#cape streaming out behind

[intermundia]

there is something inherently comic about anakin's dramatic ass refusing to just sit down in his taxi

[mejaemin]

met baby - choi seungcheol

(18+) mdni !!! wc: 1.6k summary: s.coups, your rapper bf, surprises you with his appearance at the met warnings: celeb!reader, scoups is a solo rapper and NOT an idol, bathroom stuff, light daddy kink, fingering, mentions of the iconic bathroom pics + my king asap rocky, not proofread an: this look is driving me fucking crazy. congrats to my baby, i’m so proud of u !! now get in my bed.

he didn’t tell you he’d be here. you hop out of the car, manager fixing your dress, and there’s plenty of cameras that capture your absolutely shell shocked expression at the sight of your boyfriend, rapper choi seungcheol, posing for the carpet.

you genuinely have to be snapped out of it, brought back to life from your trance, to stop you from holding up the line and get your own photos taken. even as they make you spin, pose and turn every which way, behind your golden smile, the only thing on your mind is choi seungcheol.

he looks beautiful, silver hair (which you also had the pleasure of being uninformed of) matching his dusty blue-grayish suit. it’s paired with a dark, robe-like outer piece, and he looks both like the business man of your dreams and a character from a sci-fi movie. he fits the theme perfectly, and you’re so grateful for that because, as someone who’s attended multiple times, you’ve expressed your distaste for people not following the theme multiple times. he definitely understood the assignment, and when he steps off the carpet, making room for you, there’s a smirk on his face that you so wish you could wipe off.

you’re seated in different areas, of course, but you made sure your chair was in a spot where he’d stay in your line of sight. being such a talented, expensive girl has its perks, especially when it comes to your connections with the co-chairs. speaking of, you’re supposed to be in conversation with one of them, but your dismissive responses tell him enough. once all the attendees have settled in, everyone was introduced and finally allowed to mingle. your seatmates shoo you away, and you couldn’t complain as you make your way to him.

he immediately stops his conversations with other people, turning to you with a smirk. “surprise, baby.” you’re already on heels that scream ankle problems, so it’s easy to lean forward and plant your lips on his. he’s eager to welcome it, hands on your waist as he leans in further.

“this is so unfair, seungcheol. you saw the whole process of my look, and i get to have my heart attack live streamed because you hid all this from me?” you have to keep yourself from yelling, completely forgetting where you’re at as you look at him, up close. even his face is perfect, from his eyebrows to his flawless skin, all the way to his lips that pop out with his new hair.

“oops?” he laughs, and you shake your head. he’s so calm, collected as he converses with the other celebrities in the vicinity. he even manages to exchange contacts with some of them, landing collabs and features. he looks so hot like this, holding you on his arm like you’re the newcomer while he makes flawless conversation with people you’ve known for years. you’re conscious enough to greet them, making small conversation with those that you’re closer with. still, you can’t be bothered, and your fingers get antsier against his belt loop the closer you get to the bathroom.

you’re right there, and with your incessant tugging at his overly long cape-like blazer, you know he gets the message. he’s given you that calm down look at least a hundred times, thick eyebrow raising with darkened eyes, but he’s only making it worse. he helps make your way there, and before you even fully step in the door, your hands are all over him, feeling him up over his clothes, hands starvingly gripping at his half hardness in his slacks.

he picks you up, large hands gripping your hips as he sets you down on the marble counter. his lips are on yours like a magnet, moving with a desperation that really emulates the feeling of reuniting after weeks of fittings and shoots. he’s so cool, composed, but you know the time apart’s been torturous for him, if the voice messages he’s left you in response to the photos you’ve sent during fittings said anything.

“you just can’t wait, now can you?” his voice is husky, rumbling against you as he very gently bites at your neck.

you slide his outerwear off his shoulders, pulling him closer to you by the waistband on his pants. with the slit in your dress, you push all the fabric to the side so your legs can move freely, wrapping around him to keep him close. “cheollie, it’s been weeks.. i need you so bad, right now…” you whine, pushing your hands under his clothes to feel his bare skin. it eases the buzzing in your veins, changing it to pure desire that floods your underwear as your fingers glide over the hair under his belly button.

“we don’t have much time in here..” he runs his hand through his hair, cursing when he remembers where he’s at, looking in the mirror to put it back. his sleeve falls a little, and the glint of his watch catches your eye. so expensive, so him, it makes him all the more attractive. “i’ll help you, baby, we gotta be quick, okay? that sound good?” he asks, one hand sliding up your leg as he leans down to kiss you.

you nod, “please, cheollie, i need it..” your voice is tiny, soft, and you give him the sweetest look ever to help sway him. he only looks down at you, fingers teasing your waistband, eyebrow raised expectantly. you whine, “please, daddy… i’ll take anything you give me, jus’ can’t wait anymore..”

he chuckles lowly. “thank you, princess, for asking so nicely..”

his head dips down to the crook of your neck, leaving soft kisses all over your skin and a trail of cherry red lip stain. he pulls up his sleeves, revealing his toned forearms, and you can’t see much with his body in the way, but the cool metal gliding against your thigh makes them twitch.

he pulls your underwear to the side, a shaky sigh of his own sounding when he comes in contact with your heat. you’re dripping, you have been since you got here. it’s so tempting to get down on his knees and taste you, he wants to so bad, but someone would definitely notice if the lower half of his makeup had been wiped off.

“you’re so wet, baby.. you like the look that much?” he asks, teasing, thumb rubbing over your clit. even the gentlest touch has your head spinning, the little mhm you respond to him with sounding extra desperate.

seungcheol’s fingers push into you, watch band jingling as he gently thrusts them into you. the glint of all the rocks embedded in it shine under the dim lights. it’s so pretty, and the way your slick spills onto your thighs and spreads onto the piece makes his pants all the tighter. same with his rings, ones he didn’t bother taking off before touching you.. they’re cold as they touch your skin, pushing against your entrance with every curl of his fingers. another addition to his expensive look, so pretty and dirtied by your arousal.

your body is burning, so overwhelmed by seungcheol’s intoxicating scent, his oh so enticing jewelry, and the way he works you open like it’s nothing. you’re quivering, biting into your fist to keep quiet, rolling your hips into his hand, clit rubbing against the heel of his palm.

“so good, cheollie, gonna cum soon..” you whimper, holding his thick forearm in your hands.

he kisses your temple, so sweet and tender compared to his vigorous, vulgar movements between your legs. he knows what he’s doing, pouting and cooing at you as if your legs aren’t quivering against his sides.

“i know baby, i can feel it. you can let go, i’ve got you.” he kisses you, nice and deep against your lips, tongue dipping into your mouth and swallowing all the noises that try to escape.

the sounds filling the bathroom are so vulgar, the squelching of your boyfriend’s fingers inside you, blending with your lips smacking and the little moans that slip out. it’s so hot, and the coil in your lower half is impossibly tight. you know seungcheol is just as into it, his gaze locked onto your entrance and all the pretty gems on his wrist shining as he fingers you. his cock is throbbing, pushing against his pants, leaving very little to your imagination.

“cum, baby, we have to go back out soon.. don’t wanna get in trouble..” he whispers, teeth pulling at your earlobe, and his deep voice teasing your eardrums is all it takes for you to break.

your back arches, face scrunched in a silent scream as you’re pushed over the edge. seungcheol’s fingers are stuck, your walls squeezing him impossibly tight, free hand rubbing your clit to help you ride out your orgasm. he hums, licking his lips at the sight, hovering over you as you come down.

slowly, he pulls his fingers out, observing your mess before pressing them into your mouth. he mumbles something about the price of his rings, and your tongue swirls over them to clean them up as best you can. once done, he straightens you up and helps you off the counter.

it’s seemingly perfect timing, because nearly half the guests are suddenly rushing in. you smile, hiding your face in his shoulder when one of your friends raises an eyebrow at you. it’s then that you remember to relay to your boyfriend that it’s time for the annual bathroom photo, one everyone squeezes into when you’re not really even allowed to take it. you and him are in the front, and you stand in front of seungcheol to hide his boner before the camera clicks. his hands are on your waist, and after the photo is sent to you later in the night, you can observe it a little further. you’re both so beautiful, all flushed and serving the most gorgeous face, but also so unbelievably fucked if that photo ever gets posted.

svt 🏷️ @coquettejunnie @prettymoles

[thebibliosphere]

I was just playing gotham knights again and noticed some passive dialog regarding Babs having a back brace, which is at least acknowledging that there was damage done, but I'm a little sad for the loss of some really cool disability representation. What are your feelings on her (and on a similar note Batman's) miraculous recovery from paralysis in DC?

I think Gotham Knights handled her disability fairly well, considering this is a universe where magic, nanobots, and puddles of evil green goo that can heal the dead exist. All things considered, it would have been very easy for them to either erase it entirely or just handwave and say, "She worked really hard and got better," as previous iterations of the canon have done.

Because she did work hard and get better, but the hard work is ongoing because they depict her issues as chronic.

She's got a limp (it's the most obvious in her Talon suit with no cape in the way), which means she can't rely on speed or high kicks like the others can (I mean, she can kick, but it's her slowest motion, and until you max out her suit, it's the most liable to get her thrown to the ground), so she falls back on precision and her tech.

Jason punches for maximum pain, Dick moves with dizzying speed, and Tim's gonna sneak up on you and drop you like a rock, but Babs is going for the pressure points with ruthless precision. Not to mention her drones.

The conversation with Tim, realizing she might need help boosting her suit to compensate for her pain/strength issues, is a nice little way of making the player aware that she's got these ongoing problems because, honestly, a casual observer could mistake her back brace for athleisure wear if they didn't recognize the shape of it. It's also a good way of throwing in some exposition about how she's still going to physical rehab and that her PT would like her to "wean off" her back brace, but because her PT doesn't know her actual job as a vigilante, Barbara admits she can't and is essentially finding ways to manage her own care and create her own accommodations. Accommodations which they are all shown to be willing to help with.

It's a nice little touch when superhero narratives tend to revolve around self-sacrifice to the point of self-destruction. Alfred giving Dick into trouble for pushing himself too far and hiding injuries is a nice touch, too, even if it's like trying to bail water on the Titanic with a teacup.

I also like that not only do you see her wheelchair lurking around the Belfry—along with the disability adaptations they put in place, like the ramps, the wheelchair elevator, and the desks that move up and down to wheelchair height—but that she also still uses her chair from time to time.

[ID a screenshot from Gotham Knights showing the Belfry. Light streams in through a giant clockface, showcasing a bank of computer screens. In front of the screen, Barbara Gordon is using her wheelchair as Dick Grayson stands behind her, probably making a bad pun.]

Whether she's using it because she's tired or simply because it's more comfortable than the computer chair is never revealed. Nor is it brought up or commented on. It's just something that's normal for Barbara to do, and I like that. I like that it's normal. It's not a part of herself she's trying to erase. She works with it, not against it.

Is it perfect? No. Do they outright erase her disability like so many of the comics are guilty of? Also, no. I'd argue that, in fact, they kept her disability. They just changed the nature of it.

Barbara now has a dynamic disability, one which fluctuates and requires different management based on her day-to-day (or night) activity. She's in active treatment for it and will be for the rest of her life. Are some of the physical feats she achieves realistic for someone with an injury of her nature? Not really, but again, this is a world where nobody stays dead, and there are zombie assassins coming out of the walls. I'll take the attention to detail and care they put into her story any day over the "Willpower Fixed My Spine" narrative we could have gotten.

As for Bruce getting healed by magic, again, it's Batman. Comic book logic is wibbly-wobbly at the best of times, and realistically speaking, they couldn't leave Batman paralyzed. His whole deal revolves around being stealthy and punching the shit out of people. He wouldn't be Batman anymore, and frankly, I don't trust the comic writers as far as I could throw them to handle that right.

By contrast, the Gotham Knights writers handled Barbara with much more care and nuance than I ever expected. And I'm thankful for that.

---

*I also like that both Dick and Barbara are often shown wearing joint braces. Dick's are especially reminiscent of the way gymnasts and people with hypermobility tape their joints to reduce pain and prevent injuries. It's a nice little touch. They're not invincible. Their bodies hurt. They're just like me but with money and much bigger problems like giant killer robots and zombie assassins.

[wileys-russo]

can i request something with alexia x reader based off one if the videos post win. the one where olga tried scoring on alexia but instead of missing reader makes it and then copies alexias celebration

goalscorer II a.putellas

you weren't sure whose hand would break first, yours or albas, with the way you both had a death grip on one another as the extra time slowly ticked down to zero and it felt as though the entire stadium held its breath.

then finally, the whistle.

for a brief moment it was like time stood still as the players raced onto the pitch, your body on fire as every hair stood on end and the ground beneath your feet vibrated with the thunderous roar of a stadium full of culers.

then arms were thrown around your neck as alexia's family all screamed happily and exchanged hugs, your own parents sat in the row behind forever supportive of your fiancé since the moment you'd taken her home to meet them.

you blinked and suddenly snapped back into reality, the screams deafening in your ear as you were drowned in affection from the elated putellas-segura family surrounding you.

your heart swelled with pride as you finally caught alexia's eye, a beaming grin flashed your way and both her hands waving before she was called over for the trophy and medal ceremony.

eventually you were all ushered down toward the front of the barrier, eli and alba going first as they engulfed your fiance in bear hugs, both women with tears streaming down their faces as alexia rolled her eyes playfully and squeezed them tighter.

with a nudge in the back from her uncle and a wink you were next, two strong hands helping you over the barrier as your feet touched the pitch and your eyes remained locked with the blonde grinning down at you.

time once more seemed to stop and suddenly it was just the two of you, your congratulations and how proud you were murmured over and over in her ear as finally your arms wrapped around one another and you'd never felt safer than being within them.

you let out a laugh as you were held tighter and lifted momentarily up into their air, spun around for a moment as alexia's forehead pressed against yours, lips just grazing your cheek both of you well aware that despite the intimacy of your embrace it was anything but a private moment.

"taking your captain title to a new level mi amor." you teased, tugging at the barcelona flag draped around her shoulders like a makeshift cape, reeling in the very slight blush which coated her cheeks at your words which you knew if you called her out on she would dismiss as flush from running around.

"captain catalunya, hero of barcelona." you grinned, kissing her cheek and stepping away for a moment to allow some of her childhood friends to rush in and express their own congratulations, dragged away by alba to speak with your own parents and eli.

"no i did not!" you denied with bright red cheeks as your father embellished a story of how the first time you'd watched one of alexia's games with them at home you'd almost thrown the remote through the screen when your girlfriend at the time was fouled.

"stop laughing! you'll just encourage him." you shoved alba who only threw her head back as you playfully shot your grinning father a glare, relaxing as familiar arms looped around your waist and a chin settled on your shoulder.

