#but if i go to sleep now i might miss the call

[moonstruckme]

hi i lovelovelove your fics and i’m wondering if you are taking requests… if you could write a fic with steve and shy!reader who calls him a pet name or nickname for the first time ❤️

Thank you for requesting <3

Steve Harrington x shy!reader ♡ 710 words

Dew drops collect on your skin as you walk to Steve’s house. It’s a quiet morning, fog hanging in heavy clumps as birds call to each other through the haze. You hope Steve has coffee. 

You knock quietly. His footsteps banging down the stairs answer far louder. 

The door swings open to reveal your boyfriend with his toothbrush in his mouth, his hair all in disarray, and his clothes clearly only just thrown on. 

“Sorry,” he says in greeting, words garbled through a foam of toothpaste. “I thou I cou get ready in five min-us, bu—” Steve spits in the kitchen sink “—I couldn’t.” He gives you a sheepish smile. “You look really pretty.” 

Warmth kisses your cheeks. “Thanks, so do you,” you say earnestly. “I mean, you look nice. Your shirt’s on backwards, though.” 

Steve looks down at the tag poking up near his throat. “Oh, shit.” 

He rinses his mouth out with water from the tap, spitting again in the sink before setting his toothbrush down on the edge. When he pulls his arms inside to turn his shirt around, the process shows a sliver of abdomen that your eyes catch on before you drop them to the floor, flushing for real now. Steve combs his hair back with his fingers, walking around the counter to you.

“Hi,” he says, hand cupping the side of your neck as he gives you a spearmint-flavored kiss. “Coffee’s in the pot. Sorry I’m holding us up, I hope we don’t miss the sunrise because of me.” 

“That’s okay,” you say, though you hope you can still catch it. It’s all really just an excuse to spend time with Steve anyway. You move past him to the fridge, getting out the cream while he pours coffee into two thermoses to take with you. 

A piece of hair falls into his face as he looks down, and he swipes it back impatiently. It’s still pretty unruly from sleep; he clearly hasn’t had time this morning to give it the attention he likes to, and it warms your heart to think that he’d put that aside so you could get to go see the sunrise. It also makes you want to say to hell with the sunrise and comb your fingers through his hair until he’s happy with it. 

“I’m almost ready to go,” he swears. “I just had the worst sleep last night.” 

“Oh, really?” The areas under his eyes do look a little shadowy. The thought hooks your eyebrows upward. “I’m sorry, baby.” 

The word slips out of you so naturally, your voice bent and softened by sympathy, that for a moment you hope that Steve won’t notice. And for a moment, it seems like maybe he doesn’t. But then he sets the thermos down, dark brows twitching towards each other. He tilts his head to look at you. 

“Baby?” he asks, bordering on incredulous.

“Sorry,” you say automatically. You think your palms are sweating. 

“No, don’t be sorry.” Steve’s smile blooms slowly, better than any sunrise, and you can’t tell if he’s about to make fun of you. You think if he does you might have to cancel this whole thing. “It just surprised me. S’that something you wanna call me?” 

“I don’t know.” You can’t look at him. You use the coffee as an excuse, pulling your thermos toward you to start stirring in cream. When you’re done, you pass it over to Steve without glancing up. 

But he’s not having it. He sets the cream aside, slotting his fingers behind your ear with your cheek in the basin of his palm and tilting you towards him. He looks like he’s making fun of you, definitely.

Your heart hiccups.

“It just slipped out,” you confess. 

“Okay,” Steve laughs. “That’s okay, I liked it. Feel free to let it slip as many times as you want.” He slides his thumb along your skin, no doubt feeling its heat. His voice is sweet when he asks, “You about ready to go, baby?” 

You feel your forehead pinch painfully. “Don’t,” you plead. 

“I don’t know,” Steve says, though he lets you go to tend to his coffee, a small mercy. “I think you’ve really started something here. I could get used to this.”

[oimitocat]

BE PRETTY | OS

༘۠ park sunghoon x m!idol!reader

༘۠ fluff + idol life + implied nsfw

༘۠ a/n: watch this flop, it’s been years since i’ve written for kpop jaja….

sunghoon knows your eyes are for him and him only. he could be walking across the stage, 30 feet across from you to receive an award yet still feel (and know) where your eyes are at. he doesn’t have to spot you out to know you’re watching him.

you’re both not public, it’s still hard for both of you. the public is not going to be happy with it, you both know it. yet, he doesn’t think he’s hiding the relationship and neither are you. matter of fact, the more obvious you are, for some reason the public doesn’t even notice or think too deep about it.

“jay said i have to hurry up,” he whispers as he meets you inside the stall in the bathroom.

“i just wanted to congratulate you baby, nothing more,” you smile charmingly and kiss his nose.

he hums softly, smiling at you. “ah… good because the makeup artists already left and can’t retouch my makeup.”

“that’s what you’re worried about?” you chuckle, “i wouldn’t dare.”

he rolls his eyes while you take his hand in yours. your thumb grazes over his knuckles, making him go lax. award shows are always stressful, you have to look perfect, you can’t express much and there are so many rules that his head wants to explode.

“are you free to call tonight?” you ask, kissing his jaw softly.

you have a habit of kissing his face, butterfly kisses are your favorite thing to do to him. he loves them too, feeling you love him.

“yeah, it’ll be pretty late though, like one? i have to shower and you know the drive is a little long.”

“that’s okay, i’ll always wait for you,” you hum, placing a final kiss on his lips. “you should go back now, just call me, okay?”

he nods, accepting the hug you give him. you’re so warm, he really wishes he could be in your arms longer.

“see you later, beautiful,” you say, pushing him away playfully.

“yah…” he glares at you before walking out.

the rest of the award ceremony goes on. the ride to the dorms feels too long, as much as he wants to shower fast and call you he can’t because he wants to feel clean and fresh. so after doing his skin care and finally getting under the sheets, he calls you.

the others are still up, still getting into bed or doing whatever they want before sleeping.

“hey pretty,” you say, groggy, as you had fallen asleep minutes before he calls.

“where’s your pretty face,” he demands softly, looking at the black screen.

“ah, hold on,” you grunt, moving around before your face is illuminated by your night lamp. “better?” you ask as you settle back into a comfortable position.

“mhm,” he nods, watching you.

you stare back at him, smiling. “ah, let me tell you about what happened during the changing rooms,” you say before rambling on about your group’s ruckus.

he listens intently, feeling peaceful at the sound of your voice. he closes his eyes, imagining that your next to him in person, rambling. he misses the rumble in your chest as you laugh, the warmth of your body as he’s under the sheets.

“hey…” you call out eventually.

he opens his eyes, staring back at you again. “hm?”

“you sleepy?”

“no,” he shakes his head, “i just like listening to you.”

“i know you love my voice but if you fall asleep on me i might cry.”

“what?” he laughs.

you grin at the sight of his expression.

“i love your voice so much it wakes me up.”

“hn?” you question, but at the sight of his teasing grin you catch on. “ah,, dangerous game there baby. my groups already asleep.”

“mine too…”

you stare at him before smirking. “sunghoon…” you say cautiously, eyeing him.

his eyes lit up, but he suppresses his smile. “yeah, yeah.”

and he shifts around, getting comfortable for what’s to come.

[bubblergoespop]

My Top Blake Quotes

BLAKEY POOOOO ♡ sassy man

“You’re the brightest spot in my life. You always have been, even when you’re so far away I can barely see the glow.”

“Charming friend you got there. [he’s shaking in his boots]”

“That’s a one-way ticket to ending up in a spiral!”

“Whatever you need of me. I’ll give it, provided you save my love.”

“Questions aren’t really necessary right now, so how about you just sit there and look pretty, hmm?”

“Do you want me to show you exactly what magic can do when it’s not on your side?”

“If that’s what you want, then that’s what I want too. [goofy goofy chuckle]”

“You make me smile, you make me happy. I like being with you. That’s enough.”

“I can’t always keep my head above the water, but being with you is like… having an air tank. I might be below the surface, but I’m still getting oxygen. You’re that oxygen that keeps me going when I’m under."

“I told you, it was nothing... All right, let me clarify, it’s not “nothing”, it’s none of your fucking business.”

“I’m all yours.”

“Your little fuckbuddy-"

“It didn’t feel like a mistake to me. It felt like… someone switching on the lights, and suddenly realizing that I’d been standing in the dark all that time before. It felt like life was suddenly in colour.”

“it felt like I got a taste of everything I’d ever wanted, the most amazing feeling I’d ever experienced and then the next morning, I didn’t just lose the chance at that, I lost my best friend.”

“I’m tired of the dance. I just miss my friend.”

“I can’t be another mistake. Because it’ll break me.”

“You know me, you know how I am.”

“If we’re together, I’ll do everything for you, and I’ll give you everything I can, I’ll give you time and patience, if you need to be with your own thoughts, I’ll give you quiet, but I won’t be able to give you space.”

“The things I think about you, how much I want you… it’s the stuff you’re not supposed to say out loud. The stuff you’re never supposed to admit to feeling.”

“Just sitting at the table one morning, having breakfast when you realized, Oh wait, who's that voice in my head? Must be an ancient, unknowable force in Death. Guess I'll go back to my oatmeal.”

“What are you doing?”

“You would dirty their fucking name by speaking it.”

“if you pick this, it’ll be all of me. All of it. And we both know a lot of that’s not pretty.”

“I’ll get that smile on those pretty lips in the morning, just you wait.”

“I’m not worried you’ll try something. You don’t constitute a meaningful threat in my book. Sorry to bruise your ego.”

“Do I look like I care?”

“I’m not that fucking stupid. [He is]”

“Congratulations, someone please get the gentleman a door prize.”

“You can’t matter.”

“You're going to learn when to shut the fuck up. And spoiler alert, tied up, on the ground, with your powers inhibited? That's one of those times.”

“Wouldn’t that be cute?”

“I sleep easy in the arms of the person I love. Knowing that everything I’ve done, everything I do, I do for them.”

“I never stopped loving you, I’m still back there, I’m still just this scared kid telling you he fucking loves you.”

“Cute. Are you going to keep wasting time with passive aggression or do you actually have something to tell me?”

“I don’t want to die.”

“Yeah, all for you. All of it. [ft D’Deridahn calling him horny in the background]”

[redroomreflections]

Sorry For Your Loss

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: What if WLWD met TLH but even more tragic?

Note: I was fighting my sleep to write this. Enjoy and don't hate me lol

Warning: Super angst, mention of drunk driving, major character death.

ONLY READ IF YOU LIKE PAIN

Note: I’m too excited for my flight in a couple of hours. I was itching to write when this came into my head. 

The house feels suffocatingly quiet, an eerie stillness settling over every room. The absence of laughter and playful shouts from the children creates a palpable void that echoes in Natasha’s heart. It’s too quiet. The walls, usually vibrant with the sounds of life, now seem to absorb the sorrow that hangs in the air like a heavy fog. The television flickers in the background, casting an unnatural glow across the room, but no one is watching. It’s just noise—an attempt to fill the silence with anything, but it fails miserably. The news anchors drone on, their voices muted by the weight of grief that envelops them.

The clock ticks ominously in the background, reminding everyone that the funeral is only an hour away. The anticipation hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the scent of fresh flowers and the faint smell of coffee that no one seems interested in drinking. The cars would be arriving soon. Six children and a host of in-laws—how would they all fit into the designated family car?

Chase, your older brother, paces restlessly near the door, glancing toward the driveway. “Where’s Natasha? We need to get going,” he mutters, frustration seeping into his voice. No one has a real answer. They can feel the tension thickening around them, a shared anxiety that clings to the group like a shroud. Melina rises from her seat and walks toward the master bedroom, her hand poised to knock when Natasha emerges from the house's shadows. Her face is fresh and unreadable, an expression honed by years of practice in concealing emotions. The light from the doorway casts a soft glow around her, but her eyes betray nothing—no hint of the storm roiling within.

“Is everyone ready?” she asks, her voice steady yet distant.

Melina pauses, taken aback by Natasha’s calm demeanor. “We’ve been waiting for you. The car will be here any minute,” She replies, her tone softening. Natasha nods and walks past her, her steps silent against the hardwood floor.

"Where are the boys and Paige?" Natasha takes a headcount of the children in front of her. There are several but a few of hers are missing. She spots Cara cuddled into her Nana's side.

"They're upstairs," Peyton announces lowly. "They're refusing to come down."

"What do you mean they're refusing?" Natasha's eyebrow quirks.

"Exactly what it sounds like, Tasha," Yelena pipes up from her spot on the couch.

Natasha narrows her eyes at her sister and turns on her heels, climbing the stairs with determination. She ignores the pictures lining the walls. She doesn't bother looking at your photos. It hurts too much. The house feels cavernous and hauntingly silent, the absence of laughter amplifying the thud of her heart as she approaches the children's rooms. She can feel the tension coiling in her chest.

At the top of the stairs, she glances down the hallway, her mind racing with thoughts of what you would say in moments like this—words of encouragement, perhaps a reminder that it was okay to feel vulnerable. But today, she is the rock, and she cannot falter.

“Boys! Paige!” she calls out, her voice firm yet gentle. “You need to come downstairs. It’s time.” She waits, hoping for some sign of movement, a response that might break through the cloud of grief surrounding them.

Silence.

“Please!” she adds, softer this time, her heart aching for them. She thinks of how you would have approached this, with warmth and understanding, coaxing them out with stories or gentle humor. But those tools feel out of reach for her right now. The air in Paige’s room is thick. Natasha stands at the doorway, taking in the sight before her: Luke, just three years old, is perched on the edge of the bed, his tiny legs swinging rhythmically as he absentmindedly fidgets with his loose tie. Beside him, James, eight and usually so full of energy, sits slumped against the wall, staring blankly at the floor, his tie hanging loosely in his lap.

Paige sits in the center, the picture of a little girl trying to be brave. She wears a sleek black dress that flares slightly at the waist, her hair intricately styled in braids adorned with delicate black clips. But it’s the hot pink sneakers on her feet that draw Natasha’s gaze, a stark contrast to the somber attire they all wear. They were the last pair you had bought for her, a small gift meant to brighten her day, and now they feel like a painful reminder of the joy that has been snuffed out.

