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ellecdc · 10 months ago

Note

Hey L saw your requests were open and was wondering if i can ask for regulus black dating headcanons? (You know one of those long, long headcanons that you can’t finish while reading bc i love reggie so much and there aren’t enough fics for him-)

Anyways. Love your works specially your remus series, a man with a plan 🥹 it’s so cute and very well written.

Mwah <3

Hey lovely!! Thanks so much for requesting - this was fun!! I love head canons. Hopefully this scratches that itch of yours

The formatting got messed up when I moved this from a word doc so my apologies - let me know if it's too difficult to follow: 💫 = head canon, -> subcategory, and anything indented is a sub-subcategory)

Dating Regulus Black Headcanons:

No voldemort AU, okay guys? I don’t fuck with that man.

💫Falling in love with the witty (sometimes snide), smart, and quiet Slytherin was as easy as breathing – actively loving this man was NOT easy in the slightest

💫It took you months of talking, ‘accidentally’ being in the same room as him, sitting beside him in potions or the library and forcing him to talk to you before he finally went “what are you doing?”

-> “I like you” you responded

-> “Why?” he asked incredulously. Which, fair enough; you suppose he didn’t make much effort to talk back to you, or reach out to you, or participate in your conversations, but that’s not what you liked about him anyway

You liked his stoicism, it brought a sense of calm to you You liked how he didn’t always feel the need to fill the silence You liked how clever he was, and how he (even if he pretended you were exasperating) helped you with your studies when you got stuck You liked his snide comments he made about people under his breath, and how he got surprised when you laughed at them – not really realizing he said them aloud to you to begin with You liked his loyalty and sense of duty to the people who were important to him

-> “I just do” you settled for with a shrug of your shoulders

-> That answer didn’t exactly satisfy Regulus, but he accepted it nonetheless

💫 He was a little bit more of a willing participant in your relationship after that

💫 You’d come out of classrooms to find him waiting for you so he could walk you to your next class or to the Great Hall together for lunch

💫 He’d always take a helping of your favourite food at breakfast/lunch/dinner just in case you wanted an extra serving, which he’d happily let you pick off of his plate

💫 He found out his brother was becoming an animagus during 4th year (though he didn’t know the reason) and took the attitude of “anything my brother can do, I can too.” And set out to become and animagus as well.

-> You wouldn’t let him do it alone, however

-> You both successfully became animagi and told no one.

💫 You guys never really discussed what the spending-time-with-each-other meant, Regulus had always been a little more than flighty in the past, and you didn’t want to scare him away.

💫 One evening, you were in an empty classroom trying to finish up a project where you could take up as much space as possible without bothering anyone when Regulus came bursting through the door

-> You don’t know how he even knew that you were here or how to find you, but he was clearly looking for you when his face crumpled when he found you

-> “Y/N” he whimpered

-> Without thinking, you threw your arms open, and he fell into your embrace

-> You sat in that classroom, holding Regulus as he sobbed into your chest for merlin knows how long, neither of you saying a word

-> He finally seemed to settle and pulled back from your embrace, though he wouldn’t make direct eye contact with you

-> “He left.” He said simply

-> “Who?”

-> “Sirius, he ran away this summer, never came back. I thought – ugh – I thought when I saw him at school, I could convince him to come back home, come back to…me…”

-> You let the silence permeate in the air as he gathered his thoughts

-> “He’s not coming back, he’s…he left me. There. With them.”

-> You weren’t sure what to say – you didn’t want to disparage his family, Sirius least of all, knowing how much Regulus admired his older brother whether he admitted that out loud or not, and you knew (at least what Regulus had been willing to share with you) what the Black’s had put those boys through.

-> You wanted to promise him he wasn’t alone – that he would always have Sirius, always have you – but it felt too much like a declaration, and you were too scared to do that when he was so fragile

You knew he’d likely not believe you anyway – thinking you only said it to him because he was desperate to hear it

-> You settled with a simple “I’m sorry, Reggie.” And another hug

💫 Over the Christmas holidays, a black cat with grey eyes showed up at your family home

-> You called out to him, and he seemed to faint; almost as if he knew it was safe now that he’d seen you

-> through the dark fur you could see some blood. You knew that what you couldn’t see underneath it would be far worse. You apologized to Regulus’ unconscious being before grabbing his animagus form and heading to the fireplace in your home, throwing a handful of floo powder into the hearth and calling for Potter Manor.

-> You were greeted by a well-dressed house elf

“I’m sorry to drop in unannounced. It’s an emergency. Is Sirius here?” The house elf snapped her fingers and a few moments later reappeared with a sleep rumpled Sirius “Y/N? What are you doing here?” “It’s regulus.” Sirius seemed to wake up rather quickly at that. “Is he okay?” You gently placed the cat onto the ground and cast a quick finite over his form, causing the animal to stretch back into Regulus. Sure enough, he was bleeding and bruised, though thankfully, most of his wounds seemed superficial. But he was clearly gaunt – like he hadn’t been eating or sleeping, and he was passed out from sheer exhaustion.

💫 Regulus stayed with the Potter’s ever since. He wouldn’t speak to you for some time after that however, feeling slightly betrayed that you brought him to Sirius

-> “I came to you, Y/N. If I’d wanted Sirius’ help, I would have asked for it!”

-> “Like hell you would have! You’ve never once accepted a lick of respite from anyone in your life. Martyrdom doesn’t suit you, Regulus - grow up.”

-> “It was my choice to make!”

-> “You were unconscious! For all I knew, you could have been dying. I had to make that choice for the both of us!”

-> “Perhaps I made a mistake then.”

The ‘trusting you’ went unsaid, but you both heard it. It crushed you.

-> “Fuck you, Regulus. I’m done.”

💫 It was awkward back at school; you hadn’t realised that much of your daily rituals were accompanied by him

-> You stopped sitting at the spot he saved for you in the Great Hall – and eventually, you stopped eating in the Great Hall altogether, opting to visit the kitchens to eat instead.

-> He stopped waiting for you outside of classes, and he no longer carried your books around the castle.

-> He didn’t help you with your homework

-> You didn’t cheer him on in his Quidditch games

💫 Sirius approached you one day in the library

-> “Hiding from my brother in the library? Not a very good spot, love.”

-> “What do you want, Black?”

-> “Ouch, last names. What’d I ever do to you.”

-> You took a steadying breath – you wanted to lash out at him, but he was right, he wasn’t the one who hurt you

-> “What do you want?” you tried again

-> “We’re mean…the Black’s. We don’t…treat people very well. I don’t mean to make excuses; there is no excuse. But we weren’t treated very well ourselves. It takes a lot of unlearning.”

->You stared into his eerily similar grey eyes. “Is that all?”

-> “Hurt people, hurt people. And it’s usually the people we love the most, because they’re there. It’s not right, but I just thought you should know.” He offered you a sad smile and a squeeze of your shoulder before he left.

->You understood what he was saying, but it didn’t make you feel any better

💫 One of your housemates approached you with a package the next day. “You weren’t at breakfast, and the owl seemed very upset she couldn’t deliver this, so I promised her I’d bring this to you.”

-> It was a small square shaped package – pure white paper with a black bow on it

-> Inside was a small charm bracelet – silver – with one charm on it. A purple hyacinth. Constancy, regret, sincerity.

-> You shoved the bracelet in its box and into your bag and carried on with the rest of your day.

💫 “Y/N?” You heard him call quietly as he rapped twice on the door to the empty classroom you were holed up in

-> You turned to look at him with a glare you’re sure could have rivalled one of his

-> “I was hoping we could talk.” He continued as he made his way inside.

-> “Why? You think a gift makes everything okay again?”

-> Regulus grimaced as he sat across from you. “I’m not great at apologies.”

-> You scoffed. “Yeah, seeing as you haven’t actually made one…” You sat in an awkward sort of stare off before you shook your head and moved to pack your things

-> “Y/N, wait please. I-” he reached across the table and gently grabbed your wrist. You could see a small portion of a silver chain (matching the charm bracelet you had in your bag) on his wrist. “I’m sorry…I, I was wrong.”

-> You stopped your packing and watched him as he searched for the right words

-> “You saved my life that night. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. I shouldn’t have blamed you for anything – I should have just thanked you. Better yet, I should have told you how much I love you.”

-> You felt your breath catch in your throat. “love me?” you whispered

-> Regulus nodded and pulled out two charms from his pocket: a yellow lily (gratitude) and a rose…that one was pretty self explanatory.

-> You pulled out the box from your bag and allowed Regulus to attach the charms and clasp it on your wrist.

-> “I don’t think I’m going to ever be as good at loving you as you deserve, and I know I’m not easy to love, but I’m hoping you’ll give me a chance to try.”

-> You saw nothing but earnestness and determination in his eyes

-> “I forgive you.”

💫 Regulus is a HUGE gift giver – really the only way he ever saw ‘love’ (or the Black’s messed up version of it) was through giving/receiving gifts. So that’s the best way he was able to express his love for you

💫 You quickly learned that his love language (the way he received it) was through words of affirmation. He didn’t have anyone tell him he was loved, cherished, and appreciated growing up – you flustered him every time you complimented him. You delighted in the raging blush he’d get, especially if you whispered something in front of his friends.

-> You also gifted him his own charms for his bracelet that matched yours

💫 On nights you couldn’t sleep, you’d meet him in the Astronomy tower where he’d teach you the constellations and the mythology behind them.

💫 Black’s are very territorial, but I don’t see Regulus being super loud about it. Like he wouldn’t make loud proclamations of ‘ownership’ or love, but he’d always be there

-> Think, staring hard at the other person flirting with you in the Great Hall

-> Taking a lock of your hair and moving it behind your ear or just twirling it between his fingers if someone looks at you too long

💫 This man is SO unapproachable to everyone

-> Stony faced ALWAYS – major RBF

-> Scowls at people who stand too closely to him, talk too loudly, say something dumb

-> Did not let anyone touch him. Ever. Barty gets too close at breakfast = Barty ends up ass over tea kettle on the stone floor. Sirius throws an arm over his shoulder = Sirius getting an elbow to the gut

💫 So, you could imagine everyone’s surprise that when you come up from behind him where he’s sitting, lazily throw your arms over his shoulders and run your fingers through his hair, the man is practically purring. The softest smiles and eyes no one ever thought Regulus Black was capable of when he looked at you

-> “It’s like a different person. This isn’t the real Regulus, just some freaky clone.” Sirius once said.

💫 You blew his mind introducing him to muggle movies

-> He’s a crier at all sad parts – even animated movies

💫 And he kept his promise – you gave him the chance to try, and he spent the rest of his life trying to love you the way you deserved to be

#regulus black x you #regulus black x reader #regulus black #marauders era #marauders au #marauders fanfiction #regulus deserved better #sirius and regulus #the black brothers #black brothers #regulus black deserved better #regulus black headcanons #dating regulus black #dating regulus black headcanons #animagus #ellecdc fics

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it-happened-one-fic · 3 months ago

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Gentle Care - Jade

Author Notes: So, this is another fanfic that has been sitting, collecting dust in my Google Docs for quite some time now. It is finally getting to see the light of day because I wanted to post a Jade fic (totally not because of any cards that recently came out on the Japanese server). I didn't really listen to anything specific while writing this, so I really can't say there is any specific inspiration for this fic either. As per usual, reader is gender neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Type: Gender neutral reader/ sfw/ flirtation/ romance implied/ fluff

Word Count: 1393

When Azul had called to ask for your assistance in patching someone up, you hadn’t been surprised.

First, you’d gotten very good at handling bandages and whatnot simply due to your numerous Overblot experiences. You always ended up with a myriad of bumps and scrapes after those.

Secondly, Floyd getting into a fight was hardly uncommon, so the idea of him being a little scraped up was hardly startling.

Finally, Floyd was perpetually mercurial, and if he’d even implied that he’d sit still and let you bandage him without squirming around, then Azul would do what it took to get you to Octavinelle just to ensure Floyd didn’t cause him any more of a headache.

An added bonus was that Octavinelle had all the supplies you could ever dream of, so there wasn’t even any need for you to bring anything with you. In fact, Grim even stayed at Ramshackle, opting not to join you on your little jaunt to Octavinelle. Though he did make sure to put in a request that you bring home some food for him that had you rolling your eyes slightly as you slipped out the door.

Your only real concerns on the trip to the mirror chamber were whether or not the other person had survived the altercation and how exactly you were going to scold the injured eel, even though you knew perfectly well that your words would do little good to keep him from getting into yet another fight.