"hola amor." the soft raspy murmur as a subtle kiss was placed on your jaw and you melted backwards into your lovers touch as praise for her showered down from those around you.

"hermana! we were just talking about the time that-" alba started as you kicked at her causing the girl to gasp and shove you, alexia's hand shooting out to swat her sisters away and a warning look set in her features as alba rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out, turning around to converse elsewhere.

"aye go speak to maría's parents, mami take him away por favor he has had too much sun!" you groaned catching the teasing look on your fathers face and nodding behind them where your second parents milled around happily, your childhood best friend nowhere in sight.

though it wasn't long before she made an appearance, bursting out of the tunnel yelling at the top of her lungs, brandishing her little barcelona flag that had acted like an emotional support throughout her injury.

you'd tried scheming with ingrid to get rid of it after mapi started to sleep with it in the bed and then almost took your eye out waving it around like a mad woman as you sat beside her at a game, alexia almost snapping it herself after seeing the deep purple bruise under your right eye where your best friend had accidentally poked you with it.

but watching the childlike joy twinkle brightly in her eyes as she raced around like an overgrown toddler, chased by lucy's neice and nephew you couldn't help but smile and shake your head.

"maybe she will retire the flag now we are four for four this season and she will be back on the pitch soon." alexia chuckled, still hugging you tightly as you grinned, leaning your head back to catch her eye as she winked.

"at least it has been a distraction from her making us say thank you every time we go out with her and ingrid." you rolled your eyes, turning in her hold to face your girlfriend who hummed.

it had indeed been mapi who introduced the two of you after a game years ago, a friendship blossoming between you and alexia long before a relationship. but despite that the tattooed defender relished in the ego boost felt from telling anyone with ears that it was all thanks to her that you two were together.

"can you imagine her speech at the wedding?" you sighed with a shake of your head, alexia letting go of you to fiddle about with the flag tied around her, picking at the knot.

"i remember the day they first met, because it was all thanks to me that we are even gathered here today! chica's...you are so welcome." alexia mocked making you laugh as she pulled the flag off.

"maybe i can get her so drunk she will pass out before the speeches?" you suggested, your fiancé instead draping the flag around you and tying it loosely over your shoulders.

"a perfect plan cari." the blonde winked, squeezing your shoulders. "who is captain catalunya now?" the footballer teased, tugging at your new cape and glancing over your head where her name was called for more photos.

"go amor, i'll find you later." you promised, squeezing her hands as she nodded and pulled you into another tight hug, lips grazing the side of your head as you softly rubbed her back and begrudgingly let go, her figure retreating into the swarm of people on the pitch.

you were mid conversation with some of the other girls families, stood beside alba and twisting around your engagement ring on your finger when she struck.

"campeones! campeones! campeones!" you hurtled forward nearly barreling over jana's parents as a body launched themselves onto you, legs wrapping around your torso as panos hurried to steady you.

"gracias! lo siento." you thanked the goalkeeper before profusely apologising to jana's parents as the young midfielder was busy doubled over laughing, your cheeks bright red at the disruption.

"mierda!" the brunette swore as you wrenched her legs off, causing her to drop promptly onto the ground with a wince, jana falling to the floor laughing even harder as alba joined in and mapi glared up at you with a huff.

"algunos bienvenidos. is that a way to greet your best friend!" the girl pouted as you rolled your eyes and pulled her back to her feet. "maría!" you groaned as once more she launched onto you, this time in another forceful koala hug but from the front.

"campeones de europa!" the girl threw her head back and screamed, a smile unable to stay off your face as you held her thighs and she grabbed your cheeks, kissing your forehead over and over with a repeated loud mwah noise.

"vale vale!" you laughed, dropping her again though this time she remained on her feet, the two of you hugging normally as you told her how proud you were. "i did not even play idiota!" the older girl shoved your head as the two of you pulled away.

"no, but your contributions to the team morale and being their biggest supporter even not on the pitch mean just as much. you know that, sí?" you promised, tone softening as did the defenders face. "gracias mi chica." the girl smiled, kissing your cheek and waving her flag around which she snatched up off the ground.

"if you poke her eye with that flag again león we are going to have a problem." you smiled as your fiance slotted herself in behind you again, a warning look at the tattooed footballer in front of you making mapi roll her eyes.

"tan dramática her eye healed fine! and she almost broke my flag." the girl cradled the piece of cloth and plastic tenderly in her arms, stroking it like you might a newborn making you roll your eyes.

"oh i am so sorry my poor face nearly broke your stupid flag maría." you shook your head feeling alexia chuckle as her body vibrated against your back. "gracias, now was that so hard?" mapi smiled as you lunged for her and she raced off.

"idiota." you rolled your eyes allowing alexia to lead you away back toward where your families were milling about.

"mi amor." you looked up from speaking with your mother, raising an eyebrow to your fiance who held up a tiny football in her hands with a suggestive grin.

"really?" you chuckled, but sighing in acceptance when her grin didn't drop, gesturing for her to give you the ball as she rolled it to you and backed into goal.

"vamos bebé, score a goal! if you can." the blonde teased in challenge. "what do i get when i score putellas?" you questioned crossing your arms, foot resting on top of the small childrens football.

"if you score, anything you want preciosa." alexia grinned cockily as you rolled your eyes and backed up a few steps. "remember to kick the ball and not the air amor!" your fiance continued to tease.

"vamos captain barça, maybe we will get you a job as the water girl for the team!" you turned to shoot your best friend a murderous glare as her face paled and she scurried off to find ingrid no doubt, her much better other half.

spurred on by the lack of faith from your loved ones, even your own father joining in with alexia's teasings, you took one more step back and lurched forward.

you made sure to do exactly as you'd watched your fiance do a million times in your backyard, driving your foot forward and following through, the ball zooming forward at a pace alexia clearly didn't anticipate as it shot past her.

you let out a cheer and pumped your fist in the air, racing around in a circle and grabbing the bottom of your alexia's jersey intending to tug it off exactly the way the blonde had an hour prior after her own goal.

"ale!" you laughed as a strong arm wrapped around your waist and another swatted your hand away. "mi amor you are ruining my celebration." you tutted with a shake of her head and a sigh.

"my celebration, and you are keeping that shirt on!" your fiance warned as you rolled your eyes and she teasingly flicked your ear. "oh wait-" you pushed away from her as she looked on curiously.

you cleared your throat and took a dramatic bow, a few onlookers clapping and cheering making you grin and alexia now the one to roll her eyes. "mm hilarious princesa."

"i thought so. now cariño...what was that about anything i wanted?"

[just-some-user-hunny]

Thinking about bastard!readers upbringing with yandere Targaryens...

~So obviously reader has come from a rather humble background. Shes used to collecting water from streams and communal wells, mending her simple scraps of clothes, and eating plain food like stale bread and lentils.

The whiplash she'd get once she's thrust into the limelight of royalty- plentiful fresh water and milk, beautiful ornate outfits, and plentiful food of whatever she desires. It'd probably take her a while to eat comfortably, wishing her mother and little brothers could eat this well too. Thinking of them sitting alone at home with rumbling tummies always killed her appetite.

~ You can imagine Daemons frustration, and Rhaenyra's growing anxiety as they watch the little princess refuse to eat another bite at mealtimes. Her expression stern and stubborn, willing to ignore little lukes encouragement to at least eat a little more. His mousy brown eyes peering at her all sweetly, a little hand nudging at her fork.

"Darling, eat your food. You'll be hungry". Is all Daemon will utter. Fixing you with a stern and silent look. His whole visage is demanding and poised.

"My mummy and brothers are hungry right now".

The table will fall into utter silence. The occasional scrape of utensils and clutter of servants placing dishes out upon tables will fill the still room, and suddenly the air grows thick and uncomfortable.

"They would be. If they were still yours. Now eat, don't be unseemly". Daemon is the only one to brave against your words, and Rhaenyra shoots her husband a stern look and pursed lips.

At his cold words, your eyes water, and everyone holds their breath because they know it's going to be another tearful night.

"Must you be so callous". Rhaenyra hisses beneath her breath, watching solemnly as you wiggle out of your seat and leave the room- a maiden following close behind, seeking to comfort you. Your soft sniffles echoing in the hall alongside the quick paced pitter-patter of your footsteps down the hall.

~ Eventually she may grow out of this with age, but it doesn't make it any less stressful on Daemon and the rest of the family. You'll probably spend most of your time picking at food and drink, and distracting yourself by talking to your half-sisters and brothers, or maybe even Helaena. She is good, friendly company.

~ Now it would probably become a little overwhelming to constantly entertain every single family member who wants to occupy your space and company, so you'd probably find hobbies like reading and writing, horseback riding, sewing, and causing a little harmless chaos amongst the castle.

~ It'd be more than amusing to clamber up into a tree and watch everyone go into a panic trying to find you, knights dashing around with their glinting silver armour and billowing capes, or handmaidens calling for you whilst offering honeyed cakes and toys as attempts to lure you out.

~ It's only when a mildly frantic Daemon hears your muffled giggles in the gardens, right above his head, does he realise your antics. He'll peer up at you with a not very impressed look, but still, he'll encourage threaten you with time-out to clamber back down into his reaching arms.

~ Due to Bastard!readers constant attempts to escape, or wade back through the ocean, your disappearances are always met with panic. At some point, to quelm everyones anxieties of you escaping, you'll be assigned your own personal handmaiden/lady in waiting, and a knight. Your handmaiden will diligently be by your side 24/7, and your knight will accompany you whenever outside of the castle walls. You are free to roam the gardens and beaches, but as long as he is by your side.

~ I can see bastard!reader being a little sweet but mischievous thing with her personal knight. Curious of his sword, shyly trying to slip it from it's sheathe- only for a large armoured gloved hand to gently persuade her hand away from the blade's handle.

(maybe Harwin strong is made her personal protector? And there's silent beef between him and Cristen Cole as they're both competitive platonic yanderes for her? I might go into that more later 😌)

~ Until you become bound to the cannibal, your family would be very insistent of you relying on them and their dragons. Vermax is a sweet chirpy boy around you, like a little song-filled canary. Morning and Moondancer are passive and gentle to you, and syrax is doting. I can also see Sunfyre being a sweet boy to you (regardless of how Aegon treats you, Sunfyres actions always speak the truth of his genuine feelings towards you. Chirping and purring, nudging you around for attention and pets). Your parents however will only ever trust you to mount their dragons, since their children are willing and eager for you to ride with them, they simply feel it safer you stay with them.

~ Just Rhaenyra gently explaining to a deflated looking Luke and Jace that they have to wait till they've grown older and more experienced to have you ride dragon-back with them. Sadly, both boys will never achieve this dream of their. If you know, you know :(

If anyone has any more thoughts/ideas to elaborate, I'd love to hear them!!! I have so many ideas they keep getting jumbled up, and can't decide 😅

[klemen-tine]

For the Greater Good (Platonic! Yandere Batfam x Uncle!MaleReader)

MAJOR WARNING: There is physical harm in this, near the end, please proceed with caution. Non-consensual drugging at the end as well.

Fun fact I learned but felt like I knew, some pain medications can actually make you lose your memories.

Reader is Bruce Wayne's younger brother.

___________________________________________________________

Crying woke him up. Groaning and rubbing his eyes, he sat up with a lot of effort and threw his legs over the edge of the bed. Grabbing his cane, he threw on a robe to protect himself from the chilly air the manor tends to have, and he hobbled out of his room. His leg was still stiff and he cursed at how long it took him to get to the room, but once he did he limped inside and towards the crib. 

He smiled down at the crying baby, dressed in the cutest starfish onesie. When crying blue eyes made eye contact with E/C eyes, the crying stopped and instead a smile bloomed on their chubby face. A chuckle escaped the exhausted man, reaching down carefully and picking the small thing up. He put his weight on his good leg and stood there, holding the little being in his arms. 

Their cheeks have filled out, creating a plumpness that reminded him of the cream puffs he has tucked away in the freezer, and those sparkling blue eyes were something many people would be jealous about. 

“You shouldn’t be up.” He could hear the cape swishing behind the other figure, and the all but silent footsteps that inched their way into the room. A smile bloomed on his own face, mimicking the baby, “Don’t come closer if you’re wearing that bat costume. You’ll give him nightmares.” A chuckle escaped from the other and when exhausted E/C eyes looked up, he was met with the amused blue eyes of his older brother. 

Bruce ignored his younger brother’s words, walking closer to peer at his nephew in his brother’s arms. His mask was off, and he only wore the suit and cape. This way his nephew could at least recognize his favorite Uncle’s face. To which the baby did, smiling and laughing when Bruce came into their line of suit. 

Y/N smiled, holding them closer and nuzzling his head with his cheek. Bruce watched his nephew flail his arms in that starfish onesie, making it all the more hilarious. His brother chuckled, gently bouncing the baby in his arms to try and soothe them. 

“You stink.” Bruce chuckled, “How rude. I just came back from patrol.” Y/N rolled his eyes, “Everyone alright?”

“Yes, everyone is safe. It was an easy night.” Y/N’s shoulders relaxed and Bruce observed how the exhaustion creeped up on his brother. His shoulders sagging and the bags under his eyes looking heavier. His grip on Bruce’s nephew tightened only a little bit, pulling the baby closer. 

If Bruce was better at art, it would be this moment he would wish to paint. The moon light streaming in through off-white curtains, over the sage green crib, and on the two bodies in front of him. His younger brother, wearing a black silk robe and his nephew in his starfish onesie being bathed in moonlight. The soft light reflecting off of H/C lock and S/C skin. It is the way that the moonlight casted soft shadows and seemed to only highlight his brother’s features. Blue eyes looked down to his nephew, who was fluttering those large blue eyes of his and trying to fight sleep. 

It’d be more beautiful than any other renaissance painting.

His nephew looked so much like Y/N when he was a baby. A memory Bruce holds onto with care. Besides the eye color, which blue was a common trait in Waynes, his nephew could be nearly identical to Y/N as a baby. From the smiles, to the happy laughs, the waking up in the middle of the night just to be held. 

It’s most likely what made this image all the more better. 

Until Y/N’s face screwed and Bruce watched him shift his weight a bit. Worry taking over his features, he rested a large hand on his brother’s shoulder, “Y/N, you should go to sleep.” Y/N shook his head, “Not yet.” 

“Y/N.” 

“No, Bruce. Just… just a bit longer.” He wanted to look at what was left of the life he once had. His baby was a reminder of the love he had once felt for another. A love he didn’t know he was capable of feeling, until a few years ago. The very proof of said love, the only thing left was his baby. This cute, innocent, and lovely baby that held Y/N’s heart. Or at least what was left of it. 