Natasha's heart aches at the sight, a wave of grief crashing over her. She wants to break down and cry, to let the tears flow freely, but she holds herself together, knowing she must be strong for her children. The weight of their loss presses heavily on her chest, and she feels a knot tightening in her throat.

"Hey, what's going on?" She kneels before them.

“We are not going,” Luke answers first, his tiny voice filled with defiance, his brows furrowing as he crosses his arms tightly over his chest.

“No. We are staying,” Paige declares with an earnestness that stabs at Natasha's heart, her small body taut with determination.

James pulls at the collar of his button-up shirt, a look of sheer discomfort painted on his face. “I’m not wearing this,” he complains, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

“Why not?” Natasha asks, her voice cracking just a bit, betraying the emotion she’s trying so hard to suppress. “You all look so beautiful.”

James shakes his head vigorously, clearly unconvinced. “I don’t want to look beautiful,” he replies, his frustration spilling over. “I want to stay here!”

“We don’t want to say goodbye to Mommy,” Paige supplies, her voice trembling as she fights back tears. The admission hangs in the air, heavy and painful.

“No, no, no,” Luke utters his agreement, kicking his feet against the bed, each thump echoing his dissent. “I want Mommy to come home!”

Natasha feels the tears pricking at her eyes as their innocent cries pierce through her heart. “I know, I know,” she whispers, her breath hitching. “But this is how we show her we love her. By saying goodbye.”

"But why?" Luke asks, tears streaming down his face as he becomes increasingly upset.

Natasha sighs, her heart breaking for her young son. "Because that's what happens when we love people. Sometimes, we have to say goodbye. Remember where I told you Mommy is?"

Luke sniffles. "With the angels."

"That's right, baby. She's in a place with lots of love. But we still have to say goodbye." Natasha strokes his cheek softly.

"Will she be okay?" Paige looks at Natasha with wide eyes, her chin quivering as she struggles to keep her composure.

Natasha smiles weakly, her eyes misty. "Of course, she will. And we will too. Because she'll always be with us, right here," she places her hand on her heart, a gesture that was so you, and one they were familiar with.

"I already lost two Mommies now," Paige says solemnly. "It makes me sad."

Natasha takes a deep breath, trying to maintain her composure. "I know, my love, but your mom will never be gone. She's always going to be right here with us." She taps her chest again. "If you really don't want to go I won't force you. I will, um, I will see if we can get one of the neighbors to come and stop in. Whatever makes you happy. Where's Charlie?"

"She's already downstairs," Paige says quietly, her shoulders slumping.

"Okay," Natasha nods. "I, um, gosh. I'm sorry. I don't really know what to say right now." She admits.

"But you always know what to say?" James tilts his head. "Are you sad too?"

Natasha swallows, fighting back tears that threaten to spill. “I am,” she replies, her voice shaking slightly. “I would like to say goodbye to your mommy because it brings me closure. It gives me peace.” The words feel heavy on her tongue, laden with the weight of the reality they all face.

James looks thoughtful, his small brows knitting together. “Will it help you feel better?” he asks, searching her face for answers.

“I hope so,” Natasha says gently, placing her hand on his leg. “It’s important for us to honor her and remember all the good times we shared. It’s okay to be sad, but it’s also okay to remember the happy moments.”

“Like when she taught me how to ride my bike?” Luke pipes up, his voice brightening just a bit. “And we went so fast?”

“Exactly!” Natasha encourages, her heart swelling with love for her children. “And all the times she read you stories before bed. Kissed your booboos. We can share those memories today.”

Paige perks up slightly at the mention of stories, a small flicker of interest sparking in her eyes. “She always made the best pancakes, too,” she adds, her voice softening.

Natasha nods, grateful for the direction of the conversation. “Yes! And how she would let you pick the toppings. Do you remember that one time she made a huge stack and put ice cream and strawberries on top?”

“Yeah!” Luke giggles, his laughter a small, bright note in the heavy atmosphere. “And then I spilled syrup all over my shirt!”

"Exactly," Natasha breathes. "She's the reason we have all these memories. It's not goodbye forever. I promise. And she will always watch over us. It will never be goodbye." She reassures. "Just a see you later."

Paige seems to think about it, her expression contemplative. She looks down at her pink sneakers and then back up at her mother, a question forming on her lips.

"Can we tell everyone a memory at the funeral?" she asks quietly, her voice wavering.

"Of course, you can," Natasha says. "Everyone will love to hear."

"Good. Because Mommy loved stories."

"She did."

"How about you go and find your sisters and I'll help your brothers finish getting dressed," Natasha suggests. "The car should be here soon."

"Okay, Mama," Paige slips off the bed and makes her way out the door.

Natasha takes a deep, shaky breath, exhaling slowly as she turns her attention to her sons. She does Luke first and he doesn't put up a fight. He's quiet the entire time. Her youngest is still processing the grief.

Natasha moves to James. "Hey, kid. Let's get you looking good for Mommy. Do you want your black shoes or not?"

"Can I wear the ones Mommy bought for me too?"

"Of course, baby."

"The spiderman ones?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. I'll go get them."

James runs off to the closet and Natasha turns her attention to Luke. "We're almost ready. How are you feeling?"

"Sad."

"I know."

“Mama, is Mommy sad?” Luke asks, looking up at her with wide, innocent eyes.

“What do you mean? Is she sad where she is?” Natasha asks, her voice gentle but steady, hoping to guide him through his thoughts.

He nods slowly. “She probably misses us so much. That’s what she always says when you go on vacation.”

Natasha feels a lump rise in her throat at his words, the reality of your absence cutting deep. “You’re right,” she replies, brushing a thumb over Luke’s cheek. “I know she misses you. She loved you so much, and I know she wishes she could be here right now.”

Luke looks down, the sadness etching deeper into his young features. “Will she come back?” he asks, his voice trembling.

Natasha swallows hard, knowing that this is one of those moments she wishes she could shield him from the harsh truth. “No, sweetheart. She won’t come back. But she’ll always be with us in our hearts, in our memories. And we can talk to her whenever we want. We just have to think of her and remember all the love she gave us.”

Luke furrows his brow, contemplating her words. “Like when I think about her making pancakes?”

“Exactly,” Natasha encourages, her heart swelling with pride for her son’s understanding. “You can always remember those moments. They’re special.”

Just then, James returns, a pair of Spiderman shoes in hand. “Can I wear these?” he asks, excitement creeping back into his voice despite the heavy atmosphere.

“Of course, baby,” Natasha smiles, relieved to see a spark of joy return to his eyes. “Let’s get you looking sharp for Mommy.”

As she helps James with his shoes, Natasha reflects on the gravity of the day ahead.

"Mama, why do there have to be drunk drivers?"

"I don't know, buddy. I really don't." Natasha attempts to focus on getting his feet in his shoes.

"That's what killed Mommy."

"Yeah. It is."

"I don't understand."

"There's a lot in this world we will never understand."

"Why?"

"Sometimes, life is cruel. And unfair." Natasha begins. "Sometimes people make bad choices that they have to live with."

"What if they can't live with it?"

"Then they can't change it. No time machine can turn back the clock. All we can do is remember your Mommy for the kind, loving, warm, funny, and brilliant woman she was." Natasha says.

"And how much she loved us."

"Yeah. She really did. And she was proud of all of us."

"Did we make her happy?"

"Very," Natasha nods. "Now, are we all ready?"

"Yes," James takes a deep breath just like you practiced.

"Good," Natasha exhales. "Let's go then. We can't miss Mommy's funeral."

Luke is the first to grab her hand. He squeezes her fingers tightly, the small gesture conveying a depth of emotion that words could never express. James joins in, holding onto her other hand as they descend the stairs together.

"I did Charlie's hair," Cara offers as they meet at the bottom of the stairs. "She was a little upset about it but I did it."

"Thank you," Natasha murmurs, squeezing her daughter's shoulder.

The doorbell rings, breaking the fragile calm.

"It's here," Melina announces, her voice thick with emotion. "Time to say goodbye."

As they gather by the front door, a heavy silence settles over the family, the enormity of the moment weighing heavily on their shoulders.

Natasha feels her heart racing, the tension coiling in her chest like a spring, ready to snap. She feels an overwhelming sense of emptiness settles in her chest. The warmth of Luke and James's small hands in hers provides some comfort, but it feels inadequate against the crushing weight of grief. Even with her family surrounding her, she feels more alone than she ever did when she was a spy or on the run, moments that, in hindsight, felt almost thrilling compared to this void.

The door swings open, and they step outside into the cool air. The family car awaits. Melina moves to help the younger ones, but Natasha remains still for a moment, staring into the distance as a rush of memories floods her mind—laughing with you in the kitchen, planning birthday parties, marking anniversaries that now feel like distant dreams.

Her heart aches at the thought of the anniversary circled in big red on the kitchen calendar, a day they had planned to celebrate together. Now, it serves as a painful reminder of the life that was supposed to be, a future now out of reach. The promise she made to you—to keep your family together—echoes in her mind, a vow she knows she must honor despite the challenges ahead.

“I can’t do this alone,” Natasha whispers to herself, though the words feel heavy and hollow. She hasn’t slept in her own bed since you passed; the sheets still smell like you, and the thought of facing that emptiness alone is unbearable. Her appetite has vanished, save for the muffin Cara brought her this morning—an attempt to nourish herself that felt almost futile.

“Are you okay, Mama?” Luke asks, his innocent concern snapping her back to the present.

Natasha forces a smile, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I’m okay, sweetheart. Just thinking about how much your Mommy loved all of you.”

James looks up at her, his face serious. “We can make her proud today, right?”

“Yes,” Natasha responds, her heart swelling for what felt like the millionth time today. “We will make her proud.”

As they approach the car, Natasha feels the weight of her family behind her, their collective grief palpable but also a source of strength. She knows she has to find a way to keep moving forward, not just for herself but for all six of the children depending on her.

mentioning that this is completely au and purely au and not real.

[beanandberry]

My first contribution for Bunnydoll Writing Week 2024 🩵💜🐰🧵

Ragatha wasn’t exactly sure what caused her to wake up with the gut feeling that she and Jax had overslept. It was like one of those natural feelings, like when you force yourself to wake up from a bad dream because you know it isn’t real and you’ve had enough. Your body just knows.

Well, she knew they were late for roll call. This wasn’t good. It was time to get up and get out there before anyone realized they were missing. If the others realized they were missing, they might come looking for them. If they came looking for them, they might discover they were in the same room together. If they found out they were in the same room together, questions would be asked.

Those were questions Ragatha wasn’t ready to answer yet.

As comfortable as she was, she gently shook the purple rabbit she was smooshed up against. Her cheek was pressed into his incredibly soft purple fur, her arms locked around his back. Jax’s head rested atop hers, his hands woven in her red curls as he slowly breathed in and out.

“Jax…” She nuzzled his chest while peppering soft kisses. “Wake up…”

“Mmm…”

Ragatha giggled. She loved how sleepy he always got, but now wasn’t the time to focus on that. They had to get up and get out there before anyone noticed their absence.

“Wake up, we’re late for roll.”

Jax blinked his eyes open and yawned loudly. Instead of moving, he nuzzled his face deeper into her messy hair.

“Forget roll,” he mumbled sleepily.

“Jax, c’mon,” Ragatha gently pushed against his chest. “We can’t let them find us like this, you know that.”

“Screw ‘em…”

“Jax!”

Ragatha wished she shared his carefree attitude. Every time she felt like she was ready to tell the others how serious she and Jax had become, something inside told her to wait. Maybe it was her own nerves. She didn’t know.

“Okay, okay,” Jax yawned again. “Jeez, gimme a minute…” He moved to stretch…

…and Ragatha shouted in pain.

“Ow! Jax! My hair!”

“What the—“ Jax glanced at his hands—paws—whatever you wanted to call them, and his eyes widened. His claws, which were usually hidden, were completely tangled up in Ragatha’s curls.

He hadn’t bothered putting his gloves back on last night and must’ve extended the claws while he was asleep.

“Can you let go?” Ragatha whined. “It hurts…”

“I would if I could, Dollface,” he muttered. “Only problem is…I’m stuck.”

“What?!” Ragatha tried to look up at him, but the angling of her head only pulled her hair harder and she winced. “Oh God!”

“It’s okay, don’t panic,” Jax sighed. “It’s not a big deal.”

“JAX!” Ragatha fumed. “We’re already late for roll! The others are gonna come looking for us. What are they gonna think when they find us like this? We’re barely dressed!”

Jax gave his hand an experimental tug. Then he tried retracting the claws on one of his hands. It was no good. Ragatha’s hair only became more tangled.

“Damn,” he sighed. “It’s not working.”

“Jaaaaax,” Ragatha hid her face.

“Maybe you can try reaching up and using your hands?” Jax suggested.

“I can try,” Ragatha said softly. She didn’t know how much help her raggedy hands would be. Probably not much. She sighed and reached awkwardly above her own head. She felt where his claws were tangled in her hair and started tugging on various curls, hoping something would loosen and separate. “From now on, you’re sleeping with your gloves on.”

“Yeah, yeah…just untangle me.”

Ragatha sighed. She continued to shift and wiggle her head, pulling at random strands of hair, but it was no use.

“Jax,” she groaned, defeated. “What do we do?”

“Got any scissors?” the rabbit snickered.

“Not funny!”

"Okay okay...maybe we can try some soap or something," Jax suggested.

"Soap?"

"Yeah...maybe it'll loosen everything up."

"That only works with jewelry...like rings and stuff," Ragatha shook her head, trying to prevent any more harsh tugging.

"Well I don't hear you suggesting anything, little Miss Pessimist," Jax muttered.

Ragatha glanced up at him. He was right. At least Jax was suggesting ideas to remedy their unfavorable situation...unlike her.

"Okay...I'm sorry Jax. You're right. Let's try it."

"Okay, well, let me shift backwards a bit and we can try to maneuver to the bathroom." He slid back a few inches on his side. Ragatha tried to move with him, but it was it tough. Jax continued to scoot until he reached the edge of the bed. "Ready doll? Move with me. Try to stand up."

Ragatha nodded. Jax shifted, attempting to get into a kneeling position on the bed. Ragatha tried to move with him like he suggested, but she wasn't quick enough.

"Owww!"

"You've gotta move faster!"

"I'm trying!"

"Heh, I thought you liked getting your hair pulled..."