Those thoughts vanished though when you stepped into the Mostro Lounge and found yourself greeted with an unexpected sight.

Jade, sitting there as calmly as ever despite the bruises and red scratch marks that were sprinkled across his person as he talked to his brother, who was currently crouched in front of him, “Yes, it seems they mistook me for you, Floyd. Handling them was an easy matter, but-”

Jade halted mid-sentence as he spotted you, his eyes widening briefly before his usual, carefully crafted smile appeared, “I wasn’t expecting you quite yet, Y/n. I do hope you didn't rush.”

It was those oh-so polite words that immediately sparked your ire, sending you striding forward and snatching the bandages off a nearby table as you did so. After all, that long red scratch on his arm looked particularly nasty.

“Do I want to know?” Your irritation was obvious to everyone present, but no one seemed terribly concerned. But, to be fair, you were already kneeling and inspecting the young man’s injuries.

Azul let out a sigh, stepping into the room and holding a stack of papers, “It seems that a group of juniors looking for a fight mistook Jade for Floyd.”

“It’s alright though, Shrimpy. Jade handled ‘em all perfectly well.” Despite Floyd’s reassurance, you were hardly pleased. Eying the tell-tale burn that affirmed that magic had indeed been used in the fight despite school rules.

You glanced up, immediately making eye contact with the injured young man who’d been sitting silently, with a slight smile on his face as he’d watched you this entire time. Almost as if he were gauging the situation before he said anything.

“So you got in a fight you could’ve avoided?” Your flat tone said everything, and Azul took it as a cue to leave. With a single motion, he signaled Floyd, and the two exited the space. Floyd linger long enough to cast a single glance that flickered between you and his brother over his shoulder before he disappeared into the kitchen.

Jade met your accusation with an easy calmness and no small degree of amusement, “I wouldn’t be so sure. That group seemed to have quite a bit of aggression towards my dorm and probably didn’t really care if it was me or Floyd.”

You remained silent as he continued, going about bandaging some of the worse scratches while he calmly spread burn cream on his arm, “And even if I had made them aware of my identity and they’d left, it would’ve simply meant my dear brother would be in my current position, and I couldn’t let that happen.”

You pressed a band-aid down with a bit more pressure than strictly necessary as your eyes found his, “Don’t play coy with me, Jade. You wanted to get in that fight.”

You had to curb your urge to roll your eyes at the innocent expression he gave you before you continued, ��You’re far too smug to have not gotten your way.”

With those words, you stood, grabbing another band-aid and turning your attention to the scratch marks that were scattered across his face, “So who were they?”

He smiled, his sharp teeth flashing as he did so, “Three of them were beastmen. I personally thought the Diasomna fellow was stronger, though. But don’t worry, all of them are in far worse shape than me.”

You snorted in response to his all too smug response, your amused tone not matching your chiding words, “Don’t gloat.”

Despite yourself, you were smiling even as Jade spoke again, his tone getting gradually more amused, “It works for Floyd.”

Your gaze flickered over to his, your hands carefully placing the band-aid on his cheek as you frowned at him, “No, it doesn’t, and it won’t for you either. I treat you two the same way.”

You gently smoothed the too-tan fabric across his pale cheek, and he chuckled, “Surely you know better than to lie to me, my dear.”

Your movements stilled as his hand reached up and wrapped around one of yours, his gaze holding yours captive as he smiled like he’d won some sort of game, “You and I both know you treat me far differently than how you treat my brother.”

You tugged at your hand gently, and Jade let it go with ease even as his fingers carefully brushed the skin on his cheek where your hand had just been with a distinctly pleased expression, “Your gentle care for me proves it.”

You crossed your arms, shaking your head slightly as you frowned down at him, “Don’t tease. I might be helping you right now, but I will leave.”

He tilted his head, his expression shifting to a feigned mask of betrayed hurt, “And abandon me to the care of Azul and Floyd? You wouldn’t be so cruel.”

You rolled your eyes slightly at his dramatics but reached over and grabbed another band-aid, “I might. You never know when I’ll surprise you.”

A smile curved across his face as his gaze stayed locked on you even as you focused on one of the other scratches on his otherwise pristine skin, “Indeed, I never do….”

You hummed slightly as he trailed off, “Right, so you’d best watch it and not get hurt like this again. I might not take care of you next time.”

“Wouldn’t that mean playing favorites since you’ve kept on helping every time Floyd gets himself hurt?” He didn’t miss a beat, and you frowned at him, causing him to chuckle, “I won’t make any promises. I rather enjoy getting taken care of, you know.”

You tapped him lightly on the shoulder in a faux slap, “Alright, that’s enough out of you.” You paused, turning to look over your shoulder as you called out to Azul and Floyd that you were done.

Jade tilted his head as you looked back his way, his smile still present as he looked up at you where you stood between his spraddled out legs from his seated position, “Leaving so soon? Floyd made dinner.”

You snorted lightly, shaking your head at his coaxing tone even as Floyd stepped out of the kitchen, “You staying for dinner, Shrimpy?”

You held Jade’s gaze as you felt a smile spread across your face, and, despite yourself, there was very little hesitation as you called back, “Sure! Sounds good!”

And once again, Jade’s smile was all too smug, but at this point that was nothing new. Especially since you knew perfectly well that if he, or Azul, or Floyd, got hurt again, you’d be back to take care of them once again, even though all of you knew it was hardly necessary.

And that was even taking into account that you did play favorites. But you weren’t about to admit that to Jade, and, judging from the smile on his face, he already knew anyway.

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the-winter-spider · 6 months ago

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Good Guy | S.H

Word count: 1k

Warnings: None? Angst?

A/N: Yall i havent posted in ages, im still very much active reading everyone elses writings buuut im deciding to go thru and post everything i have in my docs, maybe finally fix my master list 💀🤭 we’ll see! Enjoy

—

You were sitting on the edge of his bed, your legs dangling over as you turned to look over your shoulder at him snoring peacefully while you were holding your breath trying to savour this moment before the reality of what happened last night crushed you.

You knew what it was, it was ‘the world is most likely ending and the girl ive been in love with since high school still doesn’t love me back’ sex. Because there was no logical way Steve had feelings for you of any sort that would make him want to tear your clothes off and litter your bruised and scarred body with such tender kisses, whispering the sweetest of words in your ear, then proceed to hold you in his arms while he falls asleep.

There was no way in any world upside right or down that it was anything more than that.

You sighed, finally pushing yourself off the bed, tip-toeing around his room to gather the pieces of your clothing, ushering as quickly and quietly to his bathroom as you could. You wanted to avoid the mirror so bad, you were disgusted with yourself, not for sleeping with him, no but for letting your self think for a mere second that it was anything but sex to him. In all honesty it was probably just an itch he wanted to scratch, you were probably just a flavour of ice cream he was lingering on for a while something no one else in their right mind would pick but once you’ve tried all the other flavours you were the only one left.

Pathetic. That's all you were, you slipped off his boxers letting your tears hit the ground with them. The cotton fabric catches your salty waters as they hit the tile.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid” you whispered to yourself pulling on own clothes, before sliding out of his room and house.

The morning spring air hit you refreshingly as you closed your eyes, stopping to gather your thoughts for a brief moment, steadying yourself and the whirlwind of emotions going through your head.

You knew you had to hurry home and change to be ready to meet at the Wheeler's house for 9:00am sharp to discuss your next moves with Vecna, and arriving with Steve while you were still in yesterday’s clothes would raise suspicion, questions and leave you open for friendly banter and teasing but more importantly you didnt wanna still be at Steve’s house when he woke up, you couldn't handle seeing the pure regret in his eyes, the shame that would be radiating off of him, surely that would be your tipping point.

You looked at your watch, 9:00AM “Shit” you mumbled, downing the rest of your coffee like it was a shot at a party, you quickly tied the laces on your converse before running across the street to the Wheelers.

You let out a huff of hair, running your hand through your hair before knocking, the door whipped open revealing Robin “Oh! I'm so glad to see you” She grabbed your arm, yanking you inside, “We've been here all but maybe 10 minutes and everyone is already arguing” She threw her hands up “Can you believe that? it's too early for this!” You reached the door to the basement as Robin loudly started troting down “Y/n is finally here!”

You reached the bottom of the stairs giving a small wave and smile looking everywhere but the brown haired boy in the corner whose eyes you could feel piercing into you “Hi” your voice quiet before manurving your way to the side, far away from Steve.

You were sitting legs crossed on the wheelers couch, you could hear a buzzing surrounding you, squeezing your eyes shut, rubbing your temples you weren’t sure if at this point if it was the headache you’ve been nursing for a few days, the lack of sleep, or all the tears you cried this morning in Steve’s bathroom. All the voices of your friends overlapping one another mushing into a single sound.

tick, tick, tick, tick

“So we now know Max is one of Vecna’s targets, we just have to.…” Nancy spoke her voice trailing off as you tuned it out. Their chatter immersed into one inconvenient noise to you, the pounding in your head overpowering the conversation no one cared that you weren't taking part in. Even though you have always been more of a listener, never giving suggestions because someone always had a better one. You were just here to do as you were told and make sure no one else got hurt because they all had families, parents, people who loved them, you didn’t. And if one of your dumb ideas led to the possibility of one of them getting hurt or worse ending up dead, you would never be able to forgive yourself, so you stayed out of it.

You found picking at your pant leg was a better distraction, wasting all the energy you had on making the hole in your pants bigger than it already was, revealing a scar on your knee that you obtained last year running from russians, when for a brief moment the buzzing stopped and your sense zeroed in on the trickling cool wetness you felt on your upper lip and your eyes growing wide as you watched a single droplet of blood land on your jeans.

You moved your hand to catch the rest of the droplets when you looked up your eyes met Max’s, her eyebrows raised in shock before they softened as she watched a tear run down your cheek “Guys” she spoke, her voice could barely be heard over Steve arguing with Nancy that he didn’t want to be a babysitter anymore “GUYS!” she screamed even louder as all eyes turned to her

Steve and Nancy both turned their heads to her yelling “What?!”

Max lifted up her hand, directing her finger to point directly at you, suddenly one by one all pairs of eyes turned to you

“Holy shit” Dustin muttered “Holy shit!” He got louder as he pieced it together.

“No” Steve froze “No, no, no” He was panicking suddenly the room felt heavy, the air was leaving his lungs as he watched blood dripping from your nose.

#steve harrington angst #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington x reader angst

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kitkat-the-muffin · 11 months ago

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If Homestuck becomes public domain then the author of “Doc Scratch’s School For Supernaturally Gifted Adolescents” can legally publish that fanfic as a novel and let me tell you I would BUY IT

#homestuck #doc scratch’s school #doc scratch’s school for supernaturally gifted adolescents #davekat

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redcoralpot · 1 year ago

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Smudged - Rodrick Heffley x FTM! Reader

Summary: Rodrick had been chasing after Heather for a year, now, even after ruining her birthday party. Chicks dig bad boys, right? However, one day, he stumbles upon a family member that even he didn't know she had, one that awakens a part of him that he didn't know existed.

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3.3K

Notes: I had to fight Google Docs to finish this. AHHHHHHHHHH

The sun beat down on your arms, with rough concrete scratching your palms. Your ankles were dipped into the pool, a cool feeling enveloping them, and you used this to your advantage. A pink pool doughnut floated past, manipulated by the soft waves coming from other visitors, and you reached a foot out of the water with a splash!

“What the hell!” Heather shrieked, attempting to paddle away from you. “Don’t get your toe-water on me, freak!”

“Like I care,” you snickered, raising your foot to do it again.

“You’re going to start caring when I dump your eyeliner in the toilet!”

A pout tugged on your lips, “Hey, now, that’s going a little far, don’t you think?”

“Like I care,” she sneered, rolling her eyes.

The threat worked well enough, and you lowered your weapon, letting a hiss of air move a wisp out of your eyes. At least she wasn’t going to hide your pins inside the cookie jar… again.

You spread a sheen of water across your biceps, attempting to quell the heat that built up from the minutes spent sitting on the edge. It only provided a sense of relief for a moment before a shadow loomed over your little spot, the temperature dropping with the rays missing. A groan built up in your throat; he was here.

Rodrick Heffley. The infamous man himself; the lead singer and drummer of the one band that ruined a girl’s birthday party for the sake of courting her, a serenade full of copyright instead of romance. That girl happened to be the most popular in the school, the one that every guy was tripping over himself over. The one who, rather unfortunately, happened to be your sister.