The Wayne brothers are intimately familiar with how quickly life can be taken away. Their parents’ lives taken by a bullet, and Y/N’s wife taken by a car. Anything could take this young life, and the very thought terrified Y/N. It had him jolting awake in the middle of the night and visiting the nursery whenever he could. His son was always near him, and he only just started letting himself leave the baby with his cousins, Uncle, and Grandfather alone. 

His heart always beats anxiously whenever he couldn’t see his son, but Alfred and Bruce assured him that that response was normal. Bruce has been helping get over that hurdle, slowly drawing him further and further away from the room his baby would be in for a longer period of time. 

Staring at the now sleeping bundle in his arms, all he wanted was to ingrain his son’s features into his memories. Just in case the grim reaper decided it needed another Wayne. If it does decide that, Y/N prays it’ll take him. He prays that it will leave Bruce and his nephews alone, that it would leave Alfred alone, and most importantly his son. 

With help from his brother, he set his son down in the crib, watching the baby stir for only a bit before grabbing Bruce’s outstretched arm. His cane in Bruce’s other hand, and Y/N chuckled. Looping his arm in his brother’s as the older, broader, and irritatingly taller man walked back to his room next door. 

“Do you want to take your medicine?” Y/N shook his head, “No. The pain isn’t bad, it was just a twinge.” Bruce nodded, sitting on the edge of bed and watching his brother settle under the thick comforters. He could see the anxiety forming in those eyes, and he knows if he doesn’t quell it now, Y/N will be up again to go see his son. 

Taking off his gloves, he gently began to run his fingers through his brother’s hair, softly lulling the other to sleep. Bruce smiled, “It’s okay, Y/N. Everyone will be here in the morning.” A few more minutes later, Y/N was softly snoring, taking deep breaths and his body no longer moving besides the stead rising and falling of his chest. 

Bruce shuffled quietly out the door, shutting it without a sound, and making his way back to his own room. No before checking in once more on his nephew. Bruce wasn’t as paranoid as Y/N was, but he did enjoy staring at the baby. Not with haunted looks like Y/N used to have, or the forever ogling gazes his own son’s had when looking at the youngest Wayne. 

He gazed upon the baby just how he used to stare at Y/N when he was this small. Waking up in the middle of the night to stare in fascination that a human could be so tiny. When he was younger, Bruce used to climb into the crib with Y/N and sleep next to him. It would be quite the sight in the morning, when either Alfred or his parents found him snuggled next to Y/N. 

Bruce is four years older than Y/N, and he took his older sibling role seriously. When they were younger, Bruce always had his hand in Y/N’s. Making sure that the other was never far from him. Which wasn’t hard even if they weren’t holding hands. Y/N has been attached to Bruce from the moment he could walk. 

His protectiveness increased ten-fold after that fateful night. A night that robbed the both of them of their parents, and Y/N of his mobility. His hip had been shot due to Bruce pulling him close to him. If Bruce didn’t that bullet would have hit Y/N’s stomach, and Alfred had explained that a limp is a small price when it comes to a life. 

Bruce had agreed. 

Y/N had never held it over Bruce. He never blamed him, nor has he ever given him a dirty look for it. 

The man wanted to ensure that his nephew will never have to go through what Y/N went through. He wanted this baby to grow up with a family already wrapped around those tiny, stubby fingers and he wanted Y/N to know that this family would bend over backwards for them. They would do everything in their powers for the two people that always seemed to be in the middle of everything. 

He’s grateful that his nephew inherited Y/N’s looks. From the shape of this eyes down to his nose, everything looked like Y/N. 

Nothing like that wretched woman. 

His jaw clenched at the thought of her, and he quickly walked around the crib to pull the curtains closed. Cutting out the moonlight that illuminated the room and leaving them in almost complete darkness besides the hallway light from the open door. 

He reached down, gently dragging his callused finger across the thin and fragile skin of his nephew’s cheek, who smiled in his sleep. Completely and devastatingly unaware of the mad house around him. 

++++

“What are you doing?” Y/N stared down at Cass and Stephanie that were surrounding his son. The baby’s hair tied up with a small bow, and looked like a radish. 

“Dress up,” Cass answered seriously, and Y/N nodded with a stoic face. Gone were the clothes he was dressed in early this morning and instead he was wearing a cute blue dress under a white top with puffed sleeves. 

“Why a dress?” Stephani snickered and pulled out a photo from nowhere, and she stood to hand it up to him. He took the photo and he brought his other hand up to rip it. 

“No!” Steph snatched it out his hands and Y/N stomped his cane, “Get rid of that! How did you even get that?!” It was a photo of him, as a baby, in girl clothes. Almost the same dress, same shirt, and same hairstyle. In the back was a cheekily grinning Bruce. 

“Bruce.” He’s killing him. 

“What?” Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Y/N whipped his glare towards his brother, “Why do you have that photo?!” Bruce blinked at him, took a look at the baby in the room, and then chuckled, “Oh, that photo.” 

Y/N hates that his brother knew what photo he was talking about by just looking at his son. 

“He’s cute.” Cass held up Y/N’s son, who continued to laugh and Steph whipped out her phone to take a photo. Y/N huffed, “I’m not mad you dressed him up. Bruce, why do you have that photo?!” 

His older brother shrugged, “It’s a cute photo.” Y/N’s cheeks burned and Bruce had to stop himself from chuckling, taking advantage of the fact that Y/N needed a hand to hold onto the cane, and he squished his brother’s cheeks with his own hands. 

“Bwuush.” Bruce watched those E/C eyes focus on him and fill with annoyance as well as with embarrassment. Those squished cheeks of his were red with a flush and Bruce knows that his baby brother’s nose would be scrunched if he wasn’t currently having his face squished. 

The man released Y/N’s cheeks, smiling as he did so. His nephew started laughing and he turned his attention to Steph and Cass who were cooing and taking photos. At least some people were enjoying this.

Y/N sighed, “What other photos do you have of me as baby?” Bruce’s smile turned cryptic smile, walking over to pick up the laughing and smiling baby who squealed in the arms of his Uncle. 

“Hey! We weren’t done!” Steph cried out, getting ready to try and snag the baby back, but Bruce cut her off, “It’s lunch time. Alfred is expecting us.” 

“Steph, Cass, at least put him back in his regular clothes,” Y/N tried to defend some of his son’s honor, knowing that as an adult the photos will be haunting him. Stephanie grabbed Cass’s hand and ran out of the room, pretending not to hear Y/N calling their names. The man huffed, turning to Bruce who shrugged, “I’m sure everyone will be fine with it.” “I know they will be fine with it. It’s just my poor son is going to be haunted by this story and these pictures.” Bruce chuckled, moving his nephew to sit in one arm, while his other hand rested on Y/N’s back. He gently guided Y/N to the dining room, listening to his brother complain about how this whole family was just filled with people who do what they want when they want. 

He was halfway through it when they heard running steps followed by a “Stop running!” Dick’s blue eyes locked on the three of him and his face looking feverish, “So they didn’t take him out of it!” Cheers were heard and Y/N swears that one day he’s going to club all of them. His oldest nephew walked over, his smile large as he took in his cute cousin who was babbling away and looking unbothered. 

“Uncle, he really does look like you in that photo.” 

“How do you know of that photo?!” Dick picked up his cousin from Bruce’s arms, and cooed at the chubby baby. Said baby squealed and gushed at the sight of Dick, raising his little hands and pawing at Dick’s cheeks and nose. It had Dick making a sqwauking sound and nuzzled his nose into those plump cheeks. 

He motioned for the two other adults to follow him, “Alfred made lasgana, caesar salad, and some bread loafs.” Y/N can already picture the mess his son will make and that poor dress of his is going to ruined. 

“Before he naps he’s going to need a bath,” He reminded Dick, who nodded, “Of course! Can’t have a dirty baby going to sleep dirty, now can we?” His hands held both sides of his cousin and he held him in the air as he wiggled him a bit, eliciting a cry of delight. 

The walk to the dining room was filled with Dick asking his Uncle questions and Bruce walking besides the limping man. Both of their attention on him as he answered Dick truthfully. 

“You guys are terrible,” Jason grumbled once he saw his cousin’s state, but it lacked any bite and he was holding back a smile. Stephanie cackled while Dick set the youngest Wayne in his high chair. 

“Master Y/N, I can feed the Young Master while you eat.” Y/N smiled at Alfred, “Are you sure? I don’t mind feeding him, Alfred.” The Butler huffed, “Of course. It is not a hard job to do.” It was something everyone was grateful for. The youngest Wayne was not, by any means, a picky eater. He was a joy to feed and oftentimes Y/N’s nieces and nephews fought over who could feed him. Although, everyone could admit that Alfred is the best when it comes to making sure that their cousin’s food ends up more in his mouth than on the tray. 

Smiling, Y/N and the rest of the Waynes dug into the italian-themed meal. 

Damian watched his Uncle eat from his peripheral vision. He took into account how much food he was eating and how much just spread throughout his plate to look like he ate some. When he had first moved in after the accident, it was a common thing to witness. Their once gluttonous Uncle, because Y/N could and does eat a lot, was barely taking any bites of the meals. 

The first month was hard on almost everybody. His Uncle always looked paranoid and he had his son sleeping in the same room as him. Damian understood that his Uncle was grieving and grief takes time. Even now, he could still see the signs of sadness in those E/C irises as he stared and took in everybody. Almost like it would be his last chance to do so. 

It is that look that puts everyone on high alert around him. Monitoring and excessively checking on him just how he does to his son. 

What Uncle Y/N doesn’t know won’t hurt him. 

After an eventful lunch, it was Uncle Y/N who ended up taking his son to go put down for a nap, balancing the baby in one arm and using the cane in the other, he masterfully evaded everyones’ hand to help and limped through the manor. 

Damian was the one to pull out his phone and watch the feed of his Uncle making it too his room with the baby still in his arms. Masterfully opening and keeping the door open until the both of them were in the room. 

“He made it.” 

“Good.” Call them cautious and they will agree. How could they not be? Y/N has had a tremendous impact on nearly all of their lives in some shape or form. His patience, kindness, and genuine happiness of just being alive was infectious and capable of attracting even the haughtiest of people. 

He was too good for someone like her. Someone who was so impatient, deceitful, and not worthy of Y/N’s attention. Let alone hand in marriage. 

When Y/N had first introduced her, everyone banked on it not lasting. It is why they did nothing to stop the continuation of the relationship. A simple fling. Only for two years later they would be married. It was only the revelation that she was pregnant that halted the plans for a bit. 

Seeing Y/N as happy and excited as he was was enough to stave off the anger. Bruce’s grip became more possessive, Dick’s hugs became tighter, Jason’s bookstore trip became more frequent, Tim’s help in learning how to run Wayne Enterprise more demanding, Stephanie’s and Cass need to go shopping became longer, Duke’s need to understand his metahuman abilities became more intense, and Damian’s desire for his blood-Uncle’s attention all the more prominent. 

Everyone all of a sudden needed something from Y/N more than before. 

Then when the baby was born, all of the Wayne’s were present, including those who didn’t fall under Bruce Wayne’s legal care. All of them waiting for Y/N and his son. 

Tim can recall his first time holding the baby, and how small he was. He had been terrified that he was going to break them, but Y/N’s careful guidance and soft instructions, that fear turned into admiration. To think, something this small could be this breathtaking. 

His blue, exhausted and surrounded by bags from the lack of sleep, looked up and sure enough, Y/N was staring at him and Tim’s new cousin with so much love. Those delicate hands, hands that Bruce dirtied his for so they would stay clean, held his forearms in a gentle grip as he helped Tim find the right bounce to ensure that the newborn stayed asleep. 

Tim quickly obtained that hospital video and saved it on the Batcomputer for everyone to remember the first time they held their cousin. 

There had been a huge argument after that. How long should they wait for their plan to be put into action? 

A lot of them wanted it to happen while their cousin was still a baby, unable to remember that woman’s face because she doesn’t matter. Only they did. Only Y/N did. Their cousin only needed to remember his father, Uncle, Grandfather, and cousins. 

That was it. 

But how young should they do it? Surely before any core memories were made right? Because then Y/N would only be hurt more. However, if they did it to young the stress might be too much for Y/N.

The first month after the accident was horrid. Y/N rarely got any sleep, and when he gory nightmares haunted him. The car was not supposed to crash in front of him, but by the time anyone made that realization it was already too late. The black car was completely crushed, and up in flames while Y/N could only hold their son and watch. Bruce was next to him, and he had caught his brother before his knees could hit the concrete. 

It was a horrible day for multiple parties, and the aftermath was just as bad. Y/N couldn;t even handle the funeral proceedings, to which Bruce and shockingly (and funny enough) Jason handled. The second oldest nephew responding to every whim and whimsey his Uncle had, doing everything in his power to make the pain lessen. 

Anything in the powers. Sometimes that meant anti-depressants and bumping up Y/N’s pain relievers. 

A loopy Y/N was a calm Y/N, and a calm Y/N meant a well-rested Y/N. Sometimes he would rarely leave the bed, trusting on someone to take care of his son. To which they all happily jumped on the chance to do. He’s been weening off of the pain medication, choosing to once again deal with small pain in his hip, but he stayed on the anti-depressants. 

That is the one pill everyone made sure he took. He needed them. Just how he needs this family. All he needs is this family. 

++++

“What did you do, Bruce?” Bruce had to stop himself from cursing at his luck and at the boys for also not nooticing. All five of them in this room and none of them heard Y/N enter? Of course he enters when a comment was made about make someone disappear just like Y/N’s wife. They wouldn’t have a hand in it, because they don’t kill, but is it a murder if one of them lets it slip what type of car she drove to the man she screwed over the most? 

It’s not their fault that her ex worked at the mechanic shop they frequented. It isn’t their fault that Tim accidentally said somethin about the car being his Aunt’s, because how was he supposed to knoow that the mechanic he was talking to was her crazy-ex? It’s not his fault. It’s not any of their fault, because she didn’t say anything about this. 

She lied, repeatedly over and over again to Y/N’s and everyone’s faces. Only, she lied to a house full of detectives, a former soldier Butler, and a man whose happiness was at the forefront of everyone’s reasoning.

“Y/N-” 

“What did you do?!” Terrified E/C eyes stared at Bruce’s rigid form. The older man did not intend for his younger brother to hear those words, and he didn’t like that all the blame was being pinned on him. It was a group effort. 

One they all happily took part in. 

Dick raised his hands, as if he could ease the tension, “Uncle, c’mon there might be a misunderstanding.” Vibrant E/C eyes, swirling with pain and rage, flickered to him and effectively shut him up for a bit. Jason, for once, chose to remain silent at the sight of conflict while Tim thought the paintings in the library looked interesting. Damian, like his father and oldest brother, was looking at him. 