"JAX!"

A voice outside the door startled them both. Immediately, they went silent, listening.

“…didn’t come out of her room this morning,” Pomni’s voice said.

“Shh,” Ragatha whispered. She prayed that they would just walk away.

“Yeah, I didn’t hear her this morning either,” Zooble’s voice said.

“What about Jax?” Gangle’s voice asked. “I didn’t see him either.”

“Who cares?” Zooble replied.

Ragatha felt a jolt of sadness for Jax. If he was affected by Zooble’s words, he certainly didn’t show it or voice it. He just lay there, still as ever.

“Just don’t make a sound,” Ragatha whispered. She gently pet his chest out of nervousness, unsure what else to do.

“Wasn’t planning on it, Doll,” he sighed. “But feel free to keep petting me.”

A knock. “Ragatha? You awake?” Pomni called.

“Oh no…” Ragatha squeezed her eyes shut.

“Tell her you’re sick,” Jax whispered.

“What? No!”

“Rags, trust me. If you don’t answer, they’ll worry more. They might try to come in here. If you tell ‘em you’re sick, then they’ll at least hear your voice and leave you alone.”

Ragatha thought about it for a moment before deciding that Jax was right. But…

“What about you?” she asked softly.

Jax shrugged. “Heh, they don’t care about me enough to wonder where I am.”

“Jax…”

“Don’t feel bad for me, I couldn’t care less,” he said. “Just answer them.”

The knock came again, louder this time.

“Ragatha?” Gangle called. “Is everything okay?”

Ragatha knew Jax was right. She needed to let them know she was at least well enough to answer them.

“Everything’s fine!” Ragatha called. “I’m just not feeling well today. I think I’m gonna sit this one out.”

“Are you sure?” Pomni asked. “D’you need anything?”

“No, no…I’m good! Just let Caine know, okay?”

“Oh…okay,” Pomni replied. “No problem. We’ll come check on you later, okay?”

“Okay!” Ragatha fake coughed a few times, just to keep the act up. “Ugh, sore throat too…I think I’m just gonna go back to—“

There was a loud and sudden POP and Caine materialized in the middle of Ragatha’s room. Absolutely nothing could have prepared the poor rag doll for how frightened she would become. She let out a shrill scream, while Jax cursed loudly. To make matters worse, Jax shifted automatically, yanking Ragatha’s head with him. She yelped in pain.

“OUCH!”

“Did someone say sick? My dear Ragatha, I came to check on—goodness me! Jax, what in the world are you doing in here?”

“JAX?” Pomni, Gangle, and Zooble all shouted at once.

“$&!t,” Jax groaned.

Ragatha hid her burning face in Jax’s chest. She wanted to melt into the floor and disappear for good.

“What—why—when—“ Caine stammered. “Oh my…”

“It’s not…I mean, this isn’t what it looks like,”

Ragatha tried to explain. “We just…Jax came to check on me and—“

“Why are Jax’s hands tangled in your hair?” Caine asked.

“What?” Pomni shrieked.

“Can you just leave?” Jax muttered to Caine. Ragatha could feel the heat of embarrassment radiating off him now, too.

“His claws are stuck,” Ragatha said, no longer trying to keep up the act. At this point, all she wanted was to be freed from this frustrating scenario and to bury herself under her covers.

“Jax has claws?” they heard Gangle say.

“Goodness, why didn’t you say so?” Caine snapped his fingers and immediately, the two were separated and fully dressed in their usual attire. Ragatha scrambled to stand. Jax rolled his eyes and slowly stood.

“Th-thank you,” Ragatha said shyly.

“No problem at all,” Caine said, obliviously. “Now that you’re both decent, how about we get started on today’s adventure?”

“I—“ Ragatha looked at Jax. He glanced in her direction.

Before Ragatha could figure out which direction her thoughts were heading, the door to her room burst open and Pomni, Zooble and Gangle stood there, staring. They looked from Ragatha, to Jax, to Caine, and then back at Ragatha.

“W-what’s happening?” Pomni asked. She pointed to Ragatha. “You…and Jax?”

Jax flashed a yellow smile. “Hard to believe, huh?”

Pomni’s mouth dropped. Ragatha’s face turned several shades of red. Oh no…she wasn’t ready to confront this yet. Not with everyone watching her like this.

“W-well, um…” Ragatha was at a loss. “What he means is—“

“Good thing it’s not true,” Jax shrugged.

Ragatha looked at him sharply.

“It’s not?” Zooble cocked an eyebrow.

“Nope,” Jax replied. “I noticed Dollface was late this morning and wanted to check on her. I found her sleeping and tried to prank her by messing with her hair, but…I guess the joke’s on me, huh?”

Zooble narrowed their eyes at them. “I don’t believe you.”

“Then don’t,” Jax shrugged and snickered. “I don’t care either way.” He pushed past them all and strode into the hallway. “’Til next time, Rags. A centipede with your name on it, crawling in your hair…”

Ragatha watched him go. She wanted to chase after him, to thank him for his quick thinking and white lie, which she knew he only did to spare her any embarrassment.

Ragatha knew Jax didn’t care who knew about their relationship the same way she did. Maybe she ought to start thinking more like him. Honestly, he was probably right. Who cares if the others knew? She and Jax were together now. Why should that be secret? Why should she be embarrassed? Especially since it made her so happy. She should flaunt that. She should—

Ragatha’s thoughts were interrupted as Caine gently turned her around by the shoulders and led them all to the main hall for roll. She’d figure it out later, she supposed.

-

Later that night, they settled into bed. Ragatha wrapped her arms around Jax’s chest, while the rabbit nuzzled the top of her head, tired from another long day and grueling adventure.

Ragatha noticed he did what she requested and was wearing his yellow gloves. He’d been doing so much for her lately. Almost anything she asked of him, actually. She felt a rush of affection for him.

“Jax?” she whispered.

“Mm?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?” He cracked an eye open and looked at her sleepily.

Ragatha tilted her head up and kissed him tenderly. He was so tired, but he slowly kissed back. When they broke apart, Ragatha gently tugged his gloves off.

“What are you doing?” he mumbled.

“Making you more comfortable,” she replied.

“I can’t be held responsible for what my hands do while I’m sleeping, Doll,” he warned her. He wrapped her tightly in his arms.

“It’s okay,” Ragatha said. “There are worse ways to wake up than to be tangled together with your boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend huh?” Jax flashed her his Cheshire grin. “I’m your boyfriend now?”

Ragatha stared at him, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She glanced away, feeling upset. “I-I thought so…”

“Hey,” Jax tilted her chin up to face him. “Easy, Dollface. I’m messing with you.”

“But are you?”

“Am I messing with you? Yeah, of course I am. It’s one of my favorite pastimes.”

“No Jax…I mean are you my boyfriend?”

Jax looked at her. “D’you want me to be?”

Of course she did. She wanted that more than ever.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Then I’m your boyfriend,” Jax shrugged. He leaned in to kiss her again, cupping her cheek as he pulled away. “See? Was that so hard?”

Ragatha rolled her eye, trying to hide her blushing face behind pretend annoyance. It was no use trying to pretend though, because Jax saw right through her. He always did.

“Okay boyfriend,” she huffed, getting comfortable beside him. “Tomorrow we tell the others.”

“We do?”

“Yes, we do,” she said firmly. “I want the others to know how happy you make me.”

“Rags, all this sweet talk is making me feel nauseous.”

“Oh stop it…”

Jax chuckled softly. She could feel him getting sleepy beside her, his breathing deeper with each passing second.

She reached around to wrap her arm over his chest and happily drifted off to sleep, more content than she’d felt in a long, long time.

[just-your-average-tangerine]

Supposed to start my new job tonight. It'd be cool if they could actually give me my schedule

[asordidbarwere]

hhhggg

[sillyfudgemonkeys]

Me? Mentally? I'm doing fine, why do you ask? :')

[bragganhyl]

ngl at times I feel like I may be a little too stupid for this game, truth be told, tbph

[puppmeo]

Have you ever been assumed to be romantically attracted to someone and even just the thought of that makes you want to throw up . Anybody

[junonreactor]

yaay

[chatonmagique]

My boyfriend is literally sleeping and eating like a baby I don't know what do man, except for forcefeeding him at this point

Like I'm pretty sure his already fatigued body has adapted to the lack of food intake by sleeping an insane amount

[acid-ixx]

ch.3: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three

read until the end for an author's note.

tw: allusions to sexual assault, prostitution, and alcohol abuse.

"hey baby bird!!! <333 long time no see! how are you?!"

please stop.

"i know that we haven't been talking for quite a long time—"

no, you have never once had a solid conversation with him.

and you wish it stays that way between the two of you.

"—so let's catch up over coffee, yeah? i'll be staying at the manor for a week!"

you don't want to, you don't want to see his face at all, his dismissive eyes. don't want to hear his voice, how it only sings praises for everyone but you.

"(name)??? it says you have seen the messages :( are you asleep? you shouldn't sleep with your phone on, baby bird, that's dangerous!"

he doesn't have the right to scold you, he's not your older brother anymore. and you're not asleep, fuck, you regret not dozing off this afternoon. hell, you're more than awake and aware of the messages he's sending you, eyes scanning over the train of spam that clutters what was once an empty one-sided conversation.

"baby bird? c'mon, i miss you!!!"

lies, lies, lies. all he ever says are lies and you wouldn't fall for it, not anymore.

yet you're simply frozen in shock, seated up in bed as you simply watch dick's messages stack upon each other.

you watch, and wait. it's like you have lost autonomy over your body's actions.

five minutes pass.

your phone rings.

it was the only sound that fills the room other than the wringing in your ears.

it continues ringing, reverberating throughout the room, but all you do is stare, stare until the it ends, for everything to end and for all of this to be a sick hallucination your brain played on you.

there's nothing else you could focus on, your heartbeats spike the longer the call sound continues. you didn't even have the strength to decline the call, let alone move as you fear you might end up pressing the accept button.

so you wait, you wait until it stops.

and once it does cease, your sweaty thumb immediately pressed the block button on dick's profile, even going as far to delete all the past chats you had sent him. then, without moments hesitation, hastily scrolled all the way to the bottom of the list, where their other contacts lay barren of messages.

you have only used enough effort to message dick. that's what probably triggered his sudden intent on spending time with you, no? or was this all for his sick pleasure?

fortunately, all your other contacts with your past family are empty.

it will remain empty.

so you immediately blocked them, all of them. the thumps in your heart are erratic, so much so that you had to remind yourself to breath. through your nose, and out your mouth.

that's it, right? he'll get the message, definitely. that you don't want him to talk to you, to get rid of the false pretenses between the two of you, you don't want to "catch up" over coffee, or over anything.

it's all over, you tell yourself.

'calm down, relax...' you're in the safety of your own apartment, you should feel safe right now, he wouldn't bother you anymore.

not anymore would you be led to believe that they care for you.

— so why is it that you can feel that familiar rise of bile? taste it, even? why is it that your body is shaking so uncontrollably?

what the fuck.

seriously, just what the absolute fuck is wrong with you?

you never take yourself as an overdramatic person, especially not now, at the age of eighteen where you had finally learned to live for yourself, to never yearn what you knew was unattainable. your past tantrums were no more, no more you say but you wish so badly to carve a knife into your very heart.

why is it that now— now that you were out of your comfort zone, out of their empty presences and their overwhelming absences; why is it now that he just suddenly decided to appear? why is it just now that you feel your skin scorching uncomfortably at just a single message.

shit, your heart hurts so much. you want to take the beating organ out of your chest, just to make the pain stop.

your momma always told you, she said it herself that you are a brave child, her pride and joy despite the hellish living conditions you both were subjected to.

why is it so hard to believe her now?

just, why are you so weak?

when your mother hid you inside that closet - one too small for even a malnourished child like you to fit - telling you to hush for her, and that it's just a game of hide and seek with the 'bad guys', to not make a single sound at all or even come out if you hear screaming— you did what you were told, obediently, covering your mouth, trying your hardest to ignore your sore joints and heavy breathing.

"woah, mommy! is this really me?! you always make me look so nice." a young voice squeals, the sound echoing throughout the hollow room.

"yes, it's you, baby. you who are so strong, unlike me. momma will always love you." scarred hand, littered with gashes and soiled bandages run brush through your messy hair as your small form sat on the dirty bathroom sink. your eyes are drifted towards a mirror, checking out the new shirt your mother had bought for you.

"i love you too..."

you never cried that loud when light suddenly hits the cramped interiors of the closet, when you were caught and shoved outside of your hiding space by strange men, your mother nowhere to be found. when you felt the same men ripping your clothes apart, knives branding your skin like a searing hot pan; you never fought back because that's what your mother taught you. even when they pinned you down and injected you with a strange substance, head suddenly numbing and vision darkening; you still woke up alive, no?

... you woke up alive and conscious in a police station, where you had questiomed to the kind officer about your mother's disappearance, where she had bared the news that you would be taken in to a new family; a new home where your father resides in. one way cleaner, way safer she says.

yet for the next 15 years you were neglectef of the love your mother had given you. you were only raised by a butler too busy to fully focus on you. you had compared yourself to your siblings, siblings who had achieved so much in so little time.

and you?

you are only a wayne by name, but a (last name) by heart.

but you are brave, you are strong— you came from the lowest of the low, yet you pushed through and through to be a better person, and look where you are now...!