Your neck twisted upwards, just to look at him, “What?”

“Didn’t know Heather had a brother,” he said, with a smug smile on his face.

“Huh.” You grinned, “I assumed you saw me at her party.”

The smile dropped, and was replaced with a sheepish look, “Uh, yeah, I was busy.”

“That’s a gentle way to put it.”

He cleared his throat, struggling to not take the bait, “But, hey, what grade are you in? I’ve never seen you around.”

“Same grade, different schools. We’re twins.”

“Oh, damn, really? I couldn’t tell, you two don’t look the same, at all!”

You were used to getting that comment from older generations, who hadn’t been to school in the last half-a-century, but from a late teen? Health and biology should be fresh in everyone’s minds, they all took it two years ago. Though, who were you kidding, this was Rodrick you were talking about. He probably tricked his parents into doing all the homework for him, or worse, bullied his little brother into it.

“Yeah, really. We’re fraternal twins, not identical.” You rolled your eyes.

There was no light bulb shining in his eyes, no signs that he even registered what you said, “Wait, what?”

“Two sperm, two eggs. Boom.”

“Still, it’s kinda sick that you two are complete,” he paused, “opposites.”

“Are you and Greg–”

“Me and that little nerd are not the same.”

“Then it’s the same concept.”

Rodrick kicked his sandals off before flopping on the edge beside you, cursing silently to himself when the rough ground scraped his hand. You gratefully took the chance to slide your own around your neck, cracking it out of its uncomfortable position. When you looked up again, he was watching you, his lips parted ever so slightly. He visibly swallowed, his Adam's apple betraying him.

“Where do’ya get your eyeliner from?”

“The pharmacy, duh. I won’t spend a lot on expensive eyeliner if I’m just going to smudge it in the end. By then, it all looks the same, why?”

“Just looking for some good brands to keep up my amazing makeup skills, that’s all.”

“So you don’t have to keep borrowing your mom’s?”

He squinted his eyes, peering at you, “How the hell do you know that?”

“Being Heather’s brother pays off sometimes; I hear all her calls.”

“She… talks about me?” You could hear the excitement, the hope growing in his voice.

It took only a needle to pop it, “Yeah, shit-talks. She doesn't want you, man.”

“Nah, all chicks dig bad boys! They can’t act cool about it forever.”

“You’re more of a wannabe than a bad boy. Listen, if you’re hoping to get with Heather through me, you’re out of luck.”

He backed up, eyes wide, “Woah, woah, I never said that. It’d be a cool plus, sure, but I just wanted to talk to a cool dude.”

“Sure. Well, if you ever need some more eyeliner brands, I’m your man. Can’t promise that they won’t all be dumped in the toilet by tonight, though.”

“Why would they be–”

“Hey, newsflash,” A high voice called out from across the pool, doughnut in tow, “we promised to be back at home by five!”

“Oh, Heather, I have a show coming up; I could get you and the chicks some free tickets to it.” Rodrick hopped on one foot while struggling to get his sandals back on, that smirk creeping back onto his face.

You shook your head and decided to take your feet out of the pool, padding to your lounge chair. Drying them off on your towel, you roughhoused your socks and shoes on, worn to shreds after inspiration from Joey Ramone. Your father had been lucky enough to score tickets to one of his shows back in the late 80’s, and he recalls it as one of the best nights of his life. Not simply because he got to go to a concert, no, his buddy even had to convince him to go in the first place. It was one of his favorite recollections to tell to his two, and then three, children as they grew up.

Rodrick was promptly ignored by Heather as she walked over to you, and his eyes followed her as she dumped her float and bag into your arms. Only the tips of her hair were wet, and like you, had a dry pair of clothes on already. You had to wrestle with the weight until you had a clear view of the ground in front of your shoes.

After you passed the boy on your way to the exit, you called back, “Good luck with the show, Heffley!”

The walk back to the car was a short, but humid one; even from the distance you could see a slip of folded paper stuck in between your left windshield wiper, pale against the dark interior of the car. You managed to set your sister’s bag on the hood, and with light fingers, you plucked the note out of its hiding place, unfolding it.

“Looks like we had a visitor;” You couldn’t help but chuckle while reading it, “Löded Diper.”

Heather fumed, “Are you kidding me?”

“You don’t need to go, yeah?” You shrugged, ducking into the driver’s seat.

“It’s annoying!”

“I can’t exactly say it’s harmless after the party fiasco, but just know I’ll chase him off if he tries anything like that again.”

“Ugh.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

You smiled, tucking the invitation deep into your pocket.

Dawdling with Heather’s time in the pool had earned you two missing sticks of makeup, and it was not hard to guess where they had gone the next time you took a piss. You forced yourself not to lash out at your sister, as surely that would make it worse, and just gritted your teeth as you flung the ruined containers into the trash. It truly made you wonder just how Rodrick had come to fall head over heels– literally, in some sense– for the girl. Hell, she treated him worse than you, from the things Holly had whispered to you at the dinner table.

The sun was just starting to set in the sky, light blue bleeding into orange as the pharmacy blocked the sun. You kicked a rock into the entrance, and the small clack caused the doors to slide open in front of you. It was a little late for the nightly rush; the very last of the families were finishing up their shopping, their kids squealing at the gum displayed by the cashier. He was a lean, stiff-looking guy, with sunken eyebags and a dim grin on his face.

You whistled a tune under your breath, convincing him to turn to look at you, “You’re not paid enough for this, dude.”

“You think?” His smile dropped, and he rolled his eyes, “Why the hell are you here, anyway?”

“Holly isn’t sick, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“And?”

“But someone was sick enough to sabotage my makeup,” you said, flicking his silver name tag. Daniel.

Daniel slapped your hand away, gesturing to your bare eyes, “That part was obvious. Another guy with raccoon eyes slid in here only a few minutes earlier, looking for the same brand you always get, so I kind of assumed he was here to replenish your stash.”

“What? I’m here alone.”

“Really?” He came in close. “You’re sure you aren’t on a–”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” You pushed his face back, your pointer finger squishing his nose.

A couple wandered up to the counter, baby in arms, snot running down its red chin. Their basket was full to the brim, and although Daniel’s winner grin instantly grew, you knew he just wanted to clock out. Snickering, you stuck your hands into your pockets, your wrists scratching against your studded belt as you disappeared into an aisle. The makeup section was located near the back of the pharmacy, filled with flickering lights and shelves full of a few select, cheap brands or clumps of dust. Typically, the only customers that wandered that far back were pre-teens or cigarette mothers; the kind of people who don’t give a shit about what they’re buying as long as it’s cheap.

However, as you sauntered over to the first row of shelves, a head full of brown, lazily styled hair greeted you instead. Not the odor of burnt tobacco, though it still stuck to the white walls in yellowish-gray globs, but the scent of the cheap cologne that followed you around the pool. Rodrick was hanging over quite a specific section, chewing his bottom lip. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, as you looked on behind him in amusement.

Leaning against the wall, you chuckled, “Took my advice, huh, Heffley?”

Rodrick jumped, and hissed under his breath. His posture shot up, his head turning to look at you; a pathetic attempt at saving face, really. No words were said for a long minute, only interrupted by the gargling screeches of a baby. What had Daniel done?

“I thought drug stores selling makeup was a lie, so I had to fact check!” He said,

holding up his hands.

“You think I’d lie to you?”

“Hey, my mom taught me stranger danger.”

“Since when do you listen to your mom?” You reached past him, snatching up a container, “You obviously have no idea what to look for.”

Rodrick shuffled out of your way, and huffed at your comment. “I totally do!”

“Okay, then, pencil, felt, or liquid? Which do you prefer?”

“I think felt’s the best.”

At that confident response, you stepped closer, getting in his face. He didn’t have too much makeup on, actually; just messily applied eyeliner and a too-light eyebrow pencil. A light pink dusted his cheeks, now that you were able to get a good look at them– his eyes widened, preventing you from doing the same for his eyes. You bit your cheek, your own eyebrows furrowing.

“Relax, dude, I’m trying to look,” you snapped, and used his chin to force him to face upwards.

Even as his shoulders relaxed and his eyelids drooped, he mumbled, “You’re taller than I remember.”

You released his face. Without someone to lean on, Rodrick stumbled, his breathing heavy, despite him never doing anything but laze around. Stepping back, you gave him a knowing grin, pleased at your find. He didn’t seem to process it, lifting a hand to feel up his own jaw. It clicked shut with a snap.

“Liar, you’re wearing pencil eyeliner,” you snickered.

“How the hell could you tell?”

You reached for another container, “Unless you have shit coordination, it’s less precise than liquid is. Creamier, too.”

“That’s sick, man.”

Tapping the pencil into his hand, you kicked his foot, urging him to take it, “I recommend this brand if you’re a fan of that. It’s cheap, so you can stop using up all of your mom’s.”

“Ow!”

He pulled his foot up with one, gripping the eyeliner with the other. Hopping back, he seemed like a really pissed, wounded puppy as he glared at your boots, “Why’d you kick me with those monsters?”

“Monsters? These are Doc Martens, ‘1460’. How do you expect to impress Heather if you can’t even handle a tap to the heel?”

“Excuse me, I let it get run over by a car for her! Barely reacted.”

“So I heard.” You shook your head.

A voice shouted from the intercom, “Are you two done back there? The store’s closing in five, you’re the only ones left, and I’ll lock you in here if you make me work a minute overtime!”

The two of you rushed to the front, pushing and shoving each other into the aisles in order to get to the counter first. Rodrick, out of shape, lost after he landed back-first into packages of gauze. Daniel, the man himself, was even more unimpressed at the scene than he sounded over the intercom, and looked in back and forth between you. He cracked his knuckles, getting to work on scanning the two tiny pencils; he did not even bother to put them in a plastic bag. He scratched his chin, squinting at the screen.

“That’ll be $2.48.”

You pulled out a five dollar bill out of your wallet, “I’ll pay.”

“Shit, I’m okay with that.” Rodrick shrugged.

Daniel stared him down as he snatched the bill out of your hand, “Aren’t you Rodrick Heffley? Greg’s older brother?”

“Duh, the one and only!” Rodrick said, and Daniel turned to you.

“Since when were you buddy-buddy with him? Heather hates his guts.”

“We aren’t buddy-buddy,” you scoffed, and an affronted noise came from beside you. “I only officially met him yesterday, when he was harassing her again. Pretty sure he only talked to me to find out more about Heather.”

The register finished its business with a ding. The cashier handed you your change, taking the opportunity to slide his uniform vest off of his body. You pocketed it along with your stick of eyeliner, almost throwing Rodrick’s at him. Meanwhile, Daniel had disappeared behind a door locked to customers, a clear message to get out of the store while he still allowed it. Your shoes hit the tiled floor with heavy thumps; Rodrick’s steps were silent compared to yours. Your own footsteps quieted as soon as you exited the store, muted by the asphalt ground of the parking lot.

Rodrick had pulled in with his van, clearly not the smartest move if he had wanted to be inconspicuous. It had a cheap, white paint job that was stained with words spray painted in black, uncentered and tilted. Your car, on the other hand, was a tiny thing that belonged to your mother, who would absolutely murder you if you even got a dent in it from a passing stick. The sun had long dipped under the horizon, causing the deep red color to read as crimson. However, before you could get in, one hand on the door, Rodrick called out to you.

“Thanks for… stuff.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, “That’s the first time I think anybody has ever witnessed you say thanks.”

You slammed your car door shut with you inside, watching Rodrick scramble for safety inside his van. The car’s windshield was dark with the fresh evening sky, and you could finally relax in privacy. Turning the key to start the engine, you then flicked on the radio, one arm occupied by resting near the window. An unfamiliar tune, a new release, started playing, as you backed out of your spot; speeding off. If someone asked you about it later, you would have sworn that you saw the boy staring at your fleeting vehicle.

Truth be told, your family lived in a rich neighborhood that was too well put together for something so close to a highway. Your house wasn’t the biggest in the residency, but it was decent enough to see the golden lights shining through the treetops. Living near a long line of stores was an advantage, you supposed, if a zombie apocalypse happened; but that wouldn’t. At least while you were still alive or young enough to fight some off. Otherwise, it was noisy, and you had to drown out the sounds of motorcycles, cars, and fights breaking out to focus on anything after school.