Y/N could feel his heart beating faster and his head hurting. He didn’t want to believe it. How could he? His brother, the nephews he loves, and the nieces he adores, all conspired to kill his wife? 

Who… No, why? The question was written across his face and Bruce took it upon himself to clear the air. He motioned for the others to get out, which they did with no complaint. Dick sending him a guilty look, Jason not meeting his eyes, Tim and Damian sending an apologetic look before disappearing. 

The heavy doors of the office shut behind them and Y/N clenched his jaw. Bruce and him maintained eye contact, staring each other down. 

“It was a choice made by the Family.” 

“The hell is this? A mob?” Bruce stared into Y/N’s enraged eyes, and he sighed, “Y/N, I know this hurts but it is for the best.” 

“The best? The best for who?! Not for me! Not for my son! Not for your nephew!” 

“You don’t know that!”

“And you do?! What are you clairvoyant now?!” 

“She wasn’t good enough for you, Y/N.” 

“Who are you to decide that?” Y/N hissed out, glaring at him with all the rage and resentment in his body. The past three years of the family getting together, photos, smiles, all of it now burning in flames and he was choking on the smoke and ashes. 

How long had they been planning this? 

“Y/N-” 

“Don’t ‘Y/N’ me! Bruce, what the hell?!” It terrified him. His brother, the one he trusts most, and he just threw all of that back into his face. 

If Bruce could do that to someone Y/N loves, what's stopping Bruce from hurting him? Y/N’s eyes widened. What’s stopping Bruce from hurting his son? 

The boys walked out. 

His head whipped to the door, and was about to start making his way out to the nursery, but Bruce had grabbed his arm, kicking the cane from his grip and making Y/N rely on Bruce’s weight to keep standing. 

“Bruce, I swear to God, don’t you dare-” 

“My nephew will not be touched in any malicious way, if that is what you are so worried about.” Y/N snarled at him, trying to get out of his iron grip. 

“I don’t believe you.” Bruce nodded, “You don’t have to. Can’t you trust that your nephews won’t hurt him?” 

“No. How can I trust the murderers of my wife?” Bruce’s expression changed, and the hold on his arm tightened. Y/N’s teeth clenched, “How could you do that? I trusted you! I fucking trusted you and you go and…” The weight of the situation fell on his shoulders and Y/N would have crumbled if it weren’t for Bruce holding him up. Tears leaked from his eyes like they were faucets and his chest started aching. 

Bruce kissed the side of his head, and where he kissed felt like it burned. Like the heat of the fire on the day that car crashed with his wife in it. 

“I know. I know it hurts but it’ll get better Y/N.” 

“Don’t talk to me about something getting better when you’re the cause of it.” Bruce lowered them to the floor, making sure that Y/N was still out of reach of his cane. Y/N wanted to throw a punch, an elbow, or something to vent all the anger and pain he has in his body. However, the grip Bruce has around his arms keeps them pinned to his sides and it’s not like Y/N had the strongest legs. If they were to get into it, it would be literal boulder versus a twig. 

Bruce has always been the bigger one between then, even before Batman. Bruce had inherited Thomas Wayne’s imposing figure, while Y/N had Martha’s thinner one. His brother had been his rock, just how he had been Bruce’s now he wonders if Bruce was the heavy ball at the end of the chain. His nieces and nephews the chains, his son his collar, and the manor the cage. 

Y/N felt as if the reality around him was crumbling and he couldn’t even pick the pieces up. He choked down a sob, “How long have you been planning this?” 

“The accident or having you here?” 

“All of it.” Bruce rested his forehead on Y/N’s shoulder, “You were supposed to stay here in the manor. The very thought of someone being more important than me, than Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, Alfred, all of them, it is so infuriating and terrifying.

“Because I was scared that one day you would leave me, alone in this manor with only the walls to talk to and the mirrors for company.” Y/N glared at him through his tears, “You’re lack of faith in me is astounding.” He would never have left Bruce, because they are all they had left of their family. 

Not to mention, Bruce has the boys and girls for company. He wouldn’t have been alone. There’s Alfred and Y/N would have visited. 

“I know its not an excuse, but dammit Y/N, it’s so terrifying.” Y/N tried to still his beatin heart, pumping his blood throuoghout his body and making him want to run. He wants to leave. He really, really, wants to leave. Y/N wants to pick his baby up and run. 

“Do you know why I am telling you this?” Bruce’s grip loosened and Y/N waited until those arms removed themselves from around him and he lunged for his cane. Only for a large handd to wrap around the ankle of his bad leg and pulled. Dragging him away from the cane and causing Y/N to shout in pain. 

He stared up at his older brother in fear, his leg still in Bruce’s iroon grip. Y/N wonders if this is what criminals see when looking at Batman. 

“Because you’re not going to remember it.” His foot stomped on Y/N’s hip and there was a sickening crack and white flashed behind his eyelids. The scream he released sounded foreign to his own ears, and the tears now became ones of physical pain rather than emotional. 

He started coughing from the amount of screaming and crying, and Bruce continued to look down at him. His eyes full of sorrow, but also acceptance. He was looking at Y/N similar to a parent getting ready to discipline their kid. Not wanting to but needing too. 

Bruce released Y/N’s leg, eliciting another cry and he widened his eyes when he saw Bruce raise his foot again, “Wa-wait, Bruce–”

“It’s not believable if you only have a break in your hip.” There was another crunch and Y/N’s not even sure what broke but the scream he released was silent. The pain was excruciating and the questions searing into his brain. Who is he trying to make believe and believe what? 

“You of course.” Bruce stared at his brother on the floor, and he knows Y/N’s screams and crying are going to haunt him but it is for the better. Y/N’s watery E/C eyes stared at him in fear and pain, tears rushing down his blotchy face and confusion across his face. 

“Poor Y/N, you fell and broke your leg. So now you have to go back on your pain meds and now bedridden for a while.” Fear coursed through Y/N’s veins and although he knew it was futile he tried to crawl. His older brother watched, before walking behind his desk and rummaging through the drawers. Y/N wasn’t even close to the door when Bruce stood over him, and gently flipped him over.  

Y/N screamed, trying to get away from his brother, but with one leg out of commission and his one arm now pinned to his side, it was a futile struggle. 

“Get away! NO! I hate you! I absolutely fucking hate you.” Bruce held a pill in his hand, and in his mouth between his teeth was a water bottle. Y/N clammed up, biting his lips to keep them closed as Bruce came in closer with a pill. He wanted to knock it out of the other’s hand, but before he could even do that, Bruce’s knee rested on his broken hip and Y/N cried out in pain. His brother was quick in shoving the pill in his mouth, covering the orifice, and opening the bottle with the other arms that were pinning Y/N’s arm. He all but waterboarded Y/N with it, washing the pill down. 

Afterwards, he held Y/N and slowly rocked back and forth in a mocking show of comfort. Y/N hit him, bit, and tried to shove him off. His cursing and shouting fell on deaf ears and the drug was beginning to take effect. His limbs became heavier and eyelids stayed closed longer. 

“Shh Y/N, just sleep. It’ll be better in the morning.” Feeling one last bit of defiance, Y/N glared at his brother, “Tell me how you can kill my wife, but are unable to kill the Joker?” His eyes were closed by the end of the sentence, unable to see his brother’s reaction, but he heard the tight, “Good night, Y/N.” 

++++

Crying woke him up. Groaning and rubbing his eyes, he tried too sit up but realized in confusion that his leg was casted and his head was incredibly foggy. A sound of discontent left him, but then there was a shuffling in the room and the crying stopped. In his blurry vision he saw Dick holding his son and Tim gazing at him softly. 

“What…” 

“You fell, Uncle. You broke your hip and shin and your cane unfortunately broke as well,” Tim informed as clinically as he could, holding his Uncle’s hand and staring into the hazy eyes. 

“We had to give you a higher dosage of pain medication, and you’ll need to stay on them for a bit.” Y/N nodded in understanding, his attention returning to his gurgling son and smiling Dick, “It was terrifying Uncle, seeing you laying there like that. It’s a good thing Bruce and Timmy found you. Can’t imagine how bad it would have been if you were on your own.” 

Y/N blinked, the situation dawning on him, “Yeah, that…that would be bad. Sorry Timmy, you had to see me in a traumatic state.” Tim shook his head, “No, I’m happy we found you when we did. I’m sorry that we didn’t get there sooner.”  Y/N smiled, moving his arm to gently cup Tim’s cheek. It took all the effort in him to even make it that short distance, but Tim rested his own hand against the back of Y/N’s, nuzzling his cheek further into Y/N’s palm. 

“Sleep Uncle, we’ll all be here when you wake up,” Dick encouraged, sitting next to Tim and bouncing his cousin. Y/N chuckled, “Okay. Please watch–” 

“We will Uncle. Now, please rest. You and our cousin will be safe, I promise.” Y/N made a small hum before shutting his eyes once more, dreaming of when he and Bruce used to play in their mother’s garden. 

________________________________________________________

Very Dark on this one. Was not the intention at all, but that's how it happened....

[jedipoodoo]

Sniffles (Sergeant Hunter x Reader)

Notes: No warnings. This is My attempt to make Hunter as pathetic as possible. sick fic, Hunter gets the common cold and reacts accordingly as any man would.

"Help!" a rapid pounding at your door interrupted your peaceful morning.

You opened the door to find Omega standing there, fidgeting something fierce.

"Omega, what's wrong? Is everyone okay?"

"Somethings wrong with Hunter," Omega said nervously, "I woke up to a really loud noise, almost like an explosion, and I heard moaning from his room. He sounds hurt!"

You took a deep breath. Panicking wouldn't help Omega.

"Stay here I'll go check on him." You grabbed your medkit and started up the path towards the house Omega and Hunter shared.

You opened the door, painted red. It was one of the charming touches Hunter had made to the home that you absolutely adored.

"Hunter?"

A loud sneeze almost shook the house. That must have been what had woken Omega. You pressed further, searching for his bedroom. On his bed, you found a mountain of blankets, shuddering slightly under the light streaming in from the window.

"Oh Hunter," You sighed, but smiled, picking your way through the battlefield of used tissues that littered the floor.

"Day back," A shaky hand emerged from beneath the blankets, a warning, "I'm dying."

"Hunt-" You started to giggle, and then you couldn't stop.

"'S nod fuddy," Hunter insisted, but the way he sounded with a stuffed nose only made you laugh more.

"Who would have thought," You laughed, removing a couple of blankets from the top of the pile, "Sergeant Hunter of Clone Force Ninety-nine laid low by the common cold."

Hunter huffed, throwing off the last of the blankets, "Dere id nudding common aboud dis!"

His face was pale, his dark tattoo contrasting sharly against his sickly looking skin. He reached for another tissue and blew his nose loudly.

"Have you ever had a cold before?" you asked.

"No!" Hunter moaned and fell back against the pillows, "Clones are'd supposed do ged sick!" he grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around himself, burying his face in his pillow.

"How long has it been since you've seen a doctor?" You asked. He muttered something unintelligible.

"Why is id so brighd?" He muttered.

You closed the curtains for him. "Migraines can be a side effect of colds."

"Gread." he sighed.

You held out the box of tissues. Hunter bravely stuck a hand out from the blanket, groping for one to blow his nose with.

"Take one of these," You took a bottle of pills out of your medkit and placed it in the table next to his bed, "I'll be right back."

In the kitchen, you filled Hunter's canteen with water and started warming some broth on the stove top.

The door slammed open, and Wrecker filled the room with his booming voice.

"Is Hunter okay?" He demanded. Crosshair and Omega filed in behind him.

"Woah Woah Woah," You held up your hands, blocking them from going down the hall, "He's fine, he's just got a cold."

"Are you certain?" Crosshair tried to push past you.

"I'm very certain," You rolled your eyes and gave him a shove. In spite of your assurances, Hunter moaned from down the hall once again, blowing his nose rather obnoxiously.

"He sounds like he's dying," Crosshair folded his arms.

"He's not, I promise. He just needs some rest and some decongestant. His sinuses are so clogged they're putting pressure on his head and making him sick. Hell be fine within two days."

"Hey Hunter!" Wrecker hollared down the hall, "Can I have your knife when you're dead?"

"No!" Hunter shouted, his voice gravely. He fell into a fit of coughing from talking so harshly.

"I dibs the bandanas," Cross hissed.

"Whad was dat?" Hunter stumbled into the doorway, the blanket around his shoulders resembling more of a cocoon than a heroic cape. The cold was taking its toll on his senses.

"That's it. Out, all of you!" You shoved Crosshair back towards the door.

"Can I help?" Omega pleaded.

"Sorry honey, we don't want you getting sick. Or you!" You tried in vain to drag Wrecker out the door with the others.

"But he's not dying?" Omega asked once more for reassurance.

"No he's not. Don't listen to your brothers. Go hang out with Lyanna for the day. I'll let you know when he's all better."

Wrecker finally moped out of the house, and you slammed the door shut behind them, locking it for good measure. By now, the broth you'd left on the stove top was starting to simmer, but Hunter was still standing in the doorway of the bedroom.

"Back to bed. Now." You pointed at him.

"How come you are'd worried aboud gedding sick?" He asked, swaying a bit.

You rolled your eyes and placed his arm over your shoulder, escorting him back to bed.

"I've gotten a cold plenty of times before. I know how to deal with it. But if you're gonna act like a baby about it, I can only imagine how Wrecker would get with it."

"I'd nod a baby." Hunter pouted as you all but dropped him on the bed. You pushed him back, spreading the blanket over his body.

"I'll grab the soup and some water. You take the medicine yet?"

Hunter nodded, eyes half-closed. "Tasted terrible."

You laughed softly, and pressed your lips to his forehead. His skin was clammy to the touch.

"Medicine usually does, Hunt."

You brought back the food, along with a damp cloth to wash his face. You fed him, spoonful by spoonful, until he'd fallen back to an uneasy sleep. You braided his hair to keep it off his face, and left the cloth on his forehead to let the humidity break up some of the blockage.

As Hunter slept, you busied yourself with making sure he had enough supplies to ride out the cold. You went and bought some more tissues and broth, and packed an overnight bag for Omega to have at Lyanna's place.

You stopped by your house to grab some of your own things, and noticed the book sitting on the shelf. Hunter had bought it for you as a birthday present, but you hadn't gotten the chance to read it yet. Maybe you could read it to him.

When you returned after your errands, Hunter was sitting up in the bed, taking sips from the canteen.

"Where'd you go?" He asked, looking something like a kicked puppy as you returned to his bedroom.

"Just grabbing a few things," You placed a fresh box of tissues on the table to replace the empty one. You made a mental note to grab the trash can and clean up the floor later.