... just look at yourself now.

your phone lays untouched on the bed sheets. it tempts you, mocks your panicked state, and you want to rip that rectangular piece of metal apart. yet all you do is stare at it, sitting upright as one hands supports your weight. your fingers clench the mattress, it does nothing as your vision darkens from your lack of breathing.

breathing.

oh, breath in, breath out. do what alfred has taught you years ago, the- the one he uses whenever you would run alone in the desolate halls of the manor to alfred's room, just because you were anxious of the monsters in the corner of your eyes, where he would help you return to your senses and play you a lullaby from an old music box right after. the one he uses after you two would watch horror movies and you were too scared of any sounds that engulf your surroundings.

your throat tightens, and you want to vomit out the contents of what you have eaten— but you have to try.

five things you can see.

your eyes, although frozen wide and stinging with tears, darts around the room. everything is darker now, it's cold and you feel so small. your apartment was small. unlike the place you had lived before, it lacks of furniture, of life, of personality. the only things in your tiny apartment were basic necessities, but even food was scarce for someone like you who had juggle working multiple jobs and college just to pay for rent.

you can see your phone, the candy wrappers you had forgotten to throw, the overflowing trash bin, an empty bottle of prescription pills, alfred's gifts on the shelves counts, right? you laugh sarcastically at yourself; even a trashcan has more contents in your shitty apartment.

fuck, your chest throbs, you remind yourself to breath a little deeper.

four things you can feel.

the mattress is too hot for you, sweat already running down your forehead as if you had ran a marathon. you can feel the tears well up your eyes, overflowing with bitterness that you thought you had already buried deep down, and your hands gripping the sheets so uncomfortably tight. the weather is too cold, winter's nearing but the blood pumping through your veins scorches your very being.

that's four, three more to go and you hope this would all be over. you hope that this would all be a dream, a hallucination, anything.

three things you can hear.

does your choked sounds count? or does it need to be anything else? fuck, why doesn't it work as well as when alfred helps you through? you told yourself that you could take on anything in life, but is it all just a lie—?

focus. focus on your surroundings. you can hear your sniffling, heavy intakes of air, and a repeat of the phone ringing with dick's name as the contact.

shit, shit, shit. don't remind yourself of that. move on, just get onto the next thing.

two things you can smell or... taste? you don't remember, why can't you remember? your thoughts keep running back in circles to the messages, that stupid '<3', the way his desperation could be felt through the phone.

it reminds you of yourself.

before you knew it, your fist brought itself to punch your chest.

thump, beat, thump.

every time your heart beats too loudly, you strike your chest as hard as you can, uncaring for the pain it inflicts you, uncaring for the way you beat the air out of yourself. as long as it distracts you from the bile rising up your throat and the unsated nausea from sitting in the same position— it'll be fine if you hurt yourself. you've already done so a million times, no?

... yet nothing works.

why doesn't anything work out in your favor?

please don't do this to me.

your fists eventually stops. everything hurts even worse.

just earlier ago, you were praising yourself for all the progress you had made. how you weren't in need of validation anymore. you try so desperately to erase any inch of evidence that you were a wayne.

it all crashes down, again and again, and again and again.

moments ago, you were laying on your bed, scrolling through social media, making plans to hangout with your small group of friends in college, trying to cling on to the good parts of your past— ignoring the empty chats of what was once family.

but even without them, even if they haven't knew that you pushed them away from your life— they're always seeping their way at the back of your mind.

you truly can not erase your past. no matter how much you shake your head to rid of the thoughts, no matter how much you try to erase any documentations, any

even talking to alfred reminds you of your stupid past. a past that eats you up every time you wake up from the nightmares, wishing that there would be someone, anyone, who would hold your body tight and tell you it's alright. your mother, your father, your brothers and your sisters— they just were never there for you for so many years. and you hate to admit it but; you still cling to the wish that one of them would...

would hug you and kiss all your wounds away. drive away the countless of dreams filled with terror and torture.

you're independent now, but at what cost? what good does it do when you still try your damn hardest to live? when you know it in your soul that you still desire for a semblence of familial love.

and now that you've pushed alfred away, you're truly alone.

alone and stuck in a loop of trying to run away from your past and failing miserably.

and all you can ever do is, well...

you cry.

the tears bursts out of your eyes like a broken faucet.

you cry because that's the only thing you know how to do. you let the waters loose, hands quickly tangling itself on your hair, ripping fragile strands apart. you cry because you've been living a such a life full of lies, of broken promises, a life where you have to constantly walk on eggshells. you cry because you want to turn back and throw away all your progress just to feel the embrace of a family who had never once held you in their arms. you let yourself heave, let your voice wail out to its deepest frustration, uncaring for the thin walls, or the sleeping neighbors next door, or the rumbling of your empty stomach.

you cry, for what seems like hours, unending like the memories of solitary isolation, like the wanting of a love that you could never quite catch. you let your eyes become all puffy and red; red like the gashes you have scratched upon your skin, like the crimson, beaded blood from your bitten lips.

you don't find any strength in yourself to stifle your sobs anymore.

not when you're so, so lonely in this world.

and when your voice dies down, when your hoarse shrieking becomes no more; you simply force yourself to stand, despite the spinning of your vision, the stumble in your steps and the lack of air in your lungs; you run to your bathroom, slamming the door shut, letting adrenaline take its course into your already tired body.

your knees, they buckle after its few wobbly steps. it's sore and lacks the circulation to be properly controlled, but you ignore it in favor of expelling the acidic bile that finally rushes itself up your tongue.

at least you find just one thing to be grateful for— that your knees slipped on the wet tiles and land coincidentally towards the toilet's rim, a loud thud vibrating through the room.

alfred says the best way to cope is to never jar your emotions.

it's painful, everything is so painful that you want to scream; you need to let it all out.

you don't care if your knees were to bruise because you couldn't help it anymore, spilling out the contents of your breakfast onto the toilet bowl. your throat constricts into itself, and all you could do is gag and force every bit of food out of your mouth.

and it tastes so bitter that you cry even more. there were some bits and chunks stuck on the sides of your tongue, you can taste the acid on the back of your throat. you feel the urge to vomit even more but there's no more to expel. all you can do is dry heave, shaking hands finding its way to cover your mouth from gagging anymore.

it's so pungent, so fucking disgusting— but all you do is force yourself to stand once more, to look away from the mess you had created and flush it away.

the tears just wouldn't stop, the throbbing in your heart could never be expelled just as easily as the contents of your stomach.

yet you chose this life, there's no more alfred to assist you on your own personal struggles. there's no more rubs on the pack, pats on the head or a warm meal that greets you every time you drown in your own emotions. it's only you who can solve your own problems. you can't depend on anyone but yourself...

if only life was as easy as it is to flush away unwanted contents from your stomach.

if only you weren't in gotham... if only dick wasn't in...

gotham.

he's in gotham right now.

shit.

shit, shit, shit.

dick is in gotham, and you know he just doesn't give up.

he can track you down, he'll find you, he might hurt you because you blocked him— you know of his temper, of his unadulterated anger; you're scared of that. just what have you done wrong? did you take something that was his? no, no, never.

you've never been in his room before. he knows yours because he had visited once, but you don't know his. you don't even know which hallway leads to it.

oh, fuck.

you stumble towards the bathroom sink, hastily twisting the faucet's valve. cold water immediately rushes down, you cup your two hands together to collect the running water.

you need to get to you bearings, prepare for the absolute worst because you know, you know the power he holds in his arms.

with the amount of times he had spammed you, called you even— there's something he wants from you, and you don't want to entertain whatever he has on his mind.

you splash your face - splotched with tears, snot and drool - clean multiple times, rub your swollen, red eyes, and wipe the bits of vomit on the sides of your mouth. you can still taste the vomit. god, it's disgusting.

so you hastily grabbed your toothbrush, pushing an insanely large amount of toothpaste on the bristles. you scrub your teeth aggressively, feeling the urge to rid of the pungent taste of stomach acid. then you gargle mouthwash, twice, and spit it all out.

your movements are too quick for your own self to catch up, but you have to do this. your brain tells you to follow through whatever it has to do.

follow through instincts, get him out of your mind.

distract yourself from dick and the cryptic messages he had sent, that you had thoroughly deleted but...

it dawns upon you that albeit all your failed attempts at bonding with him— you know nothing about dick beyond the circus incident that had killed his parents and his identity as gotham and bludhaven's vigilante, nightwing.

you know nothing about him...

and you fucking blocked him before you could ask for an explanation.

what does that message mean? what does he want to talk about all of a sudden? a person doesn't just fucking waltz in someone's life after 15 years of absence and exclaims himself as close as your friend, no?

it had been so long since you had last heard him call you baby bird, let alone even read your messages, so why spam you now?

your knuckles grip at the bathroom sink's tiles, it was the only thing that provides you balance, legs too wobbly to support the dizziness. you feel a huge lump on your throat again, but you can't just erase all the efforts you had done to get yourself together.

— but at the same time, it's too hard to ignore the panic that resurfaces on your very mind.

so what do you need exactly?

distraction, something to get your mind off of the current situation? before you run away from gotham—

you need a distraction, anything. even if it's stupid, you'll regret it later, just not now.

cigarettes? no, you don't smoke. alfred will kill you if he finds out and you can never lie to him.

drugs? you'll be shot in the head by nasty criminals scamming naive citizens for half the price before you could even purchase them.

... then what?

you look at yourself in the mirror, puffy eyes glazing with emotions you yourself couldn't comprehend.

'despite everything, it's still you, no?'

if you could describe yourself right now, you would call yourself a mess, a big loser who had let their emotions run free for too long, let themself go way too quickly, gave up too quickly, and believed too naively. you had lost so much yet gained so little. a wayne so stubborn that it was the only thing you could ever relate to your father who had estranged you without knowing it.

there was more negatives than positives, you're aware of it.

but if there's one trait that anyone could generalize off of you, it would be that you're always desperate for something.

anything.

and just one time, you tell yourself. one time and that's it, nothing more, nothing less.

once you done relaxing, you're packing your bags and making a run for it. you'll even cut alfred off of your life once and for all. no matter how much it pains you to do so, it's necessary so you could make a new identity from scratch.

it'll hurt you so deeply.

but that's why you're going to do what you wish you had done back when you were still so young—

you need a drink right now.

the wayne manor, in all its glory, is truly just an empty palace that houses buried memories.

with walls that cover the cries of one lonely child; a child who yearns for the unreciprocated love of their family. it was a cage for a child who stalks the frigid halls without any company, who sleeps in a room too small for their age, who cries for anybody to notice the pain that they had hidden with rose colored tints for so long, who yearns for a warmth that could never be provided in the spaces of harsh, black wallpaper and harsh winters.

it will always be innately lonely, and cold.

yet it's even more sullen now, an atmosphere so empty nobody could pinpoint.

no more was the voice that sings of the butler's splendid cooking. no more was the etching of ballpens on smooth paper on an intricately designed diary that stores all the rants of one's daily life. no more were the strokes on colorful canvases that paint dreams of a different life. no more was the humming of multiple tunes every morning. no more was the presence of the ghost who water the plants every afternoon. no more were the footsteps that thud in the kitchen and the hands that opens the fridge.

and most importantly—

no more were the hushed cries of the kid who resides in the smallest room of the wayne manor.

a house could be described as a building where a unit, moreover a family, lives in; but a home is what represents comfort, a place of belonging and safety.

it was a place encased with deep, historical roots.

but right now, encased in a field of damp grass - wet from heavy rain - and the overwhelming scent of petrichor— the manor is simply a house.

for it could never be complete without the presence of the very lonely child who cries for a love never to be attained.

the wayne manor, in all its worth, would never be the same without (name) wayne, a child who had always belonged, but at the same time, always wronged.

bruce wayne never considered himself the greatest father.

he could be gotham's best detective, the most feared vigilante, or the heavily beloved billionaire who donates millions on hospitals, hosts charity events, and so much more.

he could spend his entire life saving countless of other lives that do not deserve the turmoil of living on edge constantly, attend meetings, plan out his every moves, sit on cushioned seats as he broods over where the all the next criminal hideouts; he could do everything and he'll be damned great at it.

—but he will never be the greatest at being a father.

he had long accepted that fact, embraced it even, facing countless of criticism from both alfred and media alike, but it would never be an excuse to neglect or mistreat any one of his children, just like how it would never be right to just ignore a kid's cry for comfort in the barren halls of a manor.

bruce was never outright cruel towards anyone, every action of his baring significance to his moral code.

which was why bruce feels a pit of neverending regret now.

in all the years that he had spent trying to raise his children, children who, in a way, are trouble. who all differ from each other from ideals, to pasts, to habits, to preferences— he wouldn't lie and say that he never had difficulty helping each and every one of them grow to be who they are now.

living through his decisions are never easy, especially if the outcomes were unpredictable; raising a child, let alone children, could go so many ways.

the lives that he had to juggle, alongside his identity as bruce wayne and as batman, they were all an endeavor that he had chose to balance. he had come so far and stumbled so often. but at least by the end of it, he would be proud to say that he truly will never regret having them by his side when he was at the lowest points of his life.

he had his flaws and his mistakes, he had done irreversible actions that he wishes he could reverse, and most importantly, he had failed each and every one of his children indubitably.

but he really tried.

he tried his best to be there for every single one of them. he was there for dick when he had witnessed the death of his mom and dad, adopting the boy who was overflowing with rage towards the killer of his parents and utilizing his gymnastic skills for good. he was there to pick jason up when he had stolen the batmobile's tires, helping the child unlearn the past abuse he had fallen victim to (and although he had died, then resurrected, and turned cold-blooded towards criminals, murdering without hesitation— he still cares for jason deeply). he was there when tim had lost his parents. there for damian who had only been raised as an assassin since he was born. for cass, for duke, for everyone.

he really tried to be active in their lives, supporting them through their blood, sweat, and tears.

... but he had never tried to be there for you.

his forgotten third child, the biological firstborn, child of a well-known prostitute, (name) (last name), whose identity has long been erased off of the face of the internet; the scandal of a century that took the shared efforts of him and barbara to decimate whatever information the late (or missing?) (last name) has in the underground.

(name), his child he has never once bat an eye on, too preoccupied with tim, aversing his attention away from you to train the other kid; ultimately ignoring the immense trauma you must have dealt with from being raised by a mother targeted by most criminal organizations from extorting their cash. it was sickening for him to think of just how cruel were the conditions the two of you were forced to live through.

it was sickening for bruce to imagine the even lonelier years you had to suffer through after your mother's disappearance— years where your father's presence was elsewhere, years that a child has to suffer through alone without any figure to look up to.

it was your name that he had hesitated to even say, in fear of butchering the pronunciation and earning more of alfred's judgemental looks.