Your driveway was smooth; any rocks had been smoothed out by the machines rolling over them daily. A few flower bushes lined it– your mother had been insistent about it– and their thorns occasionally caught on your pants when you walked past. Everyone seemed to still be awake as you slipped through the door, keys jingling, since Holly jumped down the stairs to greet you.

She whispered, “Where’d you go?”

“The pharmacy, why are we whispering?” You grinned, matching her energy.

“I didn’t know if mom and dad knew,” she responded, louder, “You got grounded for a month last time you snuck out.”

“Okay, okay, shh, back to whispering.”

You climbed up the stairs, not bothering to let Heather know you had returned. Her voice carried throughout the walls, as she was complaining on call about projects, about boys, about Rodrick. Every time she talked with her friends, she complained about the ‘tough guy’ who deluded himself into thinking she was secretly into him, every time he acted up. All the girls seemed to have formed a hate club for the drummer, and if Holly had anything to say about it, it was that some of the teachers joined it as well.

As soon as you shut your bedroom door, you bent down to untie your Doc’s purple ties, tugging the boots off and throwing them in your closet. You slipped your pants off, then your boxers, leaving only your secondary underwear to hold your pad inside. Before you could throw both garments in your hamper, you paused, feeling a crinkle underneath your hand. You reached down into the pocket, pulling out a wrinkled, ripped piece of paper. Thoughtfully, you smoothed it out, pinning it on your cork board as you tossed your clothes into the pile.

Two free tickets to their upcoming show, meant for Heather. It would take a lot in order to drag Daniel to the event with you, as a plus one, but you were sure you were capable. As you settled into bed, you thought back to all the things your twin had said about the band, and the party. That celebration had been the only time you had heard their music, and it wasn’t even their song, more so a cover.

You gently placed the pencil on your bedside, only able to see the outline of it in the moonlight. If he was only being nice to you for Heather’s approval, why had he taken your advice? That mystery should bother you, should keep you up, like it did last night. But truly?

You could not find it in yourself to care.

#x male reader #male reader #lgbtq #gay #transgender #male y/n #ftm reader #diary of a wimpy kid #rodrick heffley #diary of a wimpy kid rodrick #Bi Rodrick Heffley #gay awakening

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nomazee · 4 months ago

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AUGH GWEN.... DONT FEED MY BRAINWORMS LIKE THIS?!?!

himeko who makes dan heng take ice packs and gauze with him to school after the third time you've shown up at her house bleeding and bruised... himeko who tries (and fails) to hide her surprise when YOU'RE the one helping dan heng review calculus homework and study for his exams... himeko who leaves embarrassing notes in dan heng's lunches about "giving the extras to his curious new friend" (because now she packs double servings of lunch in his embarrassingly cute lunches to ensure that you're getting fed, too)

and reader who tries, very valiantly, to repay all of himeko's nice gestures... baking sweets for himeko even in the heat of the summer, walking over all the way to dan heng's house just to drop them off with a smile (thankfully blood and bruise-free) and not saying no when himeko invites them in for a moment... eventually they just get so close to himeko that sometimes dan heng comes out of his room to find his close-acquaintance (totally not his friend or anything more than that) sitting with his legal guardian (totally not his mom) watching some cheesy show on the tv and looking through dan heng's scarce collection of baby photos...

the rot... it consumes me... i need it...

and if i wrote a modern high school au dan heng fic where i also made it so that himeko was dan heng's mother-figure what would you do? would you ARREST me? woulf you LOCK ME UP

#nora speaks #im weeping.... gwen everything that u added... its influencing me... my mind is expanding #now im sitting in front of a google doc writing in comic sans 12 pt font with a plethora of ideas #my motivation.... it's being thawed in the microwave rn its coming back #THANK YOU FOR ADDING TO THIS OH GODDDD THIS CONCEPT IS SO DEAR TO ME #silly scatterbrained reader who could very easily beat many people in a fight but still gets their ass thrown around #befriending the one quiet kid and his little gaggle of friends and prying their way into his life #despite his very not-charged and not-true protests #“i can't keep cleaning you up after every fight” he says as he unzips his big custom packed first aid kit that he keeps around 24/7 #just in case he finds you stumbling and bleeding #gnaws at my knuckles pulls at my hair scratches lines into the wall HIGH SCHOOL DELINQUENT AU SAVE ME

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dingodad · 3 months ago

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personally the vriska calling him a pedophile bit wasnt out of place for me. Canonically vriska doesnt shy away from saying that scratch is a sexual predator, she does state outright to his face that he gets off on manipulating little girls in the comic.

i think "would it be in character for vriska to say that" and "does it make sense in the context of the story for her to say that" are two subtly but crucially different questions, though.

like, on the one hand: it has always been textually clear that doc scratch is not LITERALLY a pedophile. he's a completely asexual organism. by using that word to describe him, you're making the subtextual textual. and this kind of "saying the quiet part out loud" is something the HICU have done very deliberately since they took the helm of hs2; they are intimately aware, i think, of the fact that they are fans in charge of deconstructing homestuck for the entertainment of other fans, and that in service of that aim sometimes you need to be willing to have mature discussions out in the open. a lot of the time this has worked for them quite well, especially in terms of getting old readers back on board with a story which has in the past been overly subtle to the point of excruciating boredom. but sometimes it teeters close to the edge of "characters talking like they're fully aware they're getting therapy", and i think this example leans somewhat toward the latter. like, is there really anyone reading hs2 at this point who doesn't already have some understanding that scratch is a predator? who exactly did it serve to make that already blatant comparison that much more overt?

on the other hand... i get the impression that vriska is actually aware of this distinction, on some level? like emphasising the fact that scratch is a child predator is almost a sort of shield for her. the name of vriska's game in this chapter is minimisation; while it's super cool and heroic to admit that part of your tragic backstory involves a sick spider monster and a badass lady pirate, by trying to paint scratch as nothing more than a pathetic kiddy fiddler what she's really saying is that because he never actually molested her then she was never really abused, that she was never really a victim and therefore he was never actually a significant presence in her life at all. that's how she lives with it, by role playing as the predator to forget the fact that she was ever prey.

i think what i question about this is possibly that vriska would even know to use that word at all? writing dialogue that actually feels authentically like stuff trolls would say is another thing i think hs2 has had a rough time with ("that is a completely normal human sentence"?). the gay joke in the tavros chapter was funny because it had been a long time since we heard caliborn and jake do the same gag but it feels like they tried to capture that same energy with vriska calling tavros a "pussy" in this chapter and it fell flat. and it felt just as unnatural for a troll to say the word "pussy" as it did for her to say the word "pedophile". i think what makes alternia and its traumatic knock-on effects so effective is that it's often more insidious than it is explicit; trolls barely have the language to describe all the institutionalised neglect and abuse that is happening around them all the time because to them it's just how the world works! yeah sollux has that line about sex offenders and schools, but i think that basically serves to illustrate my point, because for the most part we all seem to understand that trolls don't have what we would be able to identify as "school" either: sexual abuse and education are concepts that, in the world of homestuck, exist entirely in the abstract; tropes to be evoked but not things that ever actually happen.

that being said, alternia is designed to reflect the structure of homestuck as a whole, and the reason alternia doesn't have sex offenders or schools is because homestuck in general does not explicitly concern itself with these topics. we understand that escaping homestuck and settling down on Earth C means settling down in the "real world", replacing the threat of time-travelling demons with real struggles and real problems, and as a continuation of the homestuck epilogues hs2 naturally IS going to continue to touch on sex and politics and all the other stuff that was delegated mostly to the subtextual in the original comic. i think the structure of this chapter even kind of alludes to this; tavros and erisol beckon vriska to relax for a moment and play childish games with them like she used to do when she was a kid on alternia, but by choosing to forge on ahead with her personal growth vriska is immediately confronted with the fact that becoming an adult is NOT like a webcomic, it's NOT all allegories and RPG battles; it can be sick and it can be hurtful and it can stop you right in your tracks just as you thought you were "making progress" toward "winning".

i just feel that by having vriska apply Earth C vocabulary to an Alternian experience right off the bat, we've skipped over a key part of her transition from homestuck to the real world. would this chapter have been any easier to stomach if it had been about vriska coming to grips with the fact that scratch was a predator in the first place? no, of course not LOL. i think my gripe here might literally just be with the word choice. like i believe the writers have it in them to express what they were trying to express here in a much more interesting way than simply having vriska say "lol he's a pedophile". yes, addressing something literally that has only ever been mentioned before in symbols and whispers is part of the impact of this update, but i don't think that has to come at the expense of the dialogue actually feeling like it belongs in the mouths of these characters

#upd8 #god. um. ask to tag #sa mention #?#csa mention #hs2

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yaboiyandere · 1 year ago

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Yandere Miguel O’Hara

Miguel’s POV

-Miguel decided to deal with some anomalies himself, pounding the weaker ones to a pulp helped him burn off some steam. He’d eviscerated about four until he was in your dimension. It was a rarer sight to see pirate ones, but he wasn’t in the mood to look into it. Just messing them up and sending them home.

-the city looked familiar, in a sense that he knew he’d never been there, but a part of him had. Maybe another version of him? Hopefully, he doesn’t run into him. he approaches the anomaly, the map indicating it’s at an elementary school.

-Ever since he tried replacing his murdered self in another universe, he’s felt empty. It’s not every day you see your daughter and spouse disappear into nothingness. It wasn’t even his family though, was it? After all, he didn’t remember meeting this version of you. He didn’t get to experience your first date, your wedding, or your daughter’s first day of school. He missed it all.

-Maybe it was for the best that he missed it all, considering what happened when he appeared. Maybe he’s just the worst version of himself. Maybe he’s not meant to be happy.

-he entered through the hole in the wall, seeing you trying and failing to wrangle the pirate Doc Ock. Just another spider-person. He quickly scratched at and bit the anomaly, causing paralysis. You fall to the floor, the tentacles sagging to the ground.

-he approaches you, pulling up his holo-watch to identify who you are. “I like your mask” you joke, as he approaches you. “Got one just like it at home”. He stifles a chuckle. He’s almost reached your profile when a little girl runs up to you and grips your leg. “Don’t hurt my (parent)! Please” she sobs. He freezes.

-he takes it all in. His screen fades away. Gabriella, his daughter, chokes out a couple of cries against your leg. Your hand protectively rests on her head. Who are you? And why are you keeping his daughter from him? And why does she look so scared of him?

-“…are you scared of me?” He asks. Gabriella nods. He can’t ignore your little nod. Speaking of you. “Who are you?” And what are you doing with his daughter? “Ah, that’s classified” you stammer. “Fine” he grumbles, pulling up his hologram with your profile. (Y/n) (L/n). Canon event, losing your late husband, Miguel O’Hara.

-He looks at your profile, the photo of your smiling face, and back at you. Even through the mask, your fear is evident. He presses a button to reveal his face. Your shock is palpable, as he introduces himself. “My name is Miguel O’Hara, and you probably already knew that.” He smiles, and hugs you. He wasn’t going to lose this, lose you again. It’ll be better this time, he’ll start over with you two, propose, attend Gabriella’s quinceanera, and maybe even make another kid!

-his eyes well up with tears of happiness as he bites your neck, paralyzing you. He hugs your limp body and calls out to your daughter. He hugs you two close. All is right in the world again. “Lyla, let’s bring these two home.” “Can do, boss” he quickly walks through the portal, still careful to not drop his precious cargo.

-it’s been three days, and Gabriella has adjusted well. His loft is much more spacious than the little apartment you two could barely afford. She also reveled in the attention she got from you since you were banned from serving justice. Speaking of you, you’ve been more difficult. Considering the world you left behind, he thought you would be more happy to leave! Constant crime leaves you with sleepless nights, a crummy job, and missing out on your daughter’s life! He’d make it so you don’t have to miss anything and even cut down his work hours to spend more time with his family.

-you’ve said some untrue things about him, and compared him to “your” Miguel, but he knows you just need to adjust. As he hugs you from behind, admiring your daughter’s cute drawing of your new family, and smiles into your neck.