Hunter nodded, sinking back into the pillows. "I missed you," He mumbled apologetically.

Your heart melted just a little bit.

"Missed you too," You smiled, and kissed his forehead again

[bat-mom-writer]

Rage and Redemption Part 1

Batman X reader(girl, age 12)

Summery: In a explosion, your apartment building catches fire. Batman is able to save you, but only you.

Rating: parents death, batman comfort

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Daddy!" you screamed into the smoke-filled hallway, your voice hoarse and trembling. The walls around you groaned and cracked like ancient bones under immense pressure. Suddenly, a blast of heat and light tore through the apartment complex, knocking you off your feet and sending a fresh wave of panic through your chest. The explosion was deafening, a monstrous roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the world.

As the dust settled, the Joker's laughter echoed through the shattered remnants of your home. You coughed violently, the acrid smoke burning your lungs and eyes. The flames had painted the night in hellish hues, turning everything into a twisted, fiery dance of destruction. Your heart raced, pounding against your ribcage like a caged animal desperate to escape the inferno.

"Daddy--" you croaked out the words, your voice barely audible above the cacophony of fire and chaos. "Help!" But the only reply was the hungry crackle of the flames as they consumed your home, your memories, your sense of safety. The heat washed over you like a living wave, scorching your skin and stealing the breath from your lungs. You stumbled through the hallway, the floor hot to the touch, each step a battle against the smoke that choked you.

And then, like a dark angel emerging from the flames, Batman appeared before you. His cape billowed in the fiery wind, his eyes hidden behind the cold, unyielding mask. "Kid," he bellowed, his voice a commanding presence amidst the roar of the blaze. He reached out a gloved hand and wrapped it around your wrist, pulling you to your feet with surprising gentleness. "You've got to get out of here. Now."

He lifted you effortlessly, your legs dangling as he sprinted through the flaming corridor. The air was thick with smoke, making it almost impossible to see, but he moved with a grace that suggested he'd done this before. You clung to him, your eyes tightly shut, tears streaming down your cheeks. His embrace was firm yet comforting, a stark contrast to the fiery hell that raged around you. The heat grew more intense, the smoke more suffocating, but he didn't waver.

With a final burst of speed, Batman crashed through the shattered remnants of a window, coving both you and him with his cape to shield from the flying glass. The night air was a cold slap against your burning skin, a brief reprieve from the relentless heat.

You felt the ground solid beneath your feet as he landed with a thud. His boots crunched on the gravel, and you heard the distant wail of sirens growing closer. He set you down gently, his hand lingering on your shoulder.

"M..my parents!" you choked out through your coughs, the reality of the situation sinking in like a cold, hard stone. "They're still in there!"

"Stay here," Batman said firmly, his voice cutting through the chaos like a knife. "I'll-"

But before he could finish, the building erupted in an even more cataclysmic explosion. The shockwave rushing over you like a tidal wave of pure power. The ground trembled, and for a moment, you felt weightless, your stomach lurching as the world around you was obliterated by a wall of fire and debris. The roar was so intense it was as if the earth itself had opened its maw and swallowed the apartment complex whole.

You screamed, a raw, primal sound that clawed its way out of your throat. "No!" you sobbed, trying to run back into the fiery maw. You had to save your parents, had to find them. But Batman was there, his arms like steel bars around your waist, holding you back.

You thrashed, desperation giving you a momentary burst of strength, but he held firm. "You can't," he shouted over the cacophony. "It's too late!" His voice was a mix of urgency and sadness, a stark contrast to the cold, emotionless exterior he'd maintained thus far.

But you couldn't accept it. "Let me go! Let me go!" you screamed, your fists pounding against his chest plate. The heat from the flames washed over you, but the fire in your soul was far hotter.

With surprising tenderness, Batman pulled you into a firm embrace, his cape wrapping around you like a shield. You felt the warmth of his chest against your cheek, the steady beat of his heart a comforting rhythm amidst the chaos. "You're safe," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. You could feel the vibrations of his words through his chest, the fabric of his suit scorched but protecting you from the raging inferno.

You pushed against him, tears streaming down your face, eyes searching the flaming wreckage for any sign of your parents. "You have to save them, please," you begged, your voice cracking with despair. The fire was a living creature, a beast that had devoured everything you knew and loved.

But Batman's grip was unyielding. He simply held you, his arms a cage of protection that kept you from running back into the inferno. You felt the tremble in his muscles, the tension in his body as he watched the flaming ruins, his jaw clenched in a silent battle of his own. The explosion had been so close, so powerful, that it had taken everything he had to get you out.

The sirens grew louder, a symphony of hope and despair. Fire trucks and police cars screeched to a halt, their lights painting the night in a frenetic dance of red and blue. The sound of rushing water and the shouts of emergency responders filled the air as hose lines were deployed, a futile attempt to tame the beast that had been the Joker's handiwork.

But amidst the chaos, you heard it - the Joker's laugh, a distant echo carried on the wind. It was a sound that sent shivers down your spine, a macabre reminder of the madness that had brought you to this moment. You paused, your heart skipping a beat, as the reality of what had happened crashed over you like a wave.

The world around you seemed to fade away, the screams of the injured and the clanging of metal becoming a distant hum. All that was left was the pain, a searing emptiness that threatened to consume you.

A surge of anger coursed through your veins, and you tightened your grip around Batman's waist. The Joker. He'd taken everything from you. Your home, your family, your sense of security. The maniacal laughter grew louder in your head, taunting you, a haunting echo of the horror that had just unfolded. You clung to the Dark Knight, not for comfort now, but for vengeance.

Part 2

[igotanidea]

Hero: Damian Wayne x reader

(family rules finale)

A/N: Family rules finale, ladies and gentleman! Forgive me, if I got a litlte rusty during hiatus, hope you'll still enjoy <3

Family rules masterlist

***

„Let go of me, Nightwing! She needs my help, can’t you see that-“

“Hush.”

“She is being-“

“Shut up Damian!”

Now, this, this was surprising.

Dick Grayson, the forever cool, positive and optimistic seemed to be losing his cool, clenching fists and jaw. He was not blind, duh! He saw what this asshole was doing to his daughter.

Dick was always very sensitive when it came to any type of violence and the fact that Y/N was the girl of whom Damian took a liking to was intensifying his fury tenfold.

Damn, he himself was hanging by a thread, forcing himself to not barge inside and take matters in his own, gloved hands.

But there were so many things and variables to consider. From what Dick knew about Y/N (cause Damian was not talking about her at all) she was rather withdrawn (reasons in the form of the scene unfolding in their eyes), with no friends, who would care for her. The only person who stalked her in wanting to talk was – Damian. Therefore technically, if anyone were to wander by her house at his hour would be him. And at the moment he was about to barge inside in his Robin suit.

And since Dick also knew Y/N was smart and good at connecting the dots there was a heavy risk of her figuring out that Damian=Robin. And then all the rest, getting up the hill to the identity of Batman himself.

And despite the attitude Dick had to many of Bruce’s rules, the secret identity one was a priority and the one he was not going to break.

Yet.

Lost in thoughts, he didn’t even notice Damian taking off and rushing over the lawn to her window.

“Damn! Robin, come back here!”

As if that could stop him.

If the situation wasn’t so dramatic, it would be truly hilarious.

If Y/N and/or her father were to look outside the window they would notice Nightwing and Robin struggling against one another on their estate, pulling at the cape, standing on feet, throwing batons and waving katana around.

 Like freaking comic characters in a kids’ show that intends to be funny but gives the adult a heavy cringe from embarrassment.

“I’m going in!” Damian yelled.

“You are not-“

“AGGHG!”

“Stop it!” Dick did a few backflips, miraculously escaping the blade. Damn, this was so much easier a few years ago, but now his older body was a little less agile even if Grayson refused to admit it. Meanwhile, 17 year old Damian seemed to be at the peak of his abilities. Cutting Dick’s opportunity to grab Robin’s cape and hold him midair with his feet dangling furiously.

“She needs my help!”

“Actually the help would be really helpful here. “ third voice, mocking, cut into the discussion, making both Dick and Damian stop.

Y/N was leaning on the doorframe, arms folded on her chest, look of pure contempt in her eyes as he observed the two vigilantes doing only what could be described as fooling around with each other. Her cheek was reddened and there was a faint stream of blood running down her arms.

So much for Dick’s masterplan.

“Thanks for nothing, you two.” She mocked, raising an eyebrow.

“Um…” Damian stuttered, suddenly feeling awfully called out on his behavior.

“Hm? You were saying?”

“Nothing…” he looked down like a schoolboy, while Dick was standing a little behind, biting the inside of his cheek to not burst out laughing at him.

“I’m sorry, Nightwing, is this funny to you?” Y/N was too perceptive for their own good. “Please, so share the positives you see in the situation.”

“Um…” this time Dick was the one blushing like a kindergartener, caught stealing sweets from the top shelf.

“I actually thought you were supposed to help people?”

“Um…”

“Wow, how do you help anyone if you can’t even make one sentence?”

“Ok, enough.” Finally Damian managed to get his tongue back “this is enough.”

“Is it?”

God, she was infuriating even now. He was trying to help her (again) and she was pushing him away (again).

“Stop it.”

“Or what?”

“Or- or-“

“Or what?” she repeated, her eyes fixed on him, almost drilling a hole into his masked face.

“You’re being ridiculous!”

“You’re the one playing catch on my lawn!”

“I’m trying to free you from the abuser your father is!”

“Well look how it worked!”

“It would be much better if you try to be a little more appreciative!”

“Screw you!”

“What?!”

This girl never made any sense. How was it possible that he fell for this chaotic mess of a human being. She was making him crazy. Crazy! And not in a good sense.

“How long have you been sitting on that tree?”

“Well, um-“

“This is my fault-“ Dick tried to interject but she sent him a look so full of fury he had to take a step back with hands raised in surrender.

“I’m not talking to you.” She growled to Dick, turning back to Damian.  “I am so done! I’m done! Men are just completely useless!”

“But-“

“You know what, heroes are useless!”

Now this hurt.

“This is not fair-“ Damian started, but it was too late. Months of abuse, fear and holding her emotions back for the sake of everyone else found a way out in the wave of white fury, blinding her rational thinking. She was so tired of waiting for someone to help her. Exhausted from hoping for a prince on a white horse to come and take her away from this place.

She was not helpless.

And this line of thinking got her into the crazy decision of taking matters in her own hands.

“Y/N! Y/N, where are you going!? Wait! Wait, what are you going to do?! Stop!”

As she turned on her heel, blind and deaf to any external stimuli, walking back towards the house like  a mad woman Damian immediately took after her. And Dick did too.

If Y/N was a supernatural being this would be the moment for her to go into a magical change in the cloud of white light.

This would be the moment for her to get a silly, fairy-like outfit, a cape and/or ability to fly and beam lasers from her eyes.  

But this was reality and not a manga show.

And she was a hero even without a latex costume.

Or maybe – that was what made her more of a hero.

***

“Please remind me to never make that girl angry.”

Damian scoffed, but there was a hint of smugness in his voice as he responded.

“That was something, wasn’t it?”

Half an hour later, Dick and Damian were leaning over the same tree by her house, watching her father being taken by the police.

Shockingly (or maybe not so much), pushed to the very edge of her endurance, Y/N had walked inside the house, and with zero second guessing or doubts, had called the police, reporting the abuse she had been experiencing from her parent.

Damian had never been more proud of anyone in his entire life.

And she did it without his help.

Which under any other circumstances would probably make him mad, cause he was supposed to be the savior, but hey – having a girl who could hold her own was even better.

“You know anyone else would probably call her mental—”

“Hey! Hold your tongue Grayson!”

“Hm? Why?” Dick smirked “getting territorial?”

“Shut up!”

“She’s not even your girl, you know.”

“I said shut up!”

“Please don’t start again-“

***

“Hey Y/N, can we talk?”

She was talking to the policeman, giving her explanations on the situation, looking a little fatigued from everything that happened, but upon hearing his voice turned around.

“I don’t know, I am a little busy here-”

“I’ll take it from here, officer.” Damian cut off not only her words but any possible objection from the policeman, gently grabbing her forearm and leading her away from the crime scene.

“Where’s your babysitter?” she teased, seeing as Nightwing was nowhere to be found.

“He was getting a little too fearless for his own good so I bound him to the tree.”

“You’re joking.” She chuckled, “wait. You are joking right? Please tell me, you didn’t actually trap Nightwing on my tree.”

“Relax. He’s not in immediate danger. At least not at the moment.”

“The hell does that-?”

“How are you feeling?” he interrupted her again, studying her face from behind the mask, taking in the pale face, tired eyes and relief mixed with worry, etched on her face. “And do not try to put on a brave face.”

“How do you think I feel?”

“I’m not a mind reader.”

“Too bad. Cause that’s not something I could explain in a few words. At the moment I am mostly exhausted. But also a bit of fear.”

“Of what?”

“Future. Now that my dad would probably end up locked up… what will happen to me?”

“Y/N…”

“You know I never asked you how you know my name.”

“Y/N…”

“Do you learn the names of everyone in Gotham? Didn’t take you for the considerate type.”

“How is it possible that you switch between acting vulnerable and mean so swiftly?” he mocked, hiding the fact that her words actually did hit a nerve.

“Maybe it’s my superpower.” She sighed.

“Y/N…”

“Hm?” she kept her eyes on the ground, her mind suddenly starting to spin as she only now started considering the consequences of her actions.

Damian cupped her cheek, softly, unable to stop himself from the gesture of affection, guiding her eyes on him.

“You did the right thing.” He whispered

“Did I?” her voice shook a little “then why does it feel like I’m –”

“No. No, don’t even finish that sentence.” He rubbed her skin, shocking not only her but also himself. “You were the victim here and he deserves everything that is going to happen to him now. He had it coming. Forcing you to get information on Waynes? Using you to get to me and –“

They both froze.

Shit.

Shit, he said “to me”. And there was no way she wouldn’t catch up on that, even with her tiredness and distraction.

“Are you—”

“Y/N.”

“Damian?”

“You can’t tell anyone.”

“I know, but- but why-? How-? When-?”

“Not now.”

“But-“

“Not now, Y/N.” he cupped both her cheeks, keeping eyes on her “Not with so many people around. Later, I promise.”

“You promise, huh? And I’m just supposed to trust you? How long have you known about-“

“A few days, I swear. If I knew earlier than-“ he clenched his jaw, his hold on her becoming a little tighter. “then I wouldn’t hold myself responsible for my own actions towards your father. Bastard.”

“Well it’s done now…”

“I’m not leaving you alone, you know that?”

“I didn’t.”

“Ouch.”

“Oh, don’t act like that actually did hurt you.”