(name) wayne.

not even a face can be associated with you, not your voice, your hobbies, nothing.

he couldn't recall a memory where he had taken you to a fancy gala, or one-on-one father-child dates, or any occasions that requires bonding with each other.

he wasn't the man who welcomed you through the doors of the manor, nor was he the father who should've picked you up at the police station.

bruce wayne knows nothing of his third child.

if alfred hadn't confronted him about your terrible living conditions as of now, living in debt whilst trying to push through college, then how long would he have ignored your presence inside the manor? how long would the years pass without him acknowledging any important milestones that you would reach?

until your untimely demise perhaps?

he couldn't even remember a time he had at least given you a gift during christmas or new year or any time of the day.

not even the name of your elementary and high school, or your college university. he doesn't know of your friends, your teachers or what subject you excel in.

you had already graduated highschool, and he wasn't even there for your ceremony. he wasn't there to walk you up the stage, wasn't there to shield you from the thousands of photographers who would've attended should they know that a wayne would attend, wasn't there to offer you a pat on the shoulders for a job well done.

then who had to walk you up the stage?

"alfred..." he stops walking, clearing his throat as alfred turns back at bruce, offering a raised eyebrow at the sudden pause and bruce's rigid pose.

"yes, master?"

"when... (name) graduated," he hesitated on saying your name again, catching on alfred's sudden squint of the eyes. "who walked them up the stage?"

he hopes you didn't have to go up there alone, that a teacher at least accompanied you or—

"i was the one who attended in your stead, master bruce." the butler replies without hesitation, as if it was a normal occurrence. he sighs again, too tired to scold bruce's surprise for absolutely dismissing all the important dates that include you and instead turns back to continue on his treck to guiding bruce to your room.

alfred's look of condescension makes him sink deeper into the void of regret. for being unable to

fuck, how many important events had bruce missed? from school plays, to parent-teacher conferences, to talent shows— was there ever a "bring your father to school" day?

oh... he really hopes there wasn't.

his hands find itself scratching his head, fingers tangling itself onto his hair in hopes of providing distraction— but his thoughts all circulate towards you, a faceless entity, an itch that he could never reach unless he sees you for himself.

the further he walks through frigid halls, the smaller the space seems to get.

how many birthdays had he missed?

when even is your birthday?

you are eighteen now, five when you were taken in which means... almost fourteen years of missed birthdays...

he didn't even give you a single gift card out of pity. not even money for allowance, or a birthday cake.

bruce was never there for you, and he has a feeling that that may have been one of the reasons of you moving out.

he needs to make up for it at least, once he contacts you he'll apologize for everything—

but first, he needs to see the state of your room. to at least have a first impression of you, of what your life was in the manor; any clues that pertains to just who his child is, as humiliating as that sounds for a father.

which was why he didn't hesitate to let alfred lead him straight to your room, albeit the shame he feels for not even knowing where his own child's room is located.

back when he had taken damian in, it was him who introduced the boy to his own room, whom had promptly thrown a tantrum and demanded someplace bigger before ultimately accepting his fate.

... how would you have reacted to your own? he wishes to at least picture your face, probably opposite to damian's, as you get to live in an entirely different space from what you're used to.

would you be pleased? would you look at him with sparkling eyes and thank him? or would you maintain a neutral stance? an overwhelmed one?

he really wants to see you, your expressions, just a sliver of your presence.

but nothing comes up in his mind. not the length or color of your hair, not your height, not anything. he could picture a vague imagery of your mother, but not you.

it makes him wonder; does any of your siblings know what you look like? were you at least any closer to them that you are to him?

he hates just how much desperately the darkness in the pit of his chest is crawling in need to hasten his steps towards wherever your room was.

the rain outside had already ceased, but a newer thunderstorm was brewing inside bruce's heart.

he needs to see you.

as he walks behind alfred through the halls of the manor, he had just noticed how barren the other side of the manor truly is.

cob webs and dust particles litter through the corners of the untouched furniture, the wallpaper peeling off itself and revealing untreated mold and even more cocoons of baby spiders that would soon crawl out, and even most of the ceramic vases they had passed by houses no flowers, instead being covered in a thin sheen of dust.

it was obvious just how neglected this corner of the house is.

just like you.

alfred was always meticulous in his duty as a butler, but bruce had advised the old man to leave unexplored parts of the manor be, seeing as how nobody would stroll by; and to only clean it whenever he would host an expensive gala in the manor with spare rooms as guest rooms.

it made bruce wonder if these halls are the path that leads directly to your room, which it actually does, and he feels even more guilty at just how... different your living condition is compared to your siblings.

it was no wonder why the butler would always excuse himself early, seemingly always making a treck towards a forgotten chamber that he rarely visited.

he'll make a note of relocating you to a room closer than his if you ever were to decide to come visit during holidays or vacations.

... alfred said it had been six or seven months since you had left, just how many occasions have he missed?

counting only fills the dread in his the growing hole of the pit of his heart.

yeah... he will get you a new room, one preferably closer to his; just so he could greet you every morning by knocking on your door and at least escorting you to the kitchen for breakfast. he'll try to make small talk, invite you over and... bond with you.

that'll be a good habit he could incorporate into his daily life.

a small part of him wishes you wouldn't look at him in disdain if he had to forcibly visit your apartment.

he swears it's in all the good of his heard; he just needs to check for himself if you were doing okay.

as him and alfred nearly arrives at your bedroom, the two had already noticed the light peaking from outside the doors and what seems to be two voices ensuing an argument.

even alfred, who had ceased his steps, looked surprised at the presence of the people who seemed to be there before them.

bruce doesn't even hesitate jogging towards the room, unaware of alfred's immediate shift to a calculating gaze, as bruce immediately opens polished, mahogany doors, inviting himself in.

... it smells of bleach and fabric refresher.

his heart clenches at the implication.

"father...? why are you here?" damian's voice cuts through the tension, bruce merely dismisses youngest child as his eyes takes in the space, ignoring how the other presence in the room - dick, with wide, feral eyes - quips about an ongoing "family" reunion.

bruce analyzes every detail, heart thumping loudly in his chest.

small... your room is way too small, and lacks of any design or life whatsoever. a tiny bed is shoved in the corner, the closet too miniscule to even contain clothes for someone your age (just where do you store them, then?), the windows barely welcome any ventilation nor sunlight, even your bedside table was too small to be considered one; the lampshade on top of it could be easily toppled over by a single sway of a hand.

everything is clean, too clean and orderly.

his eyebrows furrow at its state. even a model's walk-in closet is significantly bigger than the cramped space he calls your bedroom.

no proper ventilation, not even any space is provided for... your hobbies. hobbies that he wasn't even aware of.

is this how you had been living for almost eighteen years of your life?

how do you live like this?

just how much has he neglected you?

"bruce...?" it was dick's voice that he had now registered. it sounds out of breath, way too abnormally distraught and out of character.

he slowly looks at dick, equally befuddled at the presence of his eldest and youngest sons.

he seems disheveled, stressed even. the athlete's blue eyes were wide and dilated, seemingly unfocused as his stance was rigid. he was breathing too deep, hand clenching his phone too tight, veins popping through muscles, and he holds a... notebook in the other, this time like it was a delicate piece or artifact.

"... why are you here?" dick tries to cover his current state with an awkward laugh, but he could never hide the furrow of his brows, the flickering in his eyes, nor the anxious stomping of the his feet. sweat runs down dick's forehead; it looks like he's been inside the room the longest.

and dick refuses to get out of it. he won't, not until he finds out just why were you pushing him always all of a sudden.

he's afraid of forgetting his baby bird once more and neglecting your needs. if you were just as self-depracating as he is then... just how well would you be coping all by yourself?

does bruce share the same intentions as him? he doesn't know, his thoughts all leading to a path of thinking about, well, you.

you and your wide eyes looking at him like he was the world.

"i'm just here to visit... (name)'s room." bruce replies, a deep tremor in his parched throat, threading even further into the cramped space as his eyes seem to lock into the multitudes of messily stacked notebooks in the center of the bed.

they were all captioned '(name)'s diary', each having different fonts for every notebook and a date plastered on the very bottom.

"and you both are...?" he stares at them, demanding an answer as he sits on your too small bed (—it creaks, he hates that it does so he promises to get you a new one, a bigger one even, with enough space to fit in at least four people just as you deserve), picking up one of the diaries in his hand; it sports messy calligraphy and peeling stickers, reminiscent of just how old it was.

the hold he has on the diary is delicate as he flips through the first page the same way the eldest child had done. the papers were stained gray from the lead of the pencil, doodles littering every page, from flowers to animals and even faces that bruce couldn't recognize.

at least it provides the void in his heart food for thought, taking in every small detail about you and your hobbies.

you like documenting your life through diaries, that was the first thing he noted about you. the entries all date far from back when you were five or younger, the earlier pages highlighting, well, you and your mother's life. though the handwriting wasn't all that eligible, bruce finds himself becoming fond of the common topics you often rant about from "momma's burnt stack of pancakes" (paired with a drawing on the side, colored with dried markers and glitter gel pens), to the fairytales your mother loves to read you.

as much as it was entertaining for him to read through your mind, it's sad how aged the papers were and how some pages were crumpled to the point some contents were incomprehensible.

he'll get you even more high quality ones, rather than the cheap paper the one he's currently holding has. and he'll buy you designer pens, or do you prefer the more functional ones? would you like fountain pens or glass dip ones just to enjoy the experience?

bruce notices a pattern of the pen's strokes, an array of thinner lines were preferred in most of your entries compared to the thick pencils you sometimes force yourself to use, as there was an entry you had mentioned where if you use thicker lines then you'll run out of pages quicker, and "my mom doesn't have enough money to buy me one right now."

even the doodles in pencil had prefered line widths. finer quality for even finer details, thicker lines to emphasize and exaggerate your art on the side of the papers.

would you prefer mechanical or charcoal pencils? charcoal is messy and smudges, bruce knows as he sees small drawings of a tiny sprite that point towards a smeared sketch of a flower, a look of disdain on its furrowed brows.

he couldn't contain the upward quirk of his lips, blocking out dick's shadow that seems to get closer to bruce.

unfortunately, there were no ballpens of your preference on your bedside table for him to take for himself. he'll find out himself sooner enough though; what materials you like to utilize for your diaries and sketches. hell, it seems you like using a mix of normal and puffy stickers alongside a mix medium to obtain different colors.

journaling supplies, you'll find a lot of them in your arsenal soon.

he'll make sure of that once he finds out where you live.

he looks at damian flipping through what seems to be one of your sketchbooks.

art is, undoubtedly, one of your hobbies too— that's the second thing he notes, picking up what seems to be your second diary right after he flips through the first one, wasting no time to learn more about you.

this time, your second diary talks about your early life into the gotham manor. your anxious yet earger energy to meet your father, how the dick grayson (presumably your idol, with how you mention him as the) is now your brother, and how you almost got lost just wondering in the manor; they all highlight your innocence and curiousity about the world. you write so effortlessly, unafraid of writing down what you truly feel.

though you barely mention the incident regarding your mother, you have stated multiple times about how you miss her beautiful smile and her captivating laughter.

he's grateful that you're fond of writing diaries, exposing bruce to the deeper, more personal parts of your life. he doesn't need to pinpoint any lies or truth. all your secrets, your endeavors, your dreams and your passions are buried deep into the crevices of your diaries, etched in thousands of words and drawings that tell bruce just who you are.

and truly, you are his child.

bruce craves to know more about you in person the more he reads through your entries.

fortunately, it wasn't only him that feels an intense need to take you in, as the presence of his eldest cuts him off of the his train of thoughts.

"y'know, before you forget we're even here, bruce," dick quips with a fond smile as he looks at his bruce's unkempt state, taking a seat next to his father who seems to be in his own world just like damian. the bed creaks against their weight, both cringing at the sound before bruce returns to his own world of... analyzing you, just like he did hours ago.

but he knows that his father knows how to multitask, so he doesn't hesitate to answer.

"i'm also here for (name), i promised to take them out for dinner month's ago." that seems to actually catch bruce's attention, as he looks up from reading your second diary, gazing at dick as if to urge him to continue.

dick proceeds with a sigh, a smitten smile plastered on his face as he recalls the only memory he has of you.

"(name) really has a knack for writing and all, right? i love them for it. when i first met them, they were just so adorable. my baby bird tried to ask me for an autograph!" dick couldn't help himself from yapping, chuckling lightly as he remembers the deathly grip you had on alfred's cuffs, how you were hiding behind the butler's legs and looked at dick so enamored. he couldn't contain his unhinged smile, the goosebumps on his skin made shivers ripple throughout his entire body.

bruce (and even damian, who had all his attention on your sketches) had listened in on his monologue.

"i was the one who helped lead them to their room," he continued confidently, tapping his phone with his fingers, "they clung really close to me when we climbed up the steps, even tried to hide under my jacket..."

looking back, dick wishes he had carried you up the steps. thing was, you were incredibly small back then, and the manor's staircase is particularly hard to transverse through when ascending, so you must've felt exhausted and leaned onto him for support. your tiny legs must've been sore once you two had arrived by your room.

oh, he should've noticed. dick swears he won't make that mistake again once he gets you back in his arms, he promises to carry you the moment you even show the slightest bit of fatigue.

he swears he will, and he'll make sure to spoil you rotten with all the affection you deserve.

oh, dick really wants to see his baby bird again.