#spider man: across the spider verse #miguel o’hara #yandere miguel x reader #yandere imagine #yandere miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel

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batmanlovesnirvana · 28 days ago

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Chapter seven | midnight adventures.

masterlist

pairing : battinson!bruce wayne x fem!oc.

words : +9k

A/N : Don't know how to feel about this chapter, angst at the end— that seems to be Bruce and Maryam speciality lol

cw : Maryam being annoying but its ok she has her reasons lol, Bruce being a taxi driver at this point, 18+, thriller, medical procedures, angst, mental health issues, depression, ptsd, noire, canon-typical violence, POV alternating, gritty, horror, illness, slow burn, action, fluff, mutual pining, forced proximity, crime families, crime, fighting ect… read at your own risk !

previous chapter

THAT MAN had wrecked her day—not that it had started off great anyway.

But fuck him, all the same.

She couldn't understand why she felt even a flicker of empathy for someone who'd taken part in the slaughter of her people.

Whatever. Fuck him and everyone who backed those so-called "wars."

She went to the grocery store, reminding herself she actually needed real food instead of more takeout. It wasn't that she hated cooking or baking; she loved it, honestly. But lately, she couldn't find the comfort in it she once did.

Once she'd finished her quick run to the nearest market, she headed straight back to her apartment without a second to spare. She needed a nap, desperately. Four hours of sleep last night—especially a night spent as the Wraith—hadn't even come close to enough.

She walked slowly through the familiar streets, a bag of groceries in each hand, letting the sounds and scents of the neighborhood settle over her like an old, worn coat. Children's laughter echoed down the alley, and mothers leaned over balconies, chatting as they clipped laundry to drying lines. The air was thick with a blend of fresh bread and something sharper—weed, most likely. Odd, yet somehow comforting; in Gotham, this strange mix was almost homey.

Near the stairs of her building, a group of teenagers lounged, passing a vape between them. They looked up as she approached, and one of them—a lanky boy with a worn Gotham Knights basketball shirt and a red bandana tied around his head—raised a hand in greeting.

"Mornin', Doc!" he called out, a smirk playing on his face. "How's it goin'? Any luck findin' that psycho yet, or what?"

She adjusted the weight of her bags, returning the smile with a slight nod. "Not yet, Freddy," she replied, her tone casual but laced with the fatigue of long nights and endless files. "But soon, I hope."

"Better hurry up then—city's gettin' crazier every day," another boy chimed in, blowing a lazy ring of vape smoke into the crisp morning air.

She paused on the steps, glancing over her shoulder with a smirk. "And you all should be doing your homework instead of hanging around here like old men," she teased, her voice light but with a hint of a lecture.

They laughed, trading looks. Freddy shrugged, his grin widening. "What's the point, Doc? We're just gonna end up in some dead-end job anyway—just like everybody else around here." He made a sweeping gesture at the cracked sidewalks and peeling walls around them.

She raised a brow, lifting her chin with mock pride as she shifted the grocery bags. "Hey, I'm a doctor," she pointed out, nudging open the building's heavy door. "Not everybody's doomed."

Freddy laughed, waving her off. "Yeah, well, you don't count! You're, like, the exception around here." Another boy joined in, "Bet you were one of those kids who had their act together in, like, kindergarten."

She chuckled, pushing through the door. "Only sometimes. I didn't even speak English back then!" She held the door for a moment, looking back at them with a more serious expression. "But listen up, boys. School matters. Don't let it slip—you'll regret it."

They shifted a little, Freddy glancing down, scratching his neck. "Yeah... maybe."

She nodded, a small smile softening her tone. "And don't make me have to bail you out someday."

Their laughter trailed off, and for a moment, an unusual silence settled over the group. Freddy gave her a quick, sheepish nod, muttering, "Yeah, yeah, Doc. We hear ya."

With a final look, she let the door swing shut and stepped into the dim, familiar lobby.

The scent of old wood, damp plaster, and faint traces of whatever the building's pipes had carried over the years wrapped around her like a worn-in blanket. She shifted her bags to one arm and fumbled for her keys, her gaze settling on the row of mailboxes near the stairs.

As she sorted through the usual mix of bills and coupons, her mind drifted to the boys outside. In some ways, they reminded her of her younger self—dreaming of escape, uncertain of what lay beyond, yet feeling the weight of the city pressing down on them. She couldn't help but hope that a few words here and there might nudge them in the right direction.

Then, amidst the mundane stack of letters, her fingers brushed against something different—a red envelope.

Her heart raced as she pulled it out, feeling a flutter of anticipation. It had been a while since she'd received anything from them.

The doctor turned the envelope over and noted the wax seal, stamped with an emblem of two golden eagles, an "R" nestled between them, crowned in regal splendor. She traced the seal with her thumb, curiosity piquing her thoughts.

What could they possibly want?

Unable to contain her impatience, she grabbed her key and carefully opened the envelope.

As she did, a rich, familiar scent wafted out—roses, sweet and inviting. It was the scent of her madraya, ummi, mama—whatever name she had called her. That fragrance had always felt so precise, so unmistakable, like a whisper of love lingering in the air.

The scent enveloped her in warmth and nostalgia, wrapping around her like a comforting blanket on a chilly night. She brought the paper close to her nose, inhaling deeply, and was instantly transported back to moments long forgotten, bittersweet and tender.

But the scent of those roses was also poison to her already shattered and fragile heart, stirring feelings of love, tragedy, and unbearable loss. It whispered to her of all that had slipped through her fingers—moments, memories, and people—leaving only echoes behind, haunting reminders of what once was.

With trembling fingers, she opened the thick, luxurious stationery, her heart pounding in her chest as the elegant, unmistakably Russian handwriting greeted her.

Moya dorogaya Maryam,

I hope this letter finds you well. It has been far too long since we last exchanged words. For us, life continues as it always has, marked by the relentless rhythm of the seasons. The weather in Norfolk is, as usual, dull and gray, though I find it perfect for hunting.

Genevieve sends her warmest regards. She is beside me as I write, and she insists on saying hello to you, your siblings, and your dear aunts. You would be pleased to know that she's taken up gardening with a fervor, filling our home with blooms that remind us of you.

And then there's my son, Nikolai. You must have heard enough about him over the years, yet he's still full of surprises. He now resides in London with his wife, Elizaveta. The city feels far too chaotic and sprawling for my liking, but I suppose it keeps life interesting. Elizaveta is a force to be reckoned with, keeping Nikolai on his toes—she's a saint in that regard. You know how she is, always bustling about, ensuring everything is in order. She reminds me so much of you in that way, always juggling a million things at once.

But the reason I pen this letter today is to share wonderful news about my darling Annabelle. We are delighted to invite you and your family to her wedding, which will be held at the manor next summer. It promises to be an extravagant affair, filled with laughter and cherished memories.

I look forward to seeing you and your sisters there, my dear Maryam.

The letter was signed simply, A. Petrovich.

Uncle Andrei.

Maryam's chest tightened, a bittersweet mix of warmth and unease curling in her gut. It had been years—so many years that she could barely remember his face. She could still imagine her aunts and sisters gathering around once they heard, their voices dropping into whispers, each taking turns to inspect the red envelope. A letter from Andrei was like a rare comet passing through their lives, with everyone silently guessing what it meant.

Just as Maryam let out a breath, a hand clapped down on her shoulder, and she jolted, almost dropping the letter.

Standing there was Vera, her freckled face alight with a broad grin and her curls bouncing wildly. Vera—Vanessa to some, but always Vera to herself—was her vivacious neighbor, the type to walk into a conversation as easily as she walked into a room.

"Maryam!" Vera practically sang, her eyes immediately zoning in on the letter. "You look like you've seen a ghost. What's the big secret, huh?"

Maryam gave a small, surprised laugh, forcing herself to keep her tone casual as she held the letter close to her chest. "It's... just a family letter," she replied.

"A family letter?" Vera's brows shot up, intrigued. She was practically craning her neck, unabashedly curious as she leaned in a little closer.

Maryam angled herself away instinctively, but Vera didn't miss a beat, lighting up with a new story. "Family's always so fun, don't you think? I had a cousin once—my mom's nephew, you know him, he always thought he'd marry this princess. Real princess, too, he'd tell everyone. Had the ring and all!" She chuckled, completely unfazed by her cousin's delusion. "Of course, that fell through. But he still brags about the ring. A little embarrassing, if you ask me."

Maryam chuckled, keeping her voice light. "Well, it's not that dramatic," she admitted, though she could feel the weight of her own family's secrets pulsing with quiet insistence under her hand. "Though... it does involve a wedding, actually."

Vera's face lit up with glee. "A wedding? That's serious business! Weddings have drama built in. Who's getting married? You have to tell me."

Maryam shrugged, feigning nonchalance as she folded the letter back up and slipped it into one of her grocery bags. "A cousin. It's all up in the air still, but you know how families get." She smiled, though her mind was already drifting back to her apartment, the quiet afternoon she had been dreaming of all day. But Vera wasn't one to let go easily.

As the doctor reached for her mailbox keys and snapped the small container shut, Vera stepped back, only to launch into her next request with a bit too much enthusiasm. "Hey, actually, speaking of tonight... I was thinking—well, my sister was thinking—you might want to come with us to the Iceberg Lounge?" She gave Maryam a hopeful, wide-eyed look.

Maryam stared, momentarily taken aback. The Iceberg Lounge? Again? She'd been there just last night, and Vera's sister wanted to go there on a date? The Lounge wasn't exactly a place for innocent fun—it was infamous for shady deals, underworld connections, and the kind of crowd that fed on Gotham's darkness.

"Me?" she blinked, genuine surprise flashing across her sharp features. "To the Lounge? Tonight?" Her instinct was to turn her down politely—she had her grocery bags, her cozy plans to nap, and now a letter that raised more questions than answers.

The thought of squeezing into a dress, surrounded by the smell of cigars and overpriced drinks, made her stomach churn.

"Yes, you," Vera replied with a knowing look, as if she could sense her hesitation. "You're always so busy, Maryam! You need a night out. My sister's got a new boyfriend, and he's got us a VIP section. Don't you ever get tired of being all... mysterious?"

"Mysterious?" Maryam gave a wry laugh, arching a perfectly structured brow. "I'm a medical examiner, Vera, not a spy."

Vera rolled her eyes but grinned. "You say that, but I'm convinced you're hiding something." Then, softening, she added with a pleading look, "It's just... you're always in your own world, always busy with work, doing important things, and I thought, for once, you could just be a regular person with me. At a nice, safe VIP table."

VIP? Maryam almost laughed.

The Lounge was no mystery to her—she'd spent enough nights there in the shadows, moving unseen as the Wraith, blending into the dark corners to extract secrets from the very people seated in those VIP sections. The irony of going as herself, with Vera, was surreal.

And she certainly wasn't thrilled about heading back to the Lounge so soon after last night's mission, but maybe a little distraction wouldn't be the worst thing...

Still, Maryam couldn't shake the feeling that tonight was going to be more complicated than Vera had planned. The Iceberg Lounge wasn't just any club—it was Gotham's underworld neatly packaged in a glamorous façade.

The shimmering lights, the velvet ropes, the thumping music—it all concealed the dangerous undercurrents that ran deep through the city's criminal heart. And after the chaos she'd dealt with as The Wraith, the last thing she needed was to wade back into that world, even if it was just for one night of "fun."

She much preferred the quiet safety of her apartment, the warmth of her cozy little space where she could shut out the noise of the city. A night in with a simple meal, maybe scrolling through her phone, or watching a nice movie sounded like heaven compared to the tension brewing inside her now.

The solitude was soothing, it was a stark contrast to the life she led outside those walls.

No masks, no knives, no lies—just her.

Besides, the letter loomed in her mind, dredging up thoughts of family and old memories. She opened her mouth to turn Vera down when, with a dramatic sigh, Vera caught her hand and gave her best pleading look.

"Please, Maryam? I'll owe you forever. And you know I'm good for it. Anything you need."

Maryam sighed, her resistance slipping away, worn down by Vera's relentless enthusiasm. "Alright, alright, fine." She felt her shoulders relax, accepting the inevitable. "But just this once, okay?"

Vera squealed, throwing her arms around her in a hug so tight it almost lifted Maryam off her feet. "Oh, thank you, thank you! You have no idea, I'll never forget this!"

Maryam laughed, shaking her head. "Yeah, yeah. But don't make a habit out of this, okay?" She gently disentangled herself from Vera's arms and shifted the grocery bags in her hands.

Vera released her with a beaming smile. "I swear, I won't! I'll knock on your door at nine, is that good?"

"Sure. That's good," Maryam replied, already mentally planning for the evening ahead.

With a final wave, Vera darted up the stairs, leaving Maryam to climb the narrow staircase alone, her footsteps echoing against the creaks and groans of the old building.