“And if I told you it did, would you kiss it better?”

“Robin!” she teased “are you flirting?”

Damian blushed in response, feeling like a total idiot and completely out-of-character.  Damn Grayson and damn trying to copy his stupid smug way of talking to girls. Clearly it wasn’t working for him.

“I- I mean, I-“

She only smiled softly, standing on her tiptoes and kissing his cheek, letting her lips linger on the skin a little longer than necessary.

“That’s all you get for now.”

“But-“

“You got some heavy explaining to do. But on the good side? I won’t be used a snitch since now, so who knows where this goes…” she turned to walk away but he grabbed her hand and spun her around to him

“Y/N…”

“Hm?”

Screw his attitude. Screw copying Grayson and keeping his distance. Screw the pretenses. Screw everything.

He pulled her into his chest, softly, almost shyly pressing her lips to his, feeling the tips of his ears burning. He was kissing her. She was kissing him. And it felt…

Good.

So good.

Not like that first kiss at the Wayne’s gala when they simply got lost in the moment.

No.

This one was more deliberate, more mature and definitely wanted by both of them. As if everything that happened in the short span of a few months made them more aware of their own emotions and needs. 

And even though it did not clear all the misunderstandings and understatements, it was a good way forward, with his lips moving against hers, and her nose brushing affectionately over his.

Soft, sweet and seemingly innocent, but filled with so many feelings simmering under the surface. 

“I’ll take care of you…” he whispered, pulling back after a moment, connecting their foreheads.

“I don’t need you to take care of me…”

“I hate you. You’re ruining the moment, Y/L/N. I am going to take care of you, whether you like it or not.”

She chuckled.

“What’s so funny?”

“If this thing between us is going to work, I seriously hope you are never going to change.”

Damian groaned internally.

She was going to make him go crazy in the foreseeable future.

But he was not going to let go.

@6000-fandoms @beyond-your-stars @mikyapixie

Not all heroes wear capes...

@heartz4miz @crookedmakerfury @mariam12344 @celestair

@faimmm @hornyslasher @urdarlingali @emmalove1111 @crookedmakerfury @herondale-lightworm @itzjustj-1000 @ginger24880 @anonymousmuffinbear @adharawitch @jasons-little-princess @sharkybabydoll @cupids-diner @whydoyoucare866 @ladychibirae @amber-content @atadoddinnit @mouse-face1 @m3ntally-unstable @jinviktor @idonthaveanameforthisacc @no-lessthan3 @simp-simp-no-mi

@thotsofadepravedwoman @lookingforsyd @13shewhomustnotbenamed @bloodyboi @kore-of-the-underworld @girlblogger-04 @cloudserenity @lolalunamarvel

[confused-wanderer]

I saw this the other day and couldn’t help thinking about how the batboys first felt when they had to be the comfort/protector or how for they might’ve felt the first time children ran to them for protection.

Dick Grayson was a performer long before he was a protector. Even on his first night as Robin, he kept an eye out on the darkest streets for people in despair. Not even three hours into his first shift as Robin, comes the opportunity.

He knows how to hypnotise people, to make them forget about the world, about reality, even if it was just for a little while. And little did he know just how much he’d use it for the rest of his life.

And there’s the guy in front of him, robbing a store with a knife in one hand, tears streaming down his face. His wife is dying, and he needs the money and Dick falters. He remembers that feeling of helplessness.

But then there’s a child cowering away from him, and runs screaming towards Dick, arms outstretched with a plea. And his hesitation vanishes, before taking down the man in one fell swoop.

He then spent the time with only one goal in mind. Make the kid laugh. He cracked jokes, displayed few acrobatic endeavours and is only satisfied when the kid looks at him with joy, the fear long since burned away. It fills his chest with pride, and a warm flutter that stays with him for the next few months.

Jason never expected anything to happen. He was the new Robin, he was here only to protect, not chit-chat. He’s heard what others thought of him, and he couldn’t care any less. He did his job, made sure they were safe and unhurt, and then left.

And then one late night, finishing up on patrol he sees a glimpse of color out of the corner of his eye. There’s a young woman, hiding three figures behind her. He raises his head, and immediately sees the way they scramble away in fear. So he looks away and waits, muscles tense and ready, pretending not to notice them come closer.

He’s quite taken aback when the woman timidly asks him to walk her back home. It’s a trap. He thinks. But he sees the look on their faces, and decides it’s worth the risk. Along the way he makes a few dry sarcastic quips, and before he knows it the air is filled with laughter and chatter.

It takes a while for him to notice two kids were holding each of his hand, and the third was tugging on his cape. And the mother was smiling softly, eyes crinkling in fondness and vulnerability.

They felt safe, he realises with a start.

They felt safe with him

They trusted him.

And something in him stirs. He feels something similar to what Dick had recalled on his first encounter with children, but instead of a warm flutter it’s like his heart has forgotten its rhythm. It’s banging against his rib cage, warmth and love pouring out. He always had a bleeding heart.

When he comes back from patrol, he absentmindedly runs his fingers across the cape where they’d held it, and sees tiny wrinkles there.

He refuses to iron it, and when Tim first sees his suit, the first thing he sees are the thousands of wrinkles, dozens of smears and dried up trails of tears.

Tim, who didn’t know what the fuck he was doing.

He was good at the crime job. Children.. people? Not so much. Especially when he wasn’t trying to lecture them or take them down. He knew how to make them tick. But not how to make them talk.

Alas, when batman is stuck interviewing a father about a home invasion, Tim finds himself on kid duty.

He looks everywhere, on the ceiling, below the bed, when he finally notices a heat signature coming from behind a desk.

The kid is hugging her knees, cowering and clutching themselves as close as she could, squeeze themselves into the tiny space, and keeping heavy boxes and chairs to block any people or light from entering.

And Tim just sits there. He tries talking, engaging in conversation before realising how awkward it sounded and that he wasn’t helping. So he falls quiet.

He notices posters of marine life on the child’s bed, and after a while of silence he starts to slowly talk again. He talks about the ocean, about its inhabitants and the most peculiar creatures hidden inside. It is a while before he falters again, noticing his rant, but with a quick glance he can see that the child has slightly shifted towards him, hanging onto his every word.

And so he continues, bringing up holographic displays to show the amazing characterisers and traits they acquire. He hears the pitter patter of footsteps after a while, and then the kid pops up beside him, staring at the display. The kid was there, tense as a deer, and ready to sprint at any sudden movement, but there.

And so at the end of the night, that’s how Bruce finds Tim sitting on the floor, kid fast asleep and sprawled across his lap, using the cape as a blanket.

Tim was a grounding presence. He wasn’t there to judge, wasn’t there to speak. He was just.. there. And that mattered a lot more to children then he realises.

He remembers coming home in almost a daze, seeing the wrinkles on his cape before remembering Jason. His breath hitches, fingers running over the wrinkles, truly realising why Jason’s suit still stubbornly portrayed its wrinkles. It’s stories.

Jason was better at this. Jason cared. And tonight, he’d taken the first step towards truly honouring him. And he had no intentions of letting the second Robin’s legacy die.

Dick had described it as warmth that left you giddy. But this, this was terror.

Tim was scared.

Dick had always been an empath, Jason arguably more, and it was their legacy that he’d have to carry on. The children were counting on him. Batman was counting on him. But the most terrifying realisation was that Jason was also counting on him. And so was Dick.

So he lets the wrinkles stay on, subtly highlighting them in the cape to remind himself of his purpose, a feeling of protectiveness burdening him- not only towards the citizens, but also towards his brothers. He was NOT going to let them down.

Each of them made kids feel safe with them, in their own special ways. Because there was a broken kid in each of them too, that craved to make sure no one else was hurt the way they were.

[writeforthepeople]

The Promotion

Damien Haas x f!Reader Word Count: 2k

Warnings: just suuuuper fluffy.

summary: You are up for a big promotion at your job, working for DropOutTV, when you get home and tell your boyfriend, Damien that you got it, he showers you in support.

The front door clicks shut behind you, and it’s like your body finally believes it can relax. The pressure of the day, the nerves, the tightly held don’t-get-your-hopes-up mantras—it all starts to melt somewhere around the arches of your feet.

Inside, the apartment smells like whatever candle Damien lit earlier—warm vanilla and the faintest echo of something spicy, like clove or cinnamon. The lights are low, cozy, and there’s a soft hum of sound coming from the living room.

You peek around the corner and there he is—curled up on the couch, intensely focused on the screen. Headset askew, controller in hand, eyes sharp. His lips are slightly parted, fingers twitching with every on-screen movement. He’s completely locked in.

His glasses are pushed up into his hair, forgotten. A fuzzy pumpkin blanket is draped over his shoulders like a cape. You’re not even sure he realizes he's doing it, but he’s muttering to himself, narrating strategy in this low, rhythmic way that sounds like he’s casting a spell. I think it is unconscious that he does it now even when he isn't streaming.

You drop your bag as quietly as you can and lean against the wall, watching him. It's comforting, in a weirdly grounding way—coming home to Damien mid-hyperfixation. Safe. Familiar.

He catches the movement in his peripheral and turns his head sharply. Game forgotten. Controller paused.

“Wait—you're home.” His face lights up, and it’s instant. No lag between his brain and his body—just pure joy. “Give me, like, two more minutes—I’m in the middle of—” He glances back at the screen, hesitates, then drops the controller with a dramatic sigh. “Okay, nope. Forget it. I’m pausing everything. Zagreus can wait. You? Never..”

He’s already standing, the blanket falling off his shoulders as he crosses the room in quick steps, scanning your face.

“I can’t tell if you’re about to cry from stress or happiness, and I don’t wanna mess this up—so... am I about to freak out with you or for you?”

He stops just in front of you, hands hovering like he’s not sure if he should touch you yet—not until he knows what kind of moment this is. His eyes flick over your face, reading every twitch, every crease.

Then you nod, barely, and a smile breaks across your face like sun through clouds.

You got it.

Damien gasps—gasps—like he’s in a soap opera and you just told him you're secretly royalty.

“No. No, shut up—you got it?!” His whole body lights up. He doesn't wait for you to answer again. Arms wrap around you in a heartbeat, lifting you off your feet in a quick, spinning hug that makes you laugh into his hoodie.

He sets you down with care, but he doesn’t let go.

“Director of Gaming? Are you kidding me? That’s insane. That’s hot. That’s so hot.” He leans back just enough to look at you fully, hands still resting on your waist. “I’m dating a director. I need to reevaluate my wardrobe immediately. I can’t be out here in Pokémon pajama pants next to corporate excellence.”

You laugh again, and he’s completely unbothered—just keeps going.

“No seriously—do I need to call you ‘sir’ now? Because I will. Happily. Professionally. Romantically.” He tilts his head. “I’ve got range.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s hopeless—your cheeks are already warm. He sees it, and it just eggs him on.

“God, you’re incredible.” His voice softens just slightly, the awe settling in beneath the teasing. 

He quiets down, just a little—like the moment catches up to him all at once. His hands slide from your waist to your forearms, thumbs brushing slow circles over your sleeves. He looks at you like he always does but it never gets old, the way he just sees you.

Then, softer—almost reverent—he says, “You earned this.”

There’s no punchline this time. No performative dramatics. Just truth, steady and full of conviction.

“They didn’t hand it to you. You worked for it. You stayed late, you took care of people, you built something over there. I’ve watched you fight for stuff that nobody else even noticed was broken. And you still somehow came home and held space for me—for us. For your friends, and family, the cats that are running around here somewhere.”

He pauses, and his brows knit together, like he’s trying to find the exact right phrasing before he says it.

“You’re not just good at what you do,” he murmurs. “You’re the kind of good that makes other people want to be better.”

You huff a laugh, watery-eyed now, and he smiles like he just won a boss fight.

“I love you,” he says simply. “And I’m really, really proud of you.”

Your arms slide around his waist like it’s muscle memory, tucking yourself into the space under his chin. It feels like the kind of hug that should last a while—long enough to soak it in. His warmth. His words. The way his heart is beating a little faster than usual.

Then, in classic Damien fashion, he pulls back just enough to press a kiss to your forehead and immediately says, “Okay. Now that you’ve reached goddess-tier career status, I propose a celebratory feast.”

You raise an eyebrow. “A feast?”

“Yes,” he nods solemnly. “Takeout. As the gods intended.”

He’s already reaching for his phone, unlocking it with the frantic enthusiasm of a man on a mission. “I have the apps ready. I'm thinking Thai? Or sushi? No—wait—what about that place you like with the cursed noodles?”

“The noodles are not cursed.”

“They are absolutely cursed, and I will not survive the leftovers, but I would happily perish for you tonight, Director.”

You snort, dropping onto the couch while he starts scrolling, muttering restaurant names under his breath like a summoning ritual. He flops down beside you, pressing his leg against yours.

“I say we eat too much, watch something spooky, and let you bask in your well-earned glory. You pick the movie. I won’t even pretend to veto it, no matter how aggressively A24 it is.”

“You always pretend to veto it.”

“Tonight, I’m on my best behavior.” He hands you the phone. “You make the calls now. You’re in charge.”

There’s a glint in his eye, all mischief and admiration. “I mean, you have to be in charge. You’re the director.”

Dinner ends in a happy food coma. You’re tucked into the couch now, limbs tangled with Damien’s under a mountain of blankets, your mostly-empty takeout containers sitting on the coffee table next to two cans of something fizzy and lime-flavored.

The room glows with low light—string lights along the windows, the TV flickering with neon colors and jump cuts.

Onscreen, Bodies Bodies Bodies plays out in all its messy, unhinged glory.

Damien is locked in.

“This movie is so stressful,” he mutters, eyes wide, mouth full of leftover rice. “They are the worst people I’ve ever met and I can’t stop watching.”

You giggle, your cheek squished against his shoulder. “You say that every time.”

“I mean it every time.” He gestures vaguely at the screen. “If I had even one of these people in my party, I’d leave the campaign.”

“You’d romance them.”

He gasps, betrayed. “I would not.”

“You romanced Shadowheart, Damien.”

“She had depth! And a tragic backstory!”

You just look at him, smug, until he throws a pillow at your head. You duck, laughing, and he pulls you in tighter, your legs over his lap now.

By the time the credits start rolling, his head is tilted against yours, and he mumbles, “Okay. I think it’s time for Phase Two of the celebration.”

You squint up at him. “Which is?”

He wiggles out from under the blanket, disappearing into the kitchen without another word.

There’s the sound of a cabinet opening. A soft, triumphant “Ha!” And then he returns, holding a white bakery box with both hands like it’s the Holy Grail.

You blink. “Are those—?”

“Celebration treats,” he confirms, setting the box down on the table with a flourish. “From your favorite place. Got them earlier today, just in case.”