"yeah, that's, uh, the only time we had only ever talked." he admits shamefully, opening his phone for what seems like the thousandth time, looking at your profile over and over again, one that had him blocked.

he bites his lips, nibbling his skin in anticipation, in hopes that in the good of your heart that you just, unblock him.

it was just so unbelievable, despite you having all the reasons to push them away from your life, he just doesn't want to accept it. doesn't want to think of the worst outcome; of you hating him.

his baby bird blocked him and he just couldn't comprehend the amount of hurt he's feeling right now. what's wrong with checking up on his baby sibling? on someone he hasn't talked to for a long time already?

scrolling up through your previous messages fills him with both dread, and another emotion he doesn't want to admit— the slightest bit of pride he feels that you chose him over everybody else. you chose dick grayson as your idol, as someone to look up to and eagerly wanted as your older brother.

he was the favorite.

yet he feels terrible at the same time for taking it for granted, for forgetting your his own younger sibling. and bruce? bruce feels terrible just looking at how much your disappearance - an existence he didn't even know existed not until a few hours ago - impacted the atmosphere of the house.

is your absence the reason why the manor had felt too empty, then...?

even alfred seemed to sulk more often, always having his phone around and... talking to someone?

does alfred know where you are? or at least maintain communication with you?

it seems like the family was equally keen to find out just who you were.

whilst the two engross themselves in their own personal matters, damian continues to stand near the middle where the light hits the brightest, analyzing all the pages of your sketchbook. the youngest couldn't even afford to miss a single detail, green eyes mulling over the poses of your human sketches; the anatomy, the composition. all the progress, the mistakes, the erasures... his mind seems to eat up every drawing as if it was a piece of art hung in a museum.

which it should've been— but he wouldn't even let worthless critiques lay their eyes on any one of your sketches. they wouldn't understand you as much as he does.

it's his to look upon, nobody else could understand the meaning of your art, the meaning of his older sibling's art.

the older sibling who he used to threaten with his sword, who he called vile names — a bastard child, he told you one day. he was unable to ignore the glare you sent him, how he felt a pang in his heart after — the older sibling who he ridiculed endlessly in front of his best friend, whose actions he criticized without end; who had started to avoid him like the plague after all of his incessant bullying.

his older sibling who he had used as a punching bag for all his negative emotions, who he was incredibly jealous of, who he felt the need to fight, to compete with, all for the sake of grabbing your attention without seeming frail in his intentions.

his weak and incapable older sibling, who he knew hated him with all their gut.

the unwanted and undeserved treatment he had subjected you to was gruesome.

it was just exactly like your drawings... gruesome and brutal, to say the least. as if it was a medium of releasing all your unparalleled anger. charcoal strokes violently covers the entirety of your pages, it was unpredictable where the lines meet and end, whenever there is color, they blotch each other without harmony, all the subjects of your art either human or anything else within your vicinity.

if someone else with inexperienced, undeserving eyes were to witness your sketches, they would not understand and dare say, criticize your art pieces for being too contemporary, for letting your emotions run free through cheap quality paper without any ounce of care for the rips and tears of the pages.

but damian likes it... he likes the rawness of your pieces, likes it when you incidentally find a way to express tragedy, grief, and all the antagonistic traits a human could bare. he likes just how all thr subjects you paint were muddled with dull colors, sometimes too vibrant, sometimes too neon, sometimes a mix of all— your hectic personality bleeds through the pages.

you should've... shared your talents with him. albeit the jealousy he feels towards you, the sense of competitiveness— a small part of him admits his desire to bond with his only blood sibling... he doesn't even know why he treated you like trash, yet felt so incredibly heartbroken whenever you would retaliate with a blank, soulless stare.

he doesn't know why he felt so compelled to melt into your embrace, despite never once being physically close to you. your warmth always emanates off of your body; he hates that he wanted your validation, your praise and your attention.

he'll apologize to you sooner, damian will drag you back even if he has to, he needs to, actually.

needs to get you to forgive him, to look at him fondly, and to love him without bounds. he's on his path to redemption, he acknowledges his wrongs, all the wrongs he had done to you, he couldn't list it all out but he knows just much it affected your views on him.

damian knows he should've dismissed your reactions— he was raised by assassins for gods sake! he should not be so perceptive of every micro expression of yours, but the connection he feels towards his blood sibling is stronger than any bond, a bond that he himself chose to sever and came to regret afterwards.

he remembers one specific expression of yours after he had criticized your anger issues when he had heard news of you being transferred into another school. it was a glare that lacked any fight or bite, you had long since given up on him and allowed him him harass you whenever he felt like so. but that day was the same day you had snapped, nearly choking on his

he told himself to ignore it, that you were merely throwing a tantrum (despite how hypocritical he seemed)

yet he didn't expect to be overcome with regret.

with hurt.

with empathy at the tears that welled on your eyes.

damian doesn't want to admit it but, that was one of the first times he had hesitated to retaliate with an even crueler comeback to your glare. he wanted to so badly run to you and bond with you and your unadulterated anger, to comfort you and provide you the affection you had so desperately needed— but in the bitterness and the jealousy of his heart, he had forced himself to leave you be; a decision even until now he regrets because... you had no longer seen him as a younger brother, let alone treat him as one, as he desired to.

after that incident, you tend to avoid him more and more, not even eating in the same room as him, let alone ditching whatever you were doing in favor of keeping to yourself.

he should've held himself back from hurting his older sibling, the one who, despite doning no skills or talent in combat whatsoever, who knew that he was more of a threat than a younger brother; was brave enough to approach him with a tray of alfred's baked cookies and a hesitant yet welcoming grin.

and yet he had replied with a sword to your neck and an insult to your origin, calling you a bastard child; the product of a whore and his father's terrible decisions.

he had simply watched as you had left the hallway with a knick on your neck and a wobble on your steps, nearly dropping the tray of untouched goods due to the inconsolable shivers you must've felt.

you hate him, no? he could see it in your eyes, no matter how defeated it may be, there was always a tinge of resentment towards him that he knows he couldn't undo.

you hate him, you must've hated him so much and he hates that. hates how he wants to throw a rampage over the fact that you would never consider him as a younger brother.

... if things were different, if he had never let his emotions and his past dictate his actions, would you love him?

for the first time in quite a while, he had felt tender longing and desire, his hands caressing the pages of your sketchbook as if it could bring you back to the manor.

for the first time in a while, damian allows himself to want, to dream about a fantasy where you would cherish him, allow him to melt on your chest whenever he feels the pressure of the world getting to him, let him sulk about his deepest darkest insecurities as you would run your fingers through his hair and tell him it's all alright.

for the first time in so long, he would openly admit the immense regret he feels, wishing for an opportunity to turn back time, to never unsheath his sword towards you and to never open his mouth to allow vile words to spew out of it.

time passes by oh-so quickly when you are left alone with only your thoughts to accompany you.

it had been quite awhile since the trio were left pondering about your very existence, alfred noted, watching the three scramble about through their minds. they had seemed to have forgotten the very butler who had been observing every single one of their actions.

alfred had waited so long for this moment to come, for them to realize just how crucial you are to the family, how you are the very final jigsaw puzzle the complete the picture perfect definition of a home, how much they need you if they wish to maintain even the slightest bit of sanity.

it was only right that he decides to place the final nail in the coffin.

after all, this was all to get you back to your safety, to where you rightfully belong.

—"it seems like the family has finally taken notice of young master (name)'s disappearance...?" alfred buts in by the door, a single eyebrow raised, crossed arms, an all-knowing look that just screams 'i told you so'.

he continues once he had their complete attention, "i would like to say that i am heavily disappointed in how it took more than a decade and a half for all of you to find out about their existence. if it wasn't for the long months of their absence and even a personal sermon towards master bruce about their financial struggles, they would've long been gone. well... they would be gone soon if they are unable to pay this month's rent for their apartment."

his tone was sullen as he nitpicks every single one of their reactions, a mixture of confusion, shame and regret a commonality between the three.

"(name) is in financial debt?" it was damian who asked first with furrowed brows and wide eyes, unbelieving of what alfred had just stated. "but father wires money to all of his children, right?

the youngest turns back to his father's seated form, expecting a nod of some sorts, but all bruce had was a tense jaw and a solid stare. it speaks of volumes, all damian could do was shut his mouth, looking back at alfred with a pout.

alfred expected this reaction. it was truly unfortunate how the family would never know just how important you were in their life.

yet all he could do was press on, further their guilt and desperation.

"young master damian, i am aware of bruce's willingness towards providing for his children, but (name), like you, had adopted your father's stubbornness to accept any financial aid on their part..."

the silence was defeaning now, tension so thick that not even a knife could cut through it. fortunately, the people alfred were with are trained combatants, formidle not only through fights but with words.

it was a shame they had never used their brains to connect the dots with just how sullen the manor was the moment you were gone.

"how do we...?" this time it was dick who talked, albeit hesitantly. "bruce could at least send a few thousands to them, then? or i could do it, you could just give us their location and—"

"unfortunately, there is nothing i could do about it, master dick," alfred interrupts dick's sudden onslaught, "for even i do not have master (name)'s address. they refuse even the slightest bit of a clue, hence why i have confronted master bruce about it."

it was like a needle had dropped on the floor, an intense, numbing feeling everyone present was subjected to feel.

... what?

it was dick who had reacted first, springing up from his seated position as he stared at alfred's defeated eyes incredulously.

"are you serious, alfred? (name) could be anywhere in gotham right now? unprotected, unsafe, and in debt?"

a long, defeated sigh was what he had merely received from the alfred.

"yes, master dick, you hear exactly what i say."

"but the world outside is too dangerous for (name)! we can't just let them loose in a street filled with criminals who can take advantage of their innocence!"

"they're eighteen, dick." all of a sudden, it was damian who cuts back with a roll of his eyes, "i'm sure they can survive on their own."

"yeah right, and have you even read their latest diary, or are you just gonna pretend like you aren't going to keep their sketchbooks all for yourself, huh?" dick retaliates with clenched teeth, letting himself be swayed by his own emotions. "or... you're planning to track their location without us so you can get a reservation to visit them first?"

"calm down, dick—" bruce stands, immediately holding dick back, gripping the athlete's tense shoulders.

"why should i, bruce?! (name) can be anywhere, we— i can't afford to bide time on anything but them!" he glared back at his father, slammimg his fist onto your bedroom walls without hesitation. cracks immediately formed on the chipped wallpaper, a testament to dick's strength; you'll be relocated to another room, a better one anyways and they'll... they'll turn this one into a bigger atelier for you.

dick just needs to let his anger out, yeah... unfortunately, his father seems to think otherwise.

bruce retaliates with a snarl, "we need a solid plan, dick. we can't just randomly search where they are—"

"look, if none of you are willing to help, then fine, i'll track (name) all by myself—"

"— i've never mentioned not coming, grayson." damian cuts him off with a glare, possessively holding all your sketchbook in one hand. "i'll be the one spending time with them first."

"yeah, right... and you, bruce? you coming with or no?"

defeated, bruce replies, "... you already know the answer, dick."

"of course, dad. glad to know we're on the same team after all," dick lets out an airy laugh, returning to his old demeanor. but bruce could easily pinpoint the sharp edge to his giggles, how calculated it is and how it's all merely a cover up to hide the unbearable itch to get you into his arms.

not like bruce could help it too, feeling the same way dick does— all he wants to do is see you for himself after all.

"then call the others into the batcave, now. tell them it's a priority mission, don't let them say otherwise, and don't settle on any excuses."

bruce is so grateful that he had his hands on your diaries, that he was given the grace to read through your entries and embrace even the slightest clue about you.

although there was no face to associate with your name, no photograph nor portrait— he at least has an idea of your personality, of what you like and prefer; something that bruce would hold dear, something that feeds the growing urge to find you.

find you to not only correct his mistakes, to make up for all the lost time, but to also get closer to you. to bond with his child, the one he should've focused on all those years ago. the one who, despite showing disinterest to vigilantism, chose to not fall deep into the pits of resentment, of committing heinous acts— you had chosen to run away from them without any intentions of badmouthing your own family even after the years of neglect.

his child, (name) wayne.

you were a symbol of what he had strived to cherish, to protect. it was your innocence through these pages, your eagerness to the world despite its cruelty, that relays the message to bruce that he should've centered his attention on both you and tim instead of just tim.

maybe then the dispair he had felt after jason's death would've been less devastating, maybe then you'd act as his source of light in the darkness he had choose to brood in. maybe then he wouldn't have acted so rash, so impulsive and tense.

after all, you had lost your mother too early, and your father was just somebody you can watch through the television and read through the newspaper.

and you? you were forced to take the short end of the stick, without any familial attention nor emotional support whatsoever— a substantial failure on bruce's part. you didn't deserve anything you were subjected to, didn't deserve to know what pain and despair felt like.

bruce should've been the father who had to shoulder all your burden. he should've been there for you as he was there for all your other siblings.

he should've been the man who would kiss your wounds away whenever you go out to the park with him to play. he should've been the man who would sit on the crowded bleachers to watch you perform on a talent show. he was supposed to be the father who would hold you close to your chest as you cry about your first heartbreak, about your overdue projects, about the bullies in the school.

but he wasn't that father for you. and now, you seek love and attention from people who weren't even family. because they had failed you, he had failed you.

there was so much things about you that he doesn't know of, so much he had missed out on. his absence was a constant in your life; what would you have felt if he suddenly barged in on it then? especially now that you've moved out on the presumption of neglect?

but could he help it if he does?

could bruce help it if he was already concocting a way to bring you back? alfred had explicitly told him that you were living off of debt

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 11,100+ words. no beta we just die. undertale reference. this is my least favorite chapter LMAO, despite it's length i had to waste blood sweat and tears for this and i hate it so much. anways guys pls comment or send as ask if u like this and what's good abt it bec this chapter literally made me question my ability as a write 😭 erm im gonna take a break after this and mostly answer asks bec istg my energy is so drained. also is it jst me or does everyone default the reader as female ^^' it's jst weird for me bec i always write them as gn/male. oh and if anyone is wondering, yes i am gonna add the batgirls too bec they r family !! the entire family (universe) is obsessed with u !! also yall i cant add anymore to the taglist, tumblr won't allow me.