She reached her floor, hearing the muted sound of a TV playing somewhere down the hall and catching a faint whiff of someone's dinner cooking.

At her door, she fished out her keys, balancing the grocery bags in one arm as she struggled with the lock, which stuck like usual. She gave it a firm twist, and the door finally gave way with a soft bang, revealing her small, cluttered sanctuary.

She stepped inside and set her bags on the counter, letting out a long breath. Books and vinyl records were stacked in organized chaos, and a few plants perched on the windowsill looked as though they might have survived another week. Her cozy space, with its patchwork of comforting clutter, embraced her like an old friend.

Unpacking the groceries, she glanced out the window at the city below, stretching into the distance with its endless hum and flickering lights. There was something oddly comforting about its restless energy, a steady rhythm that matched the beat of her own mind.

And then her gaze drifted back to the bag on the counter—the letter, sitting there like an unanswered question, waiting for her to make sense of it. She stared at it for a long moment, as if something in its ink and paper might unlock memories she'd long since buried. Perhaps she hoped for a sign, some small word of warmth or recognition from the past. But the edges of the envelope remained silent and indifferent, like a distant relative with too many years between them.

Family.

It could be a beautiful word, or it could be a curse and a mystery, veiled in secrets and memories that faded with time.

But for now, all she could do was grab a quick shower, take a small nap, and get ready. Whatever was waiting at the Lounge, she'd deal with it.

Just like she always did.

Cocktail dresses were not her forte.

Maryam stood in front of her open wardrobe, arms crossed, a deep sigh escaping her lips as she surveyed the options before her.

A frown creased her perfectly shaped brow.

Most of the outfits hanging neatly in her closet were better suited for formal events or professional settings.

Nothing here screamed "night out at a club." She flicked through the hangers impatiently, pushing aside blouses, blazers, scrubs, and slacks that felt too restrained for the evening ahead.

Her bronze, sun-kissed skin seemed to glow in the dim light of her room, reflecting softly off the wardrobe mirror. It was a striking contrast to her usual dark attire.

With her athletic frame and graceful curves—sculpted by years of stealth training and night pursuits—she could make almost anything look good. But tonight, her frustration wasn't just about finding the right dress. It was about stepping out of her comfort zone, something she rarely allowed herself to do.

She huffed in exasperation, ready to give up, when something caught her eye—tucked away in the back, forgotten in the shuffle of daily life.

The doctor reached for it with a flicker of hope, pulling out a sleek black-and-gold cocktail dress she hadn't worn in years. She hadn't even remembered buying it, let alone why it had never seen the light of day.

The dress was perfect—elegant yet daring.

The bodice hugged her figure, the black fabric clinging to her like a second skin, with intricate, shimmering details tracing along the top like constellations scattered across a midnight sky. The skirt flared out slightly at the hips, a flirtatious golden shimmer running through the black fabric, the hem brushing just above her knees.

It was sexy, bold, and exactly the kind of confidence boost she needed for a night out.

She slipped it on, adjusting the straps until they rested perfectly against her shoulders. The fabric felt cool against her skin, accentuating every curve in just the right way. She turned in front of the mirror, admiring how the dress shimmered with every movement. It wasn't her usual style, but tonight she felt like embracing something different.

Satisfied with the dress, Maryam turned her attention to shoes. She owned only two pairs of heels—one for formal events and another for fun nights like this. She reached for the latter: black, strappy stilettos with a sharp heel and minimalist design.

They elevated her already long legs, making her stride look even more graceful. Sliding into them, she felt a surge of confidence wash over her.

Next came her hair and makeup.

Maryam stood in front of her bathroom mirror, a determined look in her eyes. Her naturally curly hair framed her face in wild, untamed waves, but tonight she wanted something different. She straightened it, adding volume and shine, before parting it to the left, creating a sleek, glamorous look that softened her sharp features.

Her makeup followed the same bold theme—sharp winged eyeliner, golden-white shimmer dusted across her eyelids, highlighting her bronzed skin.

The shimmering tones made her hazel eyes gleam under the bathroom lights, giving her an almost otherworldly glow. She finished with a classic red lip, a beautiful contrast against her warm complexion.

It was dramatic, intense, and undeniably stunning.

As Maryam stepped back to survey herself in the mirror, she barely recognized the woman looking back.

There was something raw and striking in her reflection—a beauty she'd never felt in quite this way before.

It reminded her of the journey she'd traveled, from a girl who hid behind masks, blending into shadows, to this version of herself.

Tonight, she wasn't hiding.

Every inch of her was polished to perfection, radiating a confidence she wasn't used to wearing.

A sharp knock on her door pulled her from her thoughts.

Vera.

Maryam took a deep breath, shaking off any lingering hesitation.

She'd committed to this night out, and for once, she intended to see it through. Opening the small black clutch on her vanity, she checked her essentials one last time: phone, keys, cigarettes, lighter, and—of course—her knives, hidden but always close.

She gave herself one final glance in the mirror before reaching for her black fur coat.

The soft fabric enveloped her in luxurious warmth, draping over her shoulders like a second skin. A few spritzes of her favorite perfume completed the transformation.

She was finally ready.

Another knock sounded, this time with an edge of impatience. "I'm coming!" Maryam called, voice laced with playful annoyance.

When she opened the door, Vera's jaw dropped in mock amazement. "Goddamn, Mar," she said, voice dripping with admiration. "You outdid yourself tonight. You look hot as hell, bitch."

Maryam smirked, rolling her eyes. "Shut up," she replied, though a small smile hinted at her amusement.

"Girl, please," Vera laughed, giving her a light tap on the shoulder. "You know you do."

Vanessa looked stunning herself. Her curls framed her face perfectly, and her smoky eye makeup made her doe eyes pop under the hallway's dim light. The glossy pink of her lips curved into a mischievous smile as she adjusted the hem of her flirty pink dress.

Together, they headed down the stairs, the steady clack of their heels echoing through the stairwell. In the lobby, they were greeted by the raspy voice of Gary, the elderly doorman who was practically a fixture in the building. Perched in his beat-up plastic chair with a cigarette dangling from his lips, he was Gotham's unofficial neighborhood watch, offering his unsolicited judgments on all who passed by.

As Maryam approached, his eyes widened in a rare show of interest. "Well, what a fucking doll you are tonight," he whistled, his gravelly voice almost amused.

Maryam resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Gary's crudeness was as predictable as his smoking habit, yet tonight his offhand compliment was oddly amusing. Maybe it was the dress, or maybe it was the thrill of being noticed.

"Thanks, Gary," she replied smoothly, brushing past him and leaving him to his cloud of smoke and judgments.

Vera received her own whistle from Gary as she passed, and the girls shared a knowing glance, shaking their heads with small, amused smiles.

Once settled in the plush seat of Vera's car, Maryam closed the door with a soft click behind her. Inside, the warmth of the car cocooned her, a comforting contrast to the night air outside. The low hum of the engine buzzed beneath her, a subtle reminder that the night had only just begun.

As they sped down the street, Maryam adjusted her fur coat, savoring its luxurious softness as it settled over her shoulders.

Underneath, she could feel the familiar weight of her concealed knives—a constant reminder of the life she balanced, between shadows and moments of normalcy like this. No matter how glamorous the night, she never left without them.

Vera glanced over, her approving smirk still firmly in place. "You really clean up nice, you know that? It's a shame you don't go out more often. You could have half the city eating out of your hand if you wanted."

Maryam chuckled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Not really my style, and you know it."

Vera sighed dramatically, keeping one hand on the wheel as she merged onto the main road. "Yeah, yeah. But once in a while, it's good to let loose. You need it more than anyone I know."

Maryam didn't argue. Vera had a point. Between her demanding job as a medical examiner and her life as The Wraith, nights like this were rare. These were the moments when she could set everything aside, even if just for a few hours—pretend to be someone else, someone who didn't carry the weight of secrets and shadows.

The city lights blurred together outside her window, the familiar skyline casting Gotham's silhouette against the inky night. She stared out for a moment, lost in thought, until a question suddenly popped into her head. "Wait, are your sister and her boyfriend not joining us?"

"Oh, they're already there, waiting for us at the lounge," Vera replied, a mischievous grin creeping onto her lips. "Alessandro—my sister's boyfriend—he's the one who pulled some strings. Got us a VIP table and everything!" She wiggled her eyebrows, barely containing her excitement.

Maryam's stomach tightened. Alessandro. She had a sinking feeling about this.

"Please don't tell me it's... that underground club," she muttered, hoping her guess was wrong.

The club within the club, a hidden world where Gotham's elite gathered in secrecy. She knew it well—not as Maryam, but as The Wraith. Just last night, she'd prowled those rooms, cloaked in darkness, gathering intel. Tonight? Tonight, she was bare, unarmed in more ways than one.

Vera, oblivious to Maryam's inner turmoil, shrugged with an innocent smile. "What? I mean, I wouldn't really know. I just know it's fancy." She smirked, eyes gleaming.

Maryam let out a small, forced laugh. "Fancy, huh?"

Her grip tightened on her clutch, knuckles whitening. She knew Vera meant well, but she didn't understand. Gotham's elite didn't play by the same rules. And here, where secrets were currency, and favors held more value than gold, the stakes were high.

Even now, beneath her glamorous exterior, she felt the weight of her hidden knives pressing against her skin, a reminder that she could never fully let her guard down. Not here.

Vera chatted away as they approached the club, her excitement palpable. "So, his name's Alessandro, but before you say anything, I know he's... well, shady." She added quickly, "But my sister likes him. It's only been a week, so it's not serious."

Maryam sighed. "Italian charmers. Always the same," she muttered with a smirk.

"They're not all bad," Vera replied defensively, though she shot Maryam a knowing smile. "Look, I know you have your... concerns. But tonight, I just want you to have fun. We'll stay as long as you're comfortable, and if you need an out, just say the word."

"Thank you," Maryam murmured, squeezing her friend's shoulder. Then, in a lighter tone, she added, "Just... don't lose me in there, okay?"

They pulled up to the Iceberg Lounge, where the crowd buzzed with energy, eager to dive into Gotham's nightlife. Vera led the way, navigating through the throngs with practiced ease, flashing a confident smile as they sidestepped the velvet ropes.

But then she saw them.

The Twins—Boris and Maksim, towering sentinels of the Lounge.

Maryam's stomach twisted at the sight of them. Known for their brutal efficiency, they were gatekeepers of Gotham's underworld, faces cold and calculating. She often referred to them as the Evil Twins, a joke that hid the truth. They knew her as The Wraith, but as Maryam, she was just another face.

The weight of their scrutiny pressed down on her, quickening her pulse. She forced herself to breathe steadily, feeling the cold steel of her knives, their presence reassuring in the midst of this familiar, dangerous world.

"Relax," Vera whispered, catching the tension in her friend's jaw as they neared the entrance. "It's just a night out. No one's gonna bother you here."

Maryam forced a tight smile. "Yeah," she murmured, exhaling slowly. "Just a night out."

As they stepped into the underground club, the deep, rhythmic pulse of music filled the air, vibrating through the floor beneath their feet.

It was the same as she stepped as the wraith the other night, the lights inside were dim, casting a moody glow over the lavish interior of the Iceberg Lounge.

Everything felt luxurious and dangerous at the same time—Gotham's elite brushed shoulders with the shadows, a mix of power and menace lingering in every corner.

Maryam let her eyes adjust to the low light, clutching her fur, taking in the sprawling dance floor and the glittering chandeliers that hung from the ceiling.

The bar was packed, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and alcohol. She felt Vera grab her arm, pulling her closer as they navigated through the crowd.

"See? Not so bad," Vanessa said, her voice just audible over the pounding bass. "Just some little fun."

Maryam forced a smile, nodding, but her eyes were scanning the room.

Even if she wasn't The Wraith tonight, her instincts were hard to turn off. Every flicker of movement caught her attention, every unfamiliar face was logged in her mind. Old habits. She had worked too long in Gotham's underbelly to let her guard down.

They made their way up the stairs to the VIP section, a private area where Vera's sister and her boyfriend were waiting. The music quieted slightly as they reached the upper level, the noise of the main club below muffled by thick glass windows.

Alessandro stood as they approached, his charming smile disarming yet slightly unsettling. He was tall and impeccably dressed, exuding a confidence that whispered of wealth and power. Maryam returned his smile with a polite nod, but an instinctive shiver ran down her spine. There was something about him—a magnetic charm that felt dangerously close to predatory.