You stare at him, heart wobbling a little.

“I knew you were gonna get it,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s embarrassed. “So I figured, y’know. Better be ready.”

He opens the box, revealing your favorite pastries. “They almost didn’t have these, but I told the barista my girlfriend just became Director of Gaming and she looked at me like I told her you won an Oscar. So. We got the hookup.”

You just... blink at him, eyes suspiciously glassy. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m romantic,” he says. “There’s a difference.”

He hands you a cupcake and kisses your cheek so sweetly it feels like a promise.

You’re full of sugar and warmth, wrapped in the soft lull of a perfect night. The cupcakes were gone in minutes, and you’re still pretty sure he saved the last bite of yours just so he could offer it to you with that look—the one that says he thinks you hung the damn moon.

Now the two of you are curled up in bed, limbs tangled like ivy. Damien’s shirt is soft against your cheek, worn from a hundred washes and smelling like him—cinnamon, cotton, and whatever clean soap he always uses. One of his hands is tracing lazy shapes against your hip while the other tucks behind his head, eyes on the ceiling, brain still humming.

“You know,” he says after a while, voice lower, quieter in the dark, “I wasn’t lying earlier. About how hot this is.”

You smile into his chest. “Mmm?”

“I’m serious. Like, I always knew you were smart and talented and way too good for me—don’t argue, I’m on a roll—but tonight? Seeing you come home like that? All calm and confident, and then telling me you did it?” His hand moves to your thigh, fingers squeezing gently. “It was hot. Like... deeply, unprofessionally hot.”

You laugh, a soft huff against his collarbone. “You’re a menace.”

“I’m your menace,” he says smugly.

He leans down and kisses your temple, slow and sure. Then another—your cheek, your jaw, your neck. Not rushed, not heavy. Just reverent. Like he’s reminding himself you’re real and here and his.

“You’re amazing,” he murmurs, lips brushing your skin between words. “You’re so goddamn capable. And kind. And powerful. You walk into a room and people listen. And somehow you still come home and hold me like this.”

You shift to face him, hand sliding up under his shirt to rest on the warm skin of his side. His breath catches slightly.

“I’m so proud of you, Y/N,” he says. “I’d shout it from the rooftops if I didn’t think I’d fall off.”

You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and he smiles against it.

“You’re gonna be insufferably successful, aren’t you?” he murmurs.

You smile. “Thinking about breaking up with me already?”

He scoffs. “What? No. I’m thinking about how I’m gonna introduce you in public now. Like, do I say, ‘This is my girlfriend, the director,’ or go full send with ‘This is Y/N, Director of Games at DropoutTV—also my impossibly beautiful girlfriend’? Just so I can brag about you”

You hum, pleased. “Option two has a nice ring to it.”

He grins, eyes flicking down to your lips. “Say the word and I’ll make sure there’s an actual ring to go with it.”

You choke on a laugh, swatting at his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m serious!” he insists, dramatically offended. “You’re brilliant, powerful, devastatingly attractive—I’m barely holding it together as it is. Marrying you would just make it even better.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart is doing somersaults.

He leans in again, his voice lower now. “Just say when, babe. I’ve got ideas.”

[kikker-oma]

For you :)

Based on this piece of art:

Time woke up with a jolt, peaceful sleep warping into panic. He didn’t know why he sat up, kicking off the comfortable in blankets until he saw the red looming over the room and illuminating it. The rest of the room was dark. It had to be nighttime. He looked behind him and the moon was blood red, flakes of malice visible in the air outside. He could feel his heart pound wildly, and flashes of a moon crashing down into the earth, and being too late, and running loop after loop came to his mind. He turned back around, facing the door and the wall, seeing the shadow of the full shape of the moon and he ran out of the room, finding the bathroom because he knew it didn’t have any windows.

He closed the door and slid against it, forcing his suddenly heavy breathing to die down. The sound of a gurgling roar shook the earth and he flinched. Then he made a split decision and carefully went outside the bathroom, stepping into the bare hallway and opened the door. He inhaled the malice and coughed miserably before looking up. He couldn’t see where exactly that thundering roar had come from but he could soon see monsters returning to flesh with a magenta glow, cheering obnoxiously.

He could almost make out a grin on the moon and his blood turned to ice as he saw all the monsters appearing. He clutched his head, hoping this was all a nightmare but it wasn’t. Link wanted to run back inside more than anything, escape the moon and Termina and stop rewinding time over and over but he was frozen in the crimson glare of the large, looming object in the equally as red sky. A sob wracked his body. “Navi! Please! Come back!”

Help me, he wanted to scream at the blue fairy, as tears streamed down on his face in a seemingly relentless flow. But she wasn’t there. Neither was Tatl, who would’ve darted to his side in an instant in a worry that she would easily deflect. He buried his face in his knees, clutching them to his chest tightly, like if he’d let go he’d unravel into the ground. Flashes of a dying Zora, a dead Goron, a grief-filled Princess of the Deku Scrubs and many long dead souls rising up from the ground, as Stalfos. Flashes of a woman in denial, willing to face the end of the world if her love wouldn’t find her. Flashes of so many unaware people that would be crushed by the falling moon. His wailing echoed loud in the air.

“WATCH OUT!”

Link looked up to see Wild there, holding up a broadsword, and standing over him. His cape flew in the wind. Time realized belatedly it was no longer red out. The moon was back to normal. There were monsters snarling and sniveling in front of them…and yet Time couldn’t find the strength to get up and help. He was still shaking, and sobbing. The champion launched into battle and he yelled, “Get inside, it’s not safe out here.”

“I-I’m not leaving you,” The old man drew in a trembling deep breath and summoned the courage to stand.

Wild hesitated but gave him a nod and plunged his sword into a Lizalfos’ shoulder. Time grabbed his sword and hacked at their foes alongside the champion, and there was actually something relieving about the thrill of battle, not having to worry about any other thing than winning this small fight. When the monsters had all vanished in a puff of purple smoke, with wounds dripping black blood, all Time had was a nick on the face and all Wild had was a small bruise on his head. The old man sheathed his weapon and gave a sigh, feeling awfully tired. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been paying attention to my surroundings, and it could’ve cost my life. That’s not a burden you should’ve had to deal with. You should’ve been able to get your rest.”

“I can never sleep during blood moons,” Wild said simply. “During my journey if I let myself sleep, even up in the trees, monsters would return and find me…and they are pretty terrible. I don’t blame you, and you shouldn’t either.”

It was his fault but he couldn’t burden the champion even more. He gave a nod, slipping on a mask of stoicism, and he dipped his head. “Thank you. I’ll be upstairs, but please get something for that bruise.”

“Get something for that cut,” Wild returned, but was frowning deeply.

He left and absently bandaged his cheek where a small amount of blood had been shed. He stared out the window and forced himself to breathe, remembering the red. The face—no that wasn’t right. There wasn’t really a face in this moon. Not like Termina’s at least. He went back to bed, covering himself with the blanket and putting his head on the pillow but no matter how much he tossed and turned, he couldn’t fall back into that peaceful sleep from before.

He heard the twist of the doorknob and his door was pushed open, as quietly as possible. He saw green and blonde and a familiar face enter the room, closing the door gently behind him. The captain came over and said softly, “You’re awake.”

“Can’t sleep,” He said truthfully. “But I’ll get over it.”

“You don’t have to hide around me, Mask.”

Time sucked in the icy air, turning away. Wars put a hand on his shoulder, eyes shining with nothing but warmth. “Answer me honestly, are you okay right now?”

He took a long moment to answer before he wordlessly shook his head. The captain made a soft noise and asked quietly if he could hug him and the old man let himself be wrapped in a hug, in the scarred yet warm and wrong arms of his brother. “You don’t have to tell me why, but I want you to know I’m here if you need anything. I’d go fight the moon for you.”

Time choked on wet laughter, knowing that Wars had no idea how much that would help him. He leaned into the captain’s embrace and the restless hours of the night caught up to him. He was safe. He wasn’t alone. He let warm tears fall as he closed his eyes and soon drifted into darkness.

IM SO SORRY I HAVENT LOOKED AT MY INBOX IN AGES☠️☠️☠️

This is LOVELY!!! I love that Time in his panic goes outside and is immediately surrounded by monsters while he's having PTSD flashbacks to termina! And wild and wars helping him fight and also comfort him is so sweet❤️❤️❤️

They're brothers!!

Thank you so much Uni🥰

[snaileer]

Dare to Live (Part 1/2)

DPxDC

The first they see of the mysterious figure is barely a flicker above the battle. Only a few of them really spot it and the rest only see it due to footage from the bat plane.

Any other footage after it is the equivalent of child’s colorful finger-painting regarding the figure.

Superman doesn’t even pause to evaluate the flicker in his peripheral before he goes back to trying to push the newest alien ship away from Metropolis.

Why was it always Metropolis?

Why not St. Louis? Or, or Fountain, Mississippi? Or literally anywhere in Canada! He has nothing against Canada, he would just like to go farther than his city borders to stop an alien invasion, just once. For some variety, you know?

Just as Batman’s plan starts working, and they’ve finally got the mothership on the edge of Metropolis, Clark’s grip goes light.

For a moment, he panics, worried they have kryptonite or some shield or repelling ray, but when he’s still able to fly backwards he realizes that’s not possible.

Instead, he stares in awe at the figure stationed above them, above the heroes, the ship, all of it.

The man is large, at least as big as Clark, with one hand stretched out to the ship, and there’s just enough time for Clark to see a large skulled ring on the man’s hand before he swipes downwards and Clark watches as the entire mothership crashes downwards with it. Hull crushing inwards as if gravity itself has increased upon it.

Clark looks back up at the man, taking note of the large glowing green crown above his head, and the starry black cape that sways gently behind him despite the winds that sheer against Clark’s face. His hair flows gently as well, giving off the same glow as the crown, even though it shouldn’t be visible in the midday sun.

In fact, the man’s entire figure seems to glow, only getting brighter as he holds his arms out and streams of sickly green light seem to stream towards him from around the city, around the battle site, all absorbing into the man with a green flash.

Clark only spares a glance to Batman to get an affirming nod to check it out before he’s flying up to him, hesitance growing as he watches the figure survey the damage with eyes of pupiless green.

The figure smirkes as he approached, meeting him in the middle but saying nothing, only serving to increase the tension in the air around them.

When they were even, Clark chose to take the first step of diplomacy, “I am Superman, Protecter of Earth. Thank you for helping us, But..Who are you?”

The figure stared at him for a long time, eyes boring into his skull with an intensity not unlike Batman’s. The feeling of judgement being passed weighed down on his shoulders before, finally, they spoke,

“I am High King Phantom of the Infinite Realms of the Eighth Dimension,” Power radiated through his voice, “The Great One, Feller of the Tyrant Pariah Dark, Tamer of Vortex, Conquerer of My Future Now Past, Keeper of Death and Life, Wielder of the Ring of Rage, Bearer of the Crown of Fire and The One True Balance.”

Superman felt an icy grip around his heart as he took in everything those titles could mean. And if his experience with extra dimensional beings was anything to go by…

“You are well met, Superman, Protector of… Earth.”

The king seemed to hesitate on the planet, indicating maybe an unfamiliarity with it, but then why would he be here?

Superman composed himself, remembering the diplomatic training of the league, “And.. Your Majesty is here because…?” Words seemed to escape him as he stared into those eyes.

Silence reigned between them again, tense and still, not even the king’s cape seemed to move anymore until the his voice broke it.

“You will find out all in due time, Superman of Earth,” He paused and glanced around them, eyes suddenly clarifying to just two Lazarus green irises, “But for now, I am here simply to observe.”

Without pausing, the king began to fly down to where Clark could see the other heroes congregating.

Superman followed just in time for Batman to step forward and ask him for an introduction and more importantly, information.

Clark jumped in to avoid the amalgam of ominous titles, simply saying, “Batman, this is King Phantom of the Eighth Dimension. He’s.. visiting?”

Batman raised a patented bat glare at him, “Eighth dimension, is that at all related to your troubles with a certain fifth dimensional imp?”

That’s exactly what he’d thought but by Rao he hoped not. Just as he was about to reply though, King Phantom cut in with a flare of his glow.

“Watch your tongue, Man of Bats, accuse me of being a fifth dimensional pest again and we shall see how long you last in no dimensions at all,” the king paused to look down at him, “Mortal.”

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 25

part 1 | part 24 | ao3

cw: throwing up, recreational alcohol & drug use

“Well, thank fuck I didn’t wear the Reeboks,” Eddie laughs.

Steve groans 'Jesus,' because he doesn't know what else there is to say to that. Eddie came out of nowhere. Materialized like some kind of freaky wizard. And that would— that would be on brand, wouldn’t it?

Eddie the magician. Eddie the shapeshifter.

Maybe Eddie is Misty? Would explain why she left him all those dead rats when he first—

“Oh, fuck.” His stomach rolls at the thought, a hot-cold-nasty-sick shiver down his spine, and he bends forward to retch again. Hits the grass this time at least, right between Eddie’s boots; groans and spits drool into the dirt. Eddie smooths a hand between his shoulder blades, which is nice, even if everything else about this totally blows.

“Godddd,” he moans when the dry heaving stops. He lifts his head to apologize and nearly tips himself into the mess he just made.

“Whoa, whoa whoa, hey; easy,” Eddie shushes, steadying him with both hands. Warm palms against his biceps; firm grip.

“S’nice.”

“Yeah?” Eddie grins, private and soft. "Alright, arms up."

"Mmh?"

"Up! Come on, sweetheart, up you get." He loops Steve’s arms around his neck, wearing him like a cape. Steve giggles into his fluffy curls, nuzzles his nose into them because they're warm and Eddie smells nice, and time does that weird drunk thing where Steve slow blinks and suddenly they're a hundred yards away.

Edge of the creek, downstream from the falls where the water’s just a thin squiggle cut through smooth, mossy stone. Eddie's got Steve facedown across his lap, gathering up his hair and making a headband with his hands, and he's apologizing in advance for Steve-doesn't-know-what.

"Big breath," Eddie warns him, and then he dips Steve's face in the icy stream like he's battering fried chicken in a goddamn egg wash. Two quick dunks, the cold ripping through Steve's nerves; it's all finger-licking fucked.

"What the hell?!" Steve splutters when Eddie lifts him up, rolls him onto his back and smiles down at him.

"Mornin', sunshine!"

"Jesus Christ!"

Eddie's laughing at him hard. "Sorry, big boy. Had to wake you up somehow."

He brushes Steve's bangs off his face, and Steve pants up at him, wide awake now. Trembling. In the dark, Eddie's eyes look nearly black. Two inkpots full of moonlight.