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @ruiroku , @okaybutfullhomo , @trasshy-artist , @obsessedwithromance, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa , @ilovvmyhusband , @6uuyuuhgy, @plsfckmedxddy, @lavender-moony , @sweetheart-era, @chemicalsandghosts , @darling006 , @starringyau , @samanthahanes, @rosecentury , @jaythes1mp , @pi1nkl0ver , @i-thirsty-boy, @sharks-are-cool-l, @silverklaus, @traumaramacenter , @maddimoon , @anxrq, @thedarknesslord , @h0rr0r-10ver-69 , @lazy-idate , @cupids-pretty-boy , @alishii, @mel-star636 , @sitepathos , @freakyotaku059-blog , @dirtydiavolo, @sunbleachedantlers, @24hrsoflanii, @ceramic-raven , @une-lueur-dans-la-nuit , @tdickensstuff4 , @thickerthanthieves , @arlandvery , @distressed-lezbo, @bunbunboysworld , @bellethesleepypotato, @nebuluma, @alliwantisadonut, @alishii, @kusakiguzen, @sirenetheblogger, @emmbny, @ryukyuin, @solkara, @starsdotalk, @nightstarblue, @huhuhhuhh, @shadowpup163, @sunshine-skz, @24hrsoflanii, @bazellawrites, @pato-spoiler-27, @harumy07cat, @rains-mae, @funnybunnyxxx, @littlelilithspost, @howisgroguthiscute, @yuyuzi-ling, @tullipam, @coldcrusadehideout, @princessloveweird, @hybridcon

[shoyudon]

𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐈 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 .ᐟ

them forgetting a date night.

starring. gojo, sukuna, toji x fem! reader

heads up. cursing, no fluff, sukuna can use a phone (bcs u taught him lol /j), sukuna calling u "woman"

note. haiii, how are you guys doing? make sure to take care of yourself!! i'm feeling a bit angsty today, so i'm gonna write a bit of angst. i miss gojo, like so much u guys :( i might make a part two for this btw hehe

──────〃★ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

the one thing you hated more than people being late was people who don't keep their promises — your boyfriend wasn't an exception to it. gojo's a busy man, you get it. for months you haven't been able to see him because he was so caught up in the jujutsu world; he saves people dan and night from lingering curses that it broke you a bit.

the jujutsu world treats him like a weapon; and you never liked it. despite your constant battering on him, trying to get him to quit and just settled in for a quiet life, he tells you that he can't. that people needed him, and you felt selfish.

but isn't it fine to be selfish sometimes?

clutching onto your phone, you'd tried dialing gojo's number at least six times before he answers. his voice groggy and slow, as if he had just woken up from a deep sleep, "huh . . . hello?"

you wanted to yell at him, especially because he was the one who has been reminding you about this particular date night — and he was the one to forget about it, "good sleep?" you ended up asking him, voice hard.

"y/n . . . why did you—"

"why did i call? oh, i don't know. maybe because my boyfriend stood me up for an hour and a half. i look like an idiot sitting here, satoru," you mutter out in embarrassment, avoiding the lingering gazes from both waiters and waitresses around you.

for the past hour, you've lost count of how many times you'd ask them to refill your glass of tea — embarrassing. then telling them you were waiting for someone when they tried to ask you if you were going to order anything since there were people waiting for a table, just for the said person not showing up.

"what time is— oh, fuck. baby, i'm so sorry, i fell asleep when i was work—"

before he could finish his words, you finished it for him, "working. i get it, you're always working. clearly, you don't have time for anything else, right?" you ask him, signaling the waiter nearby for the bill.

"baby, i know. i'm so sorry, i'm on my way, okay? please," he whispers. you could hear a few shuffling on the background; along with a few curses he muttered under his breath as he stumble over his feet, mind hazy from all the sudden movements he was doing despite just waking up.

"no need. i'm leaving the place," you mutter, walking out of the restaurant — heels clacking on the pavement, "and 'm leaving you, because clearly you're not ready for a relationship, so bye."

gojo yells out, "what? no, baby. i swear — i'll make it up to you, please. don't leave me . . ." he rambled on the same words over and over again, "where are you? i'm picking you up. please, can we talk about this? i'm sorry, i know i should've—"

"bye, satoru," and with that you ended the call.

──────〃★ 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍

you fiddled the hem of your dress as you sat inside the almost closed restaurant, the last speck of hope you had on your boyfriend —sukuna— dissipating into hopelessness. standing up you walked over to the cashier, taking out your card to pay for the one glass of shrimp cocktail and one glass of white wine.

the cashier shot you a sympathetic look, and you didn't dare to look her into her eyes. face hard from embarrassment and shame, "thank you for coming, come again next time, ma'am . . ." she bids you goodbye as she returns your card.

walking out of the restaurant that now had the 'closed' sign flipped made your stomach churn in mixed feelings: anger, embarrassment, shame, sadness, everything all at once.

sinking your nails onto the palm of your hand, you muttered out strings of curses. you knew being in a relationship with someone who had no understanding to the concept of love was a hard thing — but honestly, you thought you got a hang of it. all this time you had been nothing but patient with sukuna, but maybe even that wasn't enough for him.

three hours. you sat alone inside the restaurant you booked for the both of you for three hours — each hour depleting your hope even more. and sukuna just managed to fuck it up even after he said he'd try. well, you should've underlined the keyword there: he said he'd try not that he'd come.

maybe you saw it coming yet it still disappointed you anyways.

your phone rang. even before you see who it was — you knew it's none other than sukuna. your heart screamed at you to answer his phone call, but your mind told you to leave it ringing because you were in no mood to talk to him. yet, at the end — you still pressed the answer button.

"what?"

"where are you?" his rough voice echoed through the line as you walked down the nearly empty street, holding onto your purse, "place's closed."

scoffing, you answered, "'f course it's closed, it's almost ten. i've been waiting for three hours, ryo. three hours."

you could hear him inhale sharply, "i was caught up with something, woman. where are you now?" he questioned. hearing a few car honking behind on the background, "where are you? answer me."

"doesn't matter, i left. and i'm leaving you, i was wrong thinking maybe i could've changed you — turns out, i couldn't. good luck to you," you mutter out sternly.

sukuna raised a brow, "y're kidding."

you weren't, and all he could hear next was the loud dial tune of the other line hanging up — now did he realize that this was all serious and you were actually leaving him for good.

──────〃★ 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

you sighed, dialing toji for the first time of the night when he said that he was going to pick you up for a date, the phone rung for a while before going into voicemail. grumbling under your breath, you tried dialing him again for the second time, which ended up the same way.

all these time spent on makeup and picking out the best outfit — all for nothing as your boyfriend, toji failed to show up on time. angry, you tried calling him again for the third time, only for it to end up in voicemail yet again. this time you decided to leave a message for him.

"hey, you forgot. didn't you? hope you're happy with yourself, cause 'm not."

dating toji wasn't the easiest — but you love him, no matter what he was like. and it was stupid of you to do so, all this time you've defended his name against your friends' malice towards him, saying how he wasn't treating you well enough and that you deserved so much better.

despite all that, you love him. disregarding their words, retorting back to how toji treats you well, which he does — except for the times he tended to forget about everything, even you. maybe it was time to open your eyes and actually break up; because you did deserve better than this.

it would be a shame to let all this makeup go to waste, and so you hailed a cab and decided to go out for a treat. and made the best out of everything, that is until toji decided it would be the most convenient time to call you back amidst your little "me time".

wiping your hand on the napkin, you answered him, "huh, you're alive," you muttered out, huffing.

he sighs, "i forgot, sorry." you couldn't see him, but toji actually looked remorseful, already on his way out of his apartment to yours, "i'm on my way."

you chuckled, "doesn't matter. i left my house," you informed, taking a bite out of the crab meat, "so don't bother coming — and i don't think i don't deserve this kind of treatment from anyone, even you, toji. i'm breaking up with you because clearly you don't take this relationship as seriously as i am."

toji furrowed his brows, "i forgot, i fucked up, i can make it up. where are you right now?" he asks, his voice still as calm as cucumber. but the look on his face contradicted the tone of his voice.

"bye, toji. good luck."

© shoyudon 2024 . no copying or reposting allowed !

[caramelkoo]

honeysuckle

boyfriend!jungkook, established relationship, smut

summary : according to your boyfriend, a little competition won't hurt anyone especially when the game is his favorite. Making you feel good.

warnings : mature, strong language, heavy on the smut, a little fluff thrown in there, fingering, pussy slapping, he asks for consent, they're freaky, dick piercing, ass slapping, hickeys, sex in a jacuzzi, reverse cowgirl, riding, jungkook wants oc so bad, dirty talk, he calls oc sweetheart, unprotected sex. if i missed something, do let me know.

a/n : hi my loves, here’s your promised smutty treat. tbvh that picture has not left my mind ever since i saw it lmao. I love you guys so so much. You're so loved and cherished. Please don't read this in front of your parents. also @rpwprpwprpwprw was the sweetest to ask for a tag <33 xoxo

"Oh yeah baby, just like that"

"You fuck me so good"

'Take my cock like a good slut you are"

Any other day, you're all about sex positivity and letting your body get what it wants but today of all days, your neighbors want to ruin the peace that you so desperately craved.

Your boyfriend, Jungkook had left early for a business meeting promising you to come back as soon as he gets done with it. As much as you missed him, you had felt the need to have some time for yourself. You thrive on being Jungkook's girlfriend, it's all butterfly in the stomach, princess treatment kind of love but you can't lie about wishing for some alone time just for yourself. Finally, you were getting it. You had it all planned bit by bit.

Step 1 : take an everything shower

Step 2 : cook something delicious for yourself while wave to earth plays in the background

Step 3 : read a romantasy novel you've been anticipating for a long time.

Step 4 : if sleepy, sleep. If not, take out your pink best friend from the bedside drawer and seek your pleasure listening to Jungkook's voice recording you had him record the other day. It always works.

Step 3 and you're already at the verge of giving up. It appears the people next door didn't exactly like your plan and they wanted to make you realize how lonely you are. Screaming at your face, "Haha guess who's not getting a dick". God forbid if a girl wants to have quite and peaceful night while romanticizing the shit out of it.

You slam the book on the bed and sigh. For a second you consider calling Jungkook but stop when you realize that you'll only be hindering his work. What are you even going to tell him? that you can't read because your neighbors have been fucking each other for hours now? No, that's just stupid.

Taking off your reading glasses you make your way to the kitchen. If you can't get sleep tonight, you might as well give them a tough fight. When and if they decide to let their horny asses take a break and decide to doze off, they'd catch on to the fact that there's someone next door whose mama didn't raise a quitter. Immature? you don't think so.

Once the woman's voice on the speaker alerts you that your phone has been connected, you start off with your favorite go to song when you need to cry your eyes out. "Fuck to an emotional song now" you think.

Coming in terms with the fact that you might have to pull an all nighter, you begin making coffee. The word itself brings a smile on your face. Coffee, which got you through your med school. Coffee, which got you Jungkook.

If you really think about it, hadn't you mustered up the courage to go on a solo date that day and have a coffee all by yourself you wouldn't have crossed your paths with him. It's funny actually because how many couples do actually last this long after meeting at a random coffee shop?

After dating douchebags for almost three years you had taken a break from dating all together. It was high time you focused on yourself. Honestly, it's not like they were the only one who was messed up in your previous relationships. You had some parts you had to heal as well and the moment you caught up on that, you went on a journey. Journey to self love, journey to find yourself and a journey which will leave you not perfect but healed.

As for the dimwits you dated in the past, sometimes it was "why do you always have to be like this? how much more space do you need?" or, "What do you mean you don't want to have sex right now? C'mon don't be a spoilsport".

Spoilsport, your ass.

Standing up on your tippy toes, your hands reach out for the coffee container but before you could even settle your foot down on the floor, two arms circle around your waist making you gasp in utter shock.

The need to defend yourself takes so strongly over you that you don't even turn around in order to check the person before your elbow connects with their nose.

When you finally do, you can't stop the scream from leaving your mouth. Your face all red and your eyes as big as saucers.

You panic, "JUNGKOOK?"

When you see blood oozing out of his left nostril after he lifts his face, you mentally curse your sister for forcing you to take self defense classes.

"What's with the song, sweetheart?"

"I told you you were gonna be my death someday but who knew it was gonna be tonight"

After cleaning up his nose and giving him a cup of coffee, you both were now sitting on the couch. You had turned off the music, though. God knew it was not making the situation any better.

You take a sip before speaking, "Oh, don't be dramatic. Who comes home like this and at this hour?"

"My flight was late, sweetheart. I wanted to get to you much sooner but destiny had plans--" he gets cut off as his eyebrows crease in wonder.

"What was that?"

"The neighbors. They have been going at it for hours now" you shake your head in disbelief.

"For hours? That's some stamina I must say" he breaks out in a fit of laughter as you place your cup on the table in front of you.

Turning towards him you ask, "You find this funny? I haven't been able to sleep because of them"

Your voice comes out a bit whiny and you wonder if you're acting a bit childish.

"Oh, sweetheart. How about this, I take a quick shower and we cuddle to sleep" a mixture of warmth and concern crossing his face.

Your smile is wide when you say, "I'd love that"

Jungkook finishes his coffee and pecks your lips as he saunters towards the bathroom. However, when he turns back and says the most unforeseen thing, your silly mind doesn't even think twice.

"Actually, _____. Why don't you join me?"

Bubbles form inside the jacuzzi as smoke fills your surroundings. The smell of warm water hits your nose making it feel tingly. Your stomach is doing summersaults as your boyfriend lets you down inside the water, heart skipping a beat.

Only when Jungkook lets himself sit on the other side of the tub, you can finally take a deep breath. His eyes never leaving yours. When you're with him, there's nothing you care about. Not your horny neighbors, not the world, nothing. It's just him and his presence that lights you up. A smile that could rival the sun.

Him.

Your fingers play with the water as you try to make a conversation. This moment right here, is peak level of intimacy for you. You're both naked, exposed and vulnerable yet you've never felt safer. Not to mention how you feel like a high school girl trying to talk to his crush.

When you were young, the bathroom was the only place you could run and cry in and no one judged you. The four walled room provided more comfort than people in your life. It holds memories but when you moved in with your boyfriend, you left those at your old house. To rot, because what else?

With him, every corner, every space in your house feels pure and blissful. It’s filled with laughter, moans and him.

Jungkook's legs are lightly brushing yours every now and then, the movement sending shivers down your spine. What's happening to you?

"So, how was the business trip?"

"On a scale of one to ten, how funny is it that you wanna talk about business while looking like that and all I wanna do is fuck that sweet mouth of yours because of how much I missed it?"

You shudder, the effect he has on you is beyond belief and now with the expression crossing his face, pure lust and longing, it's as though somebody has set your whole body on fire. A mix of hot and cold feeling running through your veins.

"Jungkook"

"Come here"

"Wh-"

He cuts you off, "Come here, sweetheart. Come to me before I lose my ever loving mind'

You don't have an option other than to scoot your way towards him. He positions your body between his legs, his taut and muscular chest touching your wet back.

Wetness pools between your legs as his hardness presses at your lower hip just above your ass. Your pussy throbs with need and you stop yourself from reaching down to relieve that tension.

His fingers ever so lightly graze over your arm, frequently making drawings on it.

"How long did you say they were going at it?"

You look at him, "About three hours. Why?"

He's up to something. You can feel it in your bones.

"Do you think they're still gonna be able to fuck each other after hearing your screams through the wall, sweetheart?"