"Hey, guys!" Vera called out, her voice bright with excitement as she spotted the couple lounging on the plush, red cushions.

"Look who finally decided to join the living," Alessandro teased, a smirk tugging at his lips, wavering somewhere between playful and condescending. Vera's excitement was evident in the way she beamed at him, but Maryam felt a gnawing apprehension in her stomach.

"Welcome, welcome, ladies," he added, his voice smooth as the whiskey he was swirling in his glass.

Constance—Connie—Vera's older sister, gave him a sharp glance, her protective instincts flaring for a moment before she took control of the situation. "Alessandro, play nice. This is their first night out in ages. Well, for Maryam at least," she smirked, casting a look at her sister.

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" Vera replied, putting on an exaggeratedly offended look.

Maryam carefully settled into the cushioned seat, her body tense, her legs crossed tightly. She held her fur coat in front of her, clutching it like a shield against the mounting anxiety that threatened to engulf her.

Meanwhile, Maryam eased herself down into the seat, carefully, as if a single wrong move would shatter her poise. She held her fur coat in front of her, clutching it like a shield against the creeping anxiety gnawing at her. Her legs crossed tightly, her posture conveying both elegance and guardedness.

Alessandro raised his glass, glancing over with a lazy smirk. "Relax, everyone. It's just a night out," he said, his voice light, though his gaze was anything but. Despite the casual words, something in his tone hinted at layers that went deeper than his outward charm.

Vera gave a bright smile and introduced the couple. "This is my sister, Connie, and her boyfriend, Alex," she said, dropping her clutch on the table with a little flourish. "I'll grab us some drinks—be right back."

Maryam narrowed her hazel eyes, a flicker of discomfort rippling through her. Why had she left her alone with strangers?

Connie, who had been quietly observing Maryam, spoke up over the thumping bass of the music. "So you're a medical examiner?"

Maryam tried to play it cool, though unease curled in her stomach like a snake. "Yes," she replied, offering a small smile that felt more like a mask than genuine warmth.

"By the way, I love your dress and makeup!" Connie exclaimed, her tone warm and genuine, her eyes lighting up as she admired Maryam's outfit. "You look absolutely stunning!"

Maryam had put effort into her appearance tonight, hoping it would boost her confidence, though the tension knotting her stomach threatened to dampen her excitement.

"Thanks," Maryam replied, feeling a slight flush rise to her cheeks at the compliment. "You look amazing too! That blue is perfect on you!"

Constance only smiled and flocked her hair behind her shoulder.

Alessandro leaned back, loosening the buttons of his shirt, a smirk playing on his lips. "Don't want a drink?"

"Hm, I actually don't drink. I just came here with Vera to keep her company."

"That's sweet of you," Connie remarked, fidgeting with her nails as if they were a distraction from the atmosphere. "If you ever want to leave, don't hesitate."

Why did they keep repeating that?

"Yeah, Vanessa told me. But I don't really want to leave her alone."

"She's safe with me, don't worry," Connie tried to reassured her.

Maryam only nodded, the awkward silence settling over them like a heavy blanket. She could feel their eyes on her, studying her, dissecting her with their gaze. She pretended to observe the club around them, feigning disinterest, but her mind was racing.

Her eyes flicked toward groups of people huddled at tables, the glow of the lights revealing a few familiar faces—Gil Couson, the District Attorney. It wasn't surprising; she'd seen plenty of DA's and GCPD officials frequent this place when she operated as The Wraith.

When she looked back at her table, she found Alessandro and Connie already watching her, their expressions unreadable. Clearing her throat to break the tension, Maryam attempted to steer the conversation. "So, what do you guys do for a living?"

"Well, I work in a bank, assistant." Connies says, taking a sip from the martini that had just been set on the table.

"Oh yeah, Vera mentioned it," Maryam replied, forcing a light tone. "And you?" She directed her question toward Alessandro, her curiosity piqued despite herself, even if she already had an inkling of who he really was.

"Business," he answered simply, his gaze unwavering, a slight edge to his voice that made Maryam's heart race.

She nodded, the conversation dwindling into an uncomfortable silence. Vera still hadn't returned, and the weight of the atmosphere pressed down on her.

Just then, a group of men entered the table, speaking rapid-fire Italian, their presence commanding and decidedly more dangerous. One of them shot Maryam a wink as they settled in, launching into a hushed conversation that felt too secretive, too conspiratorial.

Sensing the tension, she leaned closer to Connie. "I'm going to grab some water."

Connie only nodded, still sipping on her martini.

Maryam stood and made her way toward the bar, navigating through the throngs of people, each lost in their own world of revelry and distraction.

As she walked, she collided with a woman sporting a striking red wig. "Oh shit—I'm so sorry!" Maryam blurted, her cheeks flushing slightly as she stepped back.

"No, it's me," the woman responded, her brows knitting in confusion as she studied Maryam intently.

Maryam offered an awkward smile, the unease creeping back into her veins as she continued toward the bar, the vibrant chaos of the club swirling around her.

She felt like an outsider, a ghost among the living, and as she reached for a glass of water, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched—by both friends and foes alike.

The doctor took a deep breath, trying to steady herself as she finally reached the bar. The pulsating beat of the club made her head throb faintly, and she felt the weight of dozens of eyes on her. But maybe it was just her own nerves amplifying everything. She focused on the bartender, who was busy sliding colorful cocktails across the counter to eager hands.

"Just water, please," she said, her voice barely carrying above the music. The bartender nodded, raising an eyebrow slightly before he turned to get her drink.

As she waited, Maryam forced herself to take in the room, hoping it might somehow ease the chill that crept up her spine.

But her gaze snagged on a familiar face: the red-haired woman sitting with none other than Gotham’s district attorney, Gil Coulson.

Married, with kids, yet here he was, leaning in close, as if he had no reputation to keep up—or maybe just didn’t care anymore.

She almost laughed at the irony.

Of course Coulson would show up somewhere like this, where drops flowed and morals faded.

Then her eyes drifted back to Alessandro.

He sat surrounded by his group, that same unreadable expression fixed on her. Even when he rose to speak to someone across the room, his gaze didn’t waver, didn’t stray from her for an instant, as though he were studying her, waiting.

She looked away, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, trying to steady her breath, to shake off the feeling that she’d made a grave mistake.

She shouldn’t have come here, not tonight, not so exposed, not with eyes watching her from every corner.

“First time out in a while?” The bartender’s voice pulled her back to the present as he handed her the glass of water.

She managed a small smile. “That obvious?”

He shrugged with a sympathetic smile of his own. “Just a guess.”

A low, gravelly voice cut in, intruding on the exchange. “Rough night, huh?”

She turned, immediately regretting it.

Leaning casually beside her was a man with dark eyes and a teasing smirk, a jagged scar cutting across his brow.

Matteo—Vittorio's bodyguard.

Shit. How was he still standing after the beating she'd given him yesterday? Her gaze dropped to his leg, where a cane was propped against him. Well, maybe not entirely.

He held a cocktail, studying her like she was prey he’d patiently been waiting to pounce on. She kept her expression neutral, unwilling to give him even a hint of reaction.

“Something like that,” she replied, voice steady but gaze guarded. Small talk wasn’t on her agenda, especially not here, and especially not with someone like him.

Matteo let out a rough chuckle, raising his glass in a mock toast. “Well, don’t let the night swallow you up, ghost girl.”

The nickname struck her like a strange jolt, stirring something cold and uneasy in her gut, but she masked it with a polite, dismissive smile.

“Thanks, but I’m fine,” she said coolly, turning back to her drink, hoping that was the end of it.

Matteo lingered just a second longer, his gaze trailing over her like he had every right.

But then, as if summoned, he turned abruptly toward a group across the room—one that included Alessandro. Her stomach tightened.

Of course.

So her suspicions were right; Alessandro was working with the Falcones.

She watched him slip through the crowd, blending in with the familiar ease of someone who’d spent too long in the shadows.

The unease she’d felt before coiled tighter, sharper, her pulse hammering.

There was no coincidence here, not with the way Alessandro caught her eye, his lips quirking in a faint, knowing smirk.

It wasn’t just some off-chance meeting.

They were watching her—had been all night, it seemed.

A chill crept through her, settling in her bones like ice. She’d been careful, blending into the crowd, slipping through unnoticed—or so she’d thought.

But every look, every sideways glance she hadn’t caught, now felt like an unseen thread tightening around her.

Her grip on the glass tightened, the cold condensation seeping into her skin. She felt exposed, out of place, like prey unknowingly lured into a trap.

She had to keep control, play her part, if only until she could slip away unnoticed.

But she needed to go. Now.

Maryam casually placed her glass on the bar, hoping her fingers weren’t visibly trembling.

With a practiced smile, she nodded at the bartender, as if all was well, as if the weight of prying eyes didn’t press down on her shoulders.

When she finally left the bar, the medical examiner wove her way back toward their table.

Her eyes scanned the dim, crowded space until they landed on Alessandro, still watching her with a lazy smirk, his gaze assessing, as if he'd caught every detail of her evening.

The doctor fought the urge to roll her eyes, sighing inwardly as she continued walking. Her fur coat felt weightier now, almost like armor against the scrutiny of the room.

Back at their table, she found Connie sitting alone, a bit annoyed but glued to her phone. "Hey," Maryam said softly, sliding into the seat beside her.

"Hey," Connie murmured, barely looking up before flicking her eyes back to the screen. The flashing lights cast a colorful glow on her face as she scrolled.

Maryam hesitated. "I haven't found Vera anywhere, and... I'm exhausted. Tomorrow's kind of a big day for me. I think I'm gonna head out."

Connie's gaze remained fixated on her phone. "Yeah, sure. Go home if you want. Not like you have to stay just because Vera's here," she replied dismissively, her fingers continuing to tap rapidly on the screen.

"You sure? I don't mind sticking around a bit longer. I just don't want to leave Vera stranded."

Connie finally glanced up, a flicker of understanding crossing her features. "Look, Maryam. It’s ok, go. She's fine. She'll go home with me when we're done here. Just don't worry about it." She gestured vaguely to the edge of the dance floor, where Vera stood close to a tall guy with tousled hair, laughing as he leaned down to say something in her ear. "See? She's busy."

Maryam smiled faintly. "Alright, if you're sure. I don't want to be rude."

Connie sighed, rolling her eyes as she returned to her phone. "Honestly, it's better for you. This place isn't really your scene anyway. You'll be bored out of your mind."

"Guilty," Maryam falsely admitted, forcing herself. "It's just... not really my thing. I've got a long day tomorrow too."

"Right, the mayor's funeral." Connie didn't look up, still focused on her screen. "You should definitely go home then."

"Thanks, Connie. I appreciate it." Maryam gathered her things, glancing once more at the buzzing club before standing up. She offered Connie a warm smile. "Thanks for having me. I hope you two have fun."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Connie barely looked up from her phone, her tone dismissive as she continued scrolling. "Safe travels! Just text Vera if you need her."

Maryam could sense the irritation radiating from her. With a grateful nod, she turned and made her way toward the exit.

As she slipped through the crowd, she pulled out her phone, shooting Vera a quick text to check in:

Heading home. Hope you're having fun. Stay safe !! <3.

With a resigned sigh, she slipped out of the club and into the cold night air.

Lighting a cigarette, she took a deep drag, feeling the smoke fill her lungs, and began to walk down the street in search of a cab.

The click-clack of her high heels echoed against the pavement, each step a reminder of how out of place she felt.

Clutching her fur coat tighter around her shoulders, she let her thoughts drift, allowing the city's vibrant nightlife to fade into the background.

Suddenly, without warning, a gloved hand gripped her arm and yanked her into a dark alley.

Panic surged through her as she yelled, the sound swallowed by the night, but before she could draw a breath or take one of her hidden knives, a hand clamped over her mouth, silencing her.

“What the hell?!” she muttered against his hand, her voice muffled but furious. Without a second thought, she bit down hard, forcing him to pull his gloved hand back. Taking advantage of the moment, she shoved against his solid chest, trying to free herself from his grip.

"What were you doing in the 44 Below?" he only replied, his voice low and gravelly, darkened eyes with charcoal around it narrowing as he studied her, assessing the confusion etched on her face.

"Are you stalking me, you fucking creep?" she shot back, her heart racing.

She fought to regain her composure, her breath coming in shaky gasps, visible in the frigid air around them. With a quick movement, she pushed the stray strands of hair away from her mouth and eyes, trying to clear her vision and steady herself.