“'M awake," Steve mumbles to distract himself from the sudden kick-throb behind his ribs. "Sorry I barfed on your shoes."

“Ah, comes with the territory.” Eddie kicks his legs out, rinsing the toes of his boots off in the stream. “Drug dealer, remember? Seen a lot worse than this at parties, sweetheart, I can promise you that."

Steve blinks at him. Still feels syrupy and slow like he's wading through mud. Sweetheart. The word's a fog machine in his mind. Hazy warmth; candy clouds. "If... If you're a drug dealer, then... should've woken me up with drugs."

"Oh?"

"Mhmm. Jus' rude not to, really."

Eddie's lips quirk. His eyes are soft, his fingers combing through Steve's hair, and Steve's head is still in his lap, even though it probably shouldn't be. "If you want coke..." he murmurs, his voice a low, fond rumble, "you can just ask for it."

"Yeah?"

"Sure, Stevie."

Steve watches with rapt attention as Eddie reaches into his jacket, pulls out a little baggie and holds it up in question. Steve gulps; nods.

Fuck yeah. He hasn't had coke in forever.

Eddie pours the smallest amount onto the back of one hand, licks the thumb of his other and presses it into the pile, coating it in white powder. He brings it up to Steve's mouth and rests it right against his lip — barest hint of pressure; not hovering, not pushing in. "Well, go on," he smirks.

Steve makes a questioning sound that comes out like a whine, a high, nasal thing in the back of his throat. His cock stirs in his jeans.

"Ask me," Eddie whispers.

"Can I have it?" Steve asks. He can feel Eddie's thumb against his lips as he speaks; has to stop himself from flicking out his tongue to get a taste. "Please?"

"Fuck," Eddie hisses between his teeth. "Yeah, baby." He presses into the meat of Steve's bottom lip; drags it down, exposes skin that's wet and warm. Dances over it with the pad of his thumb — the inside of Steve's lip, his gums, his tongue.

There's no mistaking the sound Steve makes for anything but a moan, throaty and deep as he sucks Eddie's thumb deeper into his mouth; hollows his cheeks, makes Eddie gasp. Makes him twitch his hips up under Steve, and it's good, and Steve feels like there are live wires where his veins used to be, the rush of the coke and Eddie's hands and Eddie's noises in his good ear, and—

"Hey!" someone shouts across the field. Eddie moves like he's been shot at, flinching away from Steve entirely, a hand pressed over his lap as he turns to see who's coming.

Steve lifts his head to look. His mouth is buzzing, lips full and flushed like he's been kissing someone. Kissing Eddie. God, he wants to. Wants to hike him up the falls, shove him hard against a tree.

But he can't. Because Jason Carver's here now.

Great.

—

part 26

gonna do the tag lists in separate reblogs from now on (with the tag "#trailer park steve au taglist" if you'd like to filter that content), comment and let me know if you want me to add you tomorrow (21+ only, please confirm your age if you're asking to be tagged)

[kaz-dekadent]

Hello, I would like to know if I can request a pt.3 to mind reader, where Viktor is using his hexstrap to pleasure the reader? (I like to think if Viktor uses the hexstrap it becomes a full functioning organ attached to Viktor) Also note you do not have to do this request if you are uncomfortable with it, I will not take offence if you do not want to write this request! (I am just horny and want ftm Viktor doming me [the reader] to rearrange my guts, since there is not/barely any fics out there that does this.)

the mind destroyer (the mind reader pt.3)

s2 viktor x male reader

cw: dom!viktor, pegging (reader receiving), blowjob (reader receiving), viktor has a hexpussy, fucking in nature, jayvik undertones, size difference (bigger reader), vik accidentally calls the reader jayce, glorious overstimulation (reader receiving)

summary: you find an invention from your Herald’s past and he shows you, how he had used it back then.

note: here’s the fic, anon !! i love how this series progresses like some gradient from sub to dom vik

part 1 part 2

You picked the berry from your bush and threw it in the basket. Blue, spherical fruit were gleaming in the sun. You picked some more from between its leaves and something blinked before your eyes. A blue thing.

There was no trash in the commune. You picked the object up. Bit was belts and a base with a slick shaft attached.

What was its purpose?

You heard his elegant footsteps and felt how you’re getting hard. Like a Pavlov’s dog, perhaps.

“Oh, this?” The Herald looked over your shoulder. “My invention from the old times. We called it the hexstrap.”

“The hexstrap?” you repeated, tasting the sounds of the word.

“Exactly, Y/N. I want you to let me show you how I have used it in the past. I will allow you to punish me later for the yesterday’s incident.” He smiled

And you wanted to know what this thing was doing in your berry bush.

“About this we will think afterward. Now follow me.” He commanded.

So you followed him, taking your berry basket with you. As you passed the greenhouse, you took a step towards it, but the Herald grabbed your collar, slightly lifting you down to his height.

“This is not the place I’m taking you to.”

Instead, he walked you to the stream in the middle of commune’s meadow. Sun made the yellow flowers even more of their color.

“Undress.” The Herald commanded with his soft voice.

You looked around yourself. These was not a single soul in where your eye could reach. But the trail, winding and available for everyone to walk through was giving you doubt. The Herald grabbed your collar making you bow down to his height. You became stone hard for certain.

“Did I express unclearly?”

You lifted your brow. He knew what your concerns were, he was reading your mind.

“I will make them not notice. Undress.”

“Yes, my Herald.”

You took off your shirt, then pants and underwear. Viktor examined you, glancing up, then down where you don’t look. So exposed and vulnerable before him.

Viktor shifted a bit, holding his staff. He smiled proudly and took out his hand.

“Now lay down for me. Face down, backside up.”

You laid down that way, your cheek getting scratched by the ground. The Herald took a washcloth off a laundry string. Water filled rag’s inbetweens and Viktor came up to you. He kneeled before your backside and you felt wetness on your hole. Slow strokes were cleaning you up, close, but too far from your sensitive spot. And Viktor knew perfectly what he was doing. Slowly touching you with the cloth, deliberately avoiding your prostate.

“Please, my Herald...” You whispered.

The Herald kneeled close to you and bent down to your face. “I am listening. What are you asking me for?”

“Please, let me change positions. I want to see your glory.”

He stood up proudly and watched, holding his staff, as you change your position into laying on your back. The Herald moved between your open legs, then lifted up his blanket cape, putting the folds behind himself. A drop of purple slick leaked from his pussy onto his thigh.

He kneeled before you. The strap embraced his hips, and he clicked the buckles on precisely, like he had done it a billion times before.

You felt his eyes on you, and even if he didn’t put a finger on you yet, your length twitched.

The strap’s width was probably a quarter of Heralds waist. But compared for you, it was takeable. Viktor stroked your stomach with his finger, and you shivered from the metal cold. He looked at you studiously.

He put one finger inside you and you hissed, despite his whole body, including fingers being so tiny. He hushed.

You hissed again, feeling the strap hitting your skin. The Herald took three of your fingers in his hand. He thrusted it inside you, and you bit your lower lip, not to be heard by the commune members.

“I understand. It was difficult for me to adjust to its size too.” He comforted you, and stroked your hand with his slender, purple thumb.

The strap stretched you out so hard you were certain that it’s going to break you in half. You let out a breath. Fuck. You just started and already got broken.

“I’m only quarter of its length inside you.” The herald arched his brow. “Do you wish to stop?”

“No, my Herald. Please, don’t stop. Please…” You whined, as he lightly shifted inside you.

“Good boy, Jayce.”

“Excuse me?’

“Oh, forgive me.” He smiled with faux innocence. “You resemble him a lot, Y/N.”

Viktor giggled, putting his hands on your waist. While yours could encircle him completely, he could only cover a small bit of it.

He thrusted again and you closed your eyes. Your chest was rising, falling and rising again, as you choked on your own air.  Whatever material he made this strap of, it was not a cheap material. The Herald tapped on your skin, where he was holding your waist.

“Open your eyes.”

You obeyed. And you saw his tiny figure towering over you, as his face was giving you an approving look. Herald’s multicolor eyes were slightly narrow, like always, but now pierced you deeper than his invention. You could easily take him off yourself, but you didn’t want to end it.

The Herald put one of his fingers in your mouth. His skin tasted of fruit. You swallowed his finger in all its smoothness, suppressing your moan. He filled your mouth with another finger, refined and cold like platinum.

He thrusted again, at the same time opening his fingers and by it, your mouth. You groaned, unable to suppress it.

You looked up, then on the side where the path was. Ready to grab your clothes and run away from the commune.

As he took out his fingers out of your mouth, he kissed them along with your spit.

You let yourself study his figure a bit, certain that something in him changed. Yes, the strap. The strap and its belts now seemed grown into Viktor’s petite, purple pelvis. Its color changed to the same shade of gold that the ornaments in his chest had.

“They don’t hear you, so I see no reason for your suppression.”

After saying it, Viktor leaned down. Your breath touched his face, but yours was devoid of his air. His facade came so close to yours, only centimeters preventing your lips from brushing each other. He subtly opened his mouth, as if he was getting ready. Only his blanket cape hindered your skin from touching his. The strap pierced deeper into you and you let the Herald watch as your eyes travel up your sockets. He gave you an approving look.

This was the last thing you saw before your vision going blank.

The strap was slowly leaving your hole, and you felt how much it stretched you out. The air you were left with made you ache.

You were empty.

Now, the only things that existed were the air and the strap alternately filling you up and leaving you broken. And the feel of Herald’s divine touch on your skin. You got tiny bits but yearned for more.

Your cock, your neglected cock craved the contact. With his mouth in the best of timelines. You whined, because it was the only way of begging he left you with. An electrocute ran from your spine down your pelvis.

Oh, you were almost there. All filled, cracked up almost to the point of fragmenting. About to spill out. And then you felt coldness. The Herald left your hole.

You mewled, almost cried.

“Eyes on me.” Viktor ordered.

You did. But your eyelids remained in a nonstop flicker.

He lowered his face down to your crotch, and opened his loving mouth. His mind reading abilities were never a greater blessing than now, when unordered, he took his glossy lips close to you. He started by kissing your tip, and at the same time your eyes and his harmonized. His lips wrapped around your tip. You moaned, feeling his metallic tongue and wet saliva on the most sensitive parts of your skin.

The Herald moaned uncontrollably as his warm mouth engulfed your length deeper. His tongue danced around you, the metal caressing your sensitive spots so hard you twitched. He held your hips with agile, purple fingers.

“Fuck.”

“Hm?” Viktor looked you in the eye, as he dove deeper with a choking sound. Your body started uncontrollably shaking, but he sucked on you like nothing was happening.

Even with a cock deep in his throat, the Herald could not lose his holy graciousness.

But you knew you were about to spill.

Viktor swung his tongue so close to your base. Eyes studying as you fragmented, mouth wrapped around you like a ring, your length bulging in his throat.

You spilled, letting out a moan you were to wrecked to repress. The Herald swallowed, letting you feel his throat moving. Elegantly gagging, he closed his eyes.

He sucked out all your thought, drying you into oblivion.

You didn’t know how much time he was sucking out your essence, but after he stopped, he tapped on your hip. Your eyes opened. The Herald was so beautiful, sitting between your open legs, in grasses, looking at you with a challenger’s pride. Wind was caressing his hair. His own drool stained his godly face, with a drop falling into the soil.

Viktor unbuckled his blanket cape and opened the pieces of the fabric, showing himself to you. Shaft of his strap hid inside. The grass beside you rustled, as he moved beside you, then covered you with the blanket. Dark blue fabric smelled of him, of flowers, metal and fruit.

The Herald joined you under the blanket. He laid beside you, with his head on your chest, soft long hair tickling your skin. Your body shivered from his cold. You felt how small he was in comparison, and the way he curled up accentuated it.

“My favorite.” He snuggled closer.

[bruciemilf]

No Capes! AU where Bruce and everyone else is an actor.

Famous Hollywood moguls Thomas and Martha would've rather died in real life than make Bruce a child actor so he didn't start till he was 24

It's an ongoing gag that Thomas always tweets "On my way to die again! As if you didn't know" with every Gray Ghost remake

The Waynes are always just. So chaotic

Bruce and Selina constantly bring stray cats on set; Bruce just hides them under his black shirt famously known as a void with no end.

Behind the Scenes cuts have images of this man pulling 10 cats from under there and the director is convinced he has a cryptid on set

They have to edit so much footage because Bruce always says "sorry" after "punching" someone. "Bruce, they have padding, they're fine!" "And no health Insurance. Do something about that."

Sometimes he forgets to take off the costume after filming. The record set for how many Subways he sent into a panic is infinite

That being said, Bruce's kids aren't afraid of him at all, and WILL run up to him everytime they visit to chant "dork! Dork! Dork!" While flocking around him. He cries from happiness

But he cries all the time, so it's hard to tell for what

The movie's soundtrack is just Bruce's middle school playlist, " They said they needed something rotten and terrible, like, -- poison for the ears. If you listen to it you get sick."

Bruce's biggest "diva moment" was refusing to give up the eyeliner and he still sends apology cards to the cast and crew for his " horrible behavior"

"He just kinda said no a bit loud and ran out of the studio while sobbing quietly."

Literally every villain on set is a sweetheart. Selina does her own make-up as well as Bruce's and Oz's and you can see Carmine lurking like a little gobling behind them just to scare her

There's this joke that none of Selina's streams ever go well because the crew is her curse. She's trying to talk about how to steal on set, meanwhile, Bruce next to her, "Did you know cats have no collarbone. Also, the electric chair was invented by a dentist."

You'd think everyone's favorite duo would be Bruce and Selina, and you wouldn't be wrong, but the public can't wait for Bruce and Carmine to have a press conference or interview together

Mostly because Carmine obviously dealt some shady cards in his past and Bruce is so clueless . " Have I ever tried coke...No, I like Pepsi." While Carmine is trying not to laugh behind him

Edward is just as bad. He's trying to tell the director that's not how bombs are made, and someone's head exploding wouldn't look like that, and Bruce is like :O Eddie, I didn't know you were a gamer

Edward is a menace on set and Bruce stays blind to it because he like him. There's rows of videos of Bruce stopping mid scene, going " Eddie," before jumping on the guy like the kitten he's NOT

Alfred still brings Bruce lunch and snacks and he throws down with Oz for no reason. He always brings the kids (read; they sneak in) and it's very clear they're not getting any shooting done that day

Dick, age 10, impatiently asks why Gray Ghost can't have a sidekick. In the last moments of the movie Dick runs in, improvises a scene with Bruce, and the fans love him too much not to include him after

You just leave Bruce alone when his babies are on set; Damian is strapped to his chest cause he's so small that everyone almost steps on him, Jason is giving the writers tip, Tim is taking pics of everyone, and Bruce smothers them with kisses constantly