Fuck. The idea of making them listen to you while your boyfriend fucks you into oblivion doesn't sound so bad. You missed him, you missed being in his arms and you missed him being inside you as well. So, where's the harm in that?

"You wanna give them a show? Let them know how well your man fucks you?"

The moan that leaves her as she lets her head fall back heavy on his chest tells him everything her words can't.

"Jungkook, please. It's been so long" she cries out.

She stirs making herself more comfortable but that just makes him hiss through his teeth as her ass grazes his cock, the metal on the tip leaving a cool sensation. He's not gonna give in easily though. He will make her earn that release.

His hands cup her tits, fully covering them and they fit so perfectly in his hands. Heavy, full, perfect. As if they're made just for him to suck, him to cup, him to cum on, him to leave purple love bites on.

"I know, sweetheart. Do you wanna know what I kept thinking about while I was away?" his voice trails off, "I kept thinking about how bad I wanna fuck your throat"

The sound that leaves her is filled with need.

"Jungkook, baby please."

He trails his hands down her chest and stomach before it reaches her pussy. Just around her clit. His finger are soft and light, not putting pressure when all she wants is for him to give her the release she so badly craves.

Jungkook's cock is already leaking with precum and his balls ache. He missed his girl so fucking much, so much that he lost count of how many times he had fucked his hand while thinking of her while he was away. When his colleagues saw his flushed face, he had no other option than to blame it on the cold weather.

His finger slide down and back up her slit, making her visibly shiver.

Shit. He's not gonna last long if she keeps making those noises.

"How many finger do you want, _____?" he asks as repeats the same motion.

His mouth comes on her in a searing kiss, it's possessive, passionate, burning and everything nasty. He's straight up claiming her mouth as her tongue tangles with his own.

Pulling back he waits for her response, "Two. Please"

Following her command, his two fingers slide inside her. He tightens the hold on her stomach to have her stay in place when she bucks her hips forward.

She screams.

"That's my girl"

He slides his finger out before sinking it deep inside her cunt again. Crooking them in such a way that he hits her g-spot. Desperate moans fill the room mixing with the steam coming out of the hot water. Her hands ghost over his, fastening his pace.

"You want it faster, sweetheart?"

"Yes, much faster. I wanna cum so bad"

Happy to give her what she wants, he begins rubbing at her clit while his other fingers work their way in and out her wet cunt.

"Oh my fucking god"

"That's right. Get what you want. Such a good girl for me"

He's an animal at this point as he tries to mark her his more than she already is. Jungkook has always been open about sex with his girlfriend, his needs, his wants, his desires and she'd done the same. You compliment each other perfectly. It's easier that way, not leaving any room for doubts.

She like dirty talk, he gives it to her.

When her hips lift forward matching his thrusts, he smirks. Biting her slender neck as she chases her orgasm.

"Aghh"

It finally happens, her hands grasp his even more tightly, other hand gripping the edge of the jacuzzi as she lets out a scream. Her breath fastens as sweat beads her forehead, Jungkook never stopping with his praises.

When she settles back down between his legs, he takes his finger out and sucks them clean. Brown eyes never leaving hers.

"Do you think they heard us, sweetheart?"

Her laughter brings smile to his face, "You're crazy"

"And you're mine" He pecks her cheek, letting his lips linger there for a bit. Basking in the feeling of her love's skin against his lips.

At the beginning of your relationship when you were just getting comfortable with intimacy, jungkook loved kissing her cheek. It was his way of showing her that she's adored by him. Then he realised that quite frankly, it's her. He likes kissing so much because it's her that he's kissing.

He holds her for a while before speaking up, "You wanna help me with a problem?"

He doesn't need to tell her twice but soon as her next words leave her mouth, he takes a double take.

"Sit on the edge and I'll suck you off" he hears her say as she kneels before him.

"Later" he grabs her by her shoulders as he positions her back between his legs. This time facing him.

Her legs wrap around his waist and his thick cock presses against her navel. He knows how badly she wanted to take him into her mouth and he could have let her do that only if he was strong enough to resist himself from sinking deep inside her.

"Now, I wanna fuck you. Raw and nice just like my girlfriend deserves" his voice comes out breathy.

"I love you"

"Me too, sweetheart. More than you know" he assures.

Knowing he can't take it anymore, he lifts her up and sits her body down on his cock. Slowly by slowly as she moans her way through it. ____'s head falls into the crook of his neck and his grip tightens on the curve of her waist. The ampallang piercing multiplies the pleasure tenfold as you both roll your eyes at the back of your head.

Jungkook got madly drunk the other day and came back with a dick piercing which resulted in her getting mad at him and him fucking her to show how good it gets with it.

Having said that, he presses a searing kiss on her lips and his breath knocks out of his chest in the process. It's almost like he's dreaming. The feel of her body on him, his cock deep inside ____, her arms caging him. It all feels surreal. At this point, the neighbors are long forgotten. It's you and him now.

He takes one of her sensitive buds in his mouth, flicking it with his tongue. Moving it in circular motions.

The next few seconds involve him spanking her ass as if he wants to leave marks, him guiding her up and down his cock as she bounces and giving her frequent kisses. Wet slapping noises fill the entire room as his balls ache with need.

"So good, baby. You feel so fucking good. Wrapped around me like this while I fuck you good, huh?" he slaps her pussy lightly.

Thrust Thrust Thrust

As she falls back again into his arms, crying loudly with utter pleasure, he tightens his hold on her body. Hugging her close as both of your heartbeats sync together.

"Thank you for letting me love you, sweetheart. Thank you for coming into my boring ass life and filling it with laughter. Fuck"

Your sweaty and now tired bodies are wrapped around each other as you both revel in the warmth of intimacy.

He lets out a grown followed by her whine and before he can say anything, you’re both cumming together, sighing and kissing as you come down your high.

A chaste kiss is pressed on her forehead, "So perfect, my girl"

"That was…" you bite your lip.

"Amazing, I know" he says as he mindlessly plays with her black locks.

his hands rub her back. "Sweetheart, I want one more from you"

"One more?"

"Yeah, this time I wanna see your beautiful back. Will you do it for me?"

He tries to ask her as gently as possible. Pride filling his chest when he sees her nod.

Guiding her up with the support of her knees he sits her down on his lap, his balls brushing against her clit as he sinks back inside her. A man can only take so much before he snaps. This was the moment for him. His girl's back glistens in the most beautiful way ever. Sweat droplets mixed with water dripping down her spine that he can’t help but kiss.

"Fuck baby, you look like a goddess right now." he halts,

"So warm"

Trailing his hands up the back of her neck he threads his fingers through her hair, gripping it lightly but also putting enough pressure just so she can feel a sweet pain.

His heart skips another beat when she starts moving forward and then backwards, teasing him. Her movements are painfully slow. He wants to ask ____ to move faster but at the same time, he also wants to make this special for her.

So, he waits and watches her back arch as he feels like the luckiest man in the world.

"Jungkook" she moans his name, holding on to his thigh as he pounds into her from the back. It’s even deeper now, his cock hitting places he’d never hit before. Jungkook mentally thanks himself for trying out this new position because he’d just about take any chance to feel more connected to ____.

Just when his stomach contracts and hardens, he asks, "____ I’m gonna need you to spread those ass wider. I’m very close"

When she hums in response he gently pushes her upper body so that it’s flat on his legs, immediately letting him see more of ____'s ass. Her asshole clearly visible to him. It’s such a vulnerable position that you’re both in. Her more than him.

He has to ask her, "Sweetheart, if you don’t feel comfortable we can always stop, alright? You just have to ask"

Her whiney voice reaches his ears, "I’m okay, baby. Just- Just fuck me"

So, he does. His hips thrust forward as he fucks her mercilessly, letting her have the pleasure. She moans, he moans, she cries out, he groans. It’s unbelievably perfect. His hands roam over her smooth back, her ass and even down to her pussy. Both bodies working in a graceful sync.

Suddenly, it’s like the earth comes to a stop. His hands grip his hair while the other one grips hers. His stomach hardens, balls tightening and the moment _____ clenches around his cock, he cums inside of her. Filling her up with hot, white liquid. She follows him soon enough.

"I fucking love this body of yours"

She straightens up and lets her wet body fall heavy on his chest seeking warmth and his arms around her. He’s more than happy to do so. His muscular arms bring her closer to his chest as he relaxes.

Before the next words leave his mouth, he has to make sure ____ is sound asleep.

"I can’t wait to ask you to marry me, sweetheart. I can’t wait to see you in that white dress walking towards me like the angel you are"

He hopes she says yes, he hopes the ring brings the biggest smile on her face.

He hopes.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hello! Just wanted to say I absolutely love your writing! A bit of a request for the batboys (Jason, Tim, Dick, and Damian), just something silly.

I recently saw a video of a girl saying her boyfriend's entire name as if he was in trouble only for her to tell him she loved him. It was funny to me at the time, it was also late at night lol.

Soo... How would the boys react to reader suddenly saying their full name out of the blue as if they were in trouble as a prank? 👀👀🤭

Dick is thinking to death about what he might done to earn you saying his full name, so much so the poor man was sweating bullets which each step he took in your direction

Did he miss an anniversary?

Date night?

Hayley’s vet appointment?

He wanted to know badly so that he could think up a way to make it up to you however you wanted. Steal his clothes because they smell like him, he didn’t care, he just didn’t like you using his full name.

So as he looked you deep in the eyes, mentally preparing for whatever left your mouth, only for you to relax your face and kiss his cheek much to his surprise.

‘I love you.’ You told him sweetly as you smiled at him.

‘What?’ Dick said.

‘I love you.’ You repeated, still smiling.

‘That’s…that’s all you’ve called my full, legal government name for, to tell me you love me?’ Dick asked as though he was waiting for a joke that was never going to come.

‘Yep.’ You said.

‘No catch.’

‘None.’

‘Can you stop calling me Richard now and go back to calling me baby, cutie, dickie bird or -preferable- handsome now?’ Dick again asks as he felt a weight lift off of his shoulders and was finally able to breathe again now that his questions could finally be laid to sleep.

You chuckled as you kissed his lip. ‘Sure, whatever you say, handsome.’

Damian is unfazed.

He’s use to his full name being used and he doesn’t exactly feel anything but annoyance that he has to leave the piece he has spent the better half of a week working on, just to answer your call.

Damian loved you without a doubt but he’s not exactly fond of whenever you try to follow along these tasteless ‘trends.’ Though he knows himself well enough to know that he would never stay upset or mad at you for long, you were his weak spot, his treasure forever and always even if this is the things they kept you entertained.

‘I know you’re not saying my full name for any particular reason my treasure.’ He told you rather plainly.

‘And how would you know there isn’t a reason I called for you?’ You replied, crossing your arms over your chest. Damian copied.

‘Because I have a good memory and I haven’t missed any important date, that’s not until next week, that and the fact that I can see the muscles in your face struggling to keep the smile at bay.’ Damian said as he pointed out your biggest sign that you were lying about something.

You always involuntarily smiled when telling a lie the title made it far easier for Damian to know that what you were saying was far from the truth. It was your Achilles heel and Damian knew how to use it to his advantage.

‘I’m not.’ You said, struggling to stop the smile.

‘You are and you’re doing a bad job at it my sweet.’ He replied as he was now the one cockily smiling, knowing he’s got you where he wants you that you couldn’t do anything but crack under his stare.

‘Fine you loser, I only called you in here to say I love you, there happy?’ You asked as you pouted.

Damian walked over to you and pressed a kiss to your forehead. ‘All you had to do is say my treasure.’ Was all he said as he spent the rest of the day with you and Titus.

Jason is immediately in front of you within a heartbeat.

He, much like dick, didn’t like it when you use his full name.

You’re his partner! USE THE CUTE NICKNAMES YOU CHOSE FOR HIM INSTEAD! Who’s this Jason Todd? He only responds to Jaybird, jay jay, or baby with the occasional sweetheart from time to time.

‘Chipmunk, can you please tell me want I did wrong?’ Jason asked as he walked into the kitchen where you called him from.

You furrowed your brows. ‘Wrong? I only called you in here to tell you I love you.’ You replied as Jason started at you for a bit before he pinched your side, making you squeal.

‘You’re a little shit, you know that sweetheart.’ Jason asked as he kept pinching your sides, making you giggle and squeal in his hold. ‘Had me all worked up and everything.’ He adds as he starts biting your neck playfully.

‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Have mercy!’ You cried, trying to push yourself away from Jason but it was proven nearly impossible when your man was a literal wall of muscle.

‘’All I can hear as the squeaks of a cheeky little mouse.’ Is all Jason said as he continued to tickle, pinch at your sides. He hates it when you call him his full name, it reminded him of lesser then ideal times, sure it sounded far sweeter and loved when it was coming from you rather than theirs, but he’d much rather you call him anything it his full name.

Tim knows what you’re up to the very moment you use his full name.

His detective brain kicks into hyperdrive and goes into the logical explanation as to why the sudden change.

You’ve never used it before, so why now did you use it unless you had seen a cute trend or something that you thought was hilarious on TikTok, or on another social media platform and wanted to try it out for the sake of following whatever was the thing to do.

That or you were genuinely mad and he should at least go talk to you in hopes of de escalating the situation, should it come to it.

‘I love you.’ You said.

‘You’ve said my full name, lured me out of my room, just to say I love you?’ Tim asked with a raised brow as though his heart wasn’t going nuts once again with how much your words easily affected him.

You paused for a brief moment before smiling. ‘Yeah sounds about right.’

Tim sighs but he couldn’t help but feel a smile creep up on his lips. ‘You’re ridiculous sometimes I swear.’ He says under his breath, ‘you almost had me second guessing myself there but I’m glad this is what you called me out for instead.’ He finished as he pressed his forehead against your own, feeling relaxed and clear minded once more.

‘You may say I’m ridiculous but you love it when I keep you on your toes, it’s like a brain exercise in a way.’ You cheekily told him as you kissed his cheek.

‘You call that a brain exercise?’ Tim said. ‘That was barely a brain activity but more like a brain fart if anything.’ He said as you pouted and smacked his bicep, causing him to smile.

‘We can’t all be smart asses like you drake.’ You said and Tim shrugged as he tugged you close.

‘True but you certainly are a pain in the ass.’ Tim replied, which only made you slap his bicep again as he chuckled and you bury your head into his neck.