"I saw you there," he said simply, his mask obscuring most of his face.

"How?" she demanded, her tone sharp, but he ignored her question, his gaze unwavering.

"What were you doing there, Maryam? Are you tangled up with Carmine Falcone's corrupt bunch?" His words were sharp, each one dripping with suspicion as he stepped closer, invading her personal space.

Instead of answering, she lashed out, slapping him hard across the cheek. The sound echoed in the quiet alley, and he closed his eyes for a brief moment, turning his head slightly as if her strike had genuinely stung.

"Fuck you. No, I was here because a friend invited me! I didn’t even know we were going down there!" she snapped, her anger simmering just below the surface. "I didn’t stay long, anyway."

Turning on her heel, she started to head back toward the street, desperate to escape the confrontation.

But as she did, her ankle twisted awkwardly, sending her crashing to her knees on the unforgiving pavement. A sharp wince escaped her lips as pain shot through her. What a stupid move, Maryam. Bravo. The bitter thought lingered in her mind.

He was at her side in an instant, concern etched into his masked features.

"Leave me alone," she muttered, trying to wave him off, but he shook his head, his voice firm. "You need to sit still."

"I can and I will, Zorro." she insisted, her pride flaring.

But he didn't listen.

Without a word, he scooped her up into his arms, her surprise morphing into indignation as she yelped. "What the hell are you doing? Oh my god--"

"You can't walk like that," he reiterated, his tone brokering no argument.

"I can manage!" she protested, but her struggles were futile against his strength.

He carried her with no problem as if she weighted nothing, toward a mid-engined muscle car, sleek black and big car parked nearby, opening the door to the passenger seat.

"Hey—" she began to protest, but he cut her off, locking the door with a swift click before sliding into the driver's seat.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, a hint of panic threading through her voice.

"Your apartment," he replied, the engine roaring to life as he pulled away from the curb.

Maryam stared at him, a mix of anger and bewilderment coursing through her. She had never asked for this—for him to step in as her protector.

Her gaze drifted over the car's interior, buttons gleaming everywhere, with only two seats and a large motor behind them.

It looked as if he had built it himself.

Absentmindedly, she reached out to touch one of the buttons, intrigued by the craftsmanship.

"You shouldn't touch that," he warned, his deep voice breaking the silence.

"Sorry," she murmured, quickly retracting her hand and crossing her arms, pulling her fur coat tighter as she turned to stare out the window.

The silence stretched on, broken only by the steady hum of the engine and the faint squeak of his leather gloves on the wheel.

When she glanced at the vigilante, his jaw was clenched, his gaze fixed ahead, refusing to meet hers—as if he was deliberately avoiding her.

She furrowed her brows, puzzled by his cold distance.

Who was she kidding? They barely knew each other; of course he would act like that. The way he kept his emotions under wraps, as if they were a dangerous secret

He didn’t respond, just continued to drive with that inscrutable expression.

It infuriated her further to no end.

Did he think she was weak? Did he believe she couldn’t handle herself?

The tension in the car was suffocating, thick enough to cut with a knife.

Maryam shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her mind a storm of unspoken thoughts. Being this close to him was unsettling, and the fact that he was shutting her out now only stoked her frustration.

"So this is how it's going to be?" she finally asked, her voice low but edged with annoyance. "You play the hero, drag me into this mess, and now you're just going to ignore me?"

He didn't answer right away, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. The city lights flickered across his face, casting sharp shadows that only made him more unreadable.

After what felt like forever, he finally spoke. "I didn't drag you into anything," his tone was controlled, but there was something darker beneath it. "You were already in it. I'm just making sure you stay alive."

Maryam scoffed, shaking her head. "I never asked for your help. I don't even know you. You're the one who keeps showing up out of nowhere," she said, her hands gesturing animatedly as she threw him a sharp glare.

She cursed under her breath in Arabic. "I can handle myself just fine."

The tension in the car was suffocating, thick enough to cut with a knife. Maryam shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her mind a storm of unspoken thoughts. Being this close to him was unsettling, and the fact that he was shutting her out now only stoked her frustration.

His grip tightened on the steering wheel, the tension in his sharp jaw making every muscle stand out.

Maryam's eyes flickered to the small cut on his face—her cut, the one she'd given him without realizing the night The Wraith clashed with the Bat. His cheek was still red from where she'd slapped him earlier.

Guilt tugged at her, but only for a moment. He had underestimated her, after all, and maybe this was his karma. The leather creaked under his hands as he snapped, "Handling yourself almost got you killed tonight."

His words hung heavy in the air as he glanced at her, his gaze hard as they stopped at a red light.

"Killed?" Maryam shot back, her voice rising in disbelief. "What are you even talking about? I was literally minding my own business, smoking a cigarette, and you dragged me into that alley! If anything, I should call the cops on you for kidnapping!" She jabbed her finger toward his face, anger sparking in her eyes, her pulse quickening with frustration.

He didn't flinch, but his gaze darkened. "It's Gotham. It's dangerous anytime, especially for a woman at night."

The words hit her harder than she expected.

For a moment, the car was filled with nothing but silence, the engine's low hum the only sound between them. Maryam swallowed the knot in her throat, her chest tight.

There was truth in his words, but the way he said it—like she was some helpless victim—ignited a fire in her. She wasn't just another woman in Gotham, and she sure as hell didn't need his protection.

But despite the anger simmering inside her, the weight of the night and his warnings pressed down on her like a cold, heavy blanket.

She turned her gaze out the window, unwilling to let him see just how much his words had stung.

Because unfortunately, he was right.

"It's doctor to you," Maryam snapped back, her voice sharp. "And why do you care so much about what happens to me?"

He didn't respond immediately.

The low hum of the engine filled the silence, and for a moment, she thought he wouldn't answer at all.

But then, in that deep, controlled voice of his, he said, "You're valuable."

Her stomach twisted.

Valuable? That was it?

That was his reason for constantly showing up? For interfering in her life? A mixture of hurt and anger rose in her chest, so intense it was almost frightening. He infuriated her in ways no one else ever had.

She stared at him, catching the familiar clench of his jaw. "Right," she said, trying to sound unaffected. "Lovely to hear," she added with a biting edge to her voice.

His gaze flickered, perhaps noticing her frustration, but he stayed silent, stoic as ever.

"That's all I am to you, then? Valuable?" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, yet trembling with the weight of withheld anger. She spoke as if to herself, words slipping out like secrets she could no longer bear to keep. "Just some asset to monitor, a liability to contain—like a ticking bomb?"

She didn't stop, didn’t give him a chance to answer, and he could feel the words catch in his throat, unspoken, the retort he might have given already hollow. Her voice held a rawness, an unfiltered pain that made his chest constrict, and he hated the way it cut through him, so exposed and honest.

"I’m not just valuable. I’m a person. I bleed, I break. And you… you can’t just—" Her words wavered, her voice splintering as she tried to find the right thing to say, to capture the truth of how much his detachment wounded her. "You can’t just treat me like I’m another cog in your mission, something to be controlled and used when convenient."

He gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, tension flickering across his face as he fought to hold his composure. "It's not that simple," he said, his voice taut, controlled.

"Oh, please," she shot back, folding her arms as if to shield herself from the hurt that pooled in her chest. Her tone was bitter, tired. "If you’re going to keep manipulating me, following me, then at least be honest about it. Don’t pretend it’s for my sake."

"I'm not here to manipulate you," he shot back, his tone sharp and cutting through the tension like a knife.

"Then what are you here for?" she challenged, fully aware she was being infuriating, but it felt like a necessary pushback. "Because from where I'm sitting, all you've done is make my life infinitely more complicated." She laughed bitterly, the sound laced with frustration. "Do you think I wanted any of this? You just show up, decide what's best for me, and vanish like—like I'm supposed to be grateful!"

His gaze stayed steady, unwavering, the shadows in the alley accentuating the angles of his face. "You're not just in danger, Maryam. You are the danger. To yourself, to others. If you get caught up in this without knowing what you're dealing with, you'll be—"

"Collateral damage?" she interrupted, raising an eyebrow in challenge. "Another loose end for you to tie up? Don't you dare stand there and pretend this is just about keeping me safe."

She jabbed a sharp finger toward him, her frustration palpable. "You just don't want anyone interfering with your plans. Isn't that right hm?"

"Believe what you want," he replied, his voice hard, but she could sense a tremor beneath it. "But if you understood what's out there, you wouldn't be asking for independence. You'd be begging for protection."

Her eyes blazed with anger as she held his gaze, feeling the weight of every word. "I. don't. need. protection. And certainly not yours. I'm capable of making my own choices, even if they aren't the right ones."

"Then those choices are going to get you killed," he replied, blunt and unyielding. But his voice was different this time, the edges frayed, his words dropping into something raw, almost desperate. "And you have no idea what that would mean—for the people you'd leave behind."

What?

Her breath caught, her anger stumbling as the confusion washed over her. What did he mean?

He was so confusing, so closed off, it hurt.

She opened her mouth to respond, to demand an explanation, but the words vanished in the hollow space between them.

A flicker of something—surprise, maybe ?—crossed her face as she saw him, just for a moment, slip. She'd never expected to see even a crack in that armor.

The silence stretched, taut as a wire, until they pulled near the Narrows, the streets narrowing and darkening around them.

He eased the car to a stop in an alleyway by her apartment, and the tension between them was so thick it seemed to vibrate, settling like a weight on her shoulders.

"Thanks," she muttered, barely meaning it, as she reached for the door handle. The bitter night air struck her as soon as it cracked open, a jolt of cold that only intensified the aching in her chest, the emptiness his words left behind.

The chill bit into her skin as her feet touched the pavement, and she welcomed it—a reminder that, at least, her night was ending. She was just about to pull her hand free, to escape back into her own world, when she felt his hand close around hers, firm and unyielding.

Startled, she looked back, but he didn't meet her gaze, his expression hidden in the shadows. He pressed something into her palm—a small device, cool and solid in her hand.

"For emergencies," he murmured, his voice low and final.

She looked down at the device, feeling the cool weight of it settle into her palm, a tangible reminder that, despite everything, he'd bound her to him yet again.

It was a lifeline, but one she hadn't asked for—a link to him she didn't know how to sever, even if she wanted to. Anger and confusion swirled within her, pressing up against her resolve.

Part of her wanted to throw it back, to end whatever twisted bond he kept tethering her to.

But her fingers only tightened around it, a reluctant acceptance she despised herself for.

"Right," she said softly, her voice almost swallowed by the silence. "Because I'm 'valuable.'"

He was so still, so unyielding, but the shadows softened just enough for her to catch something in his expression—a flicker of hesitation, a crack in his perfect, unreadable mask.

The cold barrier he wore around himself seemed to shift, and she could almost feel something between them, a weight heavy with unspoken things, words neither of them could say.

Their eyes locked, and for a heartbeat, she almost believed he would answer her. But the flicker passed, buried beneath the steel of his gaze, the armor snapping back into place.

He was the Bat once more—untouchable, unreachable.

"Stay safe," he said finally, his tone curt, though beneath it, that rawness lingered, faint but unmistakable.

She swallowed hard, her chest tight, and managed a small nod. Her voice barely rose above a whisper. "Be careful."

His gaze shifted, just a flicker, but enough to show her words had once again slipped past his defenses. Somehow, it was her specialty with him—finding those hidden, vulnerable places beneath his armor, stirring something in him he'd long thought dead.

It was as if she could reach the parts of him he'd buried, unsettling that stone-cold heart he swore no one could touch.

Without another word, she turned, stepped out, and closed the door, her fingers lingering on the handle for just a moment longer than necessary. Then, she stepped away, her legs carrying her quickly toward her building.

She didn't look back, didn't trust herself to.

The door to her apartment closed behind her, but she could still feel his presence, the memory of that unsaid moment like an ache in her chest.

Outside, the Batmobile remained in the shadows, unmoving, a silent sentinel. His silent presence lingering like a ghost in the shadows, unwilling to let her go but never willing to let her stay.

It didn't pull away until her apartment light finally flickered on, and even then, the empty space it left felt far too heavy.

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Didn’t edit the chapter yet…. sooooo sorry for any mistakes ;)

btw this is the outfit & make up/hair I had in mind while writing the chapter— if anyone’s interested ofc (lol) :

…don’t hesitate to drop a comment tho !! xxx

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