything, I’m here for you.” Dr. Keller says as you part ways.

You walk with Price out of the medical center, glad to be out in the fresh air. It’s not particularly warm, and the sun is hidden behind a layer of clouds, but it’s better than the medical center.

“What do you think?” Price asks as you follow him back to the barracks.

“I think it went well.” You say, mind still reeling from an eventful morning. You’re beginning to feel your restless night.

“Do you like Dr. Keller?” He asks, probing a bit.

You nod. “Yes, sir. She’s nice.”

“Good.” He says, opening the door to the barracks for you. “I have to leave to oversee training for the next few hours.” He glances at his watch. “One of us will come get you for lunch.”

You nod. Of course you’d find yourself alone again between meals. You’re beginning to notice a pattern. “Yes, sir.”

His hand is warm as it settles on your shoulder, squeezing gently. You’re surprised by the touch, as small as it is. Were they too fighting the urge to get close to you, like you had this morning?

You can still feel the warmth of his hand even after it’s disappeared and he’s gone. You head for the rec room, deciding to avoid the constricting feeling of being shut in your room for the time being.

The TV is on when you enter, but the room is empty, playing some morning talk show. You move to the bookshelf against the wall, letting your eyes scan the titles. There's a surprising lack of military-based books shoved into the packed shelf. Of course there's a handful of old manuals and handbooks, nothing that you're particularly concerned about needing to read. You let out a sigh, standing on your toes to reach a Brandon Sanderson novel.

You look around the room but the remote for the TV seems to be missing, and it’s too high on the wall for you to reach the power button, so you leave it on, curling up on one corner of the couch as you begin to read.

You’re not sure how much time has passed when something moves in your peripheral. The sun has come out briefly, shining in through the windows. You look up from the book, suddenly feeling very small under Ghost’s gaze. His eyes are narrowed as he stares down at you, a thousand things flashing through your mind. Are you in his spot? Is this his book? Had he come to the rec room hoping to be alone and here you are infringing in his space?

“Come on.” He says, his voice rougher than it had been this morning. “Lunch.”

He’s already turned and heading out the door as you scramble up, leaving the book on the coffee table as you hurry to catch up to him. His steps are quick and wide, and you find yourself having to almost speedwalk to keep up with him.

Your thoughts are jumbled as you follow him out of the barracks and off towards the mess. Why would they send him to get you? Was he the only one available? Yesterday they had time before lunch to return to the barracks, or had that only been because of you? Or were they perhaps hoping this might offer a chance for the two of you to bond a bit?

Or were they entirely blind to Ghost’s disinterest in your existence?

Perhaps they were used to it. After so long together, perhaps they just thought it was normal. If you were brave enough to bring it up, would you get a “oh that’s just how he is” in response?

You can’t see the others as you enter the mess, Ghost leading you to the line. He stands behind you like a hulking shadow, his scent covered by the smell of gunpowder and sweat. You fill your own tray for the first time, grabbing things that look appetizing. You’ll have to get used to it eventually, even though the others insisted on doing it for the time being. When they’re not here, you’ll have to do it yourself.

Ghost leads you to an empty table, and you opt to sit across from him. You begin to eat, taking big bites to avoid the need for conversation, not that you really thought Ghost would strike up a conversation with you. Your eyes flicker around the room nervously, glancing over the entrances time and time again, waiting for the others to arrive.

“Stop twitching. They’re on their way.”

The words cut straight through you and you snap your head around to face Ghost. He’s got his mask pulled up to his nose, your eyes immediately drawn to the exposed pale skin. There’s light stubble on his chin. You remember how that had felt on your own skin when he’d scented you. He’s blonde, you think, or at least has light hair judging by the color of the stubble. There’s a scar on his chin, almost hidden by the stubble.

Your face warms as you realize you’ve been caught in your nervous fretting. Of course, you should have known he would take notice. There’s not a lot they don’t notice, you think. Though, when your survival depends on noticing even the smallest detail of anything or anyone...

You jump as a tray is set down next to yours, your eyes snapping up to see Gaz with a smile on his face. You turn back to look at Ghost, his mask pulled back down but you see a slight shake to his shoulders for a second.

Was he...laughing at you?

Your attention is drawn from him as Gaz takes a seat next to you, sitting close enough his arm is almost brushing yours. Price and Soap taking their usual spots as well. You’re beginning to pick up on the patterns that existed around them, and their own patterns. Perhaps that will make it easier for you to fit yourself into their lives. You knew from the start they weren’t going to change to fit you into their lives. They couldn’t. You were going to have to find a way to fit into their lives.

Gaz walks you back to the barracks after lunch, abnormally quiet as he watches you warily. He walks you to your door, leaning on the doorframe as you step inside.

“You alright?” He asks, big brown eyes shining with worry as he looks you over.

“Yeah.” You nod, shifting on your feet. “Just tired. I think I might take a nap.”

He nods, and you’re sure he doesn't quite believe you, but he doesn’t press any. “Alright. Happy napping.”

You close the door as he leaves, sinking down onto the edge of the bed with a sigh. It’s been a long day and it’s only lunch. Between the probing questions from Dr. Keller and the few minutes you had spent alone with Ghost you feel exhausted. It was good to know you weren’t entirely broken in your lack of nesting instincts, and perhaps your turmoil with belonging in this place wasn’t quite as abnormal as you thought.

What to do about Ghost.

He’s said more words to you today than he did in the entirety of the previous day. In fact, you think today might be the first time he’s spoken to you at all. You know he doesn’t approve of you, and you’d go so far as to say he doesn’t like you. You can imagine he fought the hardest against you being added to the pack. They were fine without you. It didn’t take a genius to see that.

You’re an outsider. A civilian. A risk.

An unneeded disruption to their lives.

You pull your phone out of your pocket, staring at the dark screen. You know Ghost might never accept you. He won’t want to claim you, he won’t mate you, but...perhaps you might just get him to tolerate you.

You unlock your phone, sending a quick text to Kate.

“Can you get a book for me?”

You regret your decision momentarily as you step into the rec room. Gaz and Soap are lounged on the couch, beer bottles open on the coffee table. The TV is playing ads, their attention on each other. You almost feel as if you’re infringing upon a private moment as they laugh, half tempted to race back to your room and hide until your hunger draws you out or someone breaks down the door to get to you.

“Hey!” Gaz’s face lights up when he sees you, Soap turning to look at you.

“Hey, bonny!” His face lights up with a smile.

“Do you mind if I join you?” You ask, shifting nervously on your feet.

“Not at all.” Gaz says, patting the empty spot on the couch next to him. “You want a beer?”

You shake your head. “No thank you. Never could get past the taste.”

Soap throws his head back as he laughs, slapping Gaz’s shoulder. “I keep tellin’ ye!”

“Yet you keep drinking it!” Gaz attempts to defend himself.

“Cause it’s th’ only thing we got!” Soap argues, leaning around Gaz to stare at you. “So, ye a football fan, bonny?”

“Well, I watched the World Cup a couple times as a kid.” You say. “My household was more of an American football and baseball household. Two of my older brothers played soccer, though they never were very serious about it. Mostly just did it to fulfill my dad’s physical activity extracurricular requirement.”

“What did you do to fulfill that requirement?” Gaz asks as he takes a sip of his beer.

“Softball. I was...not good at it.” You laugh. “I could catch and throw, but I don’t think I hit the ball a single time I was at bat.”

Both of them chuckle, turning back to the TV as the ad ends. “Don’t worry, we’ll turn you into a proper football fan yet.” Gaz says.

You watch the game with them, and it doesn’t take you long to realize they’re rooting for opposing teams. They explain things to you here and there in between yelling at the TV and each other. Despite how loud they are, you find yourself relaxing further and further, the tension from the last two days easing away, even as the two betas yell at each other over a soccer game.

Gaz tenses for a second as he feels a sudden weight on his shoulder. He turns his head slightly, noticing you’ve fallen asleep, your head drooping onto his shoulder. His lips quirk up in a smile as he gently nudges Soap.

“Wha?” Soap asks, turning to look at him.

He jerks his head to the side, leaning back just slightly so Soap can see. A grin breaks out on the younger man’s face and he pulls out his phone. “Aww, look a’ that. Think we should wake ‘er and get ‘er tae bed?”

“Nah.” Gaz says. “Let her sleep for now. She probably needs it.”

You sleep soundly through overtime, Gaz not moving until the post game is over, letting you sleep as long as possible. He knows you have to be tired, after the last few days and the time difference. You looked tired today, with dark circles and droopy eyes. He hates to wake you, but he knows you can’t sleep on the couch.

He nudges you gently, trying to rouse you. “Hey.” He nudges you again, your head finally lifting off his shoulder.

You blink sleepily, rubbing at your eyes. You make a quiet sound in protest of being awake, eyes drooping closed again.

“Come on, love.” He says, keeping you upright. “It’s time for bed.”

You cover your yawn with your hand, blinking at him sleepily. “Bed?” You murmur sleepily, Gaz smiling softly at how adorable you are in this state.

“Yeah, you’ll be more comfortable in bed.” He pushes himself to stand, hands on your arms to pull you up.

You make another sound in protest, nearly falling against his chest when he gets you on your feet. He wraps an arm around you, letting you lean on him as he guides you back to bed, Soap cleaning up the mess they had made.

You’re more awake once you get to your door, blinking up at him with bleary eyes. “‘S fun.” You murmur, rubbing your eyes. “Should do that more often.”

“You’re always welcome to join us.” He says. “Get some rest. You’ve had a long week.” He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Night, love.”

He waits until your door is closed before heading back down the hallway towards the rec room, a small smile on his face.

NEXT ->

Taglist:

@bobaprint, @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @hayleybarnesx, @protokosmonaut @fruitymoonbeams-blog, @blue-blue0, @hindi-si-ikay @hanellokey, @thatonepupkai @redwites @kattiieee, @141trash @ghostlythots, @lothiriel9, @dillybuggg, @beebeechaos, @konigsmissedbeltloop, @kaoyamamegami, @thychuvaluswife, @idkkkkkkk8363, @wallwriterstuff, @bisky-business, @smile-child-13, @anomiatartle, @dangerkittenclaws, @bless-my-demons, @mystic60, @evolutionarry, @red-hydra @lunaetiicsaystuff, @cadotoast, @linaangel, @rancid-wasp, @codsunshine, @thriving-n-jiving, @slayerx147, @ferns-fics

(If you'd like to join the taglist, let me know!)

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #poly 141 #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #a/b/o #alpha beta omega dynamics

4K notes · View